During the Second World War, the town hosted medicine shows and they were held in this building (long since converted into a "town hall"). The piano-playing at the annual 'medicine show' was a real treat for all of us who were starved for some entertainment and fresh medicine.
The shows came to town for a week. The people lived in homemade house trailers pulled by prewar automobiles that parked on East Street. As a kid I rode my bike past the medicine show people who camped out on two empty lots (my father owned these lots when he died in 1955). The people looked 'ordinary' to me and not like gypsies some said they were. They did seem to smoke and laugh more than the rest of us. We worried more about winning or losing the War and didn't laugh much.
The town hall had benches made from a single walnut tree that was cut in 1848. They were hard but smooth-as-glass benches that supported all kinds of people but none who laughed so loud as those of us attending those nightly performances. The whole idea was to sell us medicine in bottles with new corks. And they always sold a lot of it to people in the audience. Old people bought more than one bottle and some stood up to describe the kinds of relief they got from the medicine they bought last year. By the time the show ended a lot of bottles were sold at the amazing price of $2.00.
There was a master of ceremonies who always asked someone to "pull the blinds" so people couldn't stand on the outside and look in—they could come inside—the show was free. This man was all dressed up in clothes I had never seen before or since—the sleeves sparkled. He did the talking and sold the medicine and introduced the acts.
There was always a pretty lady whose conduct was close to erotic and much enjoyed by the old men in the audience whose eyes never left them—not even to spit tobacco juice.
There was always a magician and some were pretty good at what they did. There were comedy acts right out of the burlesque theater and many stars were born in acts like those we saw.
There was an intermission half-way through the evening. During intermission kids bought popcorn or ate the popcorn they brought with them. More medicine was sold to people who had been too embarrassed to buy it while the audience watched, so they sneaked to buy it during the intermission.
When intermission was over the master of ceremonies would remind everyone that they would offer their patented medicine again in about fifteen minutes. And they did. And suddenly the show was over and the people marched out with smiles on their faces. They would all be back and see the same performances the next night.