A Boy in Lancaster NY

John Webb Kellogg was born in Buffalo, NY in 1899 and grew up in the nearby village of Lancaster.  His parents were 18-yr-old Esther Clara Webb and 44-yr-old Charles Henry Kellogg Jr.

 John had a lifelong interest in history, but sadly, not in genealogy.  John was a high-detail, focused person as you will soon see in excerpts of his story, "75 Years -- Where Did They Go?"  His entire story, written in 1974, is part of Pieces of a Life.

There are those who would say he wore blinders like a horse, so preoccupied with whatever drew him at the time.  He could then race straight ahead to his goal.  Like so many things, being very focused is both a plus and a minus, but a strong Kellogg trait.

John describes the house pictured in detail, but not colors or decor or even how the rooms were laid out.
(The picture is from 1940 when the house would have been 60 or more years old and was no longer on
3 1/2 acres.)  "Our house had been built many years before we bought and had about 20 rooms.  It had two floors, plus a cement floor, full basement.  In the basement there was a furnace in which we burned hard coal and which gave hot air through ducts to the two living rooms and dining room on the first floor, also to both second floor front bedrooms.  The first floor also had a large kitchen and pantry, which were heated by a large range primarily used for cooking or baking. Water came from the kitchen sink pump or a large pump outside, sheltered from rain or snow."

As you can see, I wasn't kidding about John's delight in detail!  "In the back of our land was a high hill that no one seemed to own.  Lancaster, being at the east end of Lake Erie, gets a lot of snow. After each snowfall dozens of small boys and girls would take their Flexible Flyers to the hill for a long coast down.  

Sometimes we would make tracks; simply do not steer or guide the path it took.  Thereafter, it would follow those tracks each time it went down.  At times in the day the sun would melt the top layers of snow and at night it would turn cold so the crust would get hard.  Lads would then take out their sled on a moonlit night and push it along the top of the crusty snow with a stick that had a spike pounded in one end.  The head of the nail had been sharpened. This spike made fast travel under these special conditions.  

This idyllic childhood continued until I was about 13 when Father died, leaving a family in an expensive setup and no money to pay the bills.  But that comes later."