(Larry)  It was September of 1910 when we left to go out there. We went all the way by ourselves. No one took us there.  I was eight and John was six.

(John)  And it’s strange that I don’t remember going to the depot in Geneva, or who took us there. But I do recall waiting for the train. Larry  remembers it better than I do.

    I remember that before we got on the train, they tied shipping tags on us. Right on our shirt butto ns.

     Pop told the conductor, “Now you take these fellows to the station in Buffalo and transfer them to the Nickel Plate. Tell that conductor to take care of them and put them off in Bellevue, Ohio.”

     And that’s what happened. When we got to Buffalo, the conductor took us over to the Nickel Plate, and he told the conductor there, “Now these boys are going to Flat Rock, Ohio. To an orphan home. It’s up to you to take care of them. See that you do it.”

     Then John and I got on that train. It was a long way out there. It seemed like an eternal ride.

     We finally pulled into the station in Bellevue at two the following morning.
I remember that it was raining, it was cold, and the wind was blowing. Father Messerschmidt, the superintendent of the orphanage, was there to meet us.

    He was a giant of a man with gray hair and a big, bushy beard.

    He was pulled up to the station in a surrey with side curtains on it. He was standing there when we got off the train. I don’t remember what he said, but he took us right over to the surrey and drove us out to the Home, about three miles away.

     There was a long driveway going in, with pine trees on each side. The wind was howling and whistling through those trees, and I can remember seeing lights in the big building, way in the back. It looked like a penitentiary. I tell you, if I ever felt homesick, that was the time.