PADUTCH-LIFE-L Archives

From: "Vee L. Housman" <>
Subject: 13-Old Mike Blotner
Date: Sat, 08 Aug 1998 11:02:57 -0400

OLD MIKE BLOTNER

Thursday a week ago we disposed of old Mike Blotner. I say
disposed and that's what I mean. Animals are disposed of and
humans are buried. By that I mean he was an old horse.

Mike was the wealthiest man from far and wide. He had lots
of money and land but very few friends. I knew him ever since
childhood and his greediness began before he even learned to walk.
He was the greediest and stingiest man that I've ever heard of in all
my livelong life. It seemed that he swallowed every bite of his food
with a dash of spite for its loss in money, and when he attended
school with his little lunch kettle, he'd sit down as quietly as a
mouse in a corner so no one could watch him eating.

The Blotners usually had the nicest apples in the whole
neighborhood, and I recall that Mike used to grow pound apples so
large that it stood out all day like a bump in his pants pocket. He
seldom ate his apple and being too stingy to give it away, usually
carried it back home with him. When we played ball he usually sat
alone on a fence and watched us. He often said that ball playing
might tear his shoes up. When he was nearly thirty years old he
married Mary Mulbarger for her money. He paid the pastor with
three pounds of schnitz [dried apples]. She held two farms while so
far his greediness had only managed to squeeze one for him.

Finally the “squeezing” really got underway. Mornings they
were both up before the rooster crowed and by the time we'd be in
the fields, Billy would have already made a half dozen passes with
his plough on a six acre field. If he had hired help they were driven
like mules and fed bacon at noon meals until it became nearly
impossible for him to find any workers. More than once some acres
of wheat lay rotting on the ground from lack of helpers during
harvest time. Two pigs would hold the Blotners in meat and fat for
a whole year even though they sold the hams. Salt was cheap, only
25 cents a pound, so they oversalted their butter until storekeepers
refused to accept it for resale, and finally it got so bad that when
any of the Blotners came to town the store clerks would rather hide
behind shipping crates than to do business with them.

No one ever went to visit them, and the only public activity
that remained for the Blotners was their attendance at church for
one hour on Sundays. That was cheap enough--their Christianity
didn't cost them more than five cents a year. Mike thought he was a
great church singer, but his voice sounded a lot like the cry of a
half-submerged frog. It was no better than a gurgle. After they'd
been married a couple years, the Blotners had a daughter named
Molly. They did everything for their daughter that didn't cost
anything. They even let her get baptized so that she too could go to
heaven as long as it didn't cost anything. When his wife was
sixty-three years old she died--dead from overwork--and Mike
declared that he'd never again marry, since funerals are so
expensive. The daughter kept house for her father and time went
by.

Molly is now thirty years old, as thin as a rail and as ugly as a
stake fence. When the old man felt that his time was coming to an
end, he finally allowed her to keep company. He even encouraged
her to get married because he wanted to keep his wealth within the
family. Young men came to visit her, but none of them stayed
around for long. Like a trout hiding behind a rock, her suitors
would dart out and grab at the bait which was long kept bottled by
her father. Sometimes they'd nibble at the bait and wiggle the line,
but they'd let her go in the end. Jecky Bixler, Billy's son, tried it
one
night. He would've liked to have old Mike's money, but he couldn't
take it without taking Molly, and this was unacceptable. He said
one evening he sat at one end of the room and Molly sat at the
other. Every attempt to move closer to her ended in failure. Finally
she said,

"What are you thinking about, Jecky?"

"The same thing you are thinking of, I think!"

"Oh, well," she said, "just come over and try it once, and I'll
let you have it across the face!"

That really turned Jecky's stomach, and he was back home by
ten o'clock.

Well, like I said, we buried old Mike. Two-by-six feet is all
the land that he'll need to get into heaven, if that ever happens. And
if it does, I'll bet the first thing he'll do is argue with old Peter
about all the wasted gold laying about the streets.

But from old Mike's life we can learn a good lesson. It's a
warning against material wealth and moral poverty. A good-natured
man living in poverty may yet enjoy the taste of his food. Those
with material wealth and moral poverty can only enjoy the value of
their food.

You might say, "I know exactly what Gottlieb is saying about
Mike Blotner." Nossirree, you don't--there's more. If you reflect for
a moment you can pick out a dozen men just like Mike, and each
one of them will tell you that life brings nothing more than trouble
and worry for humans. They die wearing a yoke like an ox, but of
their own making, and are buried like animals. These men were
never of any human value to the world or to themselves, and the
only ones who show any interest in their passing are lawyers, casket
makers, and gravestone cutters.

* * *

Note: This collection of Boonastiel stories was written by H. A.
Harter in the original Penna-Dutch dialect and were published in the
Keystone Gazette, Bellefonte, PA, between 1894 and 1904. They
were translated and transcribed by Bob James of Alaska and they
are being posted to this PADUTCH-LIFE mailing list with his
permission.

This thread:

• 13-Old Mike Blotner by "Vee L. Housman" <>