Pappy Greenly was owner and operator of the only feed mill for miles around. My father often took 80 pounds of wheat to his mill in exchange for 80 pounds of flour. We kids jumped at the chance to accompany our father to the mill. We always visited with Pappy in his dusty office. Of special interest was his case of penny candy.
The old Mennonite miller fascinated us by removing his broad-brimmed hat and asking his rat terrier to nibble his bald head. We were amazed at his long beard.
Before leaving for home Pappy teased. I don’t imagine these children like candy. I have candy but only for children who like it. Our nods and eager faces spoke the words we were taught not say. In a few minutes Pappy filled a paper sack with an assortment of candy. He gave it to the oldest boy with the admonition Don’t let your sisters eat it all on the way home.
Many years later I drove to the old mill in Manheim, Pennsylvania. Pappy was gone. The mill was quiet but memories of Pappy’s kindness was alive. I sat in my car for quite a long time recalling Tiny and the candy case. Pappy was alive in my thoughts.