he business world as president for nearly forty years of
the Second National Bank of Cooperstown, but the qualities that made him
so interesting a figure lay rather in the many avocations of his life.
He was senior warden of Christ Church at the time of his death, and had
been a member of its vestry for more than half a century. Of thirteen
successive rectors of Christ Church he had known all but Father Nash,
the first. For the old village church, surrounded with its quaint tombs
and overshadowing pines, he had a love that seemed about to call forth
the response of personality from things inanimate.

On the streets of Cooperstown, in his later years, G. Pomeroy Keese was
a picturesque and characteristic figure. His face seemed weather-beaten
rather than old; his eye was like that of a sailor, with a focus for
distant horizons; the style of thin side-whisker affected by a former
generation gave full play to every expression of his countenance. It was
a common sight, of a winter's day, to glimpse his slight and dapper
form with quick step ambling to the post-office, while, quite innocent
of overcoat, he compromised with the frosty air by clasping his hands,
one over the other, across his chest, as a means of keeping warm!

Pomeroy Keese was somewhat contemptuous toward mufflers, arctics, and
other toggery which Otsego winters imposed upon his neighbors. He seemed
immune against the assault of climatic rigors. His attitude toward the
weather was confidential, for he was the most weatherwise of men. He
kept a daily record of the weather, with accurate meteorological data,
for more than half a century, and for many years furnished the local
official figures for the United States weather bureau. From his
experience he originated the theory that, while seasons from year to
year appear to differ widely in their character, the temperature and
precipitation within the compass of each year actually reach the same
general average. It seemed to cause him real annoyance when a period of
weather departed too widely from the usual average, yet if a cold snap
or hot spell was generous enough to break all previous records his
enthusiasm was boundless.

An equally substantial though smaller house that antedated Edgewater by
a few years was erected in the summer of 1802 by John Miller as a farm
house. It was built of bricks, and was the second building in the place
that was not constructed of wood. It stands at the southwest corner of
Pi