Then, my Dad came onto the lot, and without any coaching whatsoever, did some pretty tall kicking. Not the circus kind, however. The “circus” paraphernalia was then moved up town to a vacant spot alongside Than Morris’ corn cribs on the lots west of where the Dr. Lapham home now stands. But it was no go. The tannery was the natural place for such things. Charley Askren came to us, as a young man, in the early 70’s. He was a carpenter. He married Lib Fleming. And notwithstanding his serious injury caused by the collapse of a trapeze under the Dan Rice bigtop, he lived to be quite an old man. He died at his home in Atchison last year. Here’s hoping that his kid co-performer — the G-R-E-A-T and only”—may live as long. Honesty — The Better Policy NOTE—Some seventy-five years ago I accidentally dropped a five-dollar gold piece into one of the big vats at our old tanyard on the creek bank near the town bridge at the foot of Kansas Avenue which gold piece was never recovered. The old bridge has now been removed, and a new one—156-foot span—is being constructed over a newly dug creek channel sixty-five yards south of the old one, on a grade ten feet above the old road. In building up the grade between the old bridge site and the railroad, Albert Tanking, of Seneca, operator of a County bulldozer, today—June 11, 1949—moved the ground where the old tanvats were buried. As he made the excavation I noticed no signs of the old sunken vats—but it is none the less certain that my five-dollar gold piece is now deposited somewhere along the west slope of the fill, or in the “sunken garden” between the fill and the newly cut drain-ditch paralleling it. After it rains on the works it is possible that I might go down there and pick it up. But I think that I shall leave this for the kids to exploit. It was a sort of kid’s keepsake, anyway. That five-dollar gold piece was first given me some years earlier, in change, by mistake for a nickel. I thought I had been cheated. I took it back to Peter Shavey, who had a confectionery store in the old part of the building now occupied by Hettie Shuemaker-Kroulik. He praised me for being an honest boy—and he loaded me up with candy and oranges. And then he said, “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to give you this gold piece for a keepsake, something to remind you always that it pays to be honest.” And think of it — the old Frenchman was illegally selling whiskey and unlawfully operating a poker game in the back room. I said, “Thank you, Mr. Shavey—but I still have not got my nickel back.” He laughed, “Here, honest boy, here’s your nickel.” And now I can’t be sure If Mr. Peter Shavey inspired this noble trait of honesty in me—or if it just comes natural.