Always interested in history, especially American History and most especially local history, I've come across a Biography written by an elderly gentleman from what I consider my home town, Moravia, NY, in the Owasco Valley one hill west of Homer/Cortland. In his Autobiography titled "My Story", Merton Ellsworth Pullen describes some of his employment at Brockway for nine and a half years, apparently before and during the war effort (WW II). I'll pass most of his "Brockway Stories" on to Susan for the Script but wanted to give you all the bit about the Brockway Picnic/Clambake as a prelude to our resurgent Brockway Clambake coming up in June and to provide a small bit of historical perspective for those of you who might not know that it was, annually, a pretty big deal in Cortland for the "Brockway Family of employees". It may take a few screens to get it all in so bear with me.

Emery

THERE WERE FUN TIMES AT BROCKWAYS, TOO
(From the autobiography entitled "MY STORY" by Merton Ellsworth Pullen)

"The Company was formed in the late 1800's and began making wagons. After motorization came, they went to building trucks. Solid and quality construction became a trademark for them.
For many, many years the Brockway family owned a very large farm on the west side of the city. The huge red brick home is still in use there, A dairy existed in the early years before the truck business became the main venture. In the late 1930's another change took place
U.S. Route 11 had always passed through the center of both Homer to the north and through the heart of the business district of the city of Cortland, too.
As tractor/ trailer traffic began to increase more heavily, that led the state to build a by-pass route along the west side of those two communities.
Route 281 began north of Homer and connected route 13 at the end of Tompkins Street in Cortland, which made for a major difference in the traffic congestion of each community. On the down side, the new highway then cut the Brockway farm in half. Much of the original farm lays to the west side of Rte. 281, Where a small stream runs through some magnificent old willow trees.
It was a most picturesque setting for Company picnics."(to be continued)

The Drunken Stranger
"All of the above helps to set the stage for a most hilarious incident, which occurred there in that picturesque, pasture land setting.
The Company went all out every year to put on their annual picnic out there.
Always held on a Saturday, they erected huge tents in case of rain. Large folding tables and chairs were brought in to accommodate up to 600 employees. They bought the the best cuts of of beef steaks, pork chops,chickens, hams 2 or 3 kinds of fresh water fish, besides clams and oysters. Rolls, breads, salads, baked beans, and everything one could expect was there to enjoy. Kegs of beer, and a variety of sodas were on hand. Card games for the non athletic and softball games and horseshoe pitching helped to work off the first round of food, so that one could go back for seconds or thirds- or whatever. The picnic was always a great time for all who attended.
Now here's the hilarious event.
On the day of this picnic, an apparent drunk came driving down 281 and saw the several tents and a few hundred cars parked near by. He must have thought that a new circus had set up out there in the old pasture. his apparent curiosity led him to drive on in to investigate the scene. (I am only guessing why this person showed up at our picnic, for the lack of actual knowledge.) The next is fact."

The Drunken Stranger cont'd

'I was standing and chatting with someone while I enjoyed a tenderloin sandwich in a Kaiser bun. Very near by, a person was tending to a handle -operated barbecue spit with a large chicken on it.
As our conversation went on with whomever I was visiting with, I noticed this stranger standing a few feet away and glaring at the chicken on the spit as he wobbled. The chicken was about ready to come off as it had become a very nice dark brown, crunchy color. Just as the operator was about to stop and removed (sic) the chicken, the drunk staggered over to the spit and said to the operator, "I see you've got a couple of real problems there." With a slightly shocked look on his face, the operator asked in a polite manner, "What makes you think so?" Still wobbling on his feet and again slurring his words, the drunk replied, "Well I can't hear any music coming out of your organ and you sure as shootin' are burning the hell out out of your monkey." "


Several more stories from his years with Brockway include names and places some may recognize but I'll leave that to Susan to publish if she so chooses. I thought this pretty well described the lengths Brockway went to for their annual employee picnic/clambake and how well received it was by the employees]

Emery