Tag Archives: Bro Kaser

For Father’s Day, Bro Remembers Paul Kaser’s Humor

Paul Kaser circa 1980

Paul Kaser (circa 1980)

As I mentioned in my other article about my memories of Dad–he had wit and was a story teller. My brother gives us a couple of examples.

Bro, who inherited my father’s literary and imaginative gifts, sent me the first story on Father’s Day in 2003, with a note, “You probably remember that this was one of his favorite true stories.”  I think we have to allow some leeway in the definition of “true” although Paul Kaser did most definitely work and hang out at the Alderman Hardware store in Killbuck, Ohio.  He and the owner and others had a bottle of whisky in the back storeroom and they would gather around and tell stories until the cows came home.

By Bro Kaser

A Paul Kaser Story: A Thoughtful Gift

chopping wood

chopping wood

The time was somewhere between the great wars in a small Midwestern country town.  The place was somewhere between the Alleghenies and the Mississippi, where I had found a job as a clerk in a hardware store.  Our stock in trade included such items as hammers, horse collars, picks, saws, fence-stretchers, and axes.  It was the latter item which provided this story and many a laugh for the store’s owner and me.

The personae dramatis for our story lived a few miles from town and up the “holler.”  The one -room board and batten house was complete with leaning porch where the men of the family found room for relaxation and reverie.  And what men—there was not one among the father and several sons who was less than six feet tall or weighted less than two hundred pounds, all lean hard muscle and tough bone.

One of these sons of the disappearing frontier came into the hardware on a summer day and asked to see an axe.  He was promptly shown the heavier, double-bladed.

“Too heavy,” was his surprising comment.

A slightly lighter, single-bit brought the same response.

Unable to understand why this Paul Bunyan would want anything less than a man-sized axe, the clerk invited him to examine the whole stock of axes in the warehouse, and in a few minutes he returned with a small, very lightweight axe and asked the price.

“That one sells for $1.49.  What good will such a dinky tool as that do you?” the clerk could not help asking.

“Oh, it’s not for me.  It’s Mother’s birthday.  I just got plumb tired watching her chop stove wood with Pa’s big old heavy axe.”

And Bro also sent me his own recollection of working alongside Dad.

Dad’s Gardens of Delight and Deception

Family Photo of Garden

Paul Kaser’s carefully planned garden in Columbus Ohio, Circa 1950.

Whether we lived on a small suburban plot or on a country acre outside of town, Dad never missed a chance to build and maintain a neatly engineered and well tended garden.

Picking Peas for Dumbo

I have a vivid memory of desperately picking peas when I was about five years old. If I accumulated enough, I would be taken to see the new release of Dumbo. I kept looking eastward where the sky was purpling toward dusk. Soon I began to believe it was all going to be in vain. I’d never reach my quota before dark. The bucket grew cruelly large. I’d never be able to fill it in time.

Downtown, the movie had probably already started. I began to hate the monotonous ping of the peas I flung into the pail behind me. But somehow Dad must have secretly contributed part of his pickings because when I looked again, the bucket was full to the victory line. Thinking back, I assume now that Dad had wanted to see Dumbo almost as much as I had. But then, with some of the dirt still under my fingernails and my hands still smelling of peas as I watched the wonders of Disney unfold, I was sure I had earned this all by myself.

Dumbo the Elephant

Dumbo the Elephant, photo by Lauren Javier

That’s why Dumbo was more memorable in its way than any of the hundreds of films I have seen since and which provided me with a second profession. [Note: Bro Kaser reviews and lectures on movies]. You never know where picking a few peas (with the help of a empathetic parent) will take you.

The Dumbo picture and the chopping wood picture come from Flickr. You can click on the photo to learn more about the photographer. Other photos are the property of Ancestors in Aprons.

Three Popcorn Memories. a Tragedy and a Recipe

Three Popcorn Memories, Including One Tragedy with a Warning to Would-Be Santas

Welcome to my brother, as he contributes one of his food and family memories wafted on the aroma of popcorn.

By Bro Kaser

Duncan Theater, Source of Popcorn, Killbuck

The Duncan Theater still stands on the corner of Front Street and Main Street in Killbuck, Ohio, but it has clearly seen better days.

1. Popcorn Wars
In the village movie house theater in Killbuck, Ohio, where my grandmother Vera Stout Anderson ( 1881-1964) occasionally sold tickets (25 cents as I remember- maybe I was getting the family discount) there was always a cloud of popcorn steam leaking from the little machine cackling in the lobby. It was not buttered (or coconut oiled — that came later), and it usually tasted fairly fresh. The tilt-handled little pot in the glass box was regulated with showy skill and proprietary pride by Billy Duncan until he had to trudge upstairs to run the projector. Then the measuring, filling, dumping, and bagging duties were taken up by some hireling from the village.

If you were on good terms with that person, there was the rare chance that your “Aw, come on, Erma. Gimme a freebie,” might work. I remember a bag costing ten or fifteen cents but my sister thinks it was twenty-five cents per. (Wasn’t she getting the family discount?)

Even that small outlay was frequently too lavish for us younger kids. This caused the front-section kids (the “stiff-neck gang” who had to look straight up at the screen) to put a lot of verbal pressure on the haves to share with the have-nots, leading to grabbing, bag-tearing, and popcorn flinging.

Lone Ranger and Silver

Lone Ranger and Silver in 1965.

Kernels found at the bottom of the bag made good ammo for spitting at the kids in the first row. When you ran out of kernels, you could wad up the bag and fling it over your shoulder in hopes it would find some innocent target a couple of rows behind yours.

“Hey, who did that? Do that again and I‘m calling Billy down here to take you out.”

But mild, pudgy Billy, as I recall, never descended to enforce any real discipline on us popcorn-gallery combatants.

2. Making the World Sweeter with “White Death”

Vera Anderson (circa 1960)

Vera Anderson (circa 1960)

On this site something already has written about our Grandma Vera’s penchant for sweetening the world at every opportunity, dumping, for instance, her ever-ready refined white over everything from melons to tomatoes. Getting popcorn at her house always meant getting it frosted, either by granulated or, preferably, powdered.

[Note from VMB: the recipes you will find on the Internet seem to all mix the sugar into the oil making a syrup. This is NOT Grandma Vera’s version, which pops the corn in a plain, heavy pan in butter, then sprinkles with salt and sugar.]

As a kid I couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t do this. Maybe it was overkill to sprinkle the “white death” (as it later came to be called by health-puritans) on already sweet, garden-fresh tomatoes, but I assumed as a kid that since popcorn was lacking in sufficient natural sweetness, it needed to be fixed.

Other than in popcorn balls, I haven’t eaten sugared popcorn since going away to college. And speaking of…

3. Popcorn Balls and Fire from Down Below

Stout Family Home in Killbuck, Ohio

Dr. William Stout and family in front of family home, circa 1885

The big old rambling house built by my great-grandfather, Dr. William Stout (1845-1910), squatted three lots down from the theater on Main Street in Killbuck and was frequently the site of minor community festivities. At Christmastime, when Vera and Guy Anderson lived there, the family offspring were joined there by other village kids for singing and feasting while folks dropped by bearing presents and seasonal food specialties.

One grubby but full-of-good-cheer old fellow (we’ll call him K. C.– not his real initials– to protect any innocent descendants) showed up offering his homemade specialty: popcorn balls. He enhanced his visit by dressing in a grubby Santa outfit including a real, artificial Santa beard. K. C., his well-worn suit, and his scanty false whiskers all seemed to be from somewhere on the down-side of life. They had a uniform grayness which only the exited younger children could overlook. To them, K. C. was still the spirit of the season.

They came forward eagerly to receive the grey popcorn balls from his ashy hands. My grandparents were not about to let any of the kids eat those dubious gifts, but they knew K. C. to be a kindly and innocent citizen and did not want, especially in this season of brotherly love, to do anything to embarrass or hurt him. Thanking him profusely, they’d rushed to take the dingy “treats” from the children, declaring that in due time they would all sit down and enjoy them together.

It is reported that K.C. would look downcast at this; he wanted to see his creations enjoyed immediately. To soothe and distract him, my grandparents would give him little gifts and food offerings of their own. As the story goes, on one of these occasions K.C. retired to the back porch to mope with a cigarette, but in the process of putting a match to it, caught his tired beard on fire. The flames flared up into his face enough to cause some painful burns and put a dramatic end to the festivities. Everyone felt very bad about it, of course, and, as small town folks are apt to do, they lavished a lot of care on him.

Hopefully, the younger kids had not been eyewitness to this spectacular end to his Santa act. K . C. survived his wounds, perhaps even the damage to his pride, and I like to think he continued to make those inedible popcorn balls and, in his costume (perhaps without the beard) to deliver them for many Christmases to come. (This section is taken from a recording of [Harriette Anderson Kaser], my Mother’s early childhood memories.)

Popcorn Ball

White (not Gray)Popcorn Balls


Karo Syrup

Popped popcorn

Melt a little butter in a large pan with a lot of Karo syrup. Stir in the popcorn. Let the mixture cool until you can handle it, but not until it gets too hard.

Put waxed paper over all available surfaces.

Spread butter on your hands (preferably after you have washed your hands). Scoop up a large handful of syrupy popcorn and form into a ball. Place on waxed paper to harden. Try not to lick your hands until you’re all through making popcorn balls.

If it is Christmas, you might want to roll have the balls in red sugar and half in green sugar.

(Note: the Duncan Theater photo is from Flickr, used with a Creative Commons License. There’s a story there, too. Anne-Lise Heinrichs, the photographer, says that her father worked as a projectionist at the theater when they first moved to the states while he was looking for a “proper job.” Follow the link to her name for a photo of Anne-Lise and her father, in case any Killbuck-ites are reading here and might recognize them.)