Old Timers

By J. P. Curtis

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my boyhood
When fond recollections present them to view;
Of dear old West Plum Creek, and all the old timers
Whom I in my youth and simplicity knew.

There was Thorpe, the great hunter, who use to delight us
With stories of bears he had slaughtered galore
When questioned how many he’d killed, he made answer;
“I kep’ track of two hundred, then counted no more.”

Lindsay James and old Gott, and wiry Chris Manhart,
Ben Quick, and George Nickson and other old boys-
Lew Wells, and George Ratcliff of John Bull dimensions –
His agility checked by his avoird___(?)

Many years have gone by since I heard old John Kinner
Spin yarns in a voice lamentably this –
With a quick-witted mind and fun brimming over,
While the juice of tobacco moistened his chin.

There was old Peter Brennan with brogue quite Hiberman (?)
Who told of the days when he rambled around
Out of choice, so he said, he discarded a bed
And slept with more comfort upon the hard ground

But when Mrs. Brennan came out from Missouri
He had to give up the rough life that he led;
“And now.” Said old Pete. By the lovely Maria!
“I’d just as soon sleep in a soft feather bed.”

What mischief was played by the boys at the dances:
T’was no use for the victim to say he felt soar,
When he found that the burr was removed from the axle
And he had to remain for an hour or two more.

Then old Izett Stewart, from –“ower the water” –
His fiery temper sure none can forget:
When a “beastie” attempted to run past his daughter.
He cried out in rage. “Knock you eye out my pet.”

There was Myra a mannish and curious old spinster.
(Old Hill thought that she was a wonderful catch.)
So they went and got married and started housekeeping.
And everyone laughed at the comical match.

Now, Hill had a garden and Myra kept chickens.
That got out when the gate was not kept on the latch
They scratched up the garden and Hill played the dickens
By boiling the setting so’t the eggs wouldn’t hatch.

The old church on the hill, where oft on a Sunday
Our thoughts from the sermon inclined were to roam
On trades were took chances and talked about dances
And then raced our horses on the way home.

How well I remember Old Victor the Blacksmith:
Old Jarre, and Tom Buntals (who married a House):
Well digger Rogers and “Pap” Schaefermeyer,
Smoar and Tom Grady, and Jonathan House.

Gone are most of these people and so it behooves us.
To live a clean life while on this earth we dwell:
A few years, more or less, and we’ll all kick the bucket –
And where we’ll wind up at – no one can tell.

Colo. Hist. Newspaper Collection – Record Journal Jan 13, 1922.