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Old Print Article: “Carrie Nation Dead,” New York Times (1911)

August 12, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“Mrs. Nation suffered imprisonment, ridicule, and was even declared insane.”

Carrie Nation had a dream, but it was the wrong one. If she had applied her considerable energy, moral outrage, and, yes, craziness, to supporting the cause of Abolition or Suffrage, she would have been a hero. But the Kentucky-born woman chose alcohol as her enemy and her hatchet-wielding and barroom-busting helped make the idea of Prohibition a legitimate thing. History has shown us what a mistake that was, how opposed to human nature. Nation never lived to see her dream fulfilled–or undone. She died in 1911, nine years before alcohol was banned in the United States and twenty-two before the ban repealed. Her death notice from the June 10, 1911 New York Times.

“Leavenworth, Kan.–Carrie Nation, the Kansas saloon smasher, died here to-night. Paresis was the cause of her death. For several months Mrs. Nation had suffered from nervous disorders, and on Jan. 22 she entered the sanitarium in which she died.

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Carrie Nation, whose maiden name was Moore, was born in Kentucky, near ex-Senator Blackburn’s home, and was a schoolmate of his. Her mother, it was said, died in an asylum for the insane. Her first husband was Dr. Gloyd, and after his death she married David Nation, a lawyer of Kansas City, who gave her legal advice but left her after she launched out on her anti-saloon crusade with the hatchet. All her life she was a strong temperance advocate, and came to regard herself as a woman with a mission. She declared publicly that hers was the right hand of God and that she had been commissioned to destroy the rum traffic in the United States.

Mrs. Nation suffered imprisonment, ridicule, and was even declared insane, and at the end of nine years she retired with sufficient money to purchase a farm in Arkansas. A good deal of her money was derived from the sale of her souvenir hatchets.

Mrs. Nation lived in Medicine Lodge, Kan., until June 6, 1900. On that day she went into her back yard and picked up a dozen bricks. After wrapping them in old newspapers and adding four heavy bottles to the collection she drove in her buggy to Kiowa, where she smashed the windows of three saloons with her ammunition. The other saloons closed their doors and then Mrs. Nation stood up in her buggy and told the assembled crowd that the law had been violated and some one should be punished, either herself or the officials who permitted the saloons to be operated against the law of the State.

Next morning the newspapers scattered the news broadcast that a new reformer had arrived upon the scene. From that day Mrs. Nation had been in jail at Wichita three times, at Topeka seven times, once at Coney Island, Kansas City, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, twice at Pittsburgh, three times at Philadelphia, once at Bayonne, N.J., and once at Cape Breton. In all, Mrs. Nation had to pay the penalty twenty-two times for taking the law into her own hands. 

During her travels Mrs. Nation came to New York, and visited Police Headquarters and John L. Sullivan‘s saloon. She did not do any smashing here, but gained considerable notoriety. In 1903 she created a disturbance in the White House in Washington in an effort to reach President Roosevelt, and was ejected by two policemen. Then she went to the Capitol and disturbed the Senate, for which she was fined $25 or thirty days in jail. The fine was obtained by selling hatchets.

Mrs. Nation made a tour of Great Britain in 1908, visiting music halls and saloons and giving advice to Magistrates. She was arrested at New Castle on Tyne for smashing, and appeared in the London music halls, where the audiences hissed her off the stage. In her own State of Kentucky Mrs. Nation had the reputation of being a kindhearted, sympathetic, motherly woman before she moved into Kansas, where she became obsessed with the Prohibition doctrines. It was said that her militant campaign called public attention to the rum traffic in the South and helped the cause of temperance a great deal by having the laws enforced against abuses in the liquor traffic.”

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A Brief Note From 1901 About A Baby’s Touch

August 11, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the May 30, 1901 New York Times:

“Mrs. Mary Himmerich, twenty-two years old, the wife of John Himmerich, a musician, living at 182 Meserole Street, Williamsburg, died on Tuesday from erysipelas as a result of a scratch on the cheek received a week ago from the finger nails of her seven-months-old baby.

At the time Mrs. Himmerich paid little attention to the scratch, but two days later her face began to swell, and she then went to a dispensary. Failing to get relief, and the pain increasing, she called in Dr. Bookbinder of 1,250 Madison Street. The doctor found she had erysipelas as a result of the scratch. Mrs. Himmerich died in great agony on Tuesday.”

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Bat Masterson, An Ink-Stained Wretch

August 8, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Sports, Urban Studies, Videos | Permalink

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No one has ever come up with a bigger lie than F. Scott’s Fitzgerald with this whopper: “There are no second acts in American lives.” There have always been second acts and many more after that. I mean, not if you drink yourself to death, but for anyone who waits out the bad times with good humor. 

Bat Masterson was many things in his sixty-seven years–buffalo hunter, Army scout, sheriff, gambler and boxing manager, etc.–until he was one final thing: a New York City newspaper sportswriter. He died as an ink-stained wretch at an editor’s desk, not a gunslinger in a saloon. Masterson is in his journalistic dotage in the above undated classic photo. The report of his death from the October 26, 1921 New York Times:

“William Barclay Masterson, better known as Bat Masterson, sporting writer, friend of Theodore Roosevelt and former sheriff of Dodge City, Kan., died suddenly yesterday while writing an article at his desk in the office of the The Morning Telegraph. He had been connected with the paper for more than ten years, and for the last few years had been one of its editors.

At one time Masterson was said to have been the best known man between the Mississippi and the Pacific Coast, and his exploits and his ability as a gun fighter have become part of the tradition of the Middle West of many years ago. He was the last of the old time gun fighters.

He was born in Iriquios County, Ill., in 1854, the son of a farmer who came originally from St. Lawrence County, N.Y. Little more than a boy, Bat, his rifle across his knees, left the farm and rode into the then Fort Dodge and joined a party of buffalo hunters. Then his actual career began, and probably more weird and bloodthirsty tales have been written about him than of nearly any other man. His fights, however, were in the cause of justice, and he was one of a group of gunfighters who made that part of the country unhealthy for the bad men of the period.

While in the frontier town Bat heard one day that his brother had been killed across the street. Bat headed over. What happened he thus told later on the witness stand:

‘The cowboys had been on the range for some time and were drinking. My brother was the Town Marshall. They were carrying six-shooters and he attempted to disarm one of them who was particularly mean. They shot and killed him and they attempted to kill me. I shot and killed them–one at any rate–and shot the other one.’

His second killing was a cowboy named Jim Kennedy, who had come to town seeking the life of the Mayor. Kennedy shot several times through the door of a Mayor’s house and killed a woman. Then Masterson started out to get him. And he did.

One of Masterson’s most famous exploits was the battle of Dobe Walls, when with nine companions he stood off 200 Indians in a siege of 29 days. The attacking force was composed of Arapahoes and Cheyennes. A fortunate accident–the fall of part of the dirt roof of a saloon in which the buffalo hunters were sleeping–prevented the party from being surprised by the Indians and murdered in their sleep, for the attack was not anticipated. In the gray light of a June morning, when the hunters were engaged in restoring the roof, the Indians descended upon them. The hunters abandoned the roof and took to their guns. Time after time the Indian attack was stopped and the enemy driven back to the shelter of a fringe of cottonwoods along the Canadian River.

Masterson was only 18 years old when he joined Lieutenant Baldwin’s civilian scouts under Colonel Nelson A. Miles. He participated in the battle of Red River, where the Indians were commanded by Geronimo, and in other Indian engagements. Masterson lived fifteen years in Denver. There he became interested in pugilism. He went broke backing Charlie Mitchell in his fight with James J. Corbett. He was an official in the fight between Fitzsimmons and Corbett.”

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Masterson officiating Fitzsimmons-Corbett in 1897:

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A Note From 1904 About A Girl With Followers

August 7, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 9, 1904 New York Times.

“Berlin–The attention of the police of the little town of Annaberg, Saxony, has recently been directed to a very remarkable sect. Its main characteristic consists in the adoration of a young girl, who professes the gift of speaking in various tongues. She has declared herself to be the veritable Christ, and the members of the sect say the Saviour has reappeared in the form of this girl. The devotees hold regular meetings on the Poehlberg, a hill in the environs of Annaberg.

A strange night awaited the police when they came to this place of worship. They found assembled a large concourse of people, kneeling before the girl, who was resting on a green cushion. When the police removed the girl in order to take her to a hospital, the fanatical worshippers made the most tumultuous opposition. Soon afterward, however, the girl was allowed to leave the hospital, as nothing abnormal in her condition could be discovered.”

Old Print Article: “To Sell Her Finger,” New York Times (1911)

August 6, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Doesn’t 1911 sound awfully early for a finger transplant? Well, that’s the basis of a grisly article in the August 6 New York Times of that year about a woman of modest means who offered to sell her index finger to a rich one who lost hers to amputation. The story:

“Chicago–Mrs. Minnie O’Herrin says she will gladly sacrifice the index finger on her right hand in order to give her six-year-old daughter Isla a musical education.

Mrs. Reginald Waldorf of Philadelphia recently injured the index finger on the right hand by a cut from a rusty nail. Blood poisoning resulted, and the finger was amputated. ‘There is but one thing that can restore your hand to its former condition,’ said the surgeon who amputated the digit. ‘Some other woman whose finger will fit and who is willing to sell her finger must be found. The new finger can be amputated and grafted on.’

An advertisement was published in the Philadelphia papers, inviting proposals for a finger. Mrs. O’Herrin saw the advertisement, and yesterday wrote that she would make the sacrifice.”

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A Brief Note From 1922 About A Sane Man

August 5, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the March 13, 1922 New York Times:

“Ossining–Sing Sing attachés announced today that Lawrence Kubal, Long Island slayer, is making a furor in the death-house trying to find a machine gun he imagined is hidden somewhere in his cell.

The guards transferred him to a padded cell and took everything from him except a mattress. He has been shouting and raving for forty-eight hours and has greatly annoyed the other condemned men.

Kubal was sentenced to death for the murder of Mrs. Minnie Bartlett at West Hempstead, L.I., for her jewels. Twice he tried to hang himself in the death-house, but was frustrated by guards. Recently a lunacy commission appointed by Governor Miller found him legally sane.”

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Old Print Article: “Tesla’s New Device Like Bolts Of Thor,” New York Times (1915)

August 4, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

“Dr. Tesla said that it would be possible with his wireless mechanism to direct an ordinary aeroplane, manless, to any point.”

Unlike Thomas Edison, national hero and reliable citizen, there was always an element of danger and irresponsibility about Nikola Tesla. Part of that came from his old boss and heated rival Edison planting stories about his recklessness, but in all fairness, Tesla did dream up a lot of crazy, scary stuff. The year before he won the Nobel Prize, he proposed a new military defense system which was also a weapon of mass destruction–a drone system, basically–according to a breathless article in the December 8, 1915 New York Times. The story:

“Nikola Tesla, the inventor, winner of the 1915 Nobel Physics Prize, has filed patent applications on the essential parts of a machine the possibilities of which test a layman’s imagination and promise a parallel of Thor’s shooting thunderbolts from the sky to punish those who had angered the gods. Dr. Tesla insists there is nothing sensational about it, that it is but the fruition of many years of work and study. He is not yet ready to give the details of the engine which he says will render fruitless any military expedition against a country which possesses it. Suffice it to say that the destructive invention will go through space with the speed of 300 miles a second, a manless airship without propelling engine or wings, sent by electricity to any desired point on the globe on its errand of destruction, if destruction its manipulator wishes to effect.

Ten miles or a thousand miles, it will be all the same to the machine, the inventor says. Straight to the point, on land or on sea, it will be able to go with precision, delivering a blow that will paralyze or kill, as is desired. A man in a tower on Long Island could shield New York against ships or army by working a lever, if the inventor’s anticipations become realizations.

‘It is not the time,’ said Dr. Tesla yesterday, ‘to go into the details of this thing. It is founded upon a principle that means great things in peace; it can be used for great things in war. But I repeat, this is no time to talk of such things.

‘It is perfectly practicable to transmit electrical energy without wires and produce destructive effects at a distance. I have already constructed a wireless transmitter which makes this possible, and have been described it in my technical publications, among which I may refer to my patent 1,119,732 recently granted. With transmitters of this kind we are enabled to project electrical energy in any amount to any distance and apply it for innumerable purposes, both in peace and war. Through the universal adoption of this system, ideal conditions for the maintenance of law and order will be realized, for then the energy necessary to the enforcement of right and justice will be normally productive, yet potential, and in any moment available, for attack and defense. The power transmitted need not be necessarily destructive, for, if existence is made to depend upon it, its withdrawal or supply will bring about the same results as those now accomplished by any force of arms.

‘But when unavoidable, the same agent may be used to destroy property and life. The art is already so far developed that great destructive effects can be produced at any point on the globe, determined beforehand and with great accuracy. In view of this I have not thought it hazardous to predict a few years ago that the wars of the future will not be waged with explosives but with electrical means.’

Dr. Tesla then said that it would be possible with his wireless mechanism to direct an ordinary aeroplane, manless, to any point, over a ship or an army, and to discharge explosives of great strength from the base of operations.”

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A Brief Note From 1880 About New Shoes

August 2, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the September 1880 New York Times:

“Isaac H. Haight, an old man, living at Somers, Westchester County, has many times threatened to commit suicide, sometimes by hanging, sometimes by freezing to death, and at others by drowning, and cutting his throat. On Monday he went to the shoe store and got a pair of shoes for his daughter-in-law. They did not suit her, and she found fault with him. He became melancholy over it, and reiterated his threats to commit suicide. He had been heard to say this so often, that he was told to go and do it. He then invited the people present in the house to go out and see him cut his throat. They laughed at him, and refused to go. He however, went, and the people looked at him from the windows. He had turned to his little grandson and said, ‘Come out and see your grandpa cut his throat,’ and the little boy had gone. Mr. Haight drew his knife and flourished it about his head, and made several feints at cutting himself. Finally, by accident, he did cut his throat. When he saw what he had done, he tried to hold it together, told his friends he did not intend to do it, and asked them to send for a doctor. He expressed himself as very sorry for what he had done, but after four hours he died.”

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Old Print Article: “Tar And Feathers For Jersey Farmer,” New York Times (1910)

August 1, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“He was dazed and hardly able to stand after his exposure.”

Romantic entanglements led to an old-fashioned tarring-and feathering in New Jersey, according to an article in the August 11, 1910 New York Times. An excerpt:

“Mays Landing–Tarred and feathered by a gang of young men known as the ‘Terrible Ten,’ Frank Sichort of Cardiff, a small village in the South Jersey pine belt, was lashed shortly after 4 o’clock this morning to a post near the McKee City railway station and left to the mercies of the hordes of mosquitoes.

He was found there shortly after 6 o’clock by the passengers and crew of the early newspaper train to Atlantic City. The crew went to his assistance and liberated him from his sorry plight. He was dazed and hardly able to stand after his exposure. He was entirely nude save for the coat of tar and feathers.

The affair, which has no precedent in South Jersey, grew out of Sichort’s attentions to a widow, Mrs. Annie Schroell. Some months ago Mrs. Schroell’s husband died, leaving her with nine children, only one of whom is married. She conducted a profitable farm at McKee City and recently Sichort, who is a married man, began to go and see her.

His visits became more frequent, until it began to be rumored that he was endeavoring to induce Mrs. Schroell to board out her children among the neighbors and to desert the farm and live with him. Her son-in-law hearing this, met Sichort and warned him to keep away under penalty of a coat of tar and feathers. The man paid no attention to the warning.  

Members of the Terrible Ten Club got together last night and decided to carry out the threat of tar and feathers into effect. Before daybreak this morning, Sichort went to the Schroell farm and loaded a wagon with vegetables. As he was en route to the seashore members of the Terrible Ten Club halted him. He was pulled from the wagon and overpowered. He fought desperately, but was entirely stripped of his clothing. 

His captors daubed him with tar from head to foot and then covered him with feathers in true Western style. Feathers were even entangled in his whiskers. When the job was completed he was a sight such as is seldom seen in the Eastern States.”

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A Brief Note From 1882 About A Father’s Arrival

July 31, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the December 28, 1882 New York Times:

“Wilkesbarre–This afternoon a woman named named Gannon, residing on Pringle Hill, came to Dr. Doyle’s office, bringing with her a child, which she said had swallowed a piece of slate-pencil. The child was half-suffocated and suffering with spasms. The physician, after examining the child, said that the only way to save the child was to cut open its throat and extract the pencil. The mother, however, refused to allow the operation to be performed before the arrival of her husband, who had been sent for. He did not arrive until two hours later, and within a few minutes after his arrival the child expired.”

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Old Print Article: “Rulloff’s Brain,” New York Times (1871)

July 30, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“In the formation of his brain, Rulloff was a ferocious animal.”

Even if he hadn’t had a brain the size of a medicine ball, Edward H. Rulloff’s death by execution would have been notable. A brilliant philologist and author who committed a slew of violent crimes during his life, Rulloff was the last prisoner to die by public hanging in New York State. For a long while, he managed to stay a step ahead of the law, even when he was suspected for the beating deaths of his wife and daughter and lethally poisoning a couple of other relatives. But when the vicious linguist was finally convicted to die for the murder of an Upstate New York shop clerk, some voiced support for sparing his life, in order to allow him to keep sharing his genius about language. Mark Twain coolly mocked them, suggesting, in Swiftian fashion, that someone else be hung in Rulloff’s place. The doomed man just wanted the show to get on the road. “Hurry it up!’ he hollered on the day he was to wear a noose, “I want to be in hell in time for dinner.”

Colorful enough, sure, but when his severed head was examined after the death sentence was carried out, Rulloff proved to have one of the largest brains ever recorded. From the May 24, 1871 New York Times article about the measure of a wonderful, terrible man:

“The work of dissecting Rulloff’s head was so far completed this morning as to enable those having it in charge to ascertain the weight of his brain. The brain weighed fifty-nine ounces, being nine and a half or ten ounces heavier than the average weight. The heaviest brain ever weighed was that of Cuvier, the French naturalist, which is given by some authorities at sixty-five ounces. The brain of Daniel Webster (partly estimated on account of a portion being destroyed by disease) weighed sixty-four ounces. The brain of Dr. Abercrombie, of Scotland, weighed sixty-three ounces.

The average weight of men’s brain is about 50 ounces; the maximum weight 65 ounces (Cuvier’s), and the minimum weight (idiots) 20 ounces. As an average, the lower portion of the brain (cerebellum) is to the upper portion (cerebrum) as 1 is to 8 8-10. The lower, brute portion, of Rulloff’s brain and the mechanical powers were unusually large. The upper portion of the brain, which directs the higher moral and religious sentiments, was very deficient in Rulloff. In the formation of his brain, Rulloff was a ferocious animal, and so far as disposition could relieve him from responsibility, he was not strictly responsible for his acts. There is no doubt he thought himself not a very bad man, on the morning he was lead out of prison, cursing from the cell to the gallows.

“He was not strictly responsible for his acts.”

With the protection of a skull half an inch thick, and a scalp of the thickness and toughness of a rhinoceros rind, the man of seven murders was provided with a natural helmet that would have defied the force of any pistol bullet. If he had been in Mirick’s place the bullet would have made only a slight wound; and had he been provided with a cutis vera equal to his scalp, his defensive armor against bullets would have been as complete as a coat of mail.

The cords in Rulloff’s neck were as heavy and strong as those of an ox, and from his formation, one would almost suppose that he was protected against death from the gallows as well as by injury to his head.

Rulloff’s body was [said to be] larger than it was supposed to be by casual observers. The Sheriff ascertained when he took measure of the prisoner for a coffin to bury him in, that he was five feet and ten inches in height, and measured nineteen inches across the shoulders. When in good condition his weight was about 175 pounds.

It is very well-known that Rulloff’s grave was opened three times last Friday night by different parties who wanted to obtain his head. One of those parties was from Albany, and twice the body was disinterred by persons living in Binghamton. One company would no sooner cover up the body, which all found headless, and leave it, then another company would come and go through with the same operations. It is now known that the head was never buried with the body, but was legally obtained before the burial by the surgeons who have possession of it.

The hair and beard were shaved off close, and an excellent impression in plaster was taken of the whole head. The brain is now undergoing a hardening process, and when that is completed an impression will be taken of it entire, and then it will be parted, the different parts weighed, and impressions made of the several sections.”

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A Brief Note From 1907 About A Boy Cairvoyant

July 29, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the September 22, 1907 New York Times:

“Christiana–The young clairvoyant of Singsaa, known as “The boy with the sixth sense,” is again exerting his extraordinary powers, undertaking to unravel a mystery which has baffled the police.

A few months ago a little girl named Gudrun suddenly disappeared from Christiana. Search for her was made through Norway in vain, the only clue the police received being a statement by a playfellow that a party of gypsies carried off the missing child.

The clairvoyant was appealed to, and he says he can ‘feel’ where the gypsies with the little girl in their possession are staying, and mentions the environs of Norde Gueddalen as the place where they may be found.

Armed men, with the clairvoyant boy at their head, are now scouring the country, firmly convinced that they are on the gypsies’ tracks.”

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Old Print Article: “Arizona’s Woman Sheriff In Town,” New York Times (1915)

July 28, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"I wouldn't live in Nee York if you gave it to me. It's hotter than --- in Yuma, but I like the sun."

“It’s hotter than — in Yuma, but I like the sun.”

The only female sheriff in Arizona, a gun-slinging miner and Prohibitionist, made her way to New York to raise funds for a sanitarium, according to a colorful article in the November 17, 1915 New York Times. The story:

“Underneath her big sombrero, Mrs. Lucretia Roberts, Constable and Deputy Sheriff on Santa Cruz County, Arizona, has invaded New York City with a Mexican hair lariat and a .45 Colt’s revolver.

However, there is nothing about the little woman, who wears cowhide boots and a tan riding suit, that should cause any uneasiness to the quiet citizens of this metropolis. Rather is she of the type that might suggest the Boston school teacher on an outing. Soft-spoken in her speech and gentle in her manner, the only woman holder of an elective office in Arizona has pitched her tent for several days at the Hotel McAlpin.

Yet underneath her quiet demeanor there is an apparent confidence of ability to handle affairs. Mrs. Roberts said last evening that she had come here to gather funds to build a sanitarium for consumptives in the State where sunshine and good fresh air are as plentiful as lights along our Great White Way. She said, too, that she was willing to sell some stock in a mine of her own.

She owns a homestead site of 160 acres in Canillo, Ariz., and has ten saddle horses and 250 head of good cattle. She said last evening that she lived ‘in the saddle’ and loved out-of-doors life. Asked her impression of the big city, she said:

‘I wouldn’t live in New York if you gave it to me. It’s hotter than — in Yuma, but I like the sun, and it shines there every day.’

The hotel management learned very soon that Mrs. Roberts’s rooms did not admit enough sunshine and light and air, and quickly removed her to another set of rooms, where the constable was more at home. Mrs. Roberts said in answer to a question:

‘New York is nice to visit, though. But there is too much slamming of doors, and then women’s skirts are too short in this city. Yet withal, I have enjoyed the few hours I have spent here.’

Speaking of her election, Arizona’s only woman Sheriff said:

‘It was sort of a joke vote in Santa Cruz County a year ago in November. I was elected over two cowpunchers, G. Bryley and John Yost, by three votes to one for them, it being the first time the woman voted in the State; but it hasn’t turned out to be a joke for many, for you will remember that we put the State on the dry side in the last election. We women don’t know much about the ballot, but we sided right on the main issues and put them through.’

"Most of our arrests are of bad Mexicans and bootleggers."

“Most of our arrests are of bad Mexicans and bootleggers.”

Hardly had the little woman of the West shaken the alkali of the deserts from her skirts or adjusted her sombrero before she set out to learn about the big city. She said last evening, although she admitted being tired, that she had enjoyed a talk with ‘Paddy’ McDonald, the giant traffic officer who guards citizens from the rush of autos at Times Square. She said that the big policeman had a lot of knowledge of horses and autos, and was gentle to silly people who asked absurd questions. She knew this, she said, because she stood by while he answered many ridiculous questions with good humor.

In the evening Mrs. Roberts visited a Broadway theatre and enjoyed a show, the name of which she refused to give.

A number of clippings from Arizona newspapers related some exploits of Mrs. Roberts, such as the capture of a Mexican horse thief whom she pursued across the desert for three days, and of her shooting a pack of wolves when they attacked a neighbor’s cattle near Canillo. Speaking of her work as a Constable and Sheriff, she said:

‘Most of our arrests are of bad Mexicans and bootleggers. Of course, I can swear in any man at any time as an assistant, and they jump at the chance.’

She told of a ride of sixty-five miles from Canillo to Bisbee between 7 o’clock in the morning and sundown recently, when she captured a Mexican who had stolen cattle from a neighbor. Cattle, this year, she said, were the best in Arizona’s history, but crops were poor because of an exceptionally dry season.

The little Sheriff is confident of building her hospital.”

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A Brief Note From 1895 About Dog Food

July 25, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the December 12, 1885 New York Times:

“Bellaire, Ohio–Frederick Glatzer and Frederick Summers are coal diggers and reside with their families up Indian Run, a few miles from this city. What has made them notorious is the fact that they are fond of dog meat, and on occasions when the average mortal buys a turkey to celebrate with, these people kill a dog and roast it. Glatzer’s wife has not been in the country very long, but during the time she has lived here the family has had several dog roasts, and have made them very enjoyable occasions, and on Christmas expect to have another, at which a number of relatives will be present.”

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Old Print Article: “Murder Of Indian Medicine Woman,” New York Times (1903)

July 24, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“The last one to pay the penalty was a woman.”

I only trust so much the historical reports about Native American behavior in white publications, which reported on the tribes from a posture of fear and ethnocentrism. So make what you will of this excerpt from an article in the September 20, 1903 New York Times:

“North Yakima, Washington–The Indian Tribes of the Northwest do not permit bad medicine men to experiment on the lives of their members. When one dies under the care of the doctor, the medicine man generally goes to the happy hunting grounds to atone for his sins. The Yakima Indians of Washington have recently disposed of two old doctors because of their failure to cure sick families. The last one to pay the penalty was a woman. Her name was Tee-son-a-way. She had lived to see almost 100 years of life before the hand of vengeance was turned against her.

In a little wickiup that had done service for a quarter of a century the medicine woman made her home. She was compelled to live an isolated life because of being a medicine woman. Her possessions consisted of an eighty-acre farm which the Government had given her, a band of ponies and stock, and $40 in money. She had passed beyond the stage of life when her associates had faith in her charms for healing the sick. Her hair was long and gray, which caused many members of the tribe to reverence her. But the piercing black eyes made them think an evil one was lurking about and they desired to get rid of her presence.

Tee-son-a-way sat in her tepee smoking the pipe of peace and sadly dreaming of the fate that soon would be hers, for she knew that the Indians would drag her away into the mountains and leave her for wolves to devour if she did not die or some of her enemies had not the courage to take her life. A face darkened the door, and one of the redmen quickly stepped inside the hut. He had a duty to perform. It was to avenge the death of some member of his family whom the doctor had failed to heal. With a stone he struck the medicine women on the head and felled her to the ground. Then her head was cut off and dragged away, leaving the body in a tepee.

For many days the body lay in the wickiup, while the head was discoloring in the hot sunshine of the Yakima Valley. Then, Yallup, an Indian, had a call to make on the medicine woman. He entered the tepee and discovered the signs of death. He called the tribe, and there was much mourning among the Yakimas. The remains were buried in the Indian cemetery with the pomp due the chieftain of many wars. Blankets of every hue were woven about the body and spread over the grave. The medicine rattle was buried with Tee-son a-way, and her voice will be heard no more.

Tee-son-a-way was one of the fortunate doctors whose lives were spared during the cold Winter of 1890 and 1891. The tribe held a long pow-wow at that time and executed their medicine men. They argued that the men were bad or the snow would not fall so deep and continue so long on the ground. One of the chiefs was so earnest in his dances and marks of violence to appease the wrath of the Great Spirit that he stabbed his breast with a dagger until he dropped dead in the council chamber. Yet the good spirit did not breathe a warm wind on the frozen camp, and the medicine men were burned at the stake or shot in the snowdrifts.”

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A Brief Note From 1897 About A Funny Ending

July 23, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the September 14, 1897 New York Times:

“La Grange, Ind.–Ida Bolley, wife of a farmer, died to-day while in a fit of laughter. A friend told a story which greatly amused Mrs. Bolley. While she was making merry over it, a blood vessel burst and caused her death.”

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Old Print Article: “Lasso-Hunting In Africa,” New York Times (1909)

July 22, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Sports, Urban Studies | Permalink

"His success in roping giraffes is a matter of surprise."

“His success in roping giraffes is a matter of surprise.”

At some point, Col. Charles “Buffalo” Jones put down his gun and picked up a lasso. A big-game hunter of national fame, Jones converted to conservationist in later life and led a roping expedition in Kenya to stock American zoos with all manner of living specimens. From an article about his dangerous mission in the April 3, 1910 New York Times:

“Hunting with a lasso is the latest innovation in the world of sport.

Col. C.J. Jones, better known as ‘Buffalo’ Jones, has cabled to friends in America from British East Africa that he has succeeded in roping with a lasso most of the animals which Col. Theodore Roosevelt brought down with his gun in the same region. He will bring to the United States live specimens of the same animals, whose pelts Col. Roosevelt has sent to the Smithsonian Institution.

In his first cablegram received in this city late this past week, Col. Jones tells of an exciting experience with an immense bull rhinoceros. The creature charged a hundred times before it was securely tied. It demolished the camera, and barely gave the photographer of the party time to escape.

Besides rhinoceri, Col. Jones has captured giraffes, leopards, and cheetahs. His success in roping giraffes is a matter of surprise. A. Radclyffe Dugmore, the camera hunter, who preceded Col. Roosevelt over the country where Col. Jones is now hunting, said that he always had to photograph the giraffe with a telescope lens, so wary did he find them.

Col. Jones carries with him on his safari, a large supply of firecrackers which he intends to use in routing lions from the thickets. He has had great success in capturing mountain lions in the West with a rope, and anticipates no greater trouble with the lion, if he can get him into the open, he said.

‘My lassos,’ said Col. Jones, before he left, ‘are of Russian hemp, hard twisted so they will go through the air with the least possible resistance. Though no thicker than my little finger, my lasso will hold the weight of two tons. When I have made a capture I tie it with a rope through which runs a steel wire.

‘The African lion is a difficult proposition,’ admitted Jones, who has climbed trees to lasso cougars in the West. ‘But I think I can rope him. I don’t know what will happen after I get him roped, being a hunter and not a prophet. I am taking my branding irons, and the lions I don’t want I’ll brand and turn loose to fight another day.’

‘Buffalo’ Jones was accompanied on the expedition by four boon companions, who had been visitors at his famous buffalo range in the painted desert of Arizona. …

The Jones expedition was financed by New York sportsmen, who wanted to give Jones in his sixty-sixth year another chance to distinguish himself. … Before he sailed for Africa in the early part of February, Col. Jones told of his project in the presence of Dr. William T. Hornaday, director of the Bronx Zoological Gardens. He said he expected to rope lions, rhinoceri, and other wild African beasts.

‘Why, you’ll be killed,’ exclaimed Mr. Hornaday.

‘Maybe so,’ replied the veteran plainsman calmly. ‘But I never did look forward to dying in bed as a great privileged end, one to be prayed for.'”

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A Brief Note From 1897 About True Friends

July 21, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the September 16, 1897 New York Times:

“Omaha–Sunday night all Omaha was startled by the announcement that ten men had been held up by three daring highwaymen in the heart of the city. The bandits entered a pleasure resort and forced all present to hold up their hands, range in line, and allow themselves to be robbed. Now the police have Carl Bruner and George Price in jail, charged with being two of the men who did the work. The police declare that the object of the deed was to secure funds to buy a coffin in which to bury Casper Boyce, a member of the gang, who had died the day before.

The two suspects are young Oregon men, who the police have thought for some time were members of a desperate gang of robbers working in this city and neighboring towns. They were arrested on suspicion, and the police discovered that the men had made arrangements with a local undertaker to bury their friend the day after the robbery. They had no money Sunday, but assured him that the funds would be forthcoming Monday, and early that day it was paid. The money they paid is said to correspond with that taken from the ten victims of the bandits.”

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A Note From 1902 About Perpetual Hiccoughs

July 19, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the August 29, 1902 New York Times:

“Washington–Sol Smith Russell, the actor, died at Richmond Hotel, in this city, this afternoon, of perpetual hiccoughs. Mr. Russell had been ill for some time from this malady, but during the past few days the disease took a serious turn, and since early morning the end had been hourly expected.”

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Old Print Article: “Hypnotism And Checkers,” New York Times (1904)

July 18, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“The policemen were wondering if hypnotism had anything to do with successful checker playing.”

An amateur hypnotist who was very good at checkers had quite an interesting day, according to an article in the November 15, 1904 New York Times. The story:

“David Hermann, a clothing cutter, of 76 Seventh Street, who believes he is a hypnotist, early yesterday morning aroused his father, two brothers, and sister before daylight, and sought to put them to sleep again. They had endured a pet notion of Hermann’s that he could hypnotize prize fighters and thus make a lot of money by placing bets the right way, but they balked at being robbed of their sleep, as a consequence he was put in charge of the police of the Fifth Street Station.

All day yesterday Hermann had the freedom the station’s lounging room. He began to ingratiate himself by beating Quinn, the doorman, three games of checkers. Quinn being the second-best player attached to the station, it was thought best to give the hypnotist prisoner a thorough tryout, and word was sent to Policeman Snyder, who lives a few doors away, to come and try an opponent worthy of the effort.

Snyder responded and was beaten two games. The policemen then telephoned for John Russell, a Bellevue ambulance driver, who was off duty. Russell sat down full of confidence, being the one man admitted by the station force to show to be Snyder’s master. Russell was beaten three successive games.

The policemen were talking about it and wondering if hypnotism had anything to do with successful checker playing when the ambulance arrived to take Hermann to Bellevue Hospital.

On the way there Dr. Parsons had the ambulance stop at 366 East Sixteenth Street, for another patient, Charles Dressler. When the vehicle resumed its trip Dressler became violent. Dr. Parsons was unable to control him, and the driver had to assist.

Their combined efforts were of little avail, and Dr. Parsons was about to call for police aid when when Hermann got busy with a variety of strange movements of his arms and hands over Dressler’s head. Dressler became quiet, and the trip was resumed without trouble. Hermann making his over the latter sought to make trouble.

At the hospital Dressler was removed from the ambulance without difficulty, but Hermann refused to budge until a checker board and a set of checkers were used as a lure. Hermann then followed the man who carried the bait into the psychopathic ward.”

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A Brief Note From 1893 About A Famished Father

July 17, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the May 18, 1893 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Montreal–The following details have been received here of the story of cannibalism reported briefly yesterday.

Last fall the members of an Indian tribe called the Nasconopis started out for their winter hunt around the river St. Marguerite, below Quebec. Among the party was a man named Jacks and his daughter, aged 16. The hunt proved a failure, the party hastened to return as quickly as possible and, after enduring hardships and starvation, its members finally reached a point in the wilderness some sixty miles distant from their homes.

Weak and famished, without a morsel to eat, they were in a desperate condition. The father of the girl resolved to sacrifice her to preserve his own life, and one morning when his companions were nearly frozen with the cold, he killed the daughter and appeased the hunger. Horror stricken his companions fled, refusing to take the miserable man with them, and at last accounts he had not yet made his appearance in the settlement. The probabilities are that if he has survived he is keeping away from the settlement on account of the crime.”

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Old Print Article: “Wolves Kill Bridal Party,” New York Times (1911)

July 16, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

“It is asserted that the women occupants were thrown out to be devoured by the animals.”

Starving wolves crossed tracks with a wedding party traveling on sleds in snowy St. Petersburg in what feels like a ferocious folktale but was reported as fact in an article in the March 19, 1911 New York Times. The story:

St. Petersburg — Tragic details of the fate of a wedding party attacked by wolves in Asiatic Russia while driving on sledges to the bride’s house, where a banquet was to have taken place, are now at hand, and in their ghastly reality surpass anything ever imagined by a fiction writer.

The exceptionally severe weather has been the cause of many minor tragedies in which the wolves have played a part, but perhaps none has ever been known so terrible as that now reported, since in this instance no fewer than 118 persons are said to have perished.

A wedding party numbering 120 persons set out in thirty sledges to drive twenty miles from the village of Obstipoff to Tashkend.

The ground was thickly covered with snow, and the progress was necessarily delayed, but the greater part of the journey was accomplished in safety.

At a distance of a few miles from Tashkend the horses suddenly became restive, and the speculation of the travelers changed to horror when they discerned a black cloud moving rapidly toward them across the snowfield.

Its nearer approach showed it to be composed of hundreds of wolves, yelping furiously, and evidently frantic with hunger, and within a few seconds the hindmost sledges were surrounded.

Panic seized the party, and those in the van whipped up the horses and made desperate attempts to escape, regardless of their companions, but the terrified horses seemed almost incapable of movement.

wolf43210A scene frightful almost beyond description was now enacted. Men, women and children, shrieking with fear, defended themselves with whatever weapons they could, but to no avail, and one after another fell amidst the snarling beasts.

The wolves, roused still further by the taste of blood, rushed toward the leading sledges, and though the first dozen conveyances managed to stave them off for a time, it was only at a terrible cost, since it is asserted that the women occupants were thrown out to be devoured by the animals.

The pursuit, however, never slackened, and the carnage went on until only the foremost sledge–that containing the bride and the bridegroom–remained beyond the wolves’ reach.

A nightmare race was kept up for a few hundred yards, and it seemed as though the danger was being evaded, when suddenly a fresh pack of wolves appeared.

The two men accompanying the bridal couple demanded that the bride should be sacrificed, but the bridegroom indignantly rejected the cowardly proposition, whereupon the men seized and overpowered the pair and threw them out to a horrible fate.

Then they succeeded in rousing their horses to a last effort, and, though attacked in turn, beat off the wolves and eventually reached Tashkend, the only two survivors of the happy party which had set out from Obstipoff.

Both men were in a semi-demented state from their experience.•

 

Samuel Reshevsky, Outwitting His Elders (1920)

July 14, 2013 in Excerpts, Old Print Articles, Photography, Sports, Urban Studies | Permalink

“His face is intelligent and his head well shaped, but not abnormal.”

In the classic photograph above, the eventual chess grandmaster (and accountant) Samuel Reshevsky shows his prodigious skills for the game by squaring off simultaneously against 20 excellent adult players in France. The following article from the May 18, 1920 New York Times records the day’s events:

“Paris–Twenty graybeards sitting in a square played chess yesterday in Paris against a very small boy 8 years old, and he beat them all. Among the graybeards were some of the best  players in France, and one at least, whose boast is that he drew with Capablanca, the Pan-American chess champion, but all their reputation availed them nothing against a frail child with a pale, thoughtful face, who moved quietly from one board to another, reducing their most skillful plans and wiles to nothingness and mating them when they least expected it. 

Samuel Rzeschewski is the name of the prodigy. He was born near Lodz, in his father, himself a well known player, showed him the moves. For the paternal dignity the lesson was unfortunate. Within a fortnight Samuel was giving his father such beatings that to equalize things he had to give him a rook and another piece.

Yesterday at the Pavillon de la Rotonde, against twenty of the best players of the Palais Royal Society, his victory was complete. Wearing a blue sailor suit, he stood alone in the square of tables and faced unperturbed his graybeard and bald antagonists. His face is intelligent and his head well shaped, but not abnormal. Only the gravity of his face showed that he was not any ordinary 8-year-old going to play ‘hunt the thimble’ with an assembly of grandfathers.

Stepping quickly from one board to another, he spent little time on his moves. He seemed to see at once the weakness of his opponents’ play. Once or twice, when one of them had moved foolishly, his brows contracted in a disapproving frown. For half a minute at most he stood in front of each board, whistling through his teeth, then moved decisively and left his opponent puzzling uselessly how to counter the attack. In the end every one of the men was soundly trounced.

From here Samuel is going to London to complete his conquest of Europe, and then his father says he must retire from public life and begin his education, which has been sadly neglected during the war.”

Samuel Reshevsky, in 1968.

Reshevsky, in 1968.

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A Brief Note From 1896 About A Persuadable Man

July 14, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 5, 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Atlanta, Ga.–If the ruling of Judge Foute of Atlanta obtains, hypnotists will have to be very careful what they order their subjects to do. The judge holds that the hypnotist is directly responsible for the acts of his subjects.

During a performance at a local theater the subject of hypnotism imagined he was a monkey. He grabbed a hat off a man in the audience and bit a piece out of it. The professor and his business manager declined to make good the cost of the hat, and the hypnotist was prosecuted before Judge Foute upon a charge of malicious mischief. The justice sustained the charge and bound the hypnotist over to a higher court.”

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Old Print Article: “Lost In Desert, Flip Coin For Life,” New York Times (1909)

July 11, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“The whole place looked like she was belched up out of the bottom of hell.”

The cracked earth of Death Valley was the stage upon which a life-and-death wager was made, according to an article in the October 2, 1909 New York Times. The story:

“Greenwater, Cal.–David Eldridge, son of B. Eldridge, President of the National Sewing Machine and Bicycle Company of Illinois, is believed to have perished in Death Valley. A ‘desert rat,’ known as Malapais Mike says that Mr. Eldridge and he were lost in the Valley two weeks ago. Mike reached Greenwater Monday in a delirious condition. To-day, when able to talk, he said he and Mr. Eldridge tossed a coin to see which should take the burro and one of the five quarts of water. Mike won the burro and escaped.

The men went forty miles across Death Valley a month ago to investigate a proposed power site for a Boston company. On the return trip one of the burros gave out. The possession of the remaining beast was the issue upon which the two men staked their lives when they realized that both could not escape.

Mike is still barely able to talk, and told his story between long lapses into silence.

‘We was lost down there,’ he said, ‘and the whole place looked like she was belched up out of the bottom of hell. At night time there was always a blanket of mist and steam, but in the day time it was all sun and sand, and we were so thirsty we could hardly talk. Poor Dave just squeaked all the time, and at last he could only whisper. Finally his burro gave out.

‘I don’t know how many days we tried to find our way out, and I saw we were both going to die if something did not happen. One night I lay on my face in the sand, and I felt Dave’s boot touching mine. He whispered: ‘It’s time to get up and try to find the trail before it’s too hot.’ I had got so I did not care what happened, and I says, ‘I’ve got enough.’ So then Dave says, ‘We’ll toss to see which one gets the burro.’

‘I got up on all fours and watched him throw up a dollar and says, ‘I’ll take heads.’ Dave struck a match and she was heads. ‘I’ll give you four quarts of water,’ I says, ‘and I’ll take one and that’ll make it about even.’

‘We split up the water and I crawled on the burro just about sun up and started off. The second day the burro gave out and I had to make it alone. I don’t think Dave got the worst of it, because he got four quarts of water and I only got one, and I had to walk most of the way.'”

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