BIO: George Metz, Tillard Pen Pictures, 1911, Blair County, PA Contributed April 2003 for use in the USGenWeb Archives by Judy Banja Copyright 2003. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/blair/ _________________________________________ Pen Pictures of Friends and Reminiscent Sketches by J. N. Tillard Altoona, PA: William F. Gable & Co., Mirror Press, 1911 A Typical American Citizen GEORGE METZ Lives His Life with a Sense of His Own Independence and a Decent Respect for The Opinions and Rights of His Fellows IN the old canal days of the "forties" there played along the tow path in the vicinity of Williamsburg a little lad to whom the world looked very good. Naturally cheerful and a trifle pugnacious, he felt that this was a big country, and he was an integral part of it. Of course, he was only a unit, but what American boy of that date did not feel that he had the potentialities of all things in his own personality. It was a free country, of boundless opportunity, forsooth, where one man was as good as another, and a good deal better, and to the truculence of youth there did not seem to be anything that was unconquerable. Had we not twisted the Lion's tail twice and hung out our defy to all the nations of the earth? We could lick our weight in wildcats; could jump farther, shoot straighter, dive deeper and stay under longer than any other people on the face of the earth, and, so far as the individual was concerned, there were no barriers in the way of his being cock of the walk at the White House, provided he thought it worth while to go there. In the meantime there was plenty of fish in the river and game in the mountains. The world stretched out very wide and there were no trespass signs anywhere. Anything that was could be had for the asking. In the very nature of things, some hard work was involved, but then, given health, strength and energy, there was nothing that stood in the way of any achievement. The sky was blue and the grass was green; the water plentiful and pure and the free air of the mountains sang of untrammeled opportunities as the breezes whispered in the pines. Amid conditions of this sort, in common with thousands of other boys, George Metz grew to manhood. He belonged neither to the idle rich nor the downtrodden proletarian. With good blood in his body and brain and brawn inherited from world-conquering pioneer ancestors, he was in harmony with his environment and capable of coping with the situation. He asked for no favors and wished his neighbor no handicap in the race. Indeed, he was probably not conscious that there was a race on. The fierce scramble for the almighty dollar that sets the pace that kills was scarcely in evidence in his quiet valley. He wanted to be a useful citizen and paddle his own canoe on the waters of life, but he was perfectly willing that every other man should have an equal chance to do likewise. He neither fussed nor fumed nor fretted because of the limitations of his lot, for the chances were that he was not aware that there were any limitations. If he did have any such feeling, he wasted no time in sighing over the unattainable, but with what skill had been given him, after he was through with the district school, went to work to supply the good people of his community with hand-made furniture that would last for a generation or two, and occasionally supply their last earthly need by constructing a coffin. He had not been thus engaged very long, however, when Fort Sumter was fired upon and, having come from fighting stock, he was one of the first to hear the echo of the gun as it sounded the battle cry of freedom through the valleys of Pennsylvania. He was rather a young lad to go to war, but he had plenty of company from among his schoolmates and playmates, and his going was a matter of course. It would have been much more difficult for him to stay at home, but there were numbers who marched away with the same ardor that he did, who were ready to quit when the pinch came and were glad to get away from the horrors as soon as they were clearly visible, and the glamour, pomp and circumstance of war had given place to the weary march, the dreary bivouac and the bloody field. Not so George Metz. He was made of sterner stuff and waned to see it out. Indeed, he was so much in earnest about it that he re-enlisted twice and only came marching home when hostilities were over. In the meantime he had seen something of the world and Williamsburg did not seem so large as it was before the war, so he came to Altoona to seek larger fields. For some years he worked at his trade in the Pennsylvania Railroad Cabinet Shop and then he started in the furniture business on his own account. Naturally an agreeable, social being, and a lover of the society of his kind, he was sure to become interested in political matters, and by and by he became one of the Republican wheel horses of the First Ward. While he had no great ambition for political preferment on his own account, he was always deeply interested in the political successes of his friends, and when the late Tom Bell was elected sheriff in 1880, he selected George Metz as his deputy, and he discharged that office with fidelity and success. His fellow-citizens of the First Ward then made him alderman to succeed an illustrious predecessor, the late Judge Rose. George was a worthy successor, and the quality of justice that he meted out was not strained. He had never learned the art of working a job for all that was in it by the way of emoluments, and litigants who came to him merely to gratify spite or make reprizals got cold comfort. He was not hunting business at the expense of his fellows, and never took advantage of their ignorance or passion to collect fees or load the dockets of the quarter sessions court. At the end of his term he laid down his public office and looked about for a more congenial pursuit, where it would be no part of his duty to inflict punishment or cause pain. Then he set up the Eleventh Street Cigar Store and his place became the political centre of ward politics. There was not much doing in local politics in which Mr. Metz was not consulted for many years, and his political wisdom was always sound. It was seldom that he could not pick the winner in any contest and the man who listened to his counsel seldom lost his money. He was always loyal to his friends and did not engage in dirty politics or double- dealing. He was straight-out and sincere and his word, once given, could be depended upon. He never fawned to curry favor, but was honest with himself and all his associates. Quite recently he relinquished his business, but on all fair days will still be found on the Eleventh Street Rialto, in converse with the few old cronies that are left, but the ranks of his contemporaries are growing thin and, as the years slip away, their faces linger only in memory's hall. He is a survivor of a generation of men who passed through a trying period of the country's history, and their unboasted deeds entitle them to the love and respect of every individual of the present generation. They endured much, suffered much and should be honored much. #