Wisconsin R R-2
It is time I acknowledge some letters for readers. I find it
hard to reply to all letters personally, so please excuse. Thank
In October of ’73 I received a letter from Amwel D. Williams
of Randolph, Wis. Yes, Mr. W., I did attend the Welsh Hymn Sing at
Peniel Church. How those Welshmen could sing! The day was a hot one
over ninety degrees.
Recently a letter came from Mrs. Leonard Sladky of Francis
Creek, Wis. She sent me an up to date picture of my ‘Huffa
Huffa Boy’ whom I mentioned in a column a short time ago. He is
now a handsome lad of 9-1/2 years, so when I met him at Beaver Dam
he must have been about 3. Thank you for writing, Mrs. Sladky. I
assume you are his grandmother.
Bob Vilwock and his wife from Plymouth dropped by to chat
lately. A nice surprise. Earlier this year we called on the Jerome
Pfieffers at Belgium. Mr. Pfieffer has a well equipped shop, and
was working on a 10 H.P. Reeves miniature engine which will stand
about four feet tall.
On another winter day we drove to Waukesha where we spent some
time with Rolland and Mary Buslaff. It was an eye opening
experience to see what they have done with an old two-room school
house. They have converted this into a combination shop and
dwelling place. It is the home of the two of them and their grown
The feature that intrigued me the most was the little ticket
window they pushed up between house and shop to relay their
messages to one another. The telephone was here as well. They could
shove it either way, and talk from house or dividing hall. The
place was filled with antiques. Mrs. Buslaff is a skilled knitter
and I duly admired her stocking caps of many colors. About a week
later a package arrived in our rural mail box and here was a warm
stocking cap to bless me during Wisconsin’s cold winters.
Another feature in their home is an indoor porch swing . . . the
wooden slatted kind. She has a long table in front of this, and
here she swings and knits, swings and knits, and, I expect, studies
her patterns between swings and knits. Than you again, Mary. I feel
quite cocky in that cap.
In February I received a letter from a steam friend Rupert J.
Jordan of Sycamore, Ill. Mr. Jordan was the first president of the
Northern Illinois Steam Power Club, and has been active in it all
these years. He has owned several engines through the years. But
Mr. Jordan also writes poetry. I am passing on a poem he wrote in
memory of his wife who passed away in January of 1967. I believe
all you ladies will be touched by it, as I was. It is entitled