“Hairy John” Voneida Remembered by Pioneer George Hickernell

“Hairy John” State Park is a familiar name to travelers on Route 45 through Union County, Pennsylvania. It’s a picturesque trip, winding through forests, as well as Amish farmland, on the way to Penn State University in Centre County.

“Hairy John” Voneida, as the stories go, was a hermit who lived in the area near Hartleton in the 1800’s, and many children saw him as a “bogeyman” because of his unkempt hair and beard.

That was the initial reaction from pioneer George Hickernell, a well-traveled adventurer to the western United States, who was born in Centre County, Pennsylvania. He sat down with noted folklorist, and author Henry W. Shoemaker, who for many years served as editor of the Altoona Times, to share his memories of “Hairy John” in an August 1940 newspaper column, This Morning’s Comment.”

"I was born in Winkleblech Hollow, not far from the present Joyce Kilmer State Park," said Mr. Hickernell. (Joyce Kilmer Natural Area is located in Bald Eagle State Park)

"My father carried on extensive lumbering operations along Bear Mountain and in the Cherry Run Kettle, in forests of the finest and heaviest stands of white pines the sun ever shone upon.

"In my childhood days, we still heard tales of the wolves, panthers, and wild pigeons, and I can remember one spring when there had been a late blizzard or 'pigeon snow.' I was being driven to school by my dad in the sleigh, the dogs bounding and romping on ahead in the deep drifts until suddenly we heard them yelp and snarl and then screams of pain.

"When we drew near there was a huge mother bear hugging one of the dogs to death, the other three snapping and biting at the sable monster's heels. Down the hill was the cause of the mother bruin's anxiety, three fine cubs. Dad got out of the sleigh and hit the bear a few sound cracks with the butt end of his whip. She let go of the dog, squeezed almost as flat as one of "Hairy John's" famous flapjacks, and after a swift kick from dad, who had no gun, she 'scrammed' off the road in the direction of her little family.

"I'm glad to say the dog recovered as apparently, no bones were broken. But to return to 'Hairy John.' All of us kids were frightened to death of him. Why, I don't know, as no one ever heard of his harming anyone and he even got his girl helper, Twila Montray, to kill the chickens for the chicken and waffle suppers he served; he loathed the sight of blood.

"As we drove by, I would always hide under the buffalo robe and dad would say it did not behoove the great-grandson of Indian fighters to be afraid of anything, and he was going to show me how foolish were my fears. One cold day just about dusk, when we were driving home from Motz Bank, now renamed Woodward, the old man was a welcome sight to travelers, shoveling out the trail to the spring near where his cabin stood.

"Smoke was coming up from the huge stone chimney and we could not smell the pines for the savory odor of sizzling home-cured ham. Dark-eyed Twila was getting the old anchorite (recluse or hermit) one of her famous suppers. Yet the old man was shivering from head to foot when dad stopped the sleigh and introduced him to me.

"I like the little folks,' he said in a kindly gentle manner and I all at once began to think of pictures I had seen of whiskered Santa Claus --- his beard covered his face --- especially as Christmas was not far off. Father had a flask of 10-year-old “Marks"(probably bourbon or whiskey) in his hunting coat and took it out and handed it to the hermit whose dark eyes glittered joyfully as he took a good jorum (A jorum is a large drinking vessel or its contents, usually for alcoholic beverages) saying, 'Thanks friend, that's a life-saver for an old man.'

“After that, I was no longer afraid of 'Hairy John" and made it a point to tell my playmates that instead of a bogie he was probably none other than Kriss Kringle. That was about 1886 or 1887 when I was around six or seven years of age. But that picture of the grateful old recluse came back to me on winter nights around the fire in many a prospector's camp, or sheep walk, in the wild mountains of Utah, Nevada, and Colorado.

"I always liked shooting and sport," continued Mr. Hickernell, "and at an early age left for the west where I hunted, trapped, prospected, punched cattle, herded sheep, captured wild horses, farmed, kept store, belonged to the vigilantes, and all the other varied activities that fell to the lot of a pioneer in the Old West.

“When I came east, I brought some good horses back with me, thinking that Hairy John's would be a good place for a riding academy. But it did not pan out, as there were too many speedsters and heavy trucks on ‘45’ and I feared for the lives of the kiddies on their ponies.

“I sent the pintos down to my farm in the valley, near Hartleton, where I am raising some good stock.”

John Voneida died in 1889. He and his wife Judith are buried in Woodward Union Cemetery, in Woodward, Centre County.