Maria Schleis had many special "friends" during her life. To some, she must have seemed like
a comforting lighthouse to a sailor lost at sea. To others, she was the storm.
Living across from the Aultman B&O depot as she did, perhaps it was not surprising that
a train-hopping hobo once approached her for something to eat.
Maria had nine children of her own to feed, but she would not deny a hungry stranger.
To this day, it is not known exactly how she was marked: perhaps some writing on an oft-used
train car or maybe by word of mouth. But marked she was. Hobos began to show up frequently, just knowing in which house they
would find the generous lady.
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With hardly a word, Maria would answer their knocks on the door, hand them a loaf of hot bread
smeared with a quarter pound of homemade butter and a quart-size canning jar of hot coffee. She would allow them to sit on
her front porch to finish the meal before they would hop the next train out of town.
The hobos would always leave her with a "God bless ya ma'am" and go quietly on their way.
Some other "friends" received quite a different greeting when they knocked on Maria's door.
Frequented by Jehovah's Witnesses trying to add converts to their religion, Maria tried several
times to discourage them from visiting her. The Witnesses would appear at the door, try to give her literature,
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and then whip out a Victrola and begin playing a recording of a lecture.
Finally fed up with the insistant visitors, Maria decided to take stronger measures. During
one visit, the Witness was, as usual, ignoring her response that she was a Catholic and not about to change. He set up his
Victrola and began to play the recording when Maria grabbed the player, hurled it off her porch, and proceeded to beat the
Witness over the head with the broom she had carried from the kitchen.
Reportedly, the Witnesses never returned.
- By Paula Schleis
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