savings in a small general
store. It proved a profitable venture. It was the only one in town,
and Pershing's reputation for square-dealing brought him many
customers. A neighbor pays him this tribute:

"John F. Pershing was a man of commanding presence. He was a great
family man and loved his family devotedly. He was not lax, and ruled
his family well.

"The Pershing family were zealous church people. John F. Pershing was
the Sunday School superintendent of the Methodist Church all the years
he lived here. Every Sunday you could see him making his way to church
with John on one side and Jim on the other, Mrs. Pershing and the girls
following along."

John F. Pershing was a strong Union man, and although local feeling ran
high between the North and the South, he retained the esteem of his
neighbors. He had one or two close calls from the "bushwhackers," as
roving rangers were called, but his family escaped harm.

At times during the War, he was entrusted with funds by various other
families, and acted as a sort of local bank. After the War he was
postmaster.

The close of the War found the younger John a stocky boy of five. He
began to attend the village school and take an active part in the
boyish sports of a small town. There was always plenty to do, whether
of work or play. One of his boyhood chums writes:

"John Pershing was a clean, straight, well-behaved young fellow. He
never was permitted to loaf around on the streets. Nobody jumped on
him, and he didn't jump on anybody. He attended strictly to his own
business. He had his lessons when he went to class. He was not a big
talker. He said a lot in a few words, and didn't try to cut any swell.
He was a hard student. He was not brilliant, but firm, solid, and
would hang on to the very last. We used to study our lessons together
evenings. About nine-thirty or ten o'clock, I'd say:

"'John, how are you coming?'

"'Pretty stubborn.'

"'Better go to bed, hadn't we?'

"'No, Charley, I'm going to work this out.'"

Another schoolmate gives us a more human picture:

"As a boy, Pershing was not unlike thousands of other boys of his age,
enjoying the same pleasures and games as his other boyhood companions.
He knew the best places to shoot squirrels or quail, and knew where to
find the hazel or hickory nuts. He knew, too, where the coolest and
deepest swimming pools in the Locust, Muddy, or Turkey creeks were.
Many a time we went swimming