Home Page photo

[Paul Danik]

Greetings,

   The new Home Page Photo shows one of the nicest, dearest persons you could ever want to meet, plus she is a great story teller and writer.

The lady is Pat Leimbach, she is John Penton's younger sister and the Mother of Dane, Orin and the late Teddy Leimbach.

   We have invited Mrs. Leimbach to all of our POG Family Night meetings and anyone who has had the pleasure of being in her company will tell you she is very funny and entertaining.  

   She has been involved with the Penton motorcycle a little more than most folks would believe, as some of the upcoming stories will attest to.

For tonight, I will tell a little story that will give you a glimpse of what this spunky gal is made of.

When the POG first got off the ground, we decided to host a dinner at which time John was going to be presented his Medal from the Motorcycle Hall of Fame Museum for being inducted into the Hall of Fame.  After much speaking and stories of John's accomplishments he was called to the front to be presented his Medal, when the presentation was over he stepped to the mic and said, " I am truly humbled and speechless", at that time Pat, who was sitting near the front, jumped to her feet and said quite loudly for all to hear, " Well, there's two lies right there", the whole pace erupted in laughter.

There is a wonderful bond between Pat and John Penton, as anyone who has ever been around them will attest to.

We hope you will enjoy getting to know this fine lady as we tell a few stories about her, and if you have a story or comment please feel free to post it.

Paul

[Larry Perkins]

I might add for those that do not know Mrs. Leimbach is a VERY accomplished writer and does it so beautifully in her books like "All My Meadows".  If you can read her account of Teddy's passing here in America as the ISDT he should have gone to is just beginning in Europe with a dry eye, you are a tougher person than me.  I love her writings.

Larry P

[firstturn]

Thanks Larry.  Teddy was a wonderful person that I never met, but there probably isn't a day that I look at my Pentons and don't think about him and his Brother Dane.  If people haven't read some of her books...I would highly recommend.  Thanks again Larry.

Ron Carbaugh

[Paul Danik]

Mrs. Leimbach wrote columns for The Chronicle Telegram of Elyeria, Ohio, and The Farm Journal.  Her writings have been collected into three books, A Thread of Blue Denim, All My Meadows, and A Harvest of Bittersweet.  Most of her writings were about farm life, but several of her articles gave some very interesting insight into the Penton motorcycle business and the Penton family.  

If any of you ever visit eBay and do a search under PENTON , many times her books will appear up for auction.  I have actually bought some of her first edition books back for her in the past as she had given her first edition copies all out.

We hope to post several of her articles that should be of interest to this Group in the near future.

Paul

[Paul Danik]

I just spoke with Pat Leimbach and we have received her blessings to post some of her articles. Hopefully these stories will entertain and enlighten you folks as much as they have me. These articles are hand typed by a one finger typist, if you spot any errors please let me know.

Thank you Mrs. Leimbach.
Paul


Big John by Patricia Penton Leimbach

People seldom take you seriously when you talk about motorcycling---a reckless pastime for the immature or the insane, but in my family---the Penton family---Motorcycling is capitalized, and it is serious business. So...on holidays we sit at the feet of Brother John  (or Papa John, Uncle John, Big John, according to your relationship), and we listen to The Gospel According to John.

Starting about 10 years ago as a folk hero among motorcycle racers, Brother John harnessed his talents as a mechanic, machinist, innovator, go-getter,  and with considerable help from his brothers developed a winning motorcycle that bears his name. It is manufactured in Austria, then imported and distributed nationwide through the dealerships Brothers John and Ted organized.

Their motorcycle business involves the convoluted worlds of industry, economics, law, transportation, labor relations, public relations and sport. I find the whole thing fascinating, so I listen and ask questions, and ponder the world as Big John discovers and shares it, tempering my judgments on the basis of my own experiences.  It is John and the international business that intrigues me most.  As an importer he does a lot of poking about in out-of-the-way corners of Europe, a lot of bargaining, bickering, shouting, negotiating, socializing , discovering.

As a negotiator Johnny is no Henry Kissinger.  He is in fact, one small, solid lump of incongruity.  Short and stocky, looking very much like ---what else? an old motorcycle hero, he stomps on and off airplanes heavily weighted with briefcases full of gear shift levers and assorted spare parts.

He's not particularly tactful, diplomatic, or gifted in language, but in a way that candor and honesty translate, he is altogether disarming and enjoys great success.  He and his Austrian factory owner rant and rave and tear their hair in separate languages. They don't speak for a day, then fall on each other's necks, shake hands, and part like brothers---business mission accomplished.

Last week Brother John did seven countries in nine days, so on the Forth of July he was still effervescing with his experiences. When John encounters something unique, he brings it back like a shiny pearl in the palm of his hand to share and delight over, as though no one else ever found anything to compare, and he convinces me every time.

"Last week I was sitting in a restaurant in Venice..."(Sitting there straddling a picnic bench as he tells it, wearing work clothes, pant legs rolled to the knees, white socks drooping, it seems an unlikely story.) "And they brought out this steaming plastic bag, split it open, and there lay two ugly steamed fish with their sunken eyes, their slimy-looking skin.  Some big delicacy! I thought I'd vomit."

"Did you eat it?" I asked.

" Heck no.  I had a club sandwich, like over at friendly's." Big John in Venice.

Once it was a castle ruin on the Danube he'd found and thought everyone should see.  ( Eventually he arranged that many of us could.) Once he found a wonderful little boot factory on an obscure back street in a tiny Italian village. Another time, a wooden shoe factory in a ski village. Once, a parts factory in an abandoned palace, a suit works in Germany, sewing machines in Sweden, an electronic marvel in Madrid.

This trip he's stopped through Denmark to visit Brother Bill's Danish in-laws and he'd seen amazing pigs bred with two extra ribs!

Once he fell asleep on a train, missed his stop, and debarked in the middle of nowhere in Yugoslavia , where he had a heck of a time explaining to the station master that he neither wanted nor needed any "deeners." He wasn't hungry.  It finally came through to John that he was talking about units of Yugoslavian money, "dinars."  Using his well-developed language of pantomime, he got himself on a train in the opposite direction and caught a plane back to civilization.

Non-drinking, non-smoking, no-nonsense Papa John does not fit the picture of hail fellow, well met.  I can see him in a Belgian beer hall, his eyes glazed over, his face in semi-consciousness, wishing he were under an eiderdown dreaming of 6:a.m. and another exciting day in the motorcycle business. The Europeans, dedicated socializers,
forgive him his dreary cop-outs, because his dedication to business is their bread and butter and they esteem him highly.

One frigid day last winter, I caught sight of Uncle John at the local motorcycle track bundled in his raunchy brown stocking cap and a ratty old ski jacket held together at the front with a safety pin. (I recognized it as one of my husband's that I'd thrown away two years ago.) Nobody would have pegged him for an international businessman who sits at a polished mahogany table in Vienna, flanked by interpreters, bankers, tax lawyers, accountants, and stogy European business executives.

I think the reason Big John gets along so well abroad is that he's the most uncommonly common guy to come across from the States since Benjamin Franklin.