Remembering Carl Knights – Part One

By Nancy Miller Heald

Note: Grover and Cora Drinkwater raised their family on the farm now known as Elderflower Farm, 283 Vancycle Road. Later they moved to a farm on Prescott Hill Road in Northport. Their daughter, Margaret and her husband, Ray Miller raised their girls – Nancy and Patty – at Ray’s family farm, 2994 Belfast Road.


Carl Knights’ smoke-stained, toothy grim was as welcoming as his hair and brows were unruly. Comb it though he may, he never succeeded in overwhelming the twists, whirls, peaks and valleys of numerous cowlicks. He walked and danced with a stiff-legged gait. His rummage sale wardrobe never quite fit properly, so the too-big pants were gathered round his gaunt body by a tightly-cinched belt embellished with extra holes. His speech announced his “backwoods downeast” origins. Most days found him pushing a wheelbarrow full of garden produce, children, or the occasional cat; lugging firewood for the black iron Home Comfort kitchen range or wood furnace in winter; pitching hay, raking blueberries, or weeding the garden in summer. Saturday was the day he shaved the constant stubble from his face in anticipation of attending the dance.

During the Great Depression of the 1930s Grover Cleveland Drinkwater (my maternal grandfather) took on Carl Knights, a distant relative, as his hired man. Gramp needed a man to help with the farm work now that his sons, Harold, Clarence, and Lloyd, were grown and on their own. Besides, Carl needed a home. Today Carl would have lived in a group home and worked in a sheltered workshop. Fifty years ago, shelter and meaningful work was provided within the family or village.

When Carl joined the Drinkwater household, he still had a lot to learn, even though he was a man grown. Such things as “visiting” with family when they were doing their “chores” in the three-holer were frowned upon. Just because there was more than one hole didn’t mean they were to be occupied all at once.

Eventually, he developed the ability to tell time, to sort the mail, although he couldn’t read, to play sixty-three, rummy, cribbage and solitaire. Some might have thought his highest achievement was mastering the difficult pattern of the “Lady of the Lake” contra dance. The skill needed to plant a garden with straight rows eluded him, but the vegetables and flowers did not seem to be adversely affected and grew anyway.

The Saturday night dances at Breezemere in Lincolnville Center and later, the Blue Goose dance hall in Northport, were the high point of every week. The entire extended family went.  Harold Drinkwater owned the dance halls. Brother Clarence sold tickets to non-family members, while brother Lloyd and wife, Grace [Phelps], sister Margaret and husband, Ray Miller ran the concession stand at the Goose. They sold hot dogs, soda and chips.

In those days before indoor plumbing, automatic washer or electric hair dryers, getting everyone ready for the dance was an all day project. In each household the women folk washed their hair and set or braided it early in the day so they wouldn’t be forced to venture out in the “dangerous” night air with a wet head. If the house well was dry or low on water, then Cora [Gray], Grover’s wife, would call on Carl to carry water from the hand pump in the front yard. Once the copper wash boilers were filled and heated on the kitchen range, then hair, clothes and bodies could be cleaned. If you drove in on a Saturday and found newspapers hanging over the kitchen curtain rods, you knew you wouldn’t be invited in until bath time was over.

Sometime after dinner, in early afternoon and long before bath time, Gramp and Carl would strop their straight edge razors and shave. Whoever was to shave first would drop suspenders and shirt so that they hung from the waist. Once the man was stripped to Army issue olive drab muscle shirts, the razor would get a little extra stropping on the leather strap that hung behind the wood stove by the cellar door. Shaving mug, towel, toilet paper and round shaving mirror would be carefully arranged on the oil-cloth covered kitchen table at whatever spot would afford the best natural light to shave in. Whoever was first would pull up a chair, lather up his brush with shaving soap and “paint” his face. Each man had his own style. Carl and Gramp usually started by shaving the neck first.

I would sit watching, wide-eyed and silent, as the gleaming blade slid ever nearer the protruding Adam’s apple. Surely this would be the fateful day that one of them would cut his own throat! At this point, Gramp always got the hiccups, thereby adding greatly to the drama. Carl was much more prone to nicking his jaw and ending up festooned with toilet paper bits. Children were allowed to watch this ritual as long as non-negotiable rules were observed. Silence. No wiggling the table – ever . Sit absolutely still.

Gramp, Gram Cora, Carl and any “weekending” grandchildren were usually among the first to arrive at the dance, thereby ensuring being able to use their favorite parking spot, as well as be on hand to greet all their family and friends. Gram always sat on the short bench to the left of the entrance. All the family, and many others, kept their purses under Gram’s seat. She could no longer dance, so she sat with the purses and kept an eye on all of us, even when the lights were lowered – no small feat for someone who wore coke bottle-thick glasses.

Carl and Gramp danced most every dance. Every daughter, granddaughter, sister-in-law, aunt, niece, and cousin could count on being asked to dance at least twice. Gramp, with his easy gentle rhythm, could waltz and fox trot with the best of them. Carl knew the steps and the time, but he never found the rhythm. He walked stiffly through every set, mechanically pumping his left hand. We did not relish dancing with Carl, but obeyed some long-forgotten decree that “one dance won’t kill you”. We girls felt dying of embarrassment was a distinct possibility.

The family hasn’t attended the dance en masse in over 30 years, because we lost our favorite partner, Gramp. Carl continued to go alone for another twenty years. When he married his brothers’ widow, a number of the family attended the Blue Goose ceremony.