/ t
William Churchill Gibson Boyd,
whose life span has been as lengthy
as his name, stole the show the
other night when New Bern Steam
Fire Engine Co. No, 1 held its an
nual dinner at the Maola opera
house.
A dapper youngster of 92, who is
yet to develop a middle-age paunch,
Boyd is the oldest living member
of the organization, which incident
ally is far better known as “Button
Company.”
It was Ladies Night, and this
grand old man of an all-but-forgot
ten era flashed his Southern court
liness to the utmost. It is easy to
see why feminine hearts used to
flutter, before the turn of the
century, when he came into close
proximity.
Called upon to speak at the
aforementioned dinner, Boyd gave
a witty recounting of the fire fight
ing he participated in as far back
as 75 years ago. He knew what it
was, as a teen-ager, to pull a hand
reel to the scene of some blaze at
the other end of town. An^ -he
knows how to tell about it, too.
“These early members of the But
ton company displayed unbeliev
able loyalty,” he told fellow fire
men, their wives and guests. “We
had nothing but shallow wells in
town, and our fire fighting equip
ment was exceedingly limited. But,
when the call for help came, the
local volunteer fire department
never failed to give its best for
the community.”
You could have heard a pin drop
in the opera house, as Boyd wist-
fuBy escorted his listerters along
Memory Lane. He spoke with un
derstandable affection of the old
fire horses, and how quickly they
pulled steamers and hose wagons
from the fire station.
“I remember how Joho Wright,
the driver, would pull the string
that released their drop harness,”
he mused, like a man talking soft
ly to himself. “Our station was
next to the present County jail,”
he said, “where Rodman Guion has
had his office for many years.”
There was no fire alarm system
in New Bern, when Boyd began
his career as a smoke-eater. “Some
body would yell at the scene of
the fire, and other citizeqs would
relay the call from block to block
until it reached the fire station.’'
With a twinkle in his eye, the
Button company’s oldest member
told how in his younger days he
not only sported a moustache, as
he does now, but a VanDyke
beard.
“Once,” he said, “while talking
to Louis Howard’s father in front
of their clothing store, a stranger
with Mr. Howard whispered some
thing in his ear.”
Mr. Howard laughed heartily,
and then introduced the stranger
as his brother, “He asked me which
rabbi you are,” Howard informed
Boyd, who then as now was a
staunch Episcopalian. In fact, he
is “Honorary Warden for Life” of
St. James Episcopal church at
Black Mountain.
On another occasion, poyd relat
ed, he was mistaken for a preach
er. When he informed the inquisi
tive party that he wasn’t, the man
shook his head. “You would have
made a helluva one,” he said.
Mrs. Mamie Hall, beloved widow
of Charles H. Hall, Sr., was a
guest at the delightful Ladies Night
affair, and impulsively stood up
for a bit of reminiscing herself,
when Boyd took his seat.
“I remember 'going to Mr. Boyd’s
office with my father, when I was
a little girl,” she recalled, “and he
was always very kind and polite. I
remember the thrill of seeing
those fire hofses too.”
Then she mentioned the terrify
ing occasion" when she saw one of
the fire engines turn over, .while
rounding a corner too sharply. The
engine went one way, the horses
another, and John Wright another,”
The NEW BERN
^ I] S
PUBLISHED WEEKLY
IN THE HEART OF
EASTERN NORTH
CAROLlFlA
5^ Per Copy
VOLUME
NEW BERN, N. C., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1958
NUMBER 29
MAKE WAY FOR DOBBIN—We have been running photos
of dogs, cats, calves, alligators and woodpeckers, so it’s
high time we displayed an honest-to-goodness horse, am
bling along Pollock street in the heart of New Bern’s busi
ness section. Historic Christ Episcopal church is in the
background, as Bill Benners snaps his camera. Speaking of
things historic, that carriage, its driver, and even Dobbin,
are all relics of the long lost past.
U. S. Week to Honor Horses
Having a National Save TTie
Horse Week to honor nags and
mules is a wonderful idea, but
New Bern’s horse population will
never hear about it.
The trusted steeds won’t know
about it, because they’ve been
dead these many years.' Paying
compliments to a deceased horse,
or a mule that stopped kicking
long ago, is as futile as bailing out
the ocean with a thimble. You just
don’t get anywhere, no matter how
hard ^ou try.
Maybe it’s different out in Colo
rado, where the Denver Post start
ed this whole idea. And of course
it’s different on television, where
horses gallop across the screen in
miich the same ratio that ants and
flies show up at a Sunday school
picnic in mid-August.
It wasn’t waning popularity, but
the march of modern gadgets that
consigned New Bern’s forlorn fugi
tives from a glue factory to obli
vion. There was nothing but obli
vion remaining, when the horse-
ppwer in gasoline englpes and the
watts in electric voltage replaced
bit, harness and reins.
First casualty was the horse wIm
pulled a local trash wagon, an?
doubled as a fire "horse. The fire
truck and garbage truck put him
out of commission, even as tractors
eliminated most horses and mules
on Craven county farms.
Then, of course, the good old
horse that used to haul dray into
your backyard, with a load of dry
kiln or slabs, met his doom too.
Those modern gas and electric
stoves, replacing the wood range
that your Ma cooked wonderful
vlttles on sentenced him to certain
extinction.
You need not be told what hap
pened to the horse that pulled the
ice wagon. You got to know him
real well as a kid, when you hop
ped on the back step of this en
chanted conveyance, and scooped
up chips of frozen pleasure While
the ice man was delivering a 50-
pound lump to Mrs. Jones on the
second floor.
The ice-wagon horse was a nice
horse. Much nicer, as we recall,
than the spirited critter at the
front of the milk wagon. He would
tap a nip at ybu, if you tried to
pat him, and the horse that pro
vided momentum for the bread
wagon was just about as ornery.
But the ice-wagon horse was
gentle, or maybe he was perpetu
ally tired. Anyhow, he obeyed the
ice man’s commands with unfalter
ing precision. The ice man called
to him from the sidewalk, or
porches, and his horse would take
a few steps along the oyster-shell
ed street until he was right smack
in front of the house where the
next Customer lived.
The most patient horse of all,
however, was the trash horse that
tumbled into a hole up to his neck,
when Metcalf street caved in near
the corner of Pollock.
It he was the least bit surprised,
he didn’t show it, and he waited
with astounding dignity while em-
plc^ees of the city labored to ex
tricate him from his unexpected
predicament.
Then there was the momentous
morning when a run-away mule
from James City headed straight
for Mitchell’s hardware store, and
dropped dead the moment he en
tered the store. It actually hap
pened.
Friends of the fmpular proprie
tor, Tom Mitchell, joshed him to •
fare-thee-well about the matter.
One wag insisted that the mule
keeled over* when he found out
how much Tom wanted for a set of
horse shoes.
All in all, New Bern’s horses
were good citizens. They never got
drunk, snitched nickels out of the
collection plate on Sunday morn
ing, or lived beyond their means.
It’s fitting indeed that they’re
being appreciated, along with
America’s other horses and mules.
But why did it have to happen too
late? '
Our Town Has Top Authority
On Real Dixieland Melodies
Don’t head for New Orleans or
Memphis, if you’re looking for a
nationally recognized expert on
Dixieland jazz.
Right here in New Bern you’ll
find one of the best, Don ‘Pops’
Campbell,, who has been described
as a crusader so humble, so self
less in his work that he is almost
apologetic for the honors stacked
knee-deep around him.
Superintendent and Greens-Keep-
er for the Cherry Point Golf
Course, he doesn’t play golf, but
can do things with a set of drums
that is a joy to fellow musicians.
Don got his training from the
truly great of his day, and at the
age of seven was taking format
she recalled.
It was a Ladies Night to remem
ber, and these old-timers made it
so.
lessons from Billy Dunningham,
the old-time vaudeville star.
Following basic study with Dun-
ningjjam, he went under the tute
lage of Simon Steinberg of the
Boston Symphony orchestra, and
eventually studied tympani under
the celebrated Lawrence Stone.
It is a matter of record that
Campbell has performed with the
Boston Pops, the Pittsburgh Sym
phony and the National Symphony.
He is prouder, we sukpect, to mer
it the distinction of having played
with Phil Napolean’s Original Mem
phis Five.
Among other noteworthy things
is the fact that he made recordings
with famed Red Nichols and his
Five Pennies. And Don will never
forget the time at The Flamingo,
a hot spot 10 miles out of Provi
dence, when he took part in an all-
night jam session with the one
and only “Fats” Waller.
Speaking of Providence, he play
ed in the Providence Symphony
under the baton of the great Bel
gian conductor, Wasali Leps. All
(Continued on back page)