C. A. Schneider
The Rectory
In the morning of every week-day, just as the village clock struck nine, the Bishop could be seen issuing from Fernleigh, whence, after passing the Rectory, he pursued a slow and stately course down the curved path of the Cooper Grounds to the Clark Estate building, where he had an office on the upper floor at the southwest corner. On warm summer days, he discarded broadcloth, and was dressed in flannels of spotless white. He walked with a stick, and there was a slight limp of the left leg, due to an injury received in riding. So strong and erect was his bearing, however, in spite of his more than three score years and ten, that the slow gait seemed to be caused rather by preference than necessity, and the limp really appeared to add to the majesty of his measured pace. Anyone who joined him was obliged to walk as slowly as the Bishop, who never hastened his steps, but conversed affably; now and then, as some thought struck him forcibly, he paused abruptly in his walk, and stood still to utter what was in his mind, moving forward again, by way of emphasis, at the end of a sentence. In these walks through the Cooper Grounds, and about the village, the Bishop assumed acquaintance with everyone, and frequently stopped to enter into conversation with a neighbor, a passing tourist, or some workman toiling in a ditch. It was because of his genuine interest in everyone that the village came to regard Bishop Potter no longer as a distinguished metropolitan, but as a genial neighbor. A stable-boy who at this period drove the village rector to a country funeral expressed the sentiment of many when he said: "I used to think the Bishop was stuck up; but he is really just as common as me or you!"
Bishop Potter took great delight in amusing occurrences in which he shared as he went about the village. In fact he seemed deliberately to invite them, and afterward described the incidents with contagious merriment. One day as he was about to enter a car of the trolley road on Main Street, an enormously fat countrywoman was standing on the platform, bidding farewell to her her friends. She had much to say, and completely blocked the entrance to the car. After waiting patiently for some moments the Bishop addressed the woman in his most gracious manner. "Madam," said he, "I don't wish to interfere with your conversation, but if you will kindly move either one way or the other, so that I may enter the car, I shall be greatly obliged." The woman glared at him. "Are you the conductor of this car?" she snapped, "Because if you be, you're the sassiest conductor that ever I see!"
In the late summer of 1904, "Doc" Brady, a lovable old Irish heart, who used to peddle portraits of the Pope, corn salve, and various trifles, encountered Bishop Potter in front of the Village Library, and invited a purchase of his wares, which at this time included campaign buttons of Col. Roosevelt and Judge Parker, attached to packages of chewing-gum. "Here ye are, Bishop," he cried; "Get a button for your favorite candidate!" The Bishop impartially selected a button of each kind, and pushed the chewing-gum aside. "Take your goom, Bishop, take your goom," urged Brady, as the Bishop moved away. "No, certainly not," was the firm reply. But Doc Brady was insistent, and hurrying after the Bishop forced the gum upon him. "There," said he, "if you don't chew it yourself, take it home to Mrs. Potter!" The Bishop's laugh rang aloud through the Cooper Grounds as he slowly ascended the path, taking home the chewing-gum to Fernleigh.
The Bishop usually left his office in the Clark Estate building toward one o'clock, and Mrs. Potter often walked down to join him on the way home. Sometimes, as she passed the office, she hailed the Bishop, and conversed with him as he stood at the open window above. On one occasion, when Mrs. Potter had several ladies as guests, they all chatted with the Bishop through the window on their way to Fernleigh. A moment later, recalling something that he had neglected to mention, he summoned a gardener who was at work close at hand, and asked him to request the ladies kindly to step back to the window, as the Bishop had something to say to them. Shortly afterward, in response to the gardener's summons, there was lined up beneath the window a happy group of female excursionists carrying lunch-baskets, entire strangers to the Bishop, and in a quite a flutter of anticipation of what the distinguished prelate might have to communicate. The Bishop was equal to the situation. He gave them some information concerning points of interest in and about Cooperstown, with a brief summary of the history of the Cooper Grounds in which they then stood, and sent them away rejoicing in knowledge that added greatly to the pleasure of their visit.
A frequent guest at Fernleigh at this time was the Rev. Dr. W. W. Lord, formerly rector of Christ Church, and for many years one of the most beloved friends of the Clark family. This aged clergyman and poet was a scholar of the old-fashioned type, well-versed in the elder philosophies, and fond of quoting Greek, Latin, and Hebrew authors in the original tongues. Dr. Lord admired Bishop Potter, but the two men were of different schools, and the old priest was inclined to stir up good-humored controversies in which he pitted his scholasticism against the Bishop's more facile and modern if less profound learning. The New York prelate entered with great zest into the contest of wits, and let slip no opportunity to score a point on Dr. Lord.