Jackass Journal & Compendium of Universal Knowledge

 Jackass Journal & Compendium of Universal Knowledge

Episodes one through 9999, more or less

Unabridged, Unapologetic and in no Particular Order

PART ONE

HANGTOWN BOUND

MIAH'S ACCOUNT

In 1824, when I was but eleven years of age, my family and I boarded the good ship Abolis and left Belfast to sail for the storied shores of America. We arrived twenty-seven days later in the fall of that year, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Arriving all but penniless in a strange new land is not something I’d recommend to a friend. The crossing had been tedious and life-altering. We’d encountered numerous storms during which the ship pitched and rolled until very few came through unscathed. Along the way several had succumbed to a variety of maladies, and three weary souls had abandoned their beleaguered robes of flesh which were then sewn up in canvas and lowered into the sea.

Occasionally, a stifling calm would smother the sea breezes which provided our ship’s conveyance, leaving the old schooner rendered immobile for days at a time, with the sea placid as bath water and the canvas sails hanging limp as laundry. The very sight of the celebrated shores of America rendered the majority of passengers and crew prostrate on the old ship’s decks, praising God and weeping with relief.

During the interminably long days and nights at sea, we’d had a fabulous wealth of hours to contemplate our circumstances and try desperately to imagine some solution. None had presented themselves. Once ashore, our situation only grew more perilous. Our fears hadn’t done our grim predicament justice. The docks were crowded with all variety of similarly stunned immigrants, all desperate for some clue as to how to proceed. Once more, providence intervened. Alongside our vessel, equally stunned refugees from Germany were arriving. Unlike us, these weary souls found solace in the immediate intervention of dozens of members of a local church. The church of the brethren was well prepared for this influx of traumatized arrivals from their homeland.

We’d sat traumatized and speechless for some time, watching the proceedings when, for some reason known only to God, having been touched by the stifled lamentations of my bundle-bearing mother and the pitiful laments of my sobbing little sister, several of these compassionate church members gently loaded my traumatized family into a wagonload of their own exhausted brethren and, gently rocking in the crowded wagon, we set out for Germantown.

Arriving at long last in Germantown, after two days hard travel, we were led into the community center where, following some discussion by the church leaders, we were mercifully adopted into one of the German families already well-established in the area. The family consisted of the patriarch (a gentleman of around sixty years of age) his wife, eight children, and an incalculable number of towheaded grandchildren. The family raised crops and livestock on about 40 acres on the outskirts of town.

Communication was initially a challenge. We Scots, of course, spoke no German, and vice versa. Fortunately, several of us spoke a modicum of English. When all else fails, regardless of your location, one facial expression conveys a thousand words.

Fortunately for us, this family could well afford a few additional mouths to feed. As a result of our close proximity to the coast, seafood was plentiful and comparatively inexpensive. Within weeks, we’d settled into a routine and become productive members of our new extended family. The family raised crops and livestock, so there was no shortage of work through which we were able be productive and earn our keep. They had a huge number of pigs. While some abstain from pork for religious reasons, our German hosts had no such reservations; nor did we. Our hosts were big believers in the old saying, “waste not, want not”. When a pig was butchered, very little was discarded but the squeal. What wasn’t carved into ham, bacon, roasts, or chops, was pickled or ground into sausages or bratwurst.

Here, we thrived and passed the time, week by week, month by month, season by season, until half a dozen years had sped pleasantly away. Farm life suited us, and we were soon fat and sassy. We bonded thoroughly with our host family, and that bond strengthened exponentially when my little sister wed one of the grandsons.

Throughout these years, much of our time centered around church life. Much like the Mennonites and Quakers, The Church of the brethren placed their emphasis on nonviolence and benevolence. They took Christ’s teachings seriously, and followed the golden rule religiously, “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you”.

When I turned 18, I was sent away to medical school. Founded in 1765, The University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine was the first and only medical school in America’s original thirteen colonies. Students enrolled for anatomical lectures and a course on the theory and practice of physics. Here, I spent four blissful years, learning the basics of medicine and thoroughly enjoying the society of fellow students.

Home once again in Germantown following my education, I very much missed the challenge and gratifying camaraderie of school life. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the influence of these early years with the church, in conjunction with my years of medical training in Philadelphia, had set my feet on a path that would determine my course for many years to come.

In the spring of 1835, when I was but 22-two years of age, the cry of northbound geese seized my soul and left me melancholy and strangely ill at ease. In an effort to ease my undiagnosed ache, I determined to attend a barn dance downtown. Arriving at the festivities, my attention was instantly diverted by a Norwegian family whose vibrant apparel stood out in bright contrast to the solemn, black attire of the Germans. The household consisted of the mom, the dad, and a gaggle of petite, towheaded princesses.

Gertrude was a year or two my junior. She was fair, flamboyant, and flirtatious! I was instantly smitten! Summoning all my courage, hat in hand and heart pounding, I asked if she’d care to dance. She allowed as how she’d be absolutely delighted! We took the floor and danced and danced till the band went home and they showed us eventually to the door.

From that night forward, I thought of little else but my little darling, Gertie. After several weeks of what I believed to be a fledgling courtship, I arrived at her home one evening to find an unfamiliar rig parked in the yard. Inside the rig were Gertie and the son of a local banker. He was older than I, a good head taller, and obviously well off. He had a dandy buggy, a beautiful bay mare, and an attitude.

They were clearly preoccupied. Approaching the buggy, I requested a moment and escorted Gertie aside, intent on voicing my displeasure. Gertie was unmoved by my protestations. Her new suitor eventually dismounted his buggy, gave me a persuasive dusting with his hat, and suggested I bother them no further. Undeterred, I doubled my fist and gave him what I considered to be a pretty convincing thump on the chin. He was decidedly unimpressed. After receiving a good thrashing, I glared up from where I was taking a brief respite in the mud, to see Gertie and her new beau hand in hand and skipping off to meet the parents. Not wishing to humiliate the young couple further, I returned home.

Over the next several weeks, the cries of the migrating geese strengthened their hold on my naïve and youthful wanderlust. Early one morning, I endured a tearful parting with friends and family, collected my doctor’s bag, mounted my faithful steed, and set off to see the world. Suffice it to say, the world saw me coming and was prepared.

Copyright ©

Shannon Thomas Casebeer