Worth B. Cassel

1854 - 1925  (71 years)

• Name	Worth B. Cassel
  Birth	1854	Holmes Co., OH
  Gender	Male
  Death	1925
  Burial	Salem Cemetery, Wilmot, IN
  Person ID	I189448	First tree
  Last Modified	15 Sep 2005

  
  

  Father	Samuel Cassel,   b. 7 Mar 1818, Pennsylvania, USA d. 11 Mar 1877, nr. Wilmot, Noble County, IN (Age 59 years)
  Mother	Sarah Kimmerly,   b. 11 May 1819, Pennsylvania, USA d. 7 Mar 1891 (Age 71 years)
  Marriage	18 Feb 1839	Wayne, OH
  Family ID	F44862	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

  
  

  Family	Josephine (Josie) Place,   b. 1851   d. 1930 (Age 79 years)
  Marriage	2 Jun 1892
  Children	1. Mabel Glenna Cassel,   b. 22 Aug 1907
  Family ID	F44692	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart
  Last Modified	7 Feb 2010

  
  

• Notes

  Now that my grandfather's little shop is on my mind, perhaps you will be patient with me if I say something more about it; for I'm afraid that if I don't tell you now I may forget to do it later. When I was a small boy (about nine, let us say) and we visited Grandma Cassel, the shop was still there and in active operation. My bachelor uncle, Worth Cassel, had fallen heir to it, which was quite right, for he was the only child left at home to look after his mother. He had also inherited his father's talent for skilled carpentry. When we visited there, usually in midsummer, Uncle Worth, whom I adored, would take an afternoon off and devote his time to me. After dinner at eleven-thirty, he would unlock the trim little shop with a big iron key while I waited beside him, quivering with excitement. The place was dominated by a frighteningly large wooden flywheel overhead, high above the lathe on which my tall, curly-headed, soft-spoken uncle would turn out beautiful little tops and cups and saucers and napkin rings from selected pieces of oak and walnut. There is no aroma more heady than the scent of hot walnut shavings. The sharp chisels squealed and turned blue as they bit into the hard knots that were to furnish the completed product with its exquisite graining. (Ah—those irrecoverable scents that distinguished "the old home" from all other places in the world; the peculiar fragrance of the tortured walnut ribbons in the enchanted shop, the perfume of the little beds of mint and anise in the garden, the pungent smell of the old smokehouse, behind the kitchen, where many a ham and side of bacon had hung for days on end over an open barrel of smouldering hickory coals. Yes, and if you will believe it, the half-elusive aroma of the long-abandoned stable; it, too, was of the fragile fabric that summer dreams are made of.) I often wished that Uncle Worth would let me help push the treadle that operated the big flywheel. Once I ventured to ask him but he shook his head. "You don't want to get your foot mashed, do you? " And, of course, I didn't. So we left it at that. I did not debate the matter. It was not customary with us to tease for things. When any of our elders and betters said No, we never objected; much less persisted by inquiring whether our objection was sustained or overruled. [1]

  
  

• Sources

  [S2965] .