By HH (Hub) Brown of Owego
I have often mentioned my brother Bob, who is now nearing his 95th birthday, is 2 1/4 yrs older than I am. I never forget his birthday, in fact for years, his was the only one in our family, besides my own, that I did remember. This was because of the way he announced his own, for as a little kid he always said his birthday came on the "17th of Knocktober."
The man that owned the farm where we lived when we were small thought that Dad should get a pair of Guernsey bull calves and raise a yoke of oxen. Dad and the hired man scoured the neighborhood till they found a yoke small enough to fit young calves. They had to steam and bend hickory bows small enough to fit calves and the small yoke. As Bob was always the front runner he was picked as trainer. After the two men helped get the idea of what was wanted into the calves' heads, their training was turned over to Bob. After they had found that they were supposed to travel side by side, Bob hooked them to an old gate which they dragged around like a sled. Saturday mornings there was always a gathering of farm kids at our place. I can still see the calves hooked to the gate with several boys bent over hanging on to that old gate when Bob started them off. There was a small stream that ran through the pasture and those calves seemed to know where there was a good sized pool for they headed right far it. When they hit the pool, water and boys splashed off in all directions.
When they got to be about a year old and were fairly well trained they were altered and made into oxen. From then on the old banker seemed to lose interest in them and they just ran in and out with the cows. Bob made a pet of one of them, and when he would go to fetch the cows in the afternoon he used to climb up on this one's back and lay his head down and stay there for a while. One day, he was doing this and the ox swing his head with his tongue out to dislodge a fly when the end of his sharp horn hit Bob in the cheek, punching a hole inside. It was on a Saturday and the folks and the hired man had gone to town. That was the custom to meet with the owner, taking him butter, some cream and eggs or other produce. We three boys also had a habit of having a snack after the cows were in for we knew we wouldn't have supper until after the folks got home. This afternoon we were having oyster crackers and milk. I looked at Bob with
the hole in his face and said, "Bob you have two mouths tonight." So Bob picked up a cracker and shoved it through that hole the horn had made.
Years later, after we had moved to Union, New York. (The part we lived in was still called Union for they still hadn't joined with Endicott. And if talking to an old timer, you still were supposed to say "Union.") Ideal Hospital was under construction and our house was right across Davis Avenue and the lawn of the hospital. Instead of hoisting concrete up with a crane, they had built ramps, two to a floor, and the workers pushed wheelbarrows up these.
One evening, after the workers had finished, Bob rode his motorcycle up these ramps to the fourth floor of the building. Bob said going up wasn't bad, but coming back down was a little scary as there was some sand and loose concrete which would let the tires slide some and the light railings were only intended to show where the edge of the platform was and not to stop a motorcycle from going over the side.