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“Dead babies a few years ago were not an uncommon occurrence.”

Trash has always been full of treasure and those who won contracts to remove offal from districts of Brooklyn in the 1800s checked the refuse closely for rixhes before chucking it, because you never knew what was going to turn up. And it was no different in London. From the July 4, 1886 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“‘You would be surprised,’ sad a well known offal contractor to an Eagle reporter recently, ‘at the large number of valuables found in the city’s dumping grounds. Although the men in charge of the dumps deny that anything of value is ever found, I can vouch that they don’t always tell the truth. Miscellaneous articles, such as silver teaspoons, knives and forks, shoes and clothing, in good and bad condition, are picked up daily, but it frequently happens that gold watches and diamonds are among the valuables found. Dead babies a few years ago were not an uncommon occurrence. In the government grounds ten cents is charged for each load dumped. Articles of an unusual character are only found in the ashes and swill refuse. Ladies washing dishes will drop rings in the swill, and by the time they have missed them the swill will be on its way either to the dumping grounds or the piggeries. Diamonds, from earrings and rings, are lost in the same manner.

In London, the contract for examining ashes and swill is awarded to the highest bidder. The method employed by the contractor to ascertain whether any articles of value are contained in the rubbish is a novel one. The carts are dumped on a screen, which, after having become filled, is elevated into the air. A dozen men dressed in rubber suits, without pockets, are set to work on the screen. These men go over the ashes and the offal carefully, and in case anything valuable is found it is turned over at once to the contractor and superintendent. As the workers wear pocketless clothing they can secure nothing about their persons. After all the ashes have been thoroughly screened they are covered and a new lot examined.”

From the July 1, 1895 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Mrs. Amelia Hirsch, a little woman of 40 years, had Mrs. Carrie Heidenreich, who is 22 years old, arraigned in the Lee Avenue police court to-day for having called her a black witch. The women live in the tenement house, 683 Flushing Avenue.

‘I did call her a black witch,’ said Mrs. Heidenreich, ‘because she hypnotized my husband. He was a good man until we moved into the house. Now she controls all his actions. She caused him to hit me with a chair and said the beating served me right. I forbade him going up to her rooms and watched the stairs but he climbed up the fire escape. He cannot resist the peculiar influence she has over him.’

Mrs. Heidenreich was advised to move from the house if she believed her husband was hypnotized.”

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“I have no prejudice against horse steaks and roasts if well prepared.”

In the late 1800s cheap horse meat was often surreptitiously sold in place of more expensive cow flesh. The Department of Agriculture was on the case, although its chief chemist didn’t mind eating a pony now and then. From the October 11, 1899 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Washington D.C.--For the past week a strong odor of decaying animal matter has assailed the nostrils of persons passing the fine building on lower Fourteenth Street, occupied as a chemical laboratory for the Department of Agriculture. By following up the scent to-day it was found to proceed from one of the ground floor rooms of the building where half a dozen aproned chemists were engaged in dissecting the carcass of a roan horse, which a few weeks ago did service as an important part in the wagon express outfit. The animal was pretty generally dismembered, steaks having been cut from both flanks and various portions of flesh from the legs and sides removed, while a string of freshly stuffed sausage links suspended on a nail on the wall showed that some of the meat had been prepared after the style of beef sausage.

Inquiry of Dr. Wiley, the chief chemist of the Department of Agriculture, developed the fact that the government experts are conducting a series of interesting experiments for the purpose of determining just what uses the horse can be made to serve as human food. The department does not intend to start a propaganda campaign in favor of the consumption of American horse meat, and so far as known no such food is offered for sale in this country; yet there has always been more or less suspicion as to the origin of certain prepared meals which we import from abroad in large quantities every year. It is to make our inspectors thoroughly familiar with the appearance and taste of the flesh of this animal that the present experiments are being undertaken. Dr. Wiley said:

‘In order to satisfy ourselves on this point we directed the local health authorities to secure for us a horse that had died from natural causes. We got the animal and now are in the midst of our experiments. Samples have been taken from different parts of the body, corresponding with certain cuts usually selected by butchers. We are putting them through chemical and microscopic processes, and noting the changes from time to time and comparing them with genuine beef.

‘The popular prejudice against horse flesh as food,’ continued Dr. Wiley, ‘is probably not well founded, as there is no reason to believe that it is not quite as edible as beef flesh. This aversion exists, however, and it is only proper that it should be sold under its own name and not in the guise of some other flesh food.

‘So far as I am concerned I have no prejudice against horse steaks and roasts if well prepared. I have no doubt whatever it figures quite extensively on the bills of fare in the cheap Paris restaurants, though it is not known by the name of horse. I went  to several Paris restaurants of the cheaper kind for the express purpose of examining their meats. At one place I was served with soup, vegetables, a roast and a pint of wine, for which I paid one franc–20 cents. Naturally this must have been the cheapest food they could purchase, and while the roast was quite palatable, I often had the suspicion that I was dining off the remains of some old charger.”

From the August 18, 1886 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Mrs. Frank Kennedy, who had been informed that her husband had eloped with Maggie Maugels, the young daughter of a Wallabout marketman, visited the residence of the girl’s parents, 12 First Street, this afternoon to learn if anything had been heard of the missing couple. While seated in the house a man rushed in and said:

‘Your husband is across the street working on the ice deck.’

Mrs. Kennedy ran out and catching sight of her husband beat him about the head and shoulders with an umbrella. Then she took him home.”

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“Many a farmer’s wife would gladly pay 25 cents a month merely for the luxury of hearing a neighbor’s voice at will.”

The invention of the telephone promised to make the world smaller, but service for rural Americans wasn’t easy to come by initially. An article from the August 1, 1901 Brooklyn Daily Eagle about the efforts of farmers to enjoy this modern miracle:

“The loneliness of farm life, which has been considerably reduced by rural mail delivery, has been still further lessened in a number of Western communities by the introduction of the telephone.

The chief obstacle to the wider use of this great modern convenience has been the high rates charged by the regular companies. Several plans to obviate this difficulty have been tried. The simplest is the actual building of a line and the installation of a small circuit by those who wish to use it.

Groups of Western farmers have themselves cut and set the poles and strung the wires for their own line, and after buying receivers, insulators, batteries and other material, have divided the cost and shared the expense of the maintenance.

Lately another plan has been tried with excellent results in a number of Wisconsin towns. A stock company is formed of those who desire to use the service. The shares sell for a uniform price of $50, the average cost for installing each telephone in a good exchange; but no stock is sold to any one except those who rent a ‘phone,’ and only one share is allocated for each receiver in use.

The charges are so regulated that the stockholders receive a dividend of 1 per cent a month. This is applied to the reduction of the regular rental. In one of the Wisconsin towns, for instance, the rent for a phone in a business office is $2.25 a month, and in the residence $1 a month. The dividends averages 75 cents a month, so that the actual cost to the ‘consumer’ is only $1.50 for a phone in an office and 25 cents for one in the home. This is less than half the usual cost.

Many a farmer’s wife, tied to her work and cut off from social opportunities, would gladly pay 25 cents a month merely for the luxury of hearing a neighbor’s voice at will; and the farmer himself, if he is alert, finds constant advantage in closer connection with his markets.”

From the March 21, 1887 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Mr. Thomas Fox, of Jamaica, says it is not true that he handled the birds in this town at the cock fight which took place last week in the hotel on the Jamaica road. He positively denies that he was present at the contest or that he was even aware that such a fight took place.”

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Robert E. Peary, legendary Arctic explorer, may or may not have been the first person to reach the North Pole, but he sure spent a lot of time in that particular neighborhood. (In fact, his only daughter, Marie, nicknamed “Snow Baby,” was even born in the Arctic.) These classic photos of the adventurer, taken by Benjamin B. Hampton, were shot the year that Peary claimed to have arrived at his greatest triumph. Here’s an excerpt from a book Peary wrote in which he describes–from a Caucasian outsider’s point of view–medicine, death and burial among the indigenous peoples:

“There are no chiefs among these people, no men in authority; but there are medicine men who have some influence. The angakok is generally not loved—he knows too many unpleasant things that are going to happen, so he says. The business of the angakok is mainly singing incantations and going into trances, for he has no medicines. If a person is sick, he may prescribe abstinence from certain foods for a certain number of moons; for instance, the patient must not eat seal meat, or deer meat, but only the flesh of the walrus. Monotonous incantations take the place of the white man’s drugs. The performance of a self-confident angakok is quite impressive—if one has not witnessed it too many times before. The chanting, or howling, is accompanied by contortions of the body and by sounds from a rude tambourine, made from the throat membrane of a walrus stretched on a bow of ivory or bone. The tapping of the rim with another piece of ivory or bone marks the time. This is the Eskimo’s only attempt at music. Some women are supposed to possess the power of the angakok—a combination of the gifts of the fortune teller, the mental healer, and the psalmodist, one might say.

Once, years ago, my little brown people got tired of an angakok, one Kyoahpahdo, who had predicted too many deaths; and they lured him out on a hunting expedition from which he never returned. But these executions for the peace of the community are rare.

Their burial customs are rather interesting. When an Eskimo dies, there is no delay about removing the body. Just as soon as possible it is wrapped, fully clothed, in the skins which formed the bed, and some extra garments are added to insure the comfort of the spirit. Then a strong line is tied round the body, and it is removed, always head first, from the tent or igloo, and dragged head first over the snow or ground to the nearest place where there are enough loose stones to cover it. The Eskimos do not like to touch a dead body, and it is therefore dragged as a sledge would be. Arrived at the place selected for the grave, they cover the corpse with loose stones, to protect it from the dogs, foxes, and ravens, and the burial is complete.

According to Eskimo ideas, the after-world is a distinctly material place. If the deceased is a hunter, his sledge and kayak, with his weapons and implements, are placed close by, and his favorite dogs, harnessed and attached to the sledge, are strangled so that they may accompany him on his journey into the unseen. If the deceased is a woman, her lamp and the little wooden frame on which she has dried the family boots and mittens are placed beside the grave. A little blubber is placed there, too, and a few matches, if they are available, so that the woman may light the lamp and do some cooking in transit; a cup or bowl is also provided, in which she may melt snow for water. Her needle, thimble, and other sewing things are placed with her in the grave.”

“Snow Baby.”

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From the December 17, 1887 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Grand Forks, Dak.–Mrs. McVane, wife of Mr. E. McVane, a Northern Pacific official, is lying at the Ingall’s House either dead or in a state of trance so much resembling death that it is impossible at the present to detect the difference. Tuesday Mrs. McVane was taken with a spell of fainting, but recovered, and at dinner time went about her meal as usual, but when about to seat herself was taken with another fainting spell and was removed to her room unconscious. Her last words were: ‘My God, my God, don’t bury me alive.'”

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Kit Carson.

From the December 4, 1902 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Santa Monica, Cal.–Samuel Carson has been found dead up in his hut in Santa Monica Canyon. He had been bitten by a spider.

Carson was about 81 years old and claimed to be a son of the renowned scout ‘Kit’ Carson. For many years the old man had lived at the head of Rustic Canyon, with only his horses and dogs for company. Carson had a most picturesque career as a gold hunter, Indian fighter and adventurer.”

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From the May 19, 1877 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“The inmates of the Lunatic Asylum were favored with a hop last evening. Two musicians furnished the music. About three hundred patients, male and female, were present, and enjoyed themselves for nearly two hours. Order and decorum were observed during the evening.”

“The ball had entered the young man’s left side, struck a rib, glanced and came out near where it had entered, cutting off one of his fingers.”

When people became engaged to marry in the 1870s, there was usually gunplay involved and at least one party wound up less a finger or toe, as evidenced by this article in the March 2, 1877 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Alanson Penny, of Good Ground, had paid his addresses to Miss Nellie Jackson, of the same place, for upward of two years. Miss Jackson was rarely seen in the company of any other young man, and the community regarded them as two very constant lovers. The society in which they moved looked anxiously forward to their union. Some busybody started the story that the wedding was fixed, and it grew as it traveled. The truth was, however, that they had not been betrothed, and the stories seemed to worry Alanson, while Miss Nellie only curled her rosy lip at their reiteration.

Alanson, a week ago proposed to Miss Nellie, who held it under advisement until the next evening. He called for the answer with throbbing heart, not doubting that it would be in the affirmative. He was doomed to disappointment. Miss Nellie refused to wed, and as an earnest of her refusal, returned his love tokens and billet dous in a neat little package. He returned to his father’s house, and a few minutes after retiring to his room, the report of a pistol was heard.

He had shot himself, but not fatally. Dr. Benjamin was summoned from Riverhead. He found that the ball had entered the young man’s left side, struck a rib, glanced and came out near where it had entered, cutting off one of his fingers. Miss Jackson was at the house soon after learning of the shooting, and insisted that she should be permitted to nurse him. After her tears were dried, she said she only said no to try his love. She is still nursing him, and when he recovers they will be married.”

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From the January 16, 1880 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“A young man in Bellevue Hospital, this city, is undergoing treatment for grafting his middle left hand finger to the spot where his nose used to be, with the intention of eventually amputating the finger and transforming it into a nose. He lies in the new surgical ward, with his hand immovably fixed to his face.”

A bald eagle who was mascot to Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders met his maker in New York City in 1899 and was promptly stuffed. (One of its contemporaries was recently in the news.) A report about the perished plumage from the June 12 Brooklyn Daily Eagle of that year:

“Teddy, the bald eagle, the mascot of the Roosevelt Rough Riders in their Santiago campaign, died Friday night in his cage in Central Park. He had not been well for two weeks. About four weeks ago twin bald eagles, which came to be known as the Heavenly Twins, were put into the big cage with Teddy and several other eagles. Teddy had demonstrated immediately upon his arrival last fall that he was a king eagle as he started in to whip every bird in the cage which disputed his claim.

When the twins arrived Teddy thought he saw one of them do something that questioned his authority and he had a tussle with the twin. He won but he went at the other a few days later in mistake for the first one. The result was that the twins fought him together and Teddy was fearfully banged about the cage.

When Superintendent Smith saw him that night the Rough Riders’ mascot was woefully disconsolate at the loss of his prestige. He felt he had disgraced his regiment and for two weeks he brooded over the matter. Mr. Smith was sure the eagle’s heart was broken. When Teddy died Friday night, Superintendent Smith was sure of his diagnosis of the case and he sent him to the Museum of Natural History to have an autopsy performed.

The bird surgeons performed the operation and rendered a verdict of death from consumption. Teddy is now on exhibition as a stuffed specimen of bald eagle in the American Museum of Natural History.”

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From the September 12, 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Julius Caesar Gotlieb, the young law student who is a patient in Mt. Sinai Hospital, New York, dying from nose bleed, was still alive at noon to-day.”

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“He began the capture and preservation in a state of nature of the tarantula itself.”

Philadelphia was aiming to corner the snake market in the late 1800s, but Los Angeles was a proud leader in the tarantula trade. A story about the latter business activity from the September 10, 1882 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Los Angeles, Cal.–One of the curious developments of trade in Southern California is the traffic in tarantulas and their nests. It is an entirely new avenue of trade, and to Master Leo Fleishman seems to belong the honor of discovery and development.

He began a short time since to gather their curious and ingeniously contrived nests for the relic hunters and curiosity seekers, and as the trade increased he began the capture and preservation in a state of nature of the tarantula itself, which is done by injecting into the animal arsenic in considerable quantities. This has the effect of preserving tarantulas and destroying all its poison, and it may be handed with perfect impunity after such treatment.

In certain localities these insects are quite numerous, and the industrious hunter will sometimes capture two dozen in a day, and these, when prepared and nicely mounted, bring $8 per dozen. Mr. Fleishman has just filled an order for two dozen for the Denver exposition, now in session. He also has orders from Chicago, St. Louis and other Eastern cities, and several consignments have been sent to London.”

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“Dick decided to make the trip in the garb of a girl and have some fun with the mashers en route.”

Some truly do like it hot, as proven by this article about a female impersonator aboard a ferry boat, which was published in the August 12, 1892 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, having originally appeared in the St. Louis Globe-Democrat:

“‘In 1859 I went from New Orleans to Cincinnati by boat in company with the greatest female impersonator I ever saw,’ said T.N. Payne, at Lindell. ‘His name was Richard Pryor and he was familiarly known as Wild Dick. He was a handsome young Creole, with soft black eyes, delicate features and a hand and foot that might have been the pride of a duchess. Dick decided to make the trip in the garb of a girl and have some fun with the mashers en route. He got himself up regardless, as he expressed it, and posed as a young French widow of fortune. The boat had a large passenger list and young madame was soon the center of an ardent circle of admirers, to whom she dispensed her smiles with gracious impartiality and drunk the wine for which they paid with such evident pleasure. Madame’s free and easy conduct soon became the scandal of the boat, and the captain expostulated with her. She gave him an arch smile, took him by the arm, paced the deck with him a few moments and returned with new zest to her admirers and her wine, while the captain and the clerk made the rounds of her scandalized passengers. Madame made an appointment with her four most ardent admirers to meet them on deck at 11 o’clock that night. They were promptly on hand, each jealous of the others. Five minutes later Dick came swaggering out in male costume, with a big cigar between his teeth and followed by fully fifty delighted passengers. He sat down, put his feet up on the rail, blew a cloud of tobacco smoke and said in his sweetest accents, ‘Ah, zhentlemen, you may kees my hand.’ Then, in tones like the hoarse croaking of a bull frog: ‘What a villainous world this is!’

There was a roar of laughter from the passengers. The mashers were dumbfounded, then angry. They demanded satisfaction, but Dick only said sweetly, ‘Ah, you haf all say already I keel you with my eyes.’ There was another bout of laughter and the four crestfallen beaux bought wine for the crowd.”

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From the June 23, 1895 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Catorce, Mexico–James Atkinson, an American ore buyer, and Francisco Hernandez, a Mexican ranchman, fought a duel near Cedral, east of here yesterday, in which Atkinson was killed. These two men were devoted to the same senorita and decided to settle their love contest with pistols. The American fired three shots at his antagonist, but none of the bullets took effect. Hernandez’s second shot struck a vital spot of Atkinson’s body.”

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From the September 21, 1897 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Jamaica, L.I.–Five children of Frank Fleischauer, the oldest 8 years of age and the youngest a 7 months old infant, were found deserted in their house on South Street, a day or two ago. There was no fire in the house and the infant had its feet frozen and it was suffering from a lung fever. The mother was adjudged insane a week ago and is still wandering the streets as the husband has not signed the commitment papers upon which she is to be conveyed to a state hospital for the insane.”

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“At the point of his steadily leveled revolver he has, he declares, on several occasions compelled automobilists to obey his commands.”

Horses didn’t take kindly to automobiles when the new-fangled vehicles began to join them on the road in the late 1800s, and neither did some horse owners. Just such a story of tradition at loggerheads with the future appeared in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle on June 26, 1902, when most cars were still powered by electricity and steam. An excerpt:

“Dr. William B. Gibson, one of the coroners of Suffolk County, who resides in Huntington, carries a big loaded revolver for the declared purpose of shooting down any automobilist who refuses to slow up and get to one side of the road while he passes with his spirited team, which is described as being very nettlesome and easily terrified at every noisy approach of the automatic vehicles. The doctor, who is a political power in this county, declares vehemently that in the case of the large racing road machines he insists that they be driven into the fields when he approaches, and at the point of his steadily leveled revolver he has, he declares, on several occasions compelled automobilists to obey his commands. The doctor takes the position that the roads are made for the convenience and the use of residents of the country, who in passing over them in the pursuit of their daily vocation or pleasure should not have their lives endangered by any person who may choose to operate the noisy machines propelled by steam.

The average automobilist of the racing sort not alone, declares the doctor, is utterly regardless of the fright into which he throws the horses he meets, but adds to the terrifying din of his machine by infernal noises meant to act as warnings.

‘I am compelled to use the roads on business in going to and from my patients and in attending to my duties as coroner,’ says the doctor, ‘and I do not propose to have my life endangered by any person, and there is no law of the land or the state that can compel me to desist from taking due measures toward protecting myself from being maimed or killed.’

“Now, get into the field,” yelled the doctor, “or I’ll shoot you down.”

At the recent dinner of the examining doctors of the Royal Arcanum, held in Manhattan, Dr. Gibson declared in the presence of half a dozen brother physicians that he would certainly shoot and kill any person who while controlling an automobile refuses to stop and get to one side to permit his horse or team to pass into safety and without endangering his safety.

Coroner Gibson, although an officer of the law, has secured a permit from a justice of the peace to carry a revolver, and in applying for the weapon he made a statement embodying the specific reason he had in wishing to be armed. Soon after securing the permit, the coroner, while driving along one of the country roads surrounding Huntington, was met with one of the heavy automobiles known to the country side as red devils. According to the story of the occurrence, as told by the official himself, the automobilist must have received a decidedly strong impression of the ability of the hayseeds to protect themselves.

Standing up in his carriage the doctor leveled his revolver at the approaching automobilist and loudly shouted at him to halt. The sight of the leveled pistol had its effect and when the astonished owner of the terrifying machine had obeyed the command, he further ordered him, in no uncertain language, to give more room for the passing of the frightened horses. 

‘Now, get into the field,’ yelled the doctor, ‘or I’ll shoot you down.’ The manner accompanying the order was convincing and into the field went the automobile.”

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“The tail was cut off and stuffed and brought to this city and is now on exhibition in a water front saloon.”

A ridiculous seafaring story, which originally appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, was republished in the December 28, 1884 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. The article:

“The whaling bark Alaska, which arrived in this port a few days ago from the Arctic Ocean, brings a strange story of the narrow escape from death of six of her crew. The first officer, George Johnson, stated the circumstances to a Chronicle reporter yesterday, as follows: On the 16th of last October, when the vessel was forty-six miles south of Alaska, an object was perceived in the distance whose proportions and shape indicated it to be a monster sea lion. A boat was immediately lowered and placed in charge of First Officer Johnson and five of the crew. As the distance was being decreased between the boat and the huge animal they became convinced that it was the famed sea serpent. When they came within a few hundred yards the monster made a mad dash for the boat, striking out its immense tail against the craft. Several of the occupants were precipitated into the water, and were rescued with difficulty. A harpoon and lance were fired into the body of the beast and it disappeared beneath the surface. Half an hour later it reappeared, floating on the water, dead. It was secured with ropes and towed to the vessel and hoisted on the deck. There the capture was seen to be a villainous looking thing. Its head closely resembled that of an alligator, while the body resembled that of a lizard. It measure thirty-three feet in length, the tail alone being nine feet long. The tail was cut off and stuffed and brought to this city and is now on exhibition in a water front saloon.”

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From the April 2, 1844 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Among the passengers on board of the packet ship Yorkshire, just arrived, are a giant, standing nearly eight feet in his boots; a giantess, about seven feet in height, and a dwarf twenty-three inches tall, or thereabout, being three inches shorter than the famous Tom Thumb. The giant and giantess are man and wife, and will make their first appearance at Barnum’s Museum.”

From the December 23, 1901 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Not content with ordinary ski-running and jumping, the officers in the Swedish army, keen and good sportsmen as they are, have recently introduced a novel idea. They have taken up ardently a form of skiing in which they slide on skis behind trained horses that pull them at full gallop over the snow.”

From the March 2, 1898 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

San Francisco, Cal.–Captain G.E.D. Dimond, who will be 102 years old on May 1, is about to start on a pedestrian trip to New York. He helped to build the Erie Canal and was formerly United States Quartermaster at St. Louis. He has never married because his intended bride died in his arms at a ball given in honor of President Polk.”

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“For a time, all lived in one large house.”

Heber Z. Ricks had twelve wives, though it’s really not polite to count. He was a Mormon who really, really believed in the teachings of Brigham Young. The family man was profiled in the January 29, 1900 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“In the Valley of the Snake River, near where that stream forms the boundary line between Wyoming and Idaho, lives the father of the largest family on the American continent, and probably the world. The owner of this unique distinction is Heber Z. Ricks, one of the faithful followers in religion and practices of the late Brigham Young. Reliable persons who have known Ricks for many years say he has 12 wives and 66 children. Many of his sons and daughters have long since taken unto themselves helpmates for life and to these have been born 218 children, thereby bringing the number of souls in the Ricks family, exclusive of the venerable father, up to 296.

The members of the Ricks family are scattered over a stretch of country fourteen miles long by two miles wide. Heber Ricks has an even dozen ranches, which, with those of the sons and daughters, make quite a good size settlement. In the center of this settlement, a town called Ricksville has been established. Here are located a general store and a church. During week days the church is transformed into a school room, and a regularly employed teacher (usually one of the Ricks daughters) labors with the descendants of Heber Z. On Sundays, and not infrequently of an evening, services, which are, of course, strictly Mormon, are held. These religious meetings are usually presided over by the elder Ricks, and are very interesting, being conducted in that manner peculiar to the Mormon faith. In the absence of the ‘bishop,’ as the head of the family is known in the settlement, as is frequently the case when he makes a visit to one of his wives living in the extreme upper or lower ends of the colony, one of the sons will fill the pulpit and preach the doctrine of his father, says the Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

“Settling near Salt Lake, Ricks continued to take unto himself additional wives.”

Heber Z. Ricks is a giant in form and strength, although he is 77 years old. Little or nothing is known of his boyhood, except that he was reared on a farm in Western New York. He has never been known to say much about his early life other than he landed in St. Louis in 1842. From that city he went to a small settlement in the vicinity of where Independence, Mo., now stands, where he joined the Mormon Church. A little band of Mormons, with Ricks at their head, left the place early in the spring of 1848, and turned their faces toward Utah. Brigham Young’s party of 226 persons had gone on the previous year and left a faint trail, which Ricks and the party followed with great difficulty. The trail led them into the valley of the great Salt Lake, via Echo Canyon.

When Ricks left Missouri, it is said, he was a single man, but when he and his party reached Salt Lake valley, he was the possessor of five better halves. Settling near Salt Lake, Ricks continued to take unto himself additional wives until he had ten. In the year 1856, with the number of his wives increased to twelve, Ricks pulled up stakes and moved across the mountains through eastern Idaho to the valley of the Snake River. There, upon one of the most fertile spots to be found on the continent, he established himself. The first few years were ones of great activity for Ricks and his already large family. For a time, all lived in one large house, which was hastily erected, but later twelve houses, composed of roughly hewn logs, were constructed at different points along the river. To these were added, in due time, corrals and other outbuildings, and in a few years Ricksville was something more than a name.”

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From the August 4, 1897 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Bay Shore, L.I.–J. Hollenhauer of Brooklyn, summering at Bay Shore, has just lost one of his very valuable horses. The animal became crazy, it is said, and had to be shot.”

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