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The Wellsboro Bank RobbersIn 1874, Before Police Squads and with Robbers on Horseback, It Took a Posse to Chase Down Justice

By Carrie Hagen

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Volume 11 Issue 5

The Wellsboro Bank RobberBy Carrie HagenIn 1874, before police squads and with robbers on horseback, it took a posse to chase down justice.

The River GuidesBy Don KnausDavid and Melody Buck plie the Susquehanna, the Pennsylvania River of the Year.

The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of MusicBy Maggie BarnesFive straight days of free concerts, to be exact, courtesy of the seventy-fifth Annual Pennsylvania State Laurel Festival.

His Favorite ThingsBy Cornelius O’DonnellNeal’s treasure trove of must-have gizmos—a love story.Cover by Tucker Worthington; cover

photo courtesy Tioga County Historical Society. This page (from top): courtesy Tioga County Historical Society; courtesy Hickory Edwards; courtesy Wellsboro Area Chamber of Commerce;

15Williamsport’s Homemade Days20French Azilum: An Asylum Fit for a QueenBy Michael Capuzzo

22Queens of the LaurelA look at 2016’s Laurel Queen candidates.

25Making a Joyful NoiseBy Pat DavisBeloved local musicians will entertain the Laurel Festival crowds.

28Mother EarthBy Gayle MorrowHay, there.

33Corning’s Farmers MarketBy Teresa Capuzzo

42Back of the MountainBy Linda StagerLaurels in the mist.

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ABOUT US: Mountain Home is the award-winning regional magazine of PA and NY with more than 100,000 readers. The magazine has been published monthly, since 2005, by Beagle Media, LLC, 25 Main St., 2nd Floor, Wellsboro, Pennsylvania, 16901, and online at www.mountainhomemag.com. Copyright © 2016 Beagle Media, LLC. All rights reserved. E-mail story ideas to editorial@mountainhomemag.com, or call (570) 724-3838.

TO ADVERTISE: E-mail info@mountainhomemag.com, or call us at (570) 724-3838.

AWARDS: Mountain Home has won 85 international and statewide jour-nalism awards from the International Regional Magazine Association and the Pennsylvania NewsMedia Association for excellence in writing, photography, and design. DISTRIBUTION: Mountain Home is available “Free as the Wind” at hundreds of locations in Tioga, Potter, Bradford, Lycoming, Union, and Clinton counties in PA and Steuben, Chemung, Schuyler, Yates, Seneca, Tioga, and Ontario counties in NY.

SUBSCRIPTIONS: For a one-year subscription (12 issues), send $24.95, payable to Beagle Media LLC, 25 Main St., 2nd Floor, Wellsboro, PA 16901 or visit www.mountainhomemag.com.

E d i t o r s & P u b l i s h E r sTeresa Banik Capuzzo

Michael Capuzzo A s s o c i A t E P u b l i s h E r

George Bochetto, Esq.

o P E r A t i o n s d i r E c t o r Gwen Plank-Button

A d v E r t i s i n g d i r E c t o r Ryan Oswald

A d v E r t i s i n g A s s i s t A n tAmy Packard

d E s i g n & P h o t o g r A P h yTucker Worthington, Cover Design

c o n t r i b u t i n g W r i t E r s Maggie Barnes, Melissa Bravo, Patricia Brown Davis,

Alison Fromme, Carrie Hagen, Holly Howell, Roger Kingsley, Don Knaus, Cindy Davis Meixel, Fred Metarko, David Milano,

Gayle Morrow, Cornelius O’Donnell, Brendan O’Meara, Gregg Rinkus, Linda Roller, Diane Seymour,

Kathleen Thompson, Joyce M. Tice, Melinda L. Wentzel

c o n t r i b u t i n g P h o t o g r A P h E r s Mia Lisa Anderson, Melissa Bravo, Bernadette Chiaramonte-

Brown, Bill Crowell, Bruce Dart, James Fitzpatrick, Ann Kamzelski, Jan Keck, Nigel P. Kent, Roger Kingsley, Tim McBride,

Heather Mee, Ken Meyer, Bridget Reed, Suzan Richar, Tina Tolins, Sarah Wagaman, Curt Weinhold, Terry Wild

s A l E s r E P r E s E n t A t i v E sMichael Banik, Alicia Blunk, Maia Stam,

Curt Fuhrman, Linda Roller

t h E b E A g l ECosmo (1996-2014)

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www.mountainhomemag.com

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Letter From the Publisher

Meet Me in Pennsy

Meet me in Pennsy, when the laurel is in bloom,And a silhouette of love on the moon will be up in the sky;Meet me in Pennsy, where it’s paradise in June,And the silhouette of love on the moon will be just you and I.

When Miss McKees Rocks, Phyllis Viola, was crowned as the first Laurel Festival Queen back

in the 1930s in small-town Wellsboro, the band struck up this tune, composed especially for that evening.

Is it any surprise then that, all these years later, the Pennsylvania State Laurel Festival is hosting five days of free concerts, both imported and locally grown? The Men’s and Women’s Choruses, the Wednesday Morning Musicales, and the “Almost Famous” Wellsboro Town Band (see page 25 for details by our own Pianowoman, Pat Davis) will be joined by headliners Callanish and the Zydeco Trail Riders for days and nights of music.

And all this is in addition to the parade (and the pet parade) and crowning of the Laurel Queen; the juried arts and crafts fair and food vendors lining The Green; the carnival rides and local art shows; and, of course our great shops and restaurants doing what they do best every day, but now for tens of thousands of visitors.

We passionately believe at Mountain Home that life is local, and there is no better expression of it than this gift from the town to the throngs of festivalgoers.

While you’re on the parade route, you can check out the Robinson House and its adjoining “bank” building, now the home of the Tioga County Historical Society, and the setting for Carrie Hagen’s fascinating cover story on the bank robbery of 1874.

We’d love to meet you in Pennsy. Welcome to Our Town!

~ Teresa Banik Capuzzo

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In 1874, Before Police Squads and with Robbers on Horseback, It Took a Posse to Chase Down Justice

The Wellsboro Bank Robbers

By Carrie Hagen

At 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, September 20, 1874, John Wilson milked a cow on his family’s farm in Che-

mung, New York. Looking up, he saw a middle-aged stranger walking away from his father’s barn. A package stuck out from under the man’s arm, and items weighed heavily in the pockets of his dirty over-alls. Wilson pegged the uninvited guest for a criminal. He knew that burglars had recently robbed First National Bank of Wellsboro, Pennsylvania, about fifty miles southwest. Police hadn’t yet made an arrest, but eyewitnesses had placed the robbers in the surrounding area on mul-tiple occasions.

Wilson told his father about his sus-picions. Then he took a horse and buggy

to the local police station in Waverly, New York, where he spoke with Sheriff Brooks. By the time Brooks and a posse tracked the stranger to a local family’s house, they had a name for him—Mike Cosgrove. At the house, Mrs. Van Fleet told the sheriff that she knew of nobody fitting Cosgrove’s description; while she talked, a neighbor saw the man climb out of a second floor window, jump a fence, and hide in a neighbor’s outhouse.

When confronted, Cosgrove said, “The man you are after has made his es-cape!”

Sheriff Brooks hesitated to arrest him.

•Six days before, two drivers and

two teams of horses—one pulling a cov-ered buggy and another a wagon—had left Danks stables in Elmira, New York. Around 1 a.m., they stopped at a hotel in Tioga, and, the next day, picked up four others who had traveled south by train. The group arrived in Wellsboro on Tuesday night and went directly to sheds behind the Episcopal Church, where they could tend the horses. At 11 p.m., a look-out stood under an elm tree across from John L. Robinson’s house on the west cor-ner of Main and Charles Streets. Clouds covered any moonlight, and the air was dry. Next to the Robinson’s house, on the other side of a six-foot fence, was the First National Bank.

The Robinson family had operated See Robbery on page 8

Today, the Robinson House is home to the Tioga County Historical Society, and a living landmark of the dreadful actions in the unsuspecting town on that moonless Sunday night in 1874. Pictured at left, a copy of The Agitator’s exposition of the trial of C. Cosgrove and O. Cook.

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Robbery continued from page 7

the bank for ten years. With its frame storefront and wooden shutters and doors, the two-story building resembled a store, and in fact had been one in the 1830s. In May of 1864, John L. Robin-son founded First National, and when he became its president in 1866, his son Eu-gene took his place as cashier.

Both John and Eugene Robinson slept at the family house that night, along with four others: Mrs. Robinson, John’s wife, Mrs. Smith, their widowed daugh-ter, a female servant named Mary Reilly, and a hired man named Joe Murray. John and his wife slept on the first floor and the others on the second: on one side of the second floor, Mrs. Smith and Mary Reilly shared a room and Eugene had his own; on the other side, Joe Murray slept.

Shortly after midnight, the burglars entered through a kitchen window. They wore white overalls, shirts, and socks over their shoes. Cloth masks covered their faces.

Holding revolvers and lanterns, the robbers entered the rooms of Eugene, his sister, and his parents. Each awoke to the

sound of strange voices. “Don’t speak!” Mrs. Smith heard. A

man told her to dress but she refused. He took a dress off her door, pulled it over her head and buttoned it.

Downstairs, John Robinson awoke to a man on either side and one at the foot of his bed. His wife screamed. She begged the men not to kill her husband, who tried to fight from a prostrate posi-tion. They hit him in the head and blind-folded and forced the couple upstairs into their daughter’s room. As the robbers started tying the family to chairs with ropes, Smith argued that her mother had a bad heart and had to lie down. So the men tore apart a sheet and used the strips to tie Mrs. Robinson to the bed. Then they handcuffed her feet together.

After securing the household—ex-cept for Joe Murray, who slept through the event—the burglars blindfolded Eu-gene and walked him barefoot from the back of his house through the fence and into a side door of the bank.

•Banks operated in the center of

small towns for reasons of access and security. Neighboring storefronts of-fered protection from break-ins during the day; at night, however, an absence of foot traffic in back alleys made banks vulnerable. Most used combination locks to secure safes and vaults, encouraging thieves to target and threaten cashiers until they turned the combinations to the right numbers. To combat this prac-tice, many banks had an armed security guard (sometimes the cashier himself ) sleep next to the vault. The Robinsons had once used this security method, but they hadn’t done so in years. On Septem-ber 15, 1874, only combination locks secured the vault and the safe: it held ap-proximately $30,000 in “cash and con-vertible securities.”

•The man identified as “Cosgrove”

to the Waverly police also went by the names of McMaster, Morton, Bullard, Thompson, and Howard, but his most popular alias was Isaac “Ike” Marsh. Less than a year before, he had aided in another bank robbery in Athens, Penn-

See Robbery on page 10

The 1874 home of John L. Robinson (inset), founder of the First National

Bank, where robbers entered through

a window, bound family members, and

forced his son to open the vault next

door.

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Robbery continued from page 8

ELMPhiladelphia

St. Petersburg/Clearwater

Atlanta

Detroit

Orlando/Sanford

sylvania, four miles south of Waverly, New York. These central

Pennsylvania burglaries, though, were much smaller operations than those that had earned “Isaac Marsh” national attention. Six years before, Toronto authorities had extradited him to the United States after he stole more than a million dollars from a Union Express messenger in White Plains, New York. Once in American custody, he escaped with the help of a colleague on the out-side. The following year, Cosgrove sur-faced in Boston, where he worked on a team that drilled into a Boylston vault and escaped with over $400,000. He fled to Europe with at least two of his accomplices and opened an American bar in Paris on Rue Scribe.

•Eugene Robinson stood in front

of his vault’s combination lock with bare feet. He turned to incorrect codes until he felt a gun at the back of his head. After he opened the vault, and then the safe, the burglars loaded about $28,000 in currency and bonds into a tobacco container. Forty-five minutes after breaking into the bank, Eugene found himself back in his sister’s sec-ond floor room. Ropes, handcuffs, and strips of sheets bound him and his fa-ther together, back to back. The men bit down on gags made from broom handles and ropes. If the women—Mrs. Smith, her mother, or Mary Reilly—screamed, said the burglars, a lookout would signal them and the family would die.

As the men left, one kissed Mrs. Richardson. She fainted. The robbers then nailed the bedroom door shut and collected every lantern and lamp they could find. They locked the front door from the outside, tossed the key, and stashed the lights in the back wood-shed.

The Robinsons remained silent for nearly an hour. With whispers, Mrs. Smith and Mary Reilly convinced Mrs. Robinson to try and free herself from the strips that held her. Ankles cuffed, she shuffled to her husband, found a knife he had managed to stash, and cut the ropes that held him and Eugene. Robinson then found a screwdriver

and used it to remove nails from

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the bedroom door.The men awoke Joseph Murray.

About two hours after the thieves had left, Murray and Eugene ran to a near-by Judge’s house with an account of the robbery. There was no investigative prec-edent. For, as former Governor William A. Stone remembered of the era in his memoir The Tale of a Plain Man, “There were no police guards or watchman of any kind. A burglary or robbery was un-known.”

At 6 a.m., over five hours after the thieves had left town, a brigade began to follow the men’s tracks. “There was great excitement in the community,” wrote Stone, “and farmers and town people tramped the roads with guns, revolvers, pitchforks and axes, looking for [the bur-glars].”

Their first discovery came from a stable hand who remembered that one of the burglars’ horses had worn a cir-cular shoe. The group followed its tracks through Tioga towards Elmira along Mutton Lane Road, not normally taken by large parties. Along the route, they

found two pairs of white overalls and several eyewitnesses. They figured that the robbers had reached Danks Stables in Elmira between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning, covering about forty-two miles in six and a half hours.

•The Agitator called the robbery “one

of the most boldly-planned and success-fully-executed robberies in the State” and “certainly the most startling and sensa-tional criminal occurrence in the history of Wellsboro.”

That afternoon, First National Bank of Wellsboro opened its doors late. A few customers came for their money, but most trusted reports of the bank’s solven-cy. No longer intimidated by the burglars’ threats, the Robinsons advertised a reward for their capture: $5,000 for a return of stolen property, and $1,000 for informa-tion leading to the conviction of each man. To ensure that the bank wouldn’t be targeted again in the same way, the Rob-insons updated their combination locks to time locks, a brand new invention by James Sargent. This new lock coordinated

two separate clock movements that tripped a lever, discouraging burglars from hijacking cashiers who couldn’t control time.

•When Sheriff Brooks of Tioga

County searched “Mike” Cosgrove, he found about $1,000 hidden in his over-alls, his boots, and in one sleeve of his dark blue coat. A search of the Van Fleet residence produced two stashes, one in a dresser and another in a satchel, bringing the total found with Cosgrove to about $12,000 in bonds and cash, nearly half of the steal.

Cosgrove, a large, fit man with blue eyes and black eyebrows, looked at the angry group.

“If I had my revolvers and knife with me,” he said, “I would make it hot for this crowd.”

Cheers, jeers, and lynching calls greeted Cosgrove at the Wellsboro sta-tion. The seasoned burglar scoffed at the local authorities. Confident that he would not see a trial, he waived his right to an examination, choosing to stay in

See Robbery on page 12

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Robbery continued from page 11prison until released—or, more prob-ably, until a criminal colleague could break him out. Police accused at least one man of trying to spring Cosgrove: a man named Mike Welsh whom, in mid-November, police detained. As Cosgrove waited inside a cell for two and a half months, he grew increas-ingly frustrated and abusive, telling his guard that if he went to trial, he would “kill” the judge and the attorneys.

By the time of the indictment on December 1, police had arrested an-other member of the gang, a twenty-something local named Orson Cook. Eyewitnesses identified him as one of the drivers.

The trial attracted so much atten-tion that trains from the north added two additional passenger cars. Observ-ers packed the courtroom, cramming into standing room areas. The Agitator reported that the overflow crowd wait-ing outside for news numbered in the “hundreds.”

On December 1, Waverly’s Sheriff Brooks escorted “Charles” Cosgrove (“Mike” was another alias) into the courtroom. The prisoner wore hand-cuffs. His lawyer, L. P. Williston, a for-mer U.S. judge, barked at the sheriff for degrading his client.

Brooks said Cosgrove refused to have them removed.

The judge asked why.Cosgrove said he had asked “no fa-

vors of any God-damned man.” “Very well, this is a free country,” re-

plied the judge. “A man may wear brace-lets if he wishes.” He charged Cosgrove with breaking and entering, among other charges, and asked how he pleaded.

“Nixy weeden,” he answered.Cosgrove used the phrase to answer

any question about the burglary.“Nixy weeden.”“Nixy weeden.”The district attorney said Cosgrove

was acting.“You lie,” the thief said. “Go to hell.”Cosgrove’s lawyer said he was men-

tally incapable of standing trial. Doctors examined him and said his behavior was due to the effects of sleeping pills.

The judge proceeded with jury selec-tion, ignoring Cosgrove’s antics. At one point, the defendant lay down on the

floor of the courtroom.On December 3, twelve jurors—

eleven farmers and a miner—found Cos-grove and Cook guilty. About a week later, Cosgrove received his sentencing: sixteen years and nine months at hard labor and in solitary confinement at Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia.

“That’s all?” Cosgrove smirked. He said that if given the opportunity, he would do it again. He was, however, dis-turbed over Cook’s fate. He had tried to lift the younger man’s spirits in jail, even sending a deputy sheriff to buy both men cigars when visitors brought cash. And during the trial, Cosgrove testified that Cook had acted only as a driver. Still, Cook received nine years and six months at Eastern State.

As Cosgrove left the courtroom, he sneered at the spectators. Seeing Mrs. Robinson, he lowered his voice.

“Madam, I beg your pardon, and you are the only one.”

That Saturday morning, Cosgrove and Cook sat with six other prisoners in the back of a wagon. Perhaps because they were considered flight risks, they were the

only criminals wearing chains. By piecing together eyewitness tes-

timonies with those of the Robinson household, the police determined there were six or seven burglars involved in the First National robbery. Only three were caught.

After Cosgrove and Cook were sen-tenced, Mike Welsh, the man suspected of trying to free Cosgrove, received five years for a lesser charge. Years later, Welsh took credit for planning and executing the robbery. In 1912, after his release from another county jail for another crime, the Tioga County sheriff filed new charges against Welsh in Wellsboro. He wanted Welsh to answer for the remain-ing stolen money.

During the trial, Eugene Robinson said that the robbers had taken about $28,000 from the bank, and that they had stolen a gold watch and more cash from the Robinson home. Cosgrove’s arrest in 1874 led to the return of the watch and approximately $12,000. This left more than $16,000 unaccounted for, money that the Robinsons hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to find. They never did.

See Robbery on page 38

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First National Bank as it appeared in the 1800s.

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Williamsport’s Homemade Days

If it’s all about the numbers, these are some mighty good ones: decades of tradition, almost 100 craft vendors, nearly twenty food vendors, and live music thrown in for good

measure add up to Homemade Days in Williamsport this month. After a few years at the river, it returned to its Brandon Park birthplace in 2013, where it will make its home again on Saturday and Sunday, June 25 and 26 (Saturday from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. and Sunday from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.). There is no fee for the weekend.

Bands will take the stage of the Dr. Kenneth Cooper Band Shell (named after the late obstetrician who was the long-time chairman of both the Brandon Park Commission and the Shade Tree Committee, and who had a hand in the tree-green-ing of Williamsport). Craft and jewelry vendors come from the local region as well as nearby states.

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The sun dances off the clear water and you smile. A dip of your paddle and you stroke,

gliding across the surface of the Susquehanna River, allowing the cur-rent to push your craft slowly down-stream. You snap to alert as the water speeds up. Searching, studying the rapid water ahead, you plan the path of your kayak. Your guide waits below the rushing water as you push on with the double-bladed paddle, steering the point of your kayak toward the funnel that points through the swift rush. You’re on a guided kayak run of the Susquehanna with top guide David Buck, who operates Endless Mountains Outfitters. David and his wife, Melody, run the river business from their home in Sugar Run, Penn-

sylvania, just across the river from Wyalusing.

The Susquehanna cuts through the Wyalusing Valley of Pennsylva-nia’s Endless Mountains, so that’s what David and Melody named their guide business, Endless Mountains Outfitters (EMO). The service of-fers kayak and canoe tours down the North Branch of the Susquehanna River. The outfitter also offers a wide selection of kayaks, canoes, stand-up paddleboards, and river gear for sale or rent at their home base.

David Buck loves the Susquehan-na and the North Branch Water Trail. Getting down to the barest of basics, he confesses that he loves to simply be near it, to sit on the bank and watch the water flow, to sit in a kayak and

feel the flow. Relaxing, he is at peace on the river. Staring wistfully at the water, he says, “The Susquehanna River is beautiful. It draws one to-wards it.”

To be sure, David is simply fol-lowing centuries of river ramblings. The Susquehanna was a major travel artery by canoe for Native Americans long before European whites had seen the area. It was undoubtedly used by the Iroquois and British rangers as they approached the Wyoming Valley and the succeeding massacre in 1778. Early settlers hauled their goods west-ward up the north branch. They used the river to take crops southeast to market. Timbermen floated log rafts downstream to mills. And, when it came time to map a state road over-

The River GuidesDavid and Melody Buck Plie the Susquehanna, the Pennsylvania River of the Year

By Don Knaus

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The Susquehanna River provides relaxation, beauty, and an experience that explains its recognition as Pennsylvania River of the Year.

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land, wherever possible, the route followed the river. Route 6 is never more than a few hundred yards from the river from Towanda to Scranton, a major section of the Susquehanna River North Branch Water Trail.

Though David is an expert guide with canoes, he fa-vors kayaks. Kayaks were created thousands of years ago by the Inuit Eskimos eking out a living in the harsh ice and snow above the Arctic Circle. They used driftwood and dried whalebone to build the frame of the kayak. Seal skin was stretched tightly over the frame to fashion the finished craft. The word kayak in the Inuit language simply means “hunting boat.” The hunt was, of course, the main purpose for creating the kayak—hunting and fishing. In a lazy float on a stretch of glass-smooth water, the kayaker understands the Inuit sneak. Fiberglass kay-aks came along, followed by polyethylene plastic kayaks. Kayaking is now a mainstream popular sport.

David works to protect the resource. He is vice chair of the Susquehanna Greenway Partnership’s Water Trail Committee in concert with the Endless Mountains Her-itage Region, which oversees the North Branch Water Trail. The group promotes public and private efforts to connect people with nature and local history. More im-portantly, the partnership works to insure a sustainable and healthy environment by connecting communities through enhanced recreation healthy living, economic prosperity, and environmental stewardship. They work with the Pennsylvania DCNR and the National Park Service, serving as a Gateway Agency of the Chesapeake Bay Network.

In 2010, David received the State Trail Advocacy Award in recognition of his “outstanding work for the Susquehanna River North Branch Water Trail and its in-tegration with planned and developing water trails on other section of the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania and in New York, as well as other water and land trails in our region. He volunteers much in the way of time and resources beyond his designated responsibilities to enhance the water trail, attract people to it, and advocate for it.”

David is constantly finding new ways to integrate the river with communities, with the Chesapeake Bay, with the arts, with academic endeavors, and broader environmental concerns. Through David’s work with EMHR and the Susquehanna Greenway Partnership, there has been a new focus on the river, appreciation for its recreational opportunities among residents, visitors, and local communities. David is the premier ambassa-dor for the Susquehanna River and the North Branch Water Trail’s status as a designated National Recreation Trail and Chesapeake Bay Gateways and Water Trails Network. In 2016, in part because of David’s work, the

See River Guides on page 20

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Susquehanna River was named the Pennsylvania River of the Year.

To book a kayak or canoe trip, phone: (570) 746-9140.Stop by the Endless Mountains Heritage Center and

they will help. Of course, they’ll encourage you float that portion of the river that passes by French Azilum, the pres-ent day remains of a small village erected during the French Revolution and intended as a safe haven for French royalty. That effort, though it failed to save Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI, left its influence in definite French flavor of local names.

You might want to fish on your trip down the Susque-hanna. David recommends L.D. Guide Service. They can show you why the Susquehanna River is known for being one of the best smallmouth fisheries in the United States and the North Branch of the river is the best of the best. The fishing, scenery, and wildlife are second to none. It’s common to see bald eagles, great blue heron, ducks, geese, and song and shore birds, along with deer, raccoon, mink, beaver, and the occasional fox, bear, and river otter. You can fish with one of the best professional, full time river guides, seven days a week. He covers over seventy miles of river and “can tell you where the fish were yesterday, today, and tomorrow from ice out to ice in.”

Retired teacher, principal, coach, and life-long sportsman Don Knaus is an award-winning outdoor writer and author of Of Woods and Wild Things, a collection of short stories on hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.

French Azilum: An Asylum Fit for a Queen

By Michael Capuzzo

As you follow Route 6 east of Towanda through the wooded hills of Bradford County, the road climbs the 1,600-foot ridge of Summerfield Mountain, of-

fering far below lovely views of one of the most idyllic spots in the Keystone State: the Susquehanna River meandering in a great horseshoe bend encircling a broad terrace of gen-tle fields and pastures and isolated farmhouses. This peace-ful place is called French Azilum (asylum). If the sight gives you a sense of pastoral bliss, imagine how the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, would have felt had she escaped the terrors of the French Revolution to inhabit a great log mansion here, fleeing the guillotine for the remote safety and bounty of Penn’s Woods in the New World.

That was the plan: In the fall of 1793 a small group of French exiles came up the Susquehanna from Wilkes-Barre in dugout canoes and boats provided by a French trader. They were citizens of France who “had fled to Philadelphia to escape the certain imprisonment and probable death for which their loyalty to Louis the XVI marked them,” ac-cording to a Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Com-mission leaflet. “A few were of the courtier circle close to the king; some were of the minor nobility, officeholders, army officers, professional men, clergymen, merchants,

A picture-perfect view of French Azilum from the towering ridge of Summerfield Mountain.

River Guides continued from page 19

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and few artisans.” Others fled the French colony of Santo Domino where mulatto and slave uprisings were replicat-ing the carnage of Paris, and joined the asylum far from revolution, insurrections, and the yellow fever outbreak then sweeping Philadelphia.

The two Frenchmen who established the colony were otherwise certainties for the executioner’s blade: attorney Antoine Omer Talon, former chief justice of the crimi-nal court of France, and Louis de Noailles, Lafayette’s brother-in-law, who had fought with distinction in the American Revolution. A member of the French National Assembly of 1789, his mother was chief maid of honor to Marie Antoinette.

Sensing a business opportunity, Philadelphians Robert Morris, who signed the Declaration of Indepen-dence and financed the American Revolution, wealthy businessman Stephen Girard, and others formed a land company and purchased sixteen hundred acres to es-tablish Azilum. Thirty log houses went up by the next spring, including La Grand Maison, a two-story log house, eighty feet by sixty, which became the center of the social life of the sophisticated French town in the wilderness. Talleyrand and Louis Phillipe, a future King of France, stayed as guests; this was the house set aside for the queen. But Marie Antoinette was beheaded that same fall, October 16, 1793. Undeterred, the exiles in time added a schoolhouse, a chapel, a theater, dairying and sheep, gardens and orchards, a gristmill, blacksmith, a piano, a horseman who rode the mail to Philadelphia weekly, and makers of soap, gunpowder, and glass. But soon the town disappeared into the wilderness. With the bankruptcies of builders Morris and Nicholson, the émigrés left for Charleston or New Orleans, returned to Santo Domingo, or, after 1803, returned safely to France under Napoleon. A few families, such as the LaPortes, remained, and they and their descendants settled local communities.

Today you can visit the historic site at 469 Queens Road, Towanda, open May 28 to September 4 Monday through Friday and September 5 to October 9 on week-ends. The $5 for adults covers a self-guided tour of the grounds and a guided tour of the LaPorte House, a grace-ful structure of French Colonial style built in 1836 by John LaPorte, son of Bartholomew LaPorte, an original settler. There’s an authentic 1780s hand-hewn cabin with a fifteen-minute DVD introduction, but none of the original structures remain, which is why it’s even worth a visit in winter, when all the buildings are closed, to stand in the snow-dusted fields encircled by in the gentle hills and the Susquehanna, with nothing to consult but your imagination.

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The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of MusicFive Straight Days of Free Concerts, to be Exact, Courtesy of the Seventy-Fifth

Annual Pennsylvania State Laurel Festival By Maggie Barnes

Have you ever found a great bar-gain? Something that made you feel you were very lucky to get

it? Ever tell anyone about your stroke of good fortune? Sure you did. We all like to share tips with our friends about how to get more out of life, especially when the price is right.

The price doesn’t get any more right when it comes to the 2016 Pennsylva-nia State Laurel Festival Concert Series. The organizers have pulled off a genuine coup; for five days in June during the fes-

tival there will be a musical happening of some genre with a ticket price of exactly zero. Plan your calendar properly and you can fill your ears with glorious sound for a week and not spend a penny.

This piece of magic was made pos-sible by some generous underwriting from the Wellsboro Concert Association, people who know a thing or two about music. Julie VanNess, executive director of the Wellsboro Area Chamber of Com-merce, said outstanding community sup-port made it possible to offer so many

days of free music. “There is a variety of music to suit

just about everyone. We do family stuff, bluegrass, country, more classical, the whole gamut. And it’s not just local groups, although they are very good. We have some regional and even national folks coming to play for our festival.”

Add to that musical potpourri the vision of outdoor concerts and meeting some of the area’s finest young ladies vy-ing for the title of Queen and you have a scene that would make Norman Rock-

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See Laurel Festival on page 26

well’s fingers inch for his paintbrush.The joyful noise kicks off on Sunday, June 12. The Wednes-

day Morning Musicales Chorus will raise their voices in the Unit-ed Methodist Church of Wellsboro at 7 p.m.

Monday evening, June 13, Callanish will take the stage at the Coolidge Theatre in the Dean Center at 7 p.m. This is your chance to channel your inner Riverdancer. The all-female group hails from central Pennsylvania and makes it their mission to bring the music of Ireland and Scotland to our mountains. A fabulous stew of instruments, from a fiddle and a flute to a concertina and a whistle will join with that sweet three-part harmony to make you dream of a thatched-roofed cottage on a rocky shore. The band has a packed schedule of festivals to play when the weather warms. They also have CDs in circulation.

Tuesday, June 14, brings Megan McGarry to the Coolidge Theatre at the Deane Center for the Performing Arts. Deane Center Director Kevin Connelly gushes about the talented young lady, who is attending the Berklee College of Music. “She is a wonderful musician, singer, and songwriter.” Playing the fiddle and the claw hammer banjo, the only thing brighter than Megan’s music is her smile. Her concert on Tuesday starts at 7 p.m.

In a week of exceptional performances, one of the most an-ticipated is that of the “Almost Famous” Wellsboro Town Band. Director Adam Brennan will lead a group of local folks who range from high school freshmen to the retired set. As Julie says, “Ev-eryone loves the Town Band.” Everyone includes the residents at the Green Home and the local boy scouts, who make sure no one is left out. Just before show time, you can see the scouts making their way to the Wellsboro Green, pushing wheelchairs and assist-ing the seniors in getting settled in for the music.

As they have for the last two years, the Wellsboro Town Band will fill the Wellsboro Green with music on Wednesday, June 15 at 7 p.m. Take those lawn chairs and picnic baskets out of winter storage and get ready to make an evening of it. Cheering on the Wellsboro Town Band also helps plant the seeds for the region’s musical future. High school musicians who participate with the group can receive money to support their plans to attend summer music camp.

Thursday evening brings a real piece of Americana to the First Presbyterian Church of Wellsboro. Where else but a charm-ing small town could produce the Wellsboro Men’s and Women’s Choruses? Their annual musical offering begins at 7 p.m. at the church at 130 Main Street. You haven’t really experience all the Laurel Festival has to offer until you have listened to your dentist sing!

Friday brings a foot-stomping crescendo to the workweek with the Zydeco Trail Riders. A popular group from New York State, the Zydeco Trail Riders bring a swinging sound that marries the best of country and bluegrass. Kevin said a recent improve-ment on the Deane Center outdoor stage will make things more comfortable for the performers.

“We put up a new awning on the stage, so the musicians can be out of the elements a little.”

There is also a very good reason to be early to the Zydeco Trail Riders performance. Starting at 4:30 p.m., the ladies competing in the Laurel Festival Queen’s contest will be formally introduced as a part of the week’s festivities.

“This is a band you can dance to,” Kevin relates. “And since they follow the introduction of the Queen candidates, the ladies are right in the mix, dancing with their families and friends.”

The Deane Center is serving as headquarters for the Laurel Queen contest, and Kevin says they are thrilled about that.

“We wanted to enhance the idea that the festival is several days long, with different things to do each day. Everything about the Queens will be done with us, so it’s nice to be involved so heavily.”

Saturday, as any veteran of the Laurel Festival knows, is a moveable feast of music with the two-hour parade. Stage shows crank up again on Sunday, June 19 at 2 p.m. back on the Deane outdoor stage with Jim Gaudet and the Railroad Boys. This is a national group that celebrates the native sound of American country and bluegrass music, roaming the northeast in the warm weather months with stops at large festivals.

So, there you have it. A week of glorious sound, some of which, Mother Nature cooperating, will take place in the sweet summer air in the heart of the Endless Mountains. For more de-tails on the entire Laurel Festival, visit the Wellsboro Chamber of Commerce Web site at www.wellsboropa.com.

A more heart lifting, toe tapping, finger-snapping bargain is not to be found. See you at the shows!

Maggie Barnes is a two-time recipient of the Keystone Press Award for her columns in Mountain Home. She lives in Waverly, New York.

Making a Joyful NoiseBeloved Local Musicians Will Entertain

the Laurel Festival CrowdsBy Pat Davis

The Wednesday Morning Musicales Chorus will be the opening act of almost a week of Laurel Festival concerts. The chorus, from the organization of the same name, and

one of Wellsboro’s oldest organizations, contains both men and women—soprano, alto, tenor, and bass—who are able to rehearse together on a Wednesday morning. They will be performing at the Wellsboro United Methodist Church, at the corner of Main and Queen Streets, Sunday, June 12th, at 7 p.m.

Diana Frazier will direct the group, accompanied by Marian Miller, and Kate Means accompanying some music on flute. They are Wellsboro residents all.

Also headlining the evening will be two Barbershop quartets: an eight-numbered, double-quartet of women called Beauty Shop 4 and More, and a fairly new four-man quartet from the Wells-boro Men’s Chorus, called A Work in Progress. Each will perform three numbers and one piece together, forming a triple quartet.

Some of the numbers the chorus will sing are: “We Are the Music Makers,” “Joy in the Morning,” “Battle of Jericho,” and a medley of American patriotic songs in honor of the upcoming Flag Day.

26

For many years this organization was a women-only group—and musicians-only, but in the past decade Wednes-day Morning Musicales has welcomed men into the organi-zation. The only requirement now is the enjoyment of music. And the group discovered they really enjoyed having a larger audience, too. •

What could be more perfect than an evening sitting on the Town Green in a folding chair or on a blanket, listening to the local town band, with the soothing sound of water from the Wynken, Blynken, and Nod statue nearby? You don’t have an answer, do you? And what a way, on Wednes-day, June 15th, at 7 p.m., to start the summer!

Every year our town band meets, rehearses, and gives four summer concerts on the town Green. Does it sound like a rollback in time? Not to folks in Wellsboro! Over the years, the band is called together by the director, who sends out the word. Not much coaxing is needed. Those who play band in-struments love the chance of coming together again to make exciting sounds and share their talents.

Director Adam Brennan, a professor of music at Mans-field University, “takes on” this wonderfully live and breath-ing organism, while its many members appear to enjoy being whipped into shape for each ensuing concert.

Who are his dazzling musicians? Why, they’re music stu-dents from high school and college, extraordinary ordinary people living in our community—teachers, parents, grand-parents, professional musicians, and seniors enjoying their time connecting with others.

Of course, if you’re a groupie, you’ll know the band calls itself, “The Almost World Famous Wellsboro Town Band”—a name given by one of its original players, way back “when.” You’ll also know the band gives out scholarships to deserving music students.

You can expect to hear sounds to transport you some-place else, sounds to let you sit deeper and more relaxed in your chair, and sounds to make you want to get up and march down the street. You’ll definitely be foot tapping and hand clapping by the end of the concert. Even though the band plays a variety of band music, expect now and then to have a surprise number from this talented group.

Should some rain come your way, the First Baptist Church on the corner will save the day—everyone will be invited inside!

•For a number of years the Laurel Festival committee

supported and planned a week of evening concerts preced-ing the festival’s large weekend of culminating events. These concerts involved local soloists and/or groups of varying types of music performing mostly for the local community. Wellsboro and the local county have been blessed with a large amount of interest in the arts and the many musical groups flourishing in the area.

One of the holdovers from this not too ancient past is the Thursday night concert held in Wellsboro’s First Presbyterian Church, 131 Main Street, this year on June 16 at 7 p.m. For more years than most of us can recall, the evening has been headlined by The Wellsboro Women’s and the Wellsboro

Laurel Festival continued from page 25

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Hay, There!By Gayle Morrow

June is typically a lush month, with the natural world in the thick of buds, blooms, and potential. For farmers

and those who depend on them (that’s you and me), it’s time to cast a weather eye to the sky and think about hay. And there are so many more things to know about hay besides making it when the sun shines, although that might be the cardinal rule. I don’t know the chemistry behind the heat-generating capabilities of wet bales, but the fire potential is huge.

So: “Make sure it’s dry when you put it in the barn,” says Mike Kichline, who, with his mom, Linda, runs Kichline Farm, over near Welsh Settlement. It de-pends on the kind of grass being cut and whether you are putting up square bales or round ones (more on those choices in a minute), but three full good drying days is best and four is sometimes better.

What kind of grass makes good hay? Pennsylvania is, according to a recent Penn State agronomy guide, the tenth largest producer of hay in the United States, and we grow all kinds of it.

Alfalfa, a high-yield and nutrient-dense animal feed, is the state’s largest single for-age crop; half of the total hay production is alfalfa. It does, however, prefer well-drained soils.

“Alfalfa doesn’t like wet feet or clay soils,” notes Tim Webster, who, with his son, Todd, raises grass-fed beef, pigs, and crops on the family’s Dutch Hill Road Hillstone Farms (you can find them at the Wellsboro Growers’ Market on Thurs-days). So, while acres of alfalfa would be ideal, most Tioga County soils are not particularly suited for that kind of pro-duction.

What does work well here are timothy, tall fescue, and birdsfoot trefoil. Mike Kichline calls trefoil, which is ac-tually a legume, “the poor man’s alfalfa” and incorporates it into the farm’s grass mix for reseeding the hay fields. Timothy is a bunch grass that makes a good hay in combination with trefoil, alfalfa, and red clover. Tall fescue works fine on its own for hay, or with some clovers.

“It is hard to make good clover hay,”

in part because clover has a higher moist-er content, Mike says. Clover makes good pasture, however.

As for the round/square bale debate, Mike and Linda think it’s good to have options. A round baler is a labor saver, and when it comes to getting hay out of the field, their motto is “leave no bale be-hind.” Considerations include whether the hay is intended for immediate con-sumption or is to be stored for sale/use throughout the year. They don’t have livestock, so their hay is a cash crop (full disclosure—I buy some of my horse hay from them, and my guys love it; my other source, Rick and Janelle Davis, have fabu-lous hay as well). Storage is a factor, too, and while Mike is the first to admit that the Kichline’s huge old barn is “awesome when it’s empty,” he says the best part of haying is “when it’s all put in.”

Keystone Press Award-winning columnist Gayle Morrow is the former editor of the Wellsboro Gazette.

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I Love My CarWhat Is It With Men and All Their Automotive Maintenance Rules?

By Maggie Barnes

“The car is making a funny noise.”

My husband will tell you that this is one of the most terrifying statements a wife can make to her spouse. According to him, it rates just above, “I ran into your old girlfriend today.” And just below, “I’m leaving you and I’m not taking the chil-dren.”

While the color had drained out of his face, I was serenely calm. Cars and I have always had a complicated relation-ship. I had owned quite a range. My first was a 1973 Dodge Charger with a V8 that would purr to me, “Wanna pass that truck? Relax, I’ve got this.” It was baby poop green and one day gave birth to a herd of tiny squirrels in the parking lot of my college.

Many years later, while working for a non-profit organization, I pulled into the parking lot of a dealership to pick up a donation. The owner and his father

watched me turn the car off, then, as was its habit, the car sputtered and rocked and choked for several moments more. As it did, I skillfully crawled over the passen-ger seat and exited, the driver’s door hav-ing long since rusted shut. (Considering I was in a dress at the time, I thought I was the very vision of grace.) Just as I reached the door, the car gave one last heave and threw up most of the contents of the ra-diator before falling silent.

Presenting myself to the owners, I was taken aback when the elder of the two turned to his son and said, “I’m not going to sleep tonight if she leaves in that car. Do something.”

It started when I needed it to. It stopped somewhere in the vicinity of where it should have. What was the prob-lem?

Crappy cars were just a way of life for me during my salad days, which con-sisted of lots of lettuce and not much else. I once had to sign a disclaimer before a

repair shop would let me leave. I had got-ten all the repairs I could afford, far fewer that the ones they recommended for, you know, “safe operation” and all that techni-cal mumbo-jumbo.

So, it was a treat to have a nice car, sold to me by that horrified and sym-pathetic car dealer. I loved that car and drove it for years. And years. It was that car I presented to my husband with my concern about noise.

I told Bob my ride would squeak when the brakes were applied. He of-fered to listen for himself, and I watched him pull away from the house. The first stop sign was not more than fifty feet down the street, so I could watch as the car shuddered to a halt. For a moment, it just sat there. Bob just sat there. I was bewildered.

Then the back-up lights came on and the vehicle rolled in reverse at a much slower pace. Bob got out and I immedi-ately noticed that the color had returned

31

to his face. It was gray. “How long has it been doing that?”

He braced himself against the hood, as if the power had gone out of his legs.

I shrugged. “A month or so.” In a whirlwind matter of minutes, we

were off to our neighborhood mechanic, but Bob insisted on driving my car with me following in his. Odd.

Bob and Kenny had a brief con-versation and the car expert promised a prompt look-see.

We hadn’t been home ten minutes when Kenny called and requested that “both of you come back right now.”

There sat my two-tone blue beauty, with the rear right tire removed. The car seemed to be balancing on a stack of concrete blocks, which I thought was the weirdest stand-in jack I ever saw.

Then I noticed that Kenny’s face had the same dingy tinge that I had seen ear-lier on my husband. What is it with these guys…a bladder infection?

“Maggie,” Kenny began in a strained voice. “I can’t repair this car.”

Before I could respond he brought me to the open rear hatch and pointed down.

“I wanted to put the back seat down to get a better look at the wheel wells. When I pulled the release tabs on your seat, the entire wheel fell off!”

Sure enough, the concrete blocks were doing what the tire used to: hold up the car. All around the blocks I could see clear to the floor of the garage.

“Okay,” I said, before noticing that my husband had put his hand over his mouth. “So, fix it.”

Kenny’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before his voice emerged.

Or rather the voice of a ten-year old girl

who has just been invited to a sleepover at Taylor Swift’s house.

“Fix it? I can’t fix this! Henry Ford couldn’t fix this!”

He dropped to his knees and rolled under the car, his face appearing in the gaping hole where the tire had been.

“Can you see me?”“Sure!”“You’re not supposed to!” Another technical conversation fol-

lowed, something about the shock tower rusting right out of the thing and taking the wheel with it.

I repeated my earlier shrug and of-fered a helpful suggestion.

“Just weld the tire back in.” Kenny was starting to look like that

cartoon illustration of what a heart at-tack victim looks like. His eyes bulged; his chest billowed in and out. The man should really cut down on the caffeine.

“Weld it?” He bellowed. “Weld it to what? There’s nothing there!” Again, I watched his grease-stained hands franti-cally wave under the car.

The diagnosis was tough to take. This vehicle had never let me down. It started every single time. It had the soul of a warrior. It had character and cour-age. The body had simply worn out. Was it not human? If you pricked it, would it not bleed black 10-30? After a talk with Bob about the full life my blue beauty had had, I decided to donate the car to re-search. The guys from the auto shop class at the high school came with a flatbed. I cried.

Today, I tool around in a pretty SUV with a dashboard that looks like I could launch the missiles at NORAD from it. It glides along with power-this and auto-that. I’m cocooned in a cockpit of sur-

round sound, side airbags, and cruise control. My current mechanic has clean hands, a spotless uniform, and a comput-er that tells him when my magic carpet has so much as a head cold.

What’s the fun in that?

Maggie Barnes is a two-time recipient of the Keystone Press Award for her columns in Mountain Home. She lives in Waverly, New York.

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COME FACE TO FACE WITH GLASS SEA CREATURES CMOG.ORG/EXHIBITS Fragile Legacy presents the spectacular work of Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka: intricate glass models of undersea creatures that were made in the 1800s but continue to inspire scientists and artists.

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Thursdays from June 9 through October 27, from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., the sidewalk leading to the Centerway Walking Bridge in Riverfront Centennial Park becomes

the locus of local flavor, as the Corning Farmers Market sets up shop for the day and local growers and creators spread out the region’s bounty. Established for precisely this reason—to pro-vide a direct link between local consumers and local producers of all things homegrown, fresh, and handmade—familiar local purveyors will be on hand this growing season, right next to the Corning Incorporated Headquarters building.

Already on board for 2016 are: Anything Ancestry (family history items, ancestry charts, quilts, pillows, and mugs); Baby-land Bold (tulle skirts, tutus, hairbands, and wands); Basically Bagels (homemade bagels, cookies, and sweets); Bertie’s Cot-tage Bakery (baked good and granola); Coco’s Café (breakfast and lunch food); Crooked Line Farm and Orchard (apples, plums, peaches, and possibly apricots); Ford Farms (assorted produce); Heavenly Soft Fibers (Alpaca raw fleece, rovings, and yarn, and accessories made from Alpaca fiber); KC De-signs (handcrafted granola and bagels); K&V Wood ’n’ Stones (handmade wooden models, wooden and stone jewelry, stone strands and components, and tools); Mending Thru Massage (chair massage); Muddy Fingers Farm (vegetables); Ort Fam-ily Farm (jams/jellies, herbal blends, teas, catnip mice, bagged catnip, fresh cut herbs, artisan breads, cookies, biscotti, pies, cakes, muffins, cinnamon buns, fresh unusual fruits, heirloom vegetable plants in June, and herb plants); Stewart Family Farms (maple syrup and products, produce, handmade items); The Flower Lady (fresh cut flowers, dried flowers, wreaths); Spare Time Goodness (candles, batik tee shirts and bibs, hand painted pendants, and DIY/natural cleaning and beauty); Sug-ar Haven Farms (syrups and various meats); and Sweet Peach Company (peaches).

When the market is in session, there is nothing more fresh or more local—and that is a special bounty all its own.

Corning’s Farmers MarketBy Teresa Banik Capuzzo

34

F O O D & D R I N K

His Favorite ThingsBy Cornelius O’Donnell

Neal’s Treasure Trove of Must-Have Gizmos—A Love Story

This isn’t exactly a story about ro-mance, but it is about affection, and I’m writing today about the favorite objects that I use almost every time I cook. Call them tools; call them gadgets. I call most of them “essentials,” as they give me the confidence to plunge into new and old fa-vorite recipes. Of course, I’m singing “My Favorite Things” as I write this, mangling the words to fit the item in question.

It was while I was standing at the sink washing my favorite wooden spoon that I got the bright idea to write about my treasures. The spoon is one I picked up years ago—probably at a yard sale and most likely for a buck at most. I could tell at a glance that it was handmade with a nice deep rounded bowl. It had a few

discolorations as evidence of its use over the years. (My mom, the antiques lover, would call it patina. She pronounced it pat-in-ah and gave me “the look” when I’d say pah-tina.) Nonetheless, I cherish this and some of the newer helpers equally.

Next there are the wooden spoons or spatulas I set aside for incorporating garlic, onion, and other strong flavors. I mark the handle with colored pen. The wooden tools without the color go to-ward sweetness and light—soufflés for instance.

Worth Every Penny—to a CookI might point out that none of these

treasures are pricey. Take the two Mi-croplane zesters/graters in my kitchen drawer; more often, one or the other are

waiting patiently on the counter for me to almost instantly create a little pile of citrus zest (using the shaft with the tiny holes) to brighten most any culinary cre-ation. Or the one with the larger holes to produce the small shreds of hard cheese to add a finishing touch to pastas, salads, slices (or croutons) of toasted bread, or maybe a topping for a cooked vegeta-ble—the uses are endless.

I love serving good old-fashioned creamed (or simply boiled and buttered) spinach. But even when I cook the rinsed leaves in the microwave (in a Pyrex bowl with a glass pie plate on the top to pro-duce steam), I want to get out the excess water before serving the dish. So I grab my shiny stainless ricer. Out streams the

35

excess water (save it for soup!). It’s indispensable for turning cooked and drained sweet or regular potatoes, or rutabaga or turnips or carrots (and the like) into mounds of smooth-fluff-iness just waiting for the butter or the gravy that makes them a perfect accompaniment to a marvelous main dish. And just a reminder: use a potato masher if you must for spuds, but never the processor. You’ll end up with glue if you do. Trust me. Get a ricer.

More StuffI love those heat-resistant rubber spatulas for moving the

puree around. I have a large, medium, and small version. It seems to me you’ll need all three. And I have a series of peel-ers, some shaped like a Y—you pull the peel toward you—and a serrated version of a straight peeler that removes tender fruit or vegetable skin—tomatoes, for instance. No need to par-boil these love apples, love.

And I marvel at TV chefs who continue to try to scoop up chopped herbs or onions with their hands then add them to a pot. “For heaven’s sake,” I yell in frustration to the figure on the screen, “get a pastry or bench scraper!” They make quick work of gathering errant bits of tarragon, chives, scal-lions, shallots, nuts, and what have you.

My Favorite SqueezeMy grandmother didn’t leave any stocks, bonds, or pre-

cious jewels. But I treasure the cast iron citrus squeezer from her kitchen. It’s so simple: zest the lemon or lime (oranges probably would be too big), then get the juice by cutting the fruit in half, placing it in the squeezer and squeeze one side into the other. The pips stay in the holder and there is your acidy elixir. Grannie’s treasure also has a prong feature and it flips out the used fruit half.

For getting fresh orange juice with no seeds, see if you can find a similar juicer to the two-piece plastic thing-y I’ve had for years. It doesn’t hold much, but I cheerfully empty the juice a few times because the seeds and pulp are corralled in the metal rim. And while I love the shape of wooden reamers, you just have to put the juice into a strainer before using.

My un-favorite squeeze? The chore of opening bottle caps, jar lids, and the like is formidable, thanks to my slightly arthritic hands. They just don’t work that well anymore nor does running the offending cap under hot water to soften the sticky stuff like syrup or jam, or bashing it flat on the coun-ter or floor to break the “seal.” That’s why I love my handy, dandy multi-sized opener. Small or large, this tool opens all. What a thrilling feeling to hear that “snap” or “pop,” and it ain’t cereal.

Cup o’ SpoonsThat’s what I have on my counter. Spoon holders/warm-

ers were a Victorian table necessity (check out eBay) but I saw this simpler idea at a friends’, and I played copycat. Right next to my coffee maker I have a small container (actually an antique English cup) of coin silver spoons that I’ve picked up over the years in antique shops. I think these thin and very lightweight (and still very inexpensive) objects are almost sculptural when you hold them in your hand. There are shapes whose handles mimic coffins; others have a shell design on the tip, or a bouquet of flowers or sheaves of wheat (the decorated

See Rhubarb on page 36

36

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spoons cost more, however). Since they are lightweight, I use them for soft desserts, pureed soups (especially the larger coin dessert spoons), or vegetables, sauces, or finely cut fruit salad. And, of course, they make great stirrers for hot chocolate or coffee and tea. I love the way they conduct the heat. (I am easily fascinated.)

For Example…To illustrate how I use some of these treasures why not try

this terrific dish to make in small ramekins? It can precede a grilled meat main course or perhaps roasted chicken. I would be tempted to serve larger portions as a main course, perhaps on a bed of that pureed spinach I mentioned—fresh from the ricer. Can’t you picture a highly polished coin silver spoon at each place setting? No heavy lifting involved.

I sometimes use that curved and serrated tool that burrows into the shrimp knife that facilitates shelling and removing the vein. And as for separating egg yolks from the whites, look no farther that your palm. Roll the egg gently and let the whites slip through your fingers.

Shellfish RamekinsThis—in small portions—can serve six to eight (or, as a

main course, plan on four servings). Of course, you can double the recipe. The fishes won’t mind. The spinach puree is optional but delicious.

1 c. chopped fresh clams, with liquid, or 1 can (6 ½ oz.) minced clams, with liquid

1/3 c. dry white wine (try Finger Lakes Rieslings)1 lb. sea scallops (cut in half if large) or bay scallops1 c. half-and-half2 Tbsp. butter2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour2 eggs, yolks only (see head note), well beaten½ lb. shrimp, shelled and cut in half so they maintain the

curve, then deveined 6 Tbsp. freshly grated (see Microplane, above), Parmesan,

preferably Parmigiano Reggiano from Italy (splurge!)1 heaping tsp. lemon zest (see Microplane)2 Tbsp. lemon juice (see lemon squeezer)2 Tbsp. finely chopped chives (see bench scraper) and maybe

some dill or fennel fronds, if you like those flavors (I do)½ c. Panko or plain dried bread crumbs

Optional:1 c. cooked and pureed spinach, tossed with ½ tsp. freshly

grated nutmeg (or to taste) (see ricer and Microplane)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Drain the juice from the fresh or canned clams into a 2-quart saucepan. Add the wine and the scallops. Cook over low heat until the scallops just turn white, about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the scallops with a slotted spoon. Reserve.

Measure the cooking liquid. There should be ¾ cup. If more, pour the liquid back into the saucepan and reduce by boiling. Now add the half-and-half and warm this liquid over low heat. Melt the butter in another saucepan or in a large Pyrex measuring cup in the microwave. Add the flour and cook, stir-ring constantly with a heat-resistant spatula (see article). Gradu-

Rhubarb continued from page 35

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ally add the half-and-half mixture and cook, stirring constantly, until the sauce just reaches the boiling point and thickens.

Beat about ½ cup of this hot sauce slowly into the eggs yolks and then pour this back into the saucepan. (Still with me? Good.) Add 4 tablespoons of the cheese and cook for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat; gently stir in the clams, scallops and shrimp along with the lemon zest and juice.

Spoon equal amounts of the spinach puree, if using, into 4 buttered 10-ounce ovenproof dishes (for the main course serv-ing) or 8 smaller ramekins for a hors d’oeuvre version. Top the spinach with equal amounts of the seafood. Mix the remaining 2 tablespoons cheese with the herbs (if using) and sprinkle over each dish.

Bake in the preheated oven for about 8 to 12 minutes until the shrimp is pink and the mixture is bubbling hot. Check: you might need less time for the smaller portions and a minute or two longer for the main course serving. Don’t overcook, as the ramekins will continue to cook for a bit out of the oven.

Although I’m writing this in my book-lined office, I feel like I’ve gone to some culinary confessional. I’m sure I’ve missed a few dozen more favorites with visions of little pullers for straw-berry leaves and cores, and how could I forget my Silpat silicone baking mats? Brace yourself: I’ll be back with more can’t-do-withouts.

Chef, teacher, author, and award-winning columnist Cornelius O’Donnell lives in Elmira, New York.

From scrapers to zesters: everyone has his or her favorites.

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Thirty-eight years later, the Tioga County Sheriff wanted Mike Welsh to reveal the hidden location. Welsh struck a deal, saying that he could return the bonds in exchange for re-lease. He led the police to Bradford County, Pennsylvania, where he said a man named Dugan had harbored the thieves after the robbery.

Dugan had died, but police searched his house and found some of the bonds in a trunk…along with other securities from other robberies. Welsh told police that after the crime, the burglars had divvied up the cash and Cosgrove had taken the securities to 6th Street in Manhattan, where an Irish diamond broker known for fenc-ing goods gave him cash for some of the securities. Those he couldn’t sell, Welsh said, had been stashed in the Bradford County trunk.

•Charles Cosgrove and Orson

Cook died as broken men. At Eastern State, consumption killed Cook be-fore his term ended. Cosgrove, whose health also deteriorated in solitary confinement, converted to Christian-ity and earned an early release for good behavior. In 1891, seventeen years after his trial, he remembered the judge who had sentenced him in the Wellsboro case. By then, Judge Henry W. Wil-liams had become a justice in the Penn-sylvania Supreme Court and lived in Philadelphia. Cosgrove wrote to Wil-liams and invited him to his baptism, which the judge attended. The former burglar moved to New York, where the papers would mention him again only as a poor and ill man that a modestly successful actor supported.

When asked to consider Cos-grove’s supposed spiritual transforma-tion, Judge Williams said he believed the experience was real. The former criminal had convinced him that it was so.

Inspired and haunted by true stories, Key-stone Award-winning writer Carrie Ha-gen is the author of We Is Got Him: The Kidnapping that Changed America. She lives in Philadelphia.

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Robbery continued from page 13

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FOR SALE

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Men’s Choruses. Both groups bring together about seventy voices of diver-gent ages, careers, likes, family mem-bers, and musical abilities—all because of their love of music, gift of song, and connectedness to each other.

Both groups recently and success-fully completed the spring concert With a Song in Our Hearts at the Wellsboro Methodist Church to a full capacity audience. It was reported that both the men and women sang “Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better”—and that they broke the record of the longest held note ever. It’s also rumored they will try to break their record again dur-ing Laurel Festival Week. But who will do it—the men or the women? And who will do it better, higher, lower?

How can groups like this be suc-cessful for so many years? There is no one answer, but rather a number of them: everyone involved loves what they do; they have long-committed directors and accompanists; and they have a wonderful and receptive com-munity to support them. Directing the women will be Diana Frazier accompa-nied by Judy Smithgall. Directing the men will be Don Schauer, accompa-nied by me (Pat Davis).

Included in the women’s numbers will be “Get On Your Feet,” “Thank-ful,” “It’s My Party,” selections from My Fair Lady, and some inspirational, patriotic, and fun numbers. Some of the men’s numbers will include “Yakety Yak,” “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” “Lord Listen To Your Children,” “Pie Jesu,” and other songs in their reper-toire. Would you like to see an entire group of men performing together on a musical instrument? They will be, at this concert.

While each group enjoys their au-tonomy, they really enjoy the camara-derie of joining together to finish their evening’s music making. Chances are, the entire audience will join them in a final song. We bet you’ll leave the place with a lighter step and a song in your heart.

Patricia Brown Davis is a professional musician and a memoirist.

Laurel Festival continued from page 26

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Laurels in the Mist

My friend Bernadette and I love to share sunrises together as we go out to see what our cameras can see. This particular day, in June, we fired up my Miata, threw the top down, and drove the curvy road to Colton Point State Park. At the top of the mountain, we rushed to the lookout to watch the sun come up. After some silly

selfies (as only BFFs can do), we walked out the Rim Trail at the park. The Rim trail has many gorgeous vistas along the way, a good peek at the park pavilions, and, as you can see, lots of mountain laurel. This day was perfect. The fog shrouding the gorge was ethereal. The laurel was in its prime. And, of course, I was with my good friend. This photo brings those memories back today…and always. Come walk the Rim trail with YOUR best friend.

B A C K O F T H E M O U N TA I N

By Linda Stager

43

44

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