Yes, and I have met the folks of whom he boasts, and in conversing with them it seems easy for my mind to go back to the time when Mr. Coolidge was a barefoot boy, roaming amid these beautiful hills. In fact, everything about this rugged New England state, with its farmhouses and barns that were built so many years ago, seems to carry one back to the early history of our country.
As I looked upon the little country schoolhouse to which Mr. Coolidge used to go, I thought of this story. One time, many years ago, there lived a schoolmaster who had this unique custom. Every time he met a boy who attended his school, he would lift his hat. When asked why he did this, he replied, “Who can tell but that 10 one of these boys will some day become the chief ruler of the land; and inasmuch as I cannot tell which one it will be, I must lift my hat to them all.”
Surely if a teacher were to slight any of the boys, it would be the one with freckles and red hair, for never before in the history of our great country have we had a red-headed president.
Let us go back then in our imagination forty-four years and visit the little red schoolhouse at Plymouth, Vermont, that was then better known as the “Notch.”
To reach Plymouth is not easy, for it is eleven miles from Ludlow, which is the nearest railroad station, and the road from Ludlow is rough and hilly. When we reach Plymouth, we are likely to drive by, for the town is so small it doesn’t seem possible that a future President could have been born in such an out-of-the-way place.
The first man we meet in Plymouth is John Calvin Coolidge, the father of our President. We soon learn that he keeps the village store, shoes horses, collects insurance premiums, and runs a small farm. In conversing with him, we discover that he is of staunch American stock––in fact, he reminds us that his ancestors came to America in 1630, just ten years after the Pilgrims landed. In 1880, his grandfather moved to the hill country that is now known as “Vermont,” and for four generations the Coolidges have lived on the same farm.
But, we are not so much interested in the father as in the son, who, we are told, is at school. As we approach 11 the little country school, we observe that it is recess, and the children are playing. Soon young Calvin is pointed out and we try to get acquainted with him, but he is silent and bashful. From his teacher we learn that he has few friends and no enemies. Unlike the average freckled, red-headed boy, he is rarely teased and never gets into a fight. He is so modest and minds his own business so well, that the other pupils are inclined to leave him by himself. Rarely does he play any games––not even marbles or baseball. Later in life he bought a pair of skates, but was never known to wear them but once.
Young Calvin had no brothers and only one sister, Abigail, who died when she was fifteen. His mother also died when he was a lad of twelve, but his stepmother was always very kind to him. His own mother, however, was his idol and even to this day, President Coolidge carries in one of his pockets a gun metal case that holds a picture of his mother. Calvin’s father, in speaking of his son, says that he was always a great hand to work. He continues, “When Calvin was a boy on the farm, if I was going away and there was anything I wanted him to do, I would tell him; but when I came back, I never thought of going to see whether it had been done. I knew it was done.”
The following incident shows that he could not bear to leave his work undone. “One night an aunt who was sleeping in the house heard a strange noise in the kitchen. Hurriedly she put on her kimona, and went downstairs to see what the commotion might be. There she found 12 little Calvin filling the wood box, for he had forgotten to do so the night before. She tried to persuade him to wait until morning, but he would not return to bed until the job was finished, declaring that he could sleep better if the wood box were filled.”
No doubt, were we to ask President Coolidge to recall some of his boyhood experiences on the farm, he would tell us how he slid off the old, white mare and broke his arm so badly that the bone stuck out through the flesh, and how long it took to bring the doctor eleven miles over the rough road from Ludlow to set it. Or, he might tell us about the wall-eyed cow that the hired man hit with a milking stool and so frightened her that he could never milk her again. Alas, for Calvin; this meant that he had to get up at five o’clock each morning to help with the milking.