Childhood
He was born on 20 March 1844, to William Dollar and Mary Melville. He was the oldest of three boys that included brothers John and James. His mother died in 1853, and Robert dropped out of school and worked in a machine shop and then as an errand boy for a lumber shipping company to help support the family. After the death of Robert's mother, his father married a servant girl named Mary Easton, and in 1857 they had a daughter, also named Mary. Shortly afterwards, the family emigrated to Canada. Robert began working at a lumber camp as a cook's helper when he was 14 years old, and later found work in a barrel stave factory. He learned French, and worked his way up to doing the camp accounting.
In 1861, Robert held his first real job as a logger. He had the task of driving the logs down the river to the mill. There were no roads so all travel was by water. Logging took place some distance from the mill, so running the logs could take about three months. In 1866, Robert began to keep a diary, which he continued until 1918; thus, he was able to write his memoirs in later years and tell the vivid tales of logging in Canada. For example, "The first three or four days I couldn't 'keep my feet' and spent more time in the water than out of it. But experience is the best teacher and I soon learned to stay on top of the logs." Dollar worked in logging camps in the forests of Canada and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
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Famous quotes containing the word childhood:
““O what unlucky streak
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What was the rock my gliding childhood struck,
And what bright unreal path has led me here?””
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“Indeed, my mother’s beautiful face still shone with youthfulness that night when she so softly held my hands and sought to stop my tears; but, precisely, it seemed to me that this should not have happened, her anger would have saddened me less than this new sweetness that my childhood had never known; it seemed to me that, with a hidden and impious hand, I had just traced the first wrinkle and made appear the first grey hair in her soul.”
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“I long for scenes where man has never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator God And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie The grass below, above, the vaulted sky.”
—John Clare (1793–1864)