When a man sleepwalks and falls out of his hotel window on the second floor, that's odd. When two men sleepwalk and fall out of the windows of their rooms on the second floor of the same hotel, that's very odd. But when three men in three years sleepwalk and fall out of their windows on the second floor of the same hotel, that's a mystery.
"Somnambulism," was the title of an item in the May 25, 1871 edition of the Carlisle Herald. "On Thursday last, at about 2:00 Mr. Benjamin Stout, foreman of the Pine Grove Iron Works, walked out of a window on the second story of the Union House in this place, Louis Zitzer proprietor."
The newspaper reported that "Mr. Stout had been dreaming of walking in a flower garden, and while so doing got up in his sleep, removed a number of flower pots that were standing on the window, and walked, or rather fell out; falling a distance of at least 20 feet, landing at the bottom of a flight of stairs leading into the basement, and damaging the balustrade in his descent."
"Upon striking the pavement," the account continued, "he was thoroughly aroused, and cried for help."
Mr. Zitzer, the hotel proprietor, went to Stout's assistance, "and after considerable difficulty (Mr. Stout being a man of large proportions weighing fully 200 pounds) succeeded in carrying him to his room powerless, and very nervous from the effects of the fall." Zitzer gave Stout stimulants to ease his sufferings, and Stout slept until 5 a.m.
The newspaper reported that "Mr. Stout sustained severe injuries and was unable to walk or help himself. He was conveyed to the South Mountain depot in the afternoon, and placed on the train for Pine Grove, since which time no tidings of him have been received."
As an addendum to the story, the editor noted that "about three years since, a gentleman stopping at this same hotel, got up in his sleep and walked out of one of the windows on the second floor, sustaining merely a sprain on one of his ankles."
Alexandria, [District of Columbia], 25 February 1810. Thomas Cruse sat down, opened his desk, took out a clean sheet of paper, dipped his pen in the bottle of ink and wrote “Dear Sir.” He was writing to his brother-in-law, Judge James Hamilton of Carlisle, Pennsylvania.
The photo of the lunch counter at Woolworth’s, taken at the reopening in 1959, brings back fond memories. When you were growing up and shopping with your mother at Woolworth’s, a milk shake or maybe a dish of ice cream at the lunch counter was the hoped for reward for having to endure waiting with her as she looked through the notions and the housewares departments. At the lunch counter you could swivel back and forth on the stool, stare at the dispenser that kept the orangeade cold and watch the lady cooking hamburgers on the grill.