Getting Back to His Root's
Lancaster Intelligencer-Journal — 05/12/03
Tom Longenecker was just beginning his climb up the corporate ladder
at General Electric Co. when he got the call to come home and run the
family business.
"I was just a number-cruncher in Connecticut," recalled Longenecker,
general manager/marketmaster of Root's Country Market & Auction,
Manheim. "My great uncle was retiring. The family said the job
was open. I weighed the differences between major corporate America and
small business. Didn't take too much thought. That was good enough
for me. At age 24, I retired from big business."
Now, he spends each day — and not just Tuesdays when Root's is
officially open for business — helping small businesses grow and
thrive under the friendly umbrella of one of Lancaster County's
oldest farmers markets.
"All of the guys here are small business," Longenecker said as he
walked through the main square at Root's, flanked on both sides
by fruit and vegetable stands filled with colorful spring-fresh
produce. "We provide them with a way to sell their merchandise.
We offer a setting designed to nurture the growth of independent
businesses."
People do not buy anything from Root's. Rather, they buy peppers
from one farm stand and strawberries from another. They pick up a
pound of freshly made sausage at one butcher's stand and munch on a
sticky bun fresh from the oven of one of the bakeries.
Some of the standholders can trace their roots back to Root's.
Albert Knepp, of Knepp's Caramel Corn, remembers sleeping on the popcorn
cans when he was little. He has been working at Root's for 68 years,
and his family has been operating the stand since 1928.
"Our caramel corn is only 5 minutes old when we serve it to people.
People like it nice and hot. The crowds keep getting bigger and bigger,"
said Knepp as he mixed up another batch of his legendary caramel corn.
Margie Peters of Mary Jane's Bakeshop also loves to work in front of an
audience. When you buy her sticky buns, they are literally right out of
the oven. On cold mornings, they are still steaming.
"People don't come here just to buy things," said Peters as she sprinkled
sugar and cinnamon on rolled-out buttery dough. "They come to shop. There
is a difference. They enjoy the experience. If you are in a hurry, Root's
isn't the place for you. You will get frustrated. People wait here rather happily."
When Root's started out 78 years ago, it was just a poultry auction.
"Nothing more," said the great-grandson of founder A.W. Root. "Then, people
started bringing a little bit extra from home, some extra stuff to sell,
like produce and baked goods."
That "little bit extra" grew and grew. There are now three different
auctions and more than 200 standholders spread out over 12 acres at the
site in East Hempfield Township.
The three auctions combine to offer a wide variety of items. Poultry
includes goats and other small animals, produce includes food and plants,
and the Conestoga Auction specializes in household items.
The 200-plus standholders sell everything from A to Z, and the phrase
in this case is not a cliche. On any given Tuesday you can see and purchase
anything, from apples to zithers, with many way-stations in between.
Standholders pay around $16 per 8-foot table. Most of the vendors sign on long-term.
And, virtually anything that can legally be sold — except state lottery tickets
or alcohol and tobacco products — can be had at Root's.
In addition to traditional market fare, regular vendors sell shoes, mattresses,
bikes, children's clothes, candles, books, tools, stationery, knives, teas,
cheeses, honey, furniture, coins, homemade root beer, apple dumplings, craft
items and Avon products, to mention just a few.
And for anything else, there is always the adjacent flea market.
"We have a lot of verbal agreements with people. There are no written contracts.
Over time, we know who needs what and who is where and what everyone is selling.
This is living history. This is how people marketed products years ago and it is
still successful today," said Longenecker, whose family has been in Lancaster
County for 10 generations.
What the stands lack in high-tech, they make up for in high-touch. For lack of a
better analogy, it is a Nordstrom's with a Pennsylvania Dutch accent.
Tuesdays, or "Root's-day," as it is called, springs from the old poultry auction
days, Longenecker explained. After purchasing the poultry on Tuesdays, butchers
and other sellers would have two to three days to clean and dress the chickens to
sell at weekend markets.
Some people still come to Root's for the poultry auction, but most of the people
come for the food, the fun and the fellowship.
Root's welcomes you with an assault on the senses.
For the eyes, there's the bright colors of ripe fruits and vegetables:
purple eggplant, red tomatoes, crimson strawberries, green lettuce, yellow
peppers, ivy-colored cucumbers and chartreuse grapes.
The ears are welcomed by the shrieks of children, the chatter of sales clerks,
the screech of birds, the call of doves, the braying of goats and the banter
of auctioneers. The nose is tingled by the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon
buns, spring-fresh vegetables, freshly cut flowers, freshly butchered meats
and sweet caramel corn.
"This is a very social type of market," Longenecker said. "There are lots of
people behind the counters, and there are lots of people in front of the
counters waiting to get taken care of. People expect to be waited on here.
There are not too many places in Lancaster County or this country where you
can walk in and find an employee every 8 feet waiting to help you with your
purchase.
"It is also a place where, more often than not, you end up talking to the people
that produced the product, the craftsperson that made the stuff, the food preparer
that made the food or the farmer that grew the produce.
"You get to meet the people behind the product. There are certain holidays when
you can't get up to a stand because of the people. You end up spending a lot of
time waiting. But people don't seem to mind the wait."
Surprisingly, most of the traffic at Root's comes from local people doing their
shopping for the week, Longenecker said.
"It is gathering place," he said. "People come to see the same people — friends,
neighbors and acquaintances — week after week. Root's is for the local people.
We don't advertise it to tourists. Charter bus traffic is not that heavy. Tourists
find us, of course, but the bulk of the people are from Lancaster County."
Just as Park City has its anchor stores, Root's has its main attractions: New Holland
Meats, Hughes' Meats, Smith's Candies, Knepp's Caramel Corn, Funk's French Fries and
Zerbe's Chips. These are enterprises you will not find anywhere else, except perhaps
at other farmers markets, such as Green Dragon in Ephrata Township or Leesport.
"We have a number of stands that have been here for quite a number of years. They
have not changed in a long time. Fresh meat stands, for example, are getting harder
and harder to find. We have three of them. We are doing what we can to make sure we
keep them," said Longenecker.
The number of standholders fluctuates according to season. During the summer it will
peak at 225, while during the winter it can drop to 150. All standholders must be open
from 9 to 9 on Tuesdays. Twice a month, Root's has a flea market on Saturdays, and
some of the stands are open then as well.
Longenecker said that many people would jump at the chance to showcase their product
to the 10,000 to 15,000 people who make the pilgrimage for produce and other pretty
products offered at Root's on any given Tuesday.
"We work hard to keep up a variety of stands," he said. "We turn down a lot of offers
because they are duplicating other standholders. We try to keep the variety of stands
spread throughout the buildings. There is a deli, bakery, produce in every wing."
Longenecker said that Root's has about reached its limits when it comes to size and the
number of stands. It is situated between two roads in Manheim near the border with East
Petersburg off Route 72. There is not much room for growth.
"We could expand standwise, but that would not be fair, nor would it be wise. That
would dilute the sales of the standholders that are already here," he said.
The marketmaster is content with 12 acres, but he wishes the weathermen would
cooperate... or, at least be more accurate.
"Half the stands are indoors, half are outside. So, when there is a call for rain,
some of the standholders don't show up," Longenecker said. "That's OK if it rains,
but if it turns out to be sunny, they have lost money. The weather forecasters hurt,
even when they are wrong. When they talk of rain, regardless of what happens, stands
cancel. Then, if the forecast turns out to be wrong and it is dry, customers are here,
but the standholders aren't."
At GE, Longenecker was one of those involved in, as the slogan said, bringing good
things to life.
Now, at Root's, he helps bring together all the good things about life in Lancaster
County.
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Zerbe's Chips — A Matter of Good Taste
Lancaster Intelligencer-Journal — 04/21/03
Brian Nissly, owner of Zerbe's
Home Style Potato Chips, is arguably the smallest potato chip maker in Lancaster County,
if not the state.
He's the only full-time employee of the company, based in a small remodeled
garage — no, make that a tiny hut-like structure — on the outskirts of Denver.
The chips may be from just down the block and made in an unmarked building a little
bit off the beaten path, but many people consider them to be "out of this world."
Customers drive for hours, literally, to get their hands and taste buds on some of
Nissly's legendary "dark" chips and other varieties, prepared fresh Monday, Tuesdays
and Wednesdays of each week in an old-fashioned kettle full of lard.
Nissly is proud of his reputation of being one of the small chips on the block.
He knows many of his customers by name or face. In fact, he meets a lot of them
when they drop by the garage/outlet or the area's farmers markets to pick up their
weekly supply.
"We have a niche market. People who like our chips buy our chips. They don't care
what is on sale. They are loyal. We rely on them to come back week after week after
week," explains Nissly.
To keep them coming back, Nissly refuses to tinker with the chip recipe or
the method of making the thin-fried salty potato slices. In fact, the most dramatic
innovation he introduced since he acquired the company 13 years ago was to purchase
some automatic equipment. Until 18 months ago, a lot of the work was done by hand.
The chips begin their life as potatoes, of course, harvested from farms along the
eastern seaboard.
"We use fresh potatoes. In April, they come from Florida. Then as the season
progresses, they come from farms further north — North Carolina, Virginia,
Pennsylvania and Michigan," says the former grocery store manager as he walks
down a rickety flight of stairs to the vault.
The vault is filled with brown gold — potato chip wannabes — just hankering to
be washed and peeled, fried and salted, then bagged and sold and sent to chip
lovers not only around the country, but also around the world.
The potato cellar is divided into two sections. One holds regular potatoes for
regular chips while the other half contains redskin or russet potatoes high in
sugar/starch, which become Zerbe's signature "dark" chips.
"We call them "dark' chips because they are dark tan, almost brown, not the
traditional yellow often associated with chips," Nissly said. "People call them
"burnt' chips. But they're not really burnt. It all depends on the amount of sugar
in the potatoes. It gets caramelized. Some people really like them."
As so often happens with a product that becomes a hit, there was a bit of luck
involved in the success of these dark chips, which Nissly ended up selling by
accident.
"We used to pick out the dark chips. I started putting them in little bags to sell.
People could not get enough of them. I figured, why not try to make them all the
time." he said.
All the chips are packaged in clear plastic bags so people can get a good glimpse
at what they will soon be eating.
Three retired men come in on Fry-days, as they are called — Monday, Tuesday and
Wednesdays — when the chips are made.
With a shovel, the men push the potatoes onto a conveyor belt, and the spuds make
their way out of the dark cellar into the shiny kitchen where they are washed, peeled
and cut by machine.
Nissly estimates that about 10,000 pounds of potatoes make the climb from the cellar
each week. They are inspected, and potatoes that don't make the cut, as well as those
with bad spots, are culled from the pack. The rest are plunged in batches into the
kettle of boiling lard, resulting, at the end of the day, in 2,500
pounds of potato chips — dark, light, barbecue, no-salt, garlic, salt and vinegar,
ketchup, sour cream and jalapeno.
The kettle — 6 feet long, 4 feet wide and 3 feet deep — holds 1,200 pounds of lard
heated to 320 degrees Fahrenheit.
"We cook chips the old-fashioned way, the way they have been done for years and years.
We batch-fry them — just drop the slices in," Nissly explains.
After so much bubbling and curling, the chips begin to get crispy and are then lifted
out, dropped into a strainer and placed in a hopper, where they are salted and flavored.
Rest for the weary in this small factory is not easy; there are neither chairs nor any
other place to sit.
"We don't sit when we are here. When we are here, we are working. We work straight
through until we are done," said Nissly.
Not many manufacturers/food processors use lard — rendered fat from pigs — to make
chips these days. But in the old days that was how practically every food item was fried.
Proud of his product, Nissly still sells his chips in old lard cans. He is not shy about
how the chips are made.
"Whole lard is our secret. Well, not our secret, but it is what gives our chips their
special flavor," he said. "It makes them crunchier and curlier. Each manufacturer of
chips has a different taste, some a little more salty, some a little less. Potatoes
and the way they are cooked makes them taste differently.
"In the old days, everybody made their own potato chips. They used up lard and left
over potatoes. Some nutritionist people today actually claim that lard is better than processed vegetable oil."
Upwards of 40 percent of weekly sales come from the area's two big farmers' markets — Roots
and Green Dragon — each only open one day a week.
Zerbe's has a stand at each, and his wife, Martha, or a retired hand who pitches in
now and then wait on many faithful customers. They are sold in cans, bags, and boxes,
all festooned with the slogan "Have a Chipper Day."
The chips are sold in some stores in Lancaster County, although their presence is
overwhelmed by the marketing power of larger chip makers.
"The big guys monopolize the space. We don't pay slotting fees," Nissly said, referring
to the common practice where companies pay grocery stores — in rebates, discounts and
cash — for the right to put their product on the stores' shelves.
"We can't afford to do that. We are too small," he added, from his kitchen turned
storeroom.
A hand-lettered sign indicating "Potato Chip Outlet" leans against the outside wall
of the garage. The smell of sweet lard wafts through the tiny building.
Nissly likens the lard-flavored aroma to the sweet smell of success.
people have found us by following the scent of the chips. They smelled the potato
chips while they were in downtown Denver and starting looking for us, and found
their way here," he said.
Chips from the tiny plant have been sent overseas to soldiers in Bosnia, and Nissly
said customers make regular trips from as far away as Maine for his chips.
One woman sells the chips at a small stand in Lehigh Valley Medical Center in Allentown.
"I rebag and sell the chips to the staff," said hospital worker Debbie Kolbaba. "I sell
candy and other goodies, but the staff really likes the chips. The doctors and nurses
love them."
She makes regular trips from Allentown to Zerbe's, taking back with her between 100
and 150 pounds of chips for her customers.
Restaurants throughout the greater Reading area feature Zerbe's chips, as well.
"There is nothing better with a sub or a sandwich than potato chips. You have to
have something salty. I know some sandwich shop owners who get more compliments
our their chips — ours, of course — than on their food," Nissly said.
Return To Profiles
Harley Davidson — A Factory Tour High on the Hog
Lancaster Intelligencer-Journal — 09/09/02
YORK — Bob Galloway and three
friends journeyed here from South Dakota by way of the Maritime Provinces so they could
see an American icon assembled right in front of their eyes.
Galloway, who lives not too far from Mount Rushmore, made the transcontinental trek so
he could watch motorcycles roar off the assembly line at the Harley-Davidson plant on
Eden Road off Route 30.
"You can't call a Harley a motorcycle," said the middle-aged Galloway. "It is so much
more than that. I've been riding them since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Harleys
are a symbol of America. All of our cars look alike these days. And, they sound alike,
too. But only a Harley is a Harley."
The paunchy Galloway and his three friends gleefully jumped on the showcase motorcycles,
affectionately called Hogs, which greet visitors entering Harley-Davidson's newly expanded
tour center next door to the factory.
Galloway's group, along with 30 others, playfully killed time as they waited for their
tour of the motorcycle plant to begin. Some people posed on the Harleys for pictures
while others browsed the gift shop featuring hundreds of items with the Harley-Davidson
logo. Still others looked at a display featuring the assembly of a
bike from beginning to end. This year the company marked 100 years of making the revered
cycles.
The waiting area/vestibule has a practical simplicity to it. Done in Harley hues — black,
silver and orange — it has the stark, no-frills stainless steel/cement floors feel of a
production area, reminding people they were, indeed, about to enter a bona fide
manufacturing plant.
The tour center is designed to celebrate the craftsmanship and the passion of the
company's employees and the manufacturing and assembly operations at the 1.2
million-square-foot Eden Road plant located on 232 acres, said Katie Moudy, communications
manager at the York Harley plant.
As many as 120,000 people have taken the free one-hour factory tour each year, making the
Harley plant the premier tourist destination in York County. It is so popular the York
County Convention and Visitor's Bureau is located on site. The tour center recently
enlarged the size of the exhibit area, the gift shop and
amphitheater.
On a recent weekday, the visitor's center parking lot was filled with license plates
from around the country, including Maryland, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania and,
of course, South Dakota.
"About 70 percent of the visitors to the Harley plant are from out of state," said Ann
Druck, president of the visitors' bureau. "The plant is York County's most important
tourist attraction and York County's biggest tourist draw."
Druck said the success of the Harley tour has led to the promotion of York County as the
"Factory Tour Capital." Colorful brochures promote the package of free attractions,
including tours of Wolfgang Candies, Pfaltzgraff, Family Heirloom Weavers, York
Newspaper Co. and Glatfelter Paper Co.
"It helps consumers make an even stronger connection to the product. People love the
aura of the behind the scenes sneak peek at how things are made," Druck said. "There
is only one place to see where Harleys are made, and that is York."
The tour, like many other factory tours, begins with a slick movie trumpeting the
accomplishments of the sponsor, in this case, Harley. But, that is where all
similarity ends.
When you step out of the darkened theater, you're escorted through a metal detector,
surrender photographic equipment, don safety glasses and a wireless receiver and walk
directly into the hot, noisy, harsh real world of Harley, for a gritty glimpse of the
stuff dreams are made of.
The wireless headsets enable visitors to hear the tour guide as he gingerly and
carefully walks them through the plant. Just like the employees, they follow the
yellow line and dodge forklifts and parts wagons. And, just like the employees, they perspire heavily, with sweat dripping down their
brow as they try to conduct conversations and be heard over the motorcycles being made.
Each tour group is escorted by three or more people. One conducts
the tour while the others keep an eye out for their visitors' safety. The safety
coordinator gently nudges meandering guests back behind the yellow line and insures
that wayward tourists do not disrupt production.
The visitors snake their way through the plant, watching sheets of steel and nickel
and chrome being converted into fenders and gas tanks and other parts.
An armada of machinery hisses and hums and throbs and clanks and
thunders, while yellow and red lights flash and sparks fly all around the factory floor.
A robotic gas tank polisher resembling a metal-encased praying mantis fascinates
the group. The head of the polisher, which features a grinding wheel, moves gracefully
over the arching gas tank, removing any spurs and rough edges. At times, it seems as if
the buffing bug is going to eat the tank as it swarms over it in a rubbing frenzy, only to
return it to its gleaming glory.
Laser cutters turn steel sheets into bike frames, while a press of a button converts other
steel sheets into fenders — a literal "fender bender." At other stations, rolls of chrome
course through machines that turn them into sturdy parts and gleaming accessories.
Twenty-four hours after they are made, they are on a bike and out the door.
The tour guide explains the various parts and accessory manufacturing sites and then
takes the group to the two assembly lines that course through the plant.
A rainbow of racks of fenders and thousands of pieces of polished chrome lie waiting
for their final journey.
The Softail line moves along at 5 feet per minute, while the touring line, which
includes the more elaborate, detailed larger bikes, moves at a rate of 4 feet per
minute — a total of about 700 to 750 motorcycles a day.
Verbal communication is difficult, but it's superfluous. It is, to some, an
adult Disneyland. The visitors give a thumbs-up sign to many of the workers as the
laborers smoothly and effortlessly assembled the bikes swirling over their heads.
Many of the employees wear flag-festooned T-shirts or red, white and blue bandannas.
More men than women boast ponytails.
Galloway's eyes widen, and he bursts into a smile as he watches the assembled bikes
roll off the line. He gestures excitedly to his friends, as they nod knowingly.
As the bikes near the end of the assembly line, several visitors burst into applause,
but they're drowned out by the audio assault of the assembly line.
The factory is so loud even the patented, much-heralded roar of the Harley Hogs, as
they're roller-tested at speeds exceeding 70 mph, is muffled.
"The excitement value of the tour — for the owners of Harleys as well as those who
have never ridden one — is immeasurable. People are awe-inspired to see the process
and see the bike completed," Moudy said. "The employees love having guests come through.
They are thrilled that people want to see what they make."
The guests appear thrilled, too.
"It's neat," said Stacey and Dan Lafaver, who rode up on their Harley from Allentown
to take the tour for a second time. "We were here before and just wanted to see it
again. My bike was made right here. It's neat to see how it works," he said.
Return To Profiles
Drum Maker Carves His Own Niche in the Music Beat
Lancaster Intelligencer-Journal — 06/24/02
William Reamer's customers cater to the beat of a different drummer, but that's
OK with him. Reamer does, too. After all, he made their drums in the first place.
Reamer, along with his son, Andrew, owns and operates Drummer's Service, a specialty
drum manufacturer and restoration shop in the Frogtown section of East Earl
Township — known by many as Blue Ball.
The 80-year-old craftsman — a former drummer, musician and music teacher — makes bass
drums, snare drums and miscellaneous drums, as well as drumsticks for many of the
nation's and the world's orchestras, most of the nation's military bands and select
performing venues, such as Disney World and Colonial Williamsburg.
Reamer starts from scratch in his cluttered and dusty three-room drum-making studio
on the outskirts of a Mennonite farm off Route23.
The wood is slowly bent to form a cylinder. Then, the drum-in-progress sits, glued,
ratcheted down with clamps to secure it. More wood is bent to form hoops to strengthen it.
Later, calfskin imported from Ireland (or sometimes plastic) is stretched over the
top and bottom to form the drumheads.
The drumheads are secured, and then final features, such as custom painting or other
features and finishing touches, are added before another Reamer is ready for shipment.
"You look out my window here and see the cows and you probably think of steaks or
ice cream," Reamer said. "Me, I see drumheads."
Irish calfskin is the best, well worth the wait and shipping charges, he said. It
has the right tension and tone and holds just the right amount of moisture to create
the perfect pitch and sound.
Reamer has been making drums since the nation's Bicentennial. That's when he acquired
the shop from a Baltimore drum maker, who had originally acquired it from a Long
Island musician who taught the legendary bandleader Gene Krupa how to play the drums. He
originally set up shop in Broomall, but moved to Lancaster County in the late '80s.
He shows off a dusty gas-fired piece of wood-bending equipment that has been making drums
since the 1930s.
"This is history. This machine here made the drums that are played at the Tomb of the
Unknown Soldier. It made the muffled drums that marched with Kennedy's funeral," Reamer said. "It was given to me when I got the shop. I still use it."
Reamer, although he uses the word "I" quite often, constantly reminds people that he is
only part of the business.
His son, Andrew, a professional musician with the Pittsburgh Symphony, offers technical
assistance. Three retired gentlemen from the Cedar Grove Presbyterian Church, also pitch
in. Local woodcrafters help with some of the woodworking, and a metalsmith helps fashion
any necessary hardware, such as supports and braces.
With no advertising and limited marketing, the specialty firm has a backlog of six months
or more, with orders streaming in daily via a catalog and Web site.
Of course, Reamer has no competition.
"Well, there is one guy in Connecticut, but he doesn't start from scratch like we do. He
doesn't make the drum shells," said Reamer, pointing behind him to a drum-in-progress.
The drum-to-be, destined to make bass drum performances for a variety of smaller
orchestras, resembles a wooden belt secured by 80 C-clamps tightly holding the gluing
wood together.
"All told, it takes about three months to make a bass drum," said Reamer, reaching
behind him for a loose-leaf binder jammed with scribbled pieces of paper. He leafs
through the binder looking for his drum-making notes.
"I don't keep it up here anymore," he said, pointing to his head. "It's in this book
somewhere."
To make a drum from scratch, he literally starts with pi — 3.1416. Using a complicated
formula, he determines the optimum size for the drum and then gets to work.
"We don't make drums for rock-and-rollers. They would just beat them up too much. They
don't need the subtle sound of our drums," Reamer said.
Concert bass drums, retailing for about $3,000, may be the glamour end of his business,
but there are many other facets. He makes drums for fife-and-drum units and other
kinds of ceremonial bands, as well as smaller snare drums, and, of course, drumsticks.
You can't play a drum without them, and while many drummers are content with the
garden-variety $5-a-pair type, professional drummers would not be caught dead without a
genuine hand-signed, hand-tooled and custom-designed Reamer set, which retails for about $25.
Each is individually made, according to the customer's wishes, including pitch, weight,
type of wood, thickness, moisture content and final finishing.
He keeps thousands of blanks on hand — made from hickory or persimmon — ready for
crafting.
Reamers are fashioned on two different lathes to exacting measurements of two
grams — about the weight of two raisins — and within 1/100th of an inch. After he
is done with them, he passes them onto his son to test for perfect pitch. The approved
sticks are sent back to Reamer to sign and then are forwarded to the lucky percussionist.
Some of Reamer's projects have been, literally, more than a century in the making.
Besides his manufacturing work, he also restores drums, including several used during
the War of 1812, the French Revolution and the Civil War, including the battle of
Gettysburg.
One such drum, made famous in several Civil War-era lithographs, sits in a corner of
his workshop collecting new dust on top of its immortal dust from the epoch-changing
battle 139 years ago.
"I'm just waiting on final instructions. It's safe here. I can't wait to start work
on it," he said, gesturing at photographs of other restorations on the wall.
"It's just me and several other guys in their 70's doing the work now," he said, a
hand resting on the remnant from the Gettysburg battlefield.
"There's no one else after us," he said.
There is, of course, his son. But, Andrew is more a musician than a musician's helper.
"I can't carry a tune," the elder Reamer said. "But, I can carry a drum."
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