Bob Read
docbob@jayco.net

Table of Contents

The Reverend Coleman came to Franklin to preach from the perch of the Methodist Church. I wish I could recall the exact year, it was before the Reverends Gillis, Junk, and Washburn. Sometime in the 1930s.

I was young and probably paid little attention to the text of Reverend Coleman’s sermons, but some things about him stuck to my memory. Like the way he dressed up, formal looking, coat and vest, and the precise way he said his words. No-one in Franklin talked fancy like that, just like a movie star. And he had two gold teeth, one up and one down. When he pronounced certain words those teeth, or something in his mouth, caused him to whistle. When he said "Jesus Christ" he whistled twice. Honest.

Reverend Coleman had the members all buzzing on several occasions. One time he tried to increase attendance by hiding a dollar bill in one of the hymnals. Should have seen folks arriving early and checking hymnals after the first week of that. Didn’t last long; I doubt he could afford it.

Another time the church coal burner in the basement gave up the ghost and there was no money in the treasury for a replacement. The next Sunday the sermon was replaced by a sort of reverse auction.

"Brothers, how much will you bid to finance a new furnace? How about you Brother Keplinger, will you open for twenty-five dollars? And you, Brother Ranson, will you add another twenty-five? Brother Dahman, don’t duck down like that! I’m certain you want to add at least twenty to our total."

On it went until the cost of a fine furnace was committed. Much grumbling could be heard as the trapped members clapped on their hats at the door and stomped off toward home. I have heard that there were some private discussions with Reverend Coleman; he was discouraged from trying for a new stained glass window.

Heck Tulpin operated a harness shop and men’s social center in the Odd Fellows Lodge Building, which he occupied jointly with the Franklin Post Office.

Boys were not invited to visit, but on rare occasions I managed to pay a visit so that Mr. Tulpin could glue a generous slice of harness leather on the sole of a worn shoe.

It was a heady place. Leather harness hung along the back wall. A stove warmed a circle of older men shrouded in pipe smoke and the smell of neat's-foot oil

. In years gone by, the shop was larger and busier, but, by the time of my memory, it functioned more as a social center, a loafing place. And, it was known as the liars’ club. The regular members, Fred Scott, Henry Mansfield, Finis Seymour and others often sat for long spells, filling, tamping, lighting and smoking favorite pipes, saying not a word. Then one would clear his throat to announce an approaching statement.

" Did you hear what happened to Newt Hobbs last week? He was trying to tighten the bolts on his windmill, got right up to the top, and dropped his wrench. Darned thing almost hit the ground before he caught up with it!"

Long silence, absolutely no laughter nor expression of disbelief.

Another throat is cleared. Ashes knocked from a pipe into the coal bucket.

"Puts me in mind of the time Newt was tending the electric generator down at the Olinger Building. Newt bent to oil the shaft; he had a long beard, you know. Well, when he leaned over that shaft, his beard got caught on a setscrew.

Darn near wound up his whole beard before he got the generator shut off!"

Again, silence except for much spitting and pipe sucking. "Puts me in mind of the time Newt was trying to get his team and wagon to the barn ahead of a hailstorm. Almost killed a good team, but he thought he had beat the storm, ‘till he looked behind him and found the back of the wagon full of hailstones."

Winter days passed this way. Tales were repeated often, but no one minded. If a really entertaining lie was told Heck Tulpin would extract a heavy stock pencil from his shirt and write the author’s name and the date on the wood wall of the shop.

Fred Read was a dour man of few words who had little use for the habit of loafing in the harness shop or for telling tall tales. However, one fall he raised a spectacular crop of sweet potatoes, and he had a powerful urge to tell someone. He dropped in the harness shop, and with as much excitement as he ever demonstrated, he announced that he had dug a sweet potato as big as a half- gallon bucket. With exaggerated haste, Heck Tulpin reached for his pencil and wrote Granddad’s name and the date on the wall. It is my understanding that Granddad did not return to the harness shop for many weeks.

To a small town boy the Franklin State Bank was an awesome place. Frank Miller was always up front with a look that implied that boys had better be on their best behavior. In later years Dad’s distant cousin, Geraldine Hunt could be seen helping Lou Duncan do whatever it was that needed doing. But Allen Keplinger would go out of his way to greet me. Some thought he wasn’t so nice, perhaps because they wanted to borrow, but he was nice to me. Many times I wanted to tell him that something was dripping from his chin, but I hadn’t the nerve. Later I was glad I said nothing for I was told he "took snuff", and that’s what I saw. Allen and his wife, Gladys had two boys about my age with whom I was allowed to play. Allen gave me their cast-off bicycle, my first. A few years later he helped me to attend a summer camp. He was one of the "good folks".

Further back in the bank Allen’s older brother Miller held forth as bank president. I saw him in church on Sunday with Mrs. Keplinger who was one of the nicest and at the same time most exotic persons in Franklin. Alice Keplinger was French; a war bride Miller brought to Franklin from his adventure in the American Expeditionary Force in 1918.

Once each year, in the first week of January, I was invited to come to Mr. Miller Keplinger’s office at the back of the bank. I was treated as though I were an adult client. I was nervous. He took his time. I noticed he used snuff and wore buttoned shoes. He asked about school. He wondered what I might want to do after graduation from high school. He complimented me for my church attendance and my prompt delivery of his morning paper. Then he would pay me for the entire year’s subscription in advance, tell me how pleased he was to see me, and suggest I call on him should I have any problems.

I have no idea how others thought of the Franklin Bank and its people, but this boy thought they were wonderful.

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