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we couldn't begin to see the mountains. We passed very near Mt. Washington and couldn't see a bit of it. And in due time we arrived at the metropolis of Berlin, N.H., a rather dingy looking "city" of about 20,000 dominated by the Brown Co. which has two huge mills there for making wood pulp and all sorts of paper products. Neil phoned Ralph Sawyer, Supt. of the Railroad from the gate house and Sawyer informed him we were "wasting our time" but agreed to come down and talk to us a few minutes. Soon he appeared, a big, bluff, red faced, red haired, middle aged, hard bitten looking man. We got into his car and talked, and before we got through we were with him four hours, had him to lunch, saw his engines and engine house, and were taken by him to a forest ranger station on a nearby mountain to see the view but it just wasn't on account of the rain. We got some of his costs and some idea of his service, enough to at least make a preliminary report. And to boot, we heard a fund of stories that were choice - all in the local vernacular. Some:

Jack Leary, an old employee of the Brown Co. was once riding the stage coach and trying to be a gentleman. A lady was sitting next to him and when one of the horses started breaking wind badly, Jack finally turned to the lady and said, "Sweet Jesus, lady, listen to that son of a bitch fart!" And she said, "Sir, I want you to know I didn't come on this coach to be insulted!" And Jack replied, "Sweet Jesus lady, neither did I. And if that son of a bitch farts again. I think we both should get off and walk!"

Sawyer is an ex-lumberjack and he told how they tried to make a paper towel salesman out of him. And he went to Boston where he couldn't sell a thing.

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