Repository: UIHistories Project: Book - Banks of the Boneyard (Charles Kiler) [PAGE 72]

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After making my deliveries in Harrisburg and Steelton, I started down the Cumberland Valley to Mechanicsburg. The conductor on the Cumberland Valley Railroad knew everybody on his train and was most courteous; well-dressed too, for his blue uniform was made like a Prince Albert coat, resplendent with brass buttons; there was gold lace on his cap, his linen was immaculate, and he wore box-toed I had been advised to go to the home of Mrs. George Bobb in MechalttQsburg, and have been happy ever since in the recollections of that charming home. There were a few other boarders besides myself. Mr. Bobb was Mayor of the town, and in addition to the delicious food and kindly interest in me, Mrs. Bobb was the only housekeeper I have ever known who had a special dish on the table where a hearty eater could put chicken bones. She expected her boarders to eat several pieces of fried chicken, as well as several roasting ears of corn, and by golly she had a dish where one could put the remains. There was a Soldiers and Sailors Reunion at Gettysburg, and Mr. Bobb invited me to go down with him. The kindly Mr. Bobb piloted me over the battlefield pointing out spots where he had seen his friends mowed down. His descriptions were vivid and full of heroics, and of course some of them were terribly gruesome. The Marine Band from Washington was stationed over on Little Round Top across the valley from the town, and in the evening I heard for the first time the beautiful strains of "Little Annie Rooney." Please remember this was the summer of 1889 when "Annie Rooney" was a brand new song. We spent the night in the little brick hotel in front of which, according to a great poet, stood "Old John Brown of Gettysburg with his long rifle and picked the rebels off." I was tired and nervous and even the soothing strains of beautiful "Annie Rooney" failed to cool my fevered brow. That night, after a fitful sleep, I woke up to find a ghost dancing around the walls of my room. It seemed very real for a few minutes, but calm reason finally returned and I discovered that it was the reflection through a key-hole of an electric light bulb swaying in the wind out in the hall. The trip over the battlefield was an education worth-while to me. I returned to the sale of memberships in my Library Association feeling sure that war was such an awful thing it could never happen