The following was sent to me by the granddaughter of Len Sargent (b. 1885), who published his collection of stories in a book entitled Sawdust in 1973. The Len's father (also named Len, b. 1860) ran the Stratford House in Stratford, WI in the late 1890's. It was a hotel with a saloon and dining room. She graciously has given permission for me to share this excerpt from Sawdust.
Loran Begin forwarded message: > > MUSIC > > Stratford Wisconsin in the 1890s was not noted for musical talent. > About the only music was furnished by Charles and Flur McCarty, > fiddlers. Mother brought a Harvard upright piano, learned the > chords and accompanied the fiddlers. She taught me the chords and > I used to give her a spell now and then. A teacher used to come > over from Marshfield and give us kids piano lessons. I learned the > scales and a few tunes, such as ?The Campbells are Coming.? > > CHORUS > > The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro! > The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro! > The Campbells are coming to bonnie LochLeven > The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro! > > March Rapids, a small sawmill town owned by the Doud Lumber Company > was located about seven miles fromStratford. Mr. Doud was > musically minded and encouraged his employers by furnishing them > with band instruments. The consequence was that they had several > good musicians over there and a first class brass band. They used > to come over to Stratford occasionally and furnish us with some > nice concerts. > > That encouraged some of us to start a band in Stratford. My dad > helped us along with the purchase of instruments which we bought > from Lyon & Healy of Chicago. I bought a slide trombone and before > I left Stratford in 1900 we had quite a respectful band. > > I went to my cousin?s wedding in Halder (the Irish Settlement) and > heard some music that I never forgot. The dance was in a good > sized hall and the music was furnished by one fiddler, and he was > good. The remarkable thing was that he fiddled with the bottom of > the fiddle resting on his knee and the neck against his chest > instead of the customary way. He sawed away all night and never > seemed to tire. I asked him why he fiddled in that odd manner. > > He answered ?It is easier than holding the fiddle to my chin and I > am left handed.? > > Once, some fellows came to town with an Edison phonograph. It had > small wax cylinder records and was equipped with rubber hoses and > ear phones. They charged 5 cents a listen and made good money. > Shortly after that a cigar salesman came along and sold dad ten > thousand cigars at eleven dollars a thousand. They were to sell at > a nickel, but they were not worth it. They were like sticks of > wood and would not smoke worth a cent. When men got drunk, they > would buy them and throw them away. The floor of the saloon was > always covered with these so called cigars. The reason dad bought > so many was that a phonograph was thrown in the deal and dad wanted > that phonograph. > > It was a nice little wax cylinder machine with a tin horn and it > had a recorder attachment. It arrived on a Saturday and that night > the saloon was crowded. Everybody wanted to hear that new > invention. Some of the boys older than I took it out of the case > and set it up back of the bar on our little safe. > > It was a big disappointment. They just could not make it talk, so > they took the horn off, put the cover on and gave up. > > I sneaked back of the bar and located the instruction book. I > discovered that the boys had a blank record on the machine. I > found a record with grooves cut in it. I wound up the crank, put > the re-producer against the record and started it up. Nobody paid > any attention to me, including my dad. He was agreeably surprised > as well as the entire crowd, when a loud clear voice rang out from > the little horn saying ?She was bred in old Kentucky.? >
