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CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

 

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME
OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT
FUND GIVEN IN 1891 By

HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE

 

 

 

 

 
|

A
 

 

 

 
Editors I Have Known
SINCE THE CIVIL WAR

(Rewritten and Reprinted from Letters in the Clarion-Ledger)

*

ILLUSTRATED

BY

R. H. HENRY
Fifty Years Editor and Owner of the Clarion-Ledger
JACKSON, Mississippi.
   

TR bese
ata 4 5

Little Frame Building where R. H. Henry began Setting
Type, still standing at Forest, Miss—Page 16.

Copyrighted 1922 by
R. H. HENRY

1922
Press of E. S. Upton Printing Company
New Orleans
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Rich s Héntys 32 Oo) ooo ee Frontispiece
Simeon R. Adams_____-_._-__________.------------- Page 10
EB. Barksdalesceas os 2.04 cea ao alte 26
Jie JeeShannonus..c ica eee ee oes 42
Nis ep RO Wet Stee Se nee BPA ata ce i he 58
Aye Ktant?:2cs2c ose 2 cesses ese ease sees 74
W..H; McCardle: 2 ee te eee eee ees 90
Buk Mayersiccccec-oasoss 2c cca sec eecece oe osooS 106
Jamies A Stevens: 22 owen S22 s2eee rece ae seneeedses 122
Bishop Charles B. Galloway___.-.-----.------------- 138
JeiSi MGNeyscnc) 4a a ey Ce eS 154
DrisB. Gambrellc 2.4 25 oo ee see Be 170
Charles FE. Wright_._. 445-4 eee eee ne 186
He Wie Werpet.c2c2c 50555 2c Sete Gn Sc ec Sco seosSe as 202
Géo. W... Harpeti soe cc a sce eee eee Se eee ees 202
BSTC OO Pe i ears apse asc saan tet hea eran ah eee 202
Bimmett L. Rosso. ee ee eek 234
H. 8. Bonney_____-_------------------------------- 234
ViGe Cashinany e522 sada sh enee een deiescesees 234
Charles N. Dement-____-_-_-_----------------------- 234
Wo As Hetty cess eee csee aces eee CRESS 266
Bi cD Ob Deke date ea eencus ance aes 266
S. Bi Browiisi 6 es tee ls 266
Bibs Joness.ccs.cs5es ses ceccesc casas setae ese 298
e- We am betti.d2225 24a 5812525552 one eacs sess 298
James HH. Dukes occ ancecasascceatceaGest esas 298
Th Mi Garretts keep eas sat eases GEO 298
Ba Bellini ger ec eo ees ea rere ee 298
Col. Henry Watterson_____-_-_--------------------- 314
Page M.. Bakers... 2c See ees eue cacao 330
Clarion-Ledger Building_--_.._._.-_----------------- 362
R. H. Henry and Bride fifty years ago______---------- 394

R. H. Henry and Wife today_____------------------- 426
TO MY WIFE

The Partner of My Joys and the Sharer of My
Sorrows for the Last Fifty Years,

This Book
Is Affectionately Dedicated
FOREWORD.

AM writing these prefatory remarks with the full knowl-

edge that the average reader generally skips the Preface,
regarding it in the same light as the public does the “intro-
ducer,” who tires his audience with extravagant praise and
fulsome compliments to the speaker; though D’Israeli says “a
preface is the attar of the author’s roses.”

Under the title, “Editors I have Known Since the Civil
War,” I have endeavored to tell, in an easy style and simple
manner, the story of editors I have met and associated with,
from my youth to mature years, covering a period of more
than a half century.

In every instance I have tried to describe and picture
them as I saw and knew them, giving some of their character-
istics—their striking traits, their peculiarities and idiosyncra-
cies—without regard to my personal feelings or social
relations towards them, seeking to be just and fair to all,
“Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.”

My purpose has been to show favoritism to no one—to
extol the virtues of no friend beyond his deserts, nor mini-
mize the merits of those I did not admire.

The book must needs be largely autobiographical, as it
begins with my first introduction into a printing office, and
concludes with my retirement from the active duties of the
editor’s chair. So in preparing sketches of my editorial
2 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

friends, I have necessarily written into them some of the
history of my own life, especially my newspaper life, for I
have been a newspaper man, and naught else, for over fifty
years, and never intend to entirely abandon the editorial
forum so long as God gives me strength to write.

While the purpose of these memoirs has been to discuss
editors who have completed their life work, and passed to the
other side, some few exceptions have been made, especially of
my older associates, who are still writing for the press and
those who have retired; but their number is small.

A good deal of political and other historic matter has
been blended with the memoirs, for who could write of
editors of Mississippi and omit the War Period, the Dark
Epoch of Reconstruction, the Civil Revolution and the Bright
Days of the Restoration of the State to its own people?

In writing these memoirs I have sought to clothe them
with a touch of human interest, to make them more enter-
taining than a dull, dead recital of facts, however important;
to brighten them with appropriate anecdotes, humorous refer-
ences, apt illustrations and side remarks of mother wit, to
impart to them a breeze and life that historic narratives do
not always possess.

It is a long retrospect, this looking backward over one’s
life of fifty years, without variable pursuit but I have been
so intensely interested in my life work as editor and publisher,
so determined to succeed, that the time has not seemed too
long, for every day of work has been one of pleasure and the
years have slipped by only too swiftly.

I have made diligent effort to procure photographs of
departed editors, and use such as were obtainable.

As each chapter is complete within itself, no effort has
been made to arrange them in chronological order.

I trust the reader may find something of interest in these
memoirs, and that in their perusal the author shall not be

entirely forgotten. R. H. HENRY.
Jackson, Miss., Nov. 22, 1921.
CHAPTER ONE.

Met My First Editor in the Person of Mr. Ferris of the
Hillsboro Argus.—Became Inoculated With
Newspaper Virus When a Boy.—War
Breaks Out Between the States.

“It has been said that any man, no matter how small and
insignificant the post he may have filled in life, who will faithfully
record the events in which he has borne a share, even though incap-
able of himself deriving profit from the lessons he has learned, may
still be of use to others—sometimes a guide, sometimes a warning. I
hope this is true, J like to think it so, for if I cannot adorn a tale, I
may at least point a moral.’”—Charles Lever.

Trusting that Lever is right in his conclusions, I shall
briefly attempt to give my experience as a newspaper man,
having recorded many events in which I bore a part; telling
how and why I became an editor and publisher; with sketches
and references to the host of editors I have met and known
since entering the journalistic field more than fifty years ago.

But in the chapters to follow, it shall not be my purpose
to exploit myself, my work or achievements, but to discuss
co-workers, editors and publishers, great and small alike, wilth
whom I have come in personal contact, and with whom I
have spent many delightful hours as we travelled down the
road of life together.
4 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

In such recital the personal pronoun must necessarily
figure frequently, and while this work must, from its very
nature, be somewhat autobiographic, the purpose will be to
faithfully describe and do full justice to those whom | shall
call up from the past and discuss in a fair and impartial
manner.

II.

The first editor I met was named Ferris. He established
the Argus at Hillsboro, Miss., the year before the Civil War
began, and became a staunch supporter of John C. Brecken-
ridge for President, as most Southern men did. I was a small
boy at the time, but large enough to go around with the
carrier, Charley Ferris, and assist him. Charley was an expert
kite-builder and supplied the boys of the town with fancy kites.

The Argus secured its printers from the Eastern Clarion
at Paulding. An uncle of mine, J. A. Chambers, was fore-
man, and under his instruction, I ‘learned the boxes,” there-
by getting my introduction into the printing business, my
first newspaper inspiration, unconsciously becoming inoculated
with the virus that was to develop in after years and shape
my future life.

Ferris had a partner named Duke, as I recall, who looked
after the business of the office while Ferris edited the paper
and practiced law. He was regarded as a good writer, and
got out an interesting local paper, which the community
appreciated. The Argus had practically no opposition, its
nearest competitors being the Eastern Clarion at Paulding
and the Republican at Brandon, and naturally had a fair
circulation. Brandon was the eastern terminus of the old
Southern Railroad, running from that place to Vicksburg, and
was building towards the Alabama line, for at that time no
such place as Meridian existed, Marion being the county site
of Launderdale county.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 5

 

The Argus was a red-hot Rebel paper, which predicted
all sorts of evil things in the event of Lincoln’s election,
Ferris accurately prophesying that war would follow.

Lincoln was elected, the Democrats having two tickets in
the field, one headed by Stephen A. Douglas and the other by
John P. Breckinridge, the Democrats doing in 1860 what the
Republicans did in 1912, putting out two National tickets.

While Lincoln did not defeat both Douglas and Brecken-
ridge, in the popular vote, the electoral college gave him a
majority of 57 over all opponents—Douglass, Breckinridge and
Bell; and on March 4, 1861, the control of the government
passed from President James Buchanan, Democrat, to Abraham
Lincoln, Republican.

Il.

But before Lincoln’s inaugral, the secession movement
had begun in the South, the States of South Carolina, Mis-
sissippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas
having held conventions and declared themselves out of the
Union, Texas going out one month before Lincoln had taken
the oath of office, administered by Chief Justice Taney.

On February 18, 1861, the “Confederate States of
America” were organized, with Jefferson Davis, of Missis-
sippi, as president; troops were called for and companies were
being formed all over the South; and the shadows of the
Hillsboro Argus began lengthening. Its foreman joined the
first company organized in Scott county, known as the Forest
Rifles, T. B. Graham, Captain. Its printer and office boy
Charley Ferris, joined the colors, and Ferris securing some
position in the government service, the Argus quit blinking
its “hundred eyes,” and gave up the ghost, much to the regret
of the writer, who was in those boyhood days dreaming dreams
of journalism that afterwards became true. The material of
the office was sold and shipped to Louisville, Miss., where it
6 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

was permitted to sleep until after the war, when it was used
in printing the Winston County Index.

Iv.

Ferris was a genius in his way, and could do a little
of everything. He was a man of some means, decided ability
and could hold his own in any company. He was accounted
a good lawyer, was a fluent speaker and successful business
man. He was fond of theatricals, and was regarded as the
star of the home company, which gave frequent entertainments
when Hillsboro was in its prime.

Ferris would attract attention in any crowd. He was a
man of medium height, as dark as an Italian and graceful as
a French dancing master. He always dressed in the height
of fashion, wearing a Prince Albert every day in the year.
He was a genial, social fellow and when through with his
office work could be seen around the courthouse or on the
public square. He always had his hands deep in his pockets,
stood with his legs wide apart, assuming a very important air,
and reminded me of pictures of Lord Byron, without his club
foot.

He left Hillsboro during the war and I lost track of him.
I supposed he was related to the Ferris family of Macon,
who have been publishers for three generations, and have
owned the Beacon at that place for over a half century.

Vv

I remained in Hillsboro with my mother and the children
during the four terrible years of war, all of my relatives
being in the army, some in the 20th Mississippi, others in the
36th, and a number in other regiments.

There was little opportunity to go to school, for the very
simple reason that there were no good schools, and the minds
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 7

 

of the people were more on the war, and on making a living,
than on educational matters. In fact schools were at a low
ebb, for the men around Hillsboro ran off a number of
Yankee teachers who had been too free in expressing their
opinions, and few Southern teachers were available.

Spinning, carding, weaving and quilting bees took the
place of literary societies at night. Occasionally there were
singing schools or spelling bees, but as such entertainments
neither clothed nor fed the families of Confederate soldiers,
left at home to scuffle for a living, their popularity waned
and they fell into disuse.

VI.

Occasionally a Jackson or Vicksburg paper reached Hills-
boro, and some one was appointed to mount a dry goods box
and read the war news to the public. Well do I remember
how proud I was when that task fell to me, for I was always
“rather fond of my own voice,” as Henry Watterson would
say, and I had a passion for newspaper reading, which has
doubtless had much to do with leading me in the paths of
journalism.

I was allowed to visit my father and uncles in Joseph E.
Johnston’s army, and having learned to beat a kettle drum at
home, and rally the home guard, to which I belonged, I was
frequently permitted to sound the reveille or beat “an ad-
vance” when the division was on dress parade. That naturally
interested me, but the “army press” and the single font of
type used to print orders, bulletins, etc., enchained me. The
virus was taking. I could not pull myself away from the
“printing office department.”

I frequently saw Gen. Joseph E. Johnston and Gen. W.
W. Loring riding up and down the line, and some of my
relatives being commissioned officers, I was presented to
them in person, and felt as proud as if I had been introduced
8 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

‘to Napoleon, for Johnston’s men regarded him as the genius
of the war, and all had the greatest love for dear old Loring,
whose armless sleeve attested his bravery in battle, and who
was afterwards commissioned a General in the army of the
Khedive of Egypt.
CHAPTER TWO.

Hillsboro a Prosperous, Delightful Town Before the Civil
War.—Burnt by Sherman’s Army.—Awful Carnival of
Crime.—The Hardys Ambush Yankees by the Score.

In the preceding chapter I referred to Ferris of the Hills-
boro Argus as the first editor I had known, but said little of
the town near which I was born and where I lived till the
year after the war, and where I obtained the rudiments of
an education, to be completed afterwards in a printing office,
and so far as I know only two of my first school mates are
alive today, Eliza Eastland, now Mrs. Glover Earbee, and
Lizzie Smith—Mrs. T. B. Graham—of Forest.

Several of my school mates who attended the “new
academy” are alive, but I only know the whereabout of four
of them—Mote Christian of Forest, H. H. Harper of Harpers-
ville, George Clower of Columbia and E. R. Manning of Jack-
son.

The academy, built by negro labor, was finished at the
breaking out of the war and was conducted for awhile by
Professors Wofford and Walker, Southern men, the former
a Mississippian and the latter from South Carolina. They
took the place of Yankee teachers who had been run off for
their abolition sentiments, which they had too freely expressed
with Lincoln’s election. But the academy was forced to close
during the war, as many of the students were drafted into
the army.
10 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

II.

Hillsboro was a prosperous, delightful, inland town of
1200 or 1500 people. It had an active, thrifty, intelligent
population, an exceptionally fine local bar, good church and
fine school facilities; also open saloons, a race course, ten
pin alley, etc. It had some fifteen or more stores, a majority
being conducted by Jews, sure sign of a live and prosperous
community.

It was one of the main stands for the coach route run-
ning from Brandon to Alabama, and the arrival of the old
stage from “Buck Horn Tavern,” near what is now Morton,
was one of the big events of the village.

One day in midwinter the well trained team of four
stopped in front of Cain’s tavern, where passengers were dis-
charged, mail exchanged and the inner man refreshed; for
there, under one roof, were located a post office, a saloon and
a hotel, the swinging sign reading, “Accommodations for
Man and Beast.”

The local postmaster waited for the driver to descend
from his high seat and bring in his mail bags, but he moved
not. There he sat with lines in hand, stiff and rigid as one of
Mrs. Jarley’s wax figures. He had frozen to death between
Hillsboro and Buck Horn—sometimes called Buck Snort for
short. The four horses knew the road so well they pulled
the coach on to town, and stopped at their accustomed place,
unguided by rein or voice.

The reader may imagine what a sensation the incident
caused in the town, which only received a ten-line notice in
the Argus. My! what a great story Frantz, Sullens, or Jaap—
for years my best local editors—would have made of that
event—two columns or more with a “stud head” in “thirty-six
point.” But those were primitive days in journalism, when
the editorial dominated the local department, when opinions
were regarded with more favor than sensational events.
 

 

 

 

 

 

Simeon R. Adams
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 11

 

Ill.

Hillsboro was a fine place until Sherman burnt it as he
was pursuing Joseph E. Johnston eastward, after the fall of
Vicksburg, who in his retreats did his opponent more harm
than he sustained himself.

Johnston’s men did enough damage to the people of Hills-
boro while retreating before Sherman. They burnt up the
fences and foraged on the community, killing such cattle and
‘hogs as they found running at large; but they did not break
open smoke houses and corn cribs and destroy the substance
of the old men, the women and children; neither did they
burn up the town.

But Sherman’s soldiers—well perhaps they were not as
bad as the Huns on their invasion of Belgium and France; but
they were bad enough, and at the time regarded as devils
incarnate, doing many acts of vandalism, wholly unwarranted
by the rules of civilized warfare.

They robbed the stores of everything they could carry
away, groceries, dry goods, liquids, etc., and then set fire to
the buildings, the flames in their wrath spreading to and con-
suming many private homes. Their one thought was to pilfer,
pillage and plunder.

The court house, with all its valuable records, where
Prentiss, McNutt, Davis, Foote, and other great leaders had
charmed listening multitudes, was fired and burnt to the
ground, not even a scrap of paper being saved.

Col. John D. Hardy, father of the celebrated Jack
Hardy, owned race horses and kept negro dogs. A squad of
Yankee soldiers fired his home and stables, throwing the dogs
in the flames, screaming in ghoulish glee.as they saw them
burn to death, and the horses perish in the flames.

But the Hardys made the Yankees pay dearly for their
vandalism, for father and son scouted through the hills and
12 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

hollows around Hillsboro, knowing every foot of the land,
waiting for an opportunity to kill Sherman’s soldiers as they
foraged through the country, or left the main body of the
army, bushwacking them without mercy. I have heard Jack
Hardy say that he and his father killed from 75 to 100 Yankee
soldiers—poor recompense, he declared, for the destruction of
the old ancestral home, the mental anguish his mother and
sisters endured, and the loss of his fine stable of racers and
blooded negro dogs.

IV.

Sherman’s army killed and destroyed every edible thing
that moved on foot, oxen, milch cows, hogs, goats and poultry
of every kind. His soldiers broke open smoke houses, cribs,
and pantries, and took away not only edibles, but silver plate,
jewelry, chinaware, guns, pistols, everything they could find
of the least value.

I remember a brute drew a gun on my invalid mother,
because she could not give him something to eat, when there
was not a crust in the house. I attempted to shield her and
was knocked down. She told me to run to the nearest officer’s
tent, as the army was resting there, and report the outrage.
I did so.

The Colonel, whose name I never knew, and which I
now sincerely regret, for he is worthy of recognition in these
memoirs, heard my story, not failing to ask, “Where is your
father?” I replied, “At the front, fighting Yankees.” “Good
boy,” said he, “and I suppose you would be there also, if
you were old enough.” “I would, sir.” My candid answers
seemed to please the Colonel, and he forthwith ordered a
guard put around our home, also sending us a supply of
flour, bacon, sugar and coffee—luxuries we had not known
for a long time.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 13

 

We were bothered no more, and were disposed to be-
lieve the Yankees better than we had supposed—and the
officers were. It was the riff-raff, the foreign substitutes, and
the criminals that creep into all armies that were doing most
of the meanness—firing, looting and robbing.

V.

Hillsboro having been destroyed by Sherman, was never
rebuilt, and the mercantile interests dwindled to small propor-
tion. Quite a number of the Jew merchants, peddlers, horse-
traders and men who owned allegiance to no country, and had
never declared themselves naturalized citizens of America,
exempt from military service, and being utterly demoralized,
with nothing to do, their fortunes having gone up in flames,
were induced to join with Sherman’s army on its return
march to Vicksburg, not as soldiers, but as people in search
of homes, places of business where they could support their
families.

Vicksburg had fallen, July 4, 1863, and the outlook for
business in the Hill City was reported good with prospects
for the future bright. Grant, the commander-in-chief of the
Federal armies, having captured Vicksburg, and knowing how
difficult it would be for Sherman to stop Joseph E. Johnston,
ordered him to abandon the pursuit and return to Vicksburg.

VI.

Sherman’s raiders burned towns and villages from Vicks-
burg to Meridian, and destroyed thousands upon thousands
of dollars worth of property, the work of destruction being
complete and awful.

I remember as a boy how shocked I was to see so many
men, whom I had known all my life, loading up their wagons
with their families and household effects, and “joining the
Yankees.”
14 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

My mother, who owned an old carryall, and a little nag
that had escaped Sherman’s raiders, as they marched east-
ward, for they did not misbehave on their return march, was
asked if she would not join the caravan going to Vicksburg,
with promise of sustenance on the way and a home at the end
of the journey.

Drawing herself up proudly, and with Spartan courage,
she said, “I thank you, men of the North, who are doing your
duty as you see it, but rather than desert my little home, and
my people, while my husband and relatives are fighting for
their country, and go off with the enemies of the South, I
would starve with my children, for under no circumstances
could I be induced to join the ranks of the deserters.”

Many Confederate soldiers believed that Pemberton, the
General commanding at Vicksburg, and a Northern man by
birth, sold that city to Grant. My father, who was in the
siege of forty-five days, and “thought no evil,” did not be-
lieved that Pemberton acted treacherously, but that he was
loyal to the government, whose commission he bore.
CHAPTER THREE.

I Move to Forest With the Family and Enter the Office of the
Forest Register—James P. Dement Its Publisher;
J. B. Blackwell and J. A. Glanville, Editors.

At the close of the war, my father returned home, and
as Hillsboro was not only dead but doomed, he engaged with
others in the building of Forest, which was getting fairly
started when the war broke upon the country, and stores,
residences, school houses and churches were left unfinished,
and were used for the storing of government supplies.

Several of the merchants of Hillsboro, who were doing
business in cheap, cramped quarters, moved to Forest at the
close of the war, as fast as they could secure stores, promin-
ent among them being M. D. Graham, Hi Eastland, W. W.
Lowry, Rev. “Pap” Lack, William Lack, and others from the
vicinity. Hillsboro lawyers, doctors, mechanics, shopmen and
an army of laborers, for business was good, work plentiful
and wages high, moved to the growing town of Scott county.

Flush times had come: every one seemed to have money,
and the demand for dry goods, groceries, wagons, farm imple-
ments and household necessities was so great that the mer-
chants had difficulty in supplying them. The prices were high
i6 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

and cotton sold for one dollar per pound, in exceptional cases
going to one dollar and a half. The demand could not be met
as there was little cotton in the country, none worth mention-
ing being raised after the first year of the war.

II.

In 1866 the family moved to Forest. I attended such
schools as the village afforded, and was progessing finely
until my teacher, old Prof. Johnson died of apoplexy. That
ended my school experience. Then a great change came into
my life, which my loving mother welcomed as a bright omen.

The Register was moved from Carthage to Forest in
1867. It was set up in a little California frame building in the
yard of what was then known as the Simmons Hotel, Uncle
Johnnie Simmons being the rotund and ruddy happy and jolly
boniface. The house is still standing, though hotel, livery
stable and other buildings nearby have been several times
destroyed by fire. The little shack seems to bear a charmed
life.

The news that the Register had moved to Forest, spread
with the rapidity of neighborhood gossip, which generally
travels faster than telegram or phone messages I was on
hand at the unloading of the material, which made “a full
wagon load;’ saw the plant installed and helped to place the
cases on the racks. And then I realized that the virus with
which I had been inoculated in the office of the Hillsboro
Argus had not only “taken” again, but was breaking out in
big spots.

My mother wanted my father to agree to allow me to
enter the Register office as an apprentice; he objected, on
account of my small, delicate frame. He voted no; my mother
voted aye; I cast the deciding vote; majority controlled, and
the die was cast; for there, in that humble home, on that
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 17

 

warm summer night in 1867, my horoscope was made up, and
it read, “You are to be a printer, publisher or pauper,” and
I feel that I have just about run the whole gamut. My salary
was fixed at $11.00 per month for the first year, and I had
trouble spending it, my wants being few.

III.

James P. Dement was the owner and publisher of the
Register, and the best printer I ever knew, before or since;
but that was all he knew. He had no conception of newspaper
publishing, was utterly devoid of business ideas, and wholly
incapable of editing his paper, his old editor, a lawyer named
Raymond Reid, having declined to move with the outfit, re-
mained at Carthage to practice his chosen profession.

Mr. Dement knew a printer associate named Worth Black-
well, who had a brother named Major J. B. Blackwell, a
lawyer who had recently moved to Forest from Smith county.
He sought him out and the deal was soon closed, I don’t
know whether on a fixed salary, for “part of the crop” or for
the glory and honor of the position, but I am inclined to be-
lieve the latter stipulation controlled, as Blackwell was an
embryo politician and had designs on the circuit clerk’s office,
which he succeeded in capturing and holding as long as he
cared for it.

Joe Blackwell, as he was best known, was a prince of
men. He came from a fine old family, and had been well
educated. He used his left hand entirely, his right arm having
been injured. His writing was a beautiful sloping back hand,
as plain as copy-plate, and the delight of the printers. Black-
well had had no experience as an editor, but got out a very
creditable local paper.

We had politics then as now. B. G. Humphreys was
Governor, but there was continual strife between the Federal
and State authorities. The Freedman’s Bureau was doing
18 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

much to put the negro up to devilment. The military was
fast superceding the civil authorities, and under the Recon-
struction Acts of Congress a Constitutional Convention was
called, which gave Major Blackwell and other editors themes
for many editorials.

He was elected circuit clerk and later resigned the editor-
ship of the Register to enter upon his official dutis. He had
a splendid family of daughters, two surviving him, and
worthily uphold the family name.

IV.

Capt. Jas. A. Glanville became the second editor of the
Register and imparted to the paper a deal of individuality. He
was from Missouri and had served under Gen. Sterling Price
and was proud of his Confederate record. His mind was a
storehouse of information: he seemed to know everything
and was always ready to respond to any question propounded
to him. He had some money and increased his wealth by
marrying the highly accomplished Pattie Davis, daughter of
Dr. Stephen Davis, and wrote simply as a matter of pleasure
for Dement had no money to pay him.

While a brilliant man of letters, Glanville was what was
known as a “crank” in that he was always writing strange and
unnatural things, a kind of Rider Haggard. He wrote a
serial entitled “A Dam Flea” that made maidens blush and
mesdames scold. Glanville chased the flea from toe to head,
making of him an ever-present hero.

He was also author of a Klu Klux Klan serial which had
a large run, as that was when the Knights of the Invisible
Empire were doing their best riding. Having “known Robin-
son” Glanville knew what he was writing about, and his Klu
Klux articles were read far and near, several extra hundred
copies being necessary each week to supply the demand. I
“knew Robinson” afterward and am proud of the fact.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 19

 

To Capt. Glanville is the writer largely indebted for
many valuable suggestions, for he taught him expression, con-
struction and rhetoric.

The business of Forest increased rapidly, its merchants
extending their trade in all directions, and the place was made
the principal shipping point for north and south Scott. Mor-
ton had enjoyed that distinction for quite awhile prior to the
breaking out of the war, that being the eastern terminus of
the old Southern Railroad.
CHAPTER FOUR.

Dr. Stephen Davis Becomes Owner and Editor of the Forest
Register.—Loved Wit and Humor, Puns and Jokes Better
Than News.—My Introduction to Col. A. J. Frantz.

Headquarters for the Freedman’s Bureau were estab-
lished at Forest, and hundreds of little board shacks were
erected for the accommodation of the negro soldiers, west of
what is now court house square.

Negro soldiers, inflated with sudden honors and a little
brief authority, were mean and insulting to white citizens,
especially rude at times to white ladies. They drew their
salaries regularly and blew in their money for whiskey and
fancy articles that the government did not furnish, and thus
set afloat a good sum of money, and the merchants and busi-
ness men of Forest were the beneficiaries.

Then began a discussion among radical leaders for a
constitutional convention, as the new rulers of the land, did
not like the constitution adopted in 1865, which was the work
of Confederate soldiers and loyal sons of the State.

Negroes were afterwards qualified as voters under a
supplemental reconstruction act, and outvoted the whites, and
elected a majority of the delegates to the convention, Novem-
ber, 1867, before the adoption of the Fourteenth or Fifteenth
Amendments.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 21

 

Il.

About this time Dr. Stephen Davis sold or leased his big
farm on Shockalo, out near the Morton and Hillsboro road,
finding it unprofitable to work free labor. He was a highly
educated physician, and well read in literature, a high-class
gentleman of the old Southern type, who had been a large
slave owner, and was now land-poor. He set up an office and
a drug store and re-engaged in the practice of medicine, which
he had abandoned before the war to give his personal atten-
tion to his planting interests.

I recall an incident that set the town talking, and almost
resulted in the death of Dr. Davis. He received a call one
night to go to the Brisco home, about one mile west of Forest,
and accompanied by the negro messenger, he was proceeding
on his way when he was attacked in a deep railroad cut known
as the “old trunking” and almost killed. He was knocked
senseless, and remained in that condition till discovered by
passers-by when he realized that he was minus his gold watch
and small change. The doctor, who had vivid imagination and
fine descriptive powers, used to relate the incident with great
gusto, to his groups of friends, who revelled in the recital
and rejoiced at the wonderful escape of their old friend.

III.

Dr. Davis, with little to do, for he cut out night visits
after his experience in the ‘old trunking,” became associated
with his son-in-law, Jas. A. Glanville, referred to in last chap-
ter, in the editing and managing of the Forest Register having
bought Dement out. He was the fourth editor the writer had
known, and the brightest wit on the Mississippi press. He
was never very serious in his editorials, preferring to indulge
in ridicule rather than in facts. Many of his humorous articles
and witty sayings would have done credit to Geo. D. Prentice
of the old Courier-Journal.
22 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Dr. Davis had a penchant for punning on the names of
newly-weds. He would print wedding notices, giving the
names of the groom, bride and minister, and then get off some
of the funniest, broadest puns possible, some of them being
positively shocking, but always witty and amusing, and en-
joyed by everyone except bride and groom. His punning on
wedding couples became so notorious that many persons about
to commit matrimony dodged, fearing the wit of the “Old
Youth,” as the doctor was called, and held their notices away
from the Register, if their names permitted punning.

IV.

A long-legged, gangling country youth called at the
Register office one day and asked for the “Old Youth.”

The Doctor answer, “Aye, aye, My Lord of the Sticks,”
for he said whatever he pleased, and his broad, good-natured
smile protected him? But “My Lord of the Sticks” did not
relish his wit, and said to him in a very positive manner,
“Doctor, my name is John Henry Bottomfelt. I am soon to
marry Miss Nannie G. Oat, and I called to serve notice on you
that if you get off any of your vulgar wit on our names, I will
hold you personally responsible and I will beat you worse than
that free nigger did at the Briscoe cut.”

The “Old Youth,” who was as brave as Napoleon, without
moving a muscle, yelled out, “The h—1 you will! Sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof,” and John left realizing that
he had made an awful mistake, for the “Old Youth” just let
himself out on the marriage of “Mr. John Henry Bottomfelt
and Miss Nannie G. Oat,” which he corrupted into Nannie
Goat, and the puns must be imagined, for I do not feel war-
ranted in printing them here. In the parlance of the day,
nobody but Dr. Davis could have used the puns he employed
and “gotten away with it.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 23

 

V.

Dr. Davis was an original man, always cheerful, agree-
able and ever entertaining. Everybody liked him. He was a
natural humorist, and his humor knew no bounds, but he
could, if necessity required, write in a serious vein, especially
when he was abusing carpet-baggers, scallawags, renegades
and rapscallions who turned traitor to their people. He wrote
a miserable hand, which always made printers swear, but he
never got mad and abused boys in the office when they made
mistakes, as Judge A. G. Mayers would do when his copy was
not set up letter-perfect in the Brandon Republican office.

The “Old Youth” would laugh at the ludicrous mistakes
in proof, and while he would always demand a “revise,” a
habit that the writer has practiced near unto fifty years, but
not always with success, the Doctor would sometimes say to
the foreman, “Jimmie, while I did not write just what you
make me say, I believe your mistakes are better than my
humor.” But Jimmy knew better than to fail to correct the
proof and give the old Doctor a revise.

VI.

While working in the Register office I learned to make
wood cuts. They attracted the attention of Col. A. J. Frantz,
editor of the Brandon Republican, and who also had been run-
ning some cuts, taking off radicals, carpet baggers and scala-
ways. Frantz called at the Register one day and asked Glanville
who was making his engravings. He replied, “A boy in the
office, who picked it up.” Frantz said he would like to make
me a proposition if it were agreeable to Glanville, who told
him to go ahead, that my time was about up anyway and he
did not expect to be able to hold me much longer. I was
introduced to Frantz, and a contract was entered into on the
spot, subject to approval of my parents. That was my first
introduction to one of the most remarkable editors of the
State.
CHAPTER FIVE.

“Breaking the Home Ties.’—A Sad Parting.—Leave Home to
Take a Position on The Brandon Republican.—Meet
Dear Mrs. Jennie Frantz, Who Influenced
My Future Life.

A small, unpretentious looking picture, simply framed,
hung in an obscure corner of the Art Gallery at the World’s
Fair at St. Louis in 1904, and attracted more attention than
any painting in the grand collection assembled in that spacious
building, by the great artists from every country of the world.

It was entitled, “Breaking the Home Ties,” and was a
picture of intense human interest, a soulful painting, a poem
of pathos on canvass, a heart-throb, that claimed the attention
of passers-by, and those who saw it were impelled to return
and look upon it a second time, or more, for it was so realistic,
so absolutely life-like in its pure simplicity, its sublime natural-
ness, that its hypnotic power was irresistible.

It represented a family scene in a humble country home,
where father, mother and children were about to tell a youth
good-bye. The boy was dressed for the road, and carried a
small pack over his shoulder, for he was going out into the
world to seek his fortune among strangers; he was “Breaking
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 25

 

the Home Ties.” He was receiving the blessings of his
parents before taking his leave, and the little children looked
up to him, lovingly, sadly, wistfully, as though taking a final
farewell of the elder brother. There were tears in every eye,
love in every expression; sweet old mother wept as she was
telling her first-born good-bye.

It was a picture that appealed to all parents, to every
man who had left home in youth, to go out into the world on
his own account. Crowds were before the little painting all
the time, and the tender and endearing words there spoken,
by the rich and the lowly, by the worldly and the devout,
would make a book of sweet and loving sentiment.

II.

A similar scene was enacted in the town of Forest, Sep-
tember 5, 1868, when I was preparing to “Break the Home
Ties,” to journey to Brandon, where I had accepted a position
with Col. A. J. Frantz, to work on his paper, the Republican—
to make wood cuts, set type, run his press, and do any other
work that might be considered necessary.

None of the family, except my father, had ever been
out of the State; in fact had never been beyond the limits
of Scott county, and looked upon a trip to Brandon as a big
event, quite a long journey. There was no levity in that
scene, for sadness was on every face, solemn expressions
everywhere, serious thoughts in every mind, for the family
knew I was going away, “Breaking the Home Ties,” and might
never return.

I toid the children goodbye, and as I took my sainted
mother by the hand, (she has long been'in Heaven, for she
left us fifty years ago), she threw her arms about me and
sobbed like her dear old heart would break. That excited and
started the children crying, and I was so overcome for the
26 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

moment that I] felt like throwing up the engagement and
announcing my intention of remaining at home. But I did
not think that I could afford to violate my contract with
Colonel Frantz, so with a throbbing heart, I rushed from the
room, accompanied by my father, who was to go with me to
the train.

Though that scene was enacted more than fifty years ago,
and since then I have wandered far and wide, visiting home
and foreign lands, and seen many of the grand sights and
great men of the world, the picture made in that humble home,
that bright autumnal morning, as I was taking my leave,
“Breaking the Home Ties,” with a heavy heart, is as vivid
today as it was real then, and it will never fade from memory
so long as life shall last. It was a sad and solemn scene, and
one I often recall with profit, but have never before attempted
to describe.

It is well to live over occasionally the sad hours of youth
and experience again the heart-throbs of life. Let us draw
the curtain and shut out the picture, for we are treading upon
sacred memories, personal and dear to me, but of no special
interest to the reader.

III.

We had but a short time to wait for the train; my ticket
was bought, my trunk checked. I bade goodbye to friends at
the depot, and entered the train with my good, old Christian
father, who remained with me until the conductor halloed “All
aboard.” With tears in his eyes he clasped my hand and said
in a choking voice, as he retired, “My boy, do the best you
can in life; do your duty as you see it; live uprightly, don’t
forget your home and your people, and remember the fourth
and fifth commandments.”

The engineer blew his whistle, reversed his throttle and
turned on steam; the engine commenced puffing, the pistons
 

 

 

 

Major E. Barksdale
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 27

 

began sliding into the cylinders, increasing their speed with
every stroke, forcing out white, hot spray; the drivers were
revolving fast, the train getting under full speed, and soon
the little town of Forest faded from sight to which I was
never again to return except as a visitor.

The train was in charge of Conductor Holbrooke, to
whom I soon introduced myself, making various inquiries
about railroading, Brandon and its people, for he had married
Miss Fannie Gunn of that place and described it as the great-
est town on earth. He was the father of Mrs. Carl Seutter,
and retired to his farm at Holbrooke, Rankin county, after
leaving the service of the railroad, where he passed the latter
years of his life quietly and happily.

Holbrooke stopped and talked with me several times as
he passed through the train, for he was a social and com-
panionable man. My mother had prepared me a lunch, and
I had no trouble in persuading the conductor to eat with me,
for I was satisfied it was good and bountiful. As I remember,
it consisted of biscuits, linked sausage, fried chicken, boiled
eggs, and a bottle of coffee. It was evident my mother did
not intend I should starve before reaching my destination.

IV.

On arriving at the Brandon depot, a mile from town,
I took passage on Jim Cunningham’s hack, and was soon in
the heart of the place, which looked larger then than Jackson
does today, for in youth everything is magnified, while
villages, towns and objects diminish in size with age. I got
off the hack at the old Shelton House, so long one of the
landmarks of Brandon, but now alas, is no more. There I met
the proprietor, D. H. Brown, father of Mrs. E. E. Frantz, of
Jackson, then little Sudie Brown, and a bright, frisky child
she was. I inquired the price of board, and when given the
information replied, “That is more than my monthly wages.”
28 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I asked the way to the Republican office, when Mr.
Brown said “Over the store of Maxey & Co., south of the
Wilkinson’s block.” Seeking my bewilderment, for I had no
idea where the place was, Little Sudie generously offered to
pilot me, for which I thanked her, and am now reminding her
of the fact that she and her father were the first people I
talked with in Brandon, over 53 years ago.

- I met Colonel Frantz at the top of the steps, which lead
directly into his editorial-business office. He recognized me
and remarked, ‘Well, you have arrived.” I told him I had,
but was in great trouble, as I found my board and lodging
would cost me more than the salary I would receive, and did
not know what to do, when he replied, ‘““Why, dam it boy, I
expected you to board at my house with the other printers,
and I never intended to charge you. Where is your baggage?
get it and send it up to my house, on College street,”—better
known as Silk Stocking.

If he had said he lived on Champs Elysees, the boulevard
upon which his home was located would not have been more
greatly magnified in my youthful mind.

I hunted up a drayman, Old Spencer by name, and
negotiated with him to deliver my trunk to Colonel Frantz’
residence; and then returned to the Republican office, and
announced myself ready for business. The Colonel asked
“Are you going to work before you have dinner?” I replied,
“I had a snack on the train and can hold out till supper.” I
shall never forget his answer. “But the boys are getting
ready to go to dinner, and you will be alone in the office.” I
answered, “I shall not be lonesome if you give me a case and
some copy.”

Frantz called to his foreman, fat, jolly, good-natured,
waggish Robert McDonnell, saying, “Here, Bob, give this boy
a case and some copy.” The foreman asked me, ‘Can you set
manuscript, or shall I give you reprint?” I never felt so out-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 29

 

raged in all my life, and replied in defiant tone, “I can set
anything that you or any printer in the office can set.” “Bob,”
as everybody called the big, overgrown Irishman, grunted and
said, “No offense, young man; but you have a pretty good
opinion of yourself.” I pertly replied, “And I am ready to
prove my words by my acts.” I afterwards heard Bob saying
to the boys while washing up for dinner, “Better be careful,
fellows, for that new kid has got no more sense than to work
like a country nigger. He has evidently made an impression
on the old man.”
V.

That evening about sun-down, all the hands quit work, and
Ben Carrol! was directed to show me the way to the Frantz
domicile, where Ben boarded. He was such a dressy, stilted,
stuck-up fellow, that I did not fall in love with him then or
afterwards. :

On reaching the Frantz home, I was presented to the
members of the family, and fell in love with dear, kind Mrs.
Frantz, who expressed herself as glad to meet me, and hoped
my sojourn in her home might prove pleasant. I assured her
I knew it would, for I felt that any home presided over by
such a gracious queen as Jennie Frantz must be an Arcadia.
She was a lady of culture, well educated, inately refined, pos-
sessed the noblest ideals, a true Christian if this world has
ever known a real Christian.

She did much towards shaping my future life, for which
I shall always feel grateful. She was devoutly religious, was
a regular attendant upon the Presbyterian Church, which she
helped to build from the sale of her writings, and insisted I
should go also, being informed my people were Presbyterians.
She took the place of my mother and guided my youthful
steps over the right paths, and without her teachings, I might
have gone as wild as some of the other Brandon boys. But
of that further on.
30 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

Mrs. Frantz wrote almost as much as her husband, and
could discuss any subject, being a constant reader of news-
papers and magazines; but she never dabbled in politics,
allowing her husband to occupy that sphere alone. She wrote,
largely on religious topics, and her articles on “Charity,” have
never been equalled in this State. Her poems covered a large
range, but were generally along serious religious lines. She
wrote sonnets, cantos, fugitive pieces, personal poems, in fact
everything of a poetic nature.

In later life she arranged her writings in book form,
which is now one of the most cherished volumes in many
libraries.

The Mississippi Press Association several times elected
Mrs. Frantz as annual poetess, but having an aversion to
publicity, she never appeared to read her poems herself,
delegating that duty to her daughters, Nonie or Eva, the latter
also being a clever poetess.

Mrs. Frantz was of great assistance to her husband in
the publication of his paper and often in his absence furnished
the copy: but of an entirely different nature, for no one could
write like Frantz, and his style could not be copied, for he
occupied a field all his own with no imitators.
CHAPTER SIX.

Col. Frantz’ Paper Had the Largest Circulation in the State.
Poured Hot Shot Into Carpet-Baggers and Scalawags.
My First Experience With Beer Proved a Blessing.

In writing these memoirs, covering the dark days of re-
construction, or as is best known, the civil revolution, when
the “bottom rail was on top” when vice stalked abroad at
noonday and ignorance set in the temples of justice, it will
be necessary to throw around them a local political coloring.

In the days that tried men’s souls, there was wavering
in the minds of some men native and to the manner born.
Even old Confederate soldiers, who had offered up their lives
for their country, seemed willing to sell their “birthright
for a mess of pottage” being “almost persuaded” to join the
ranks of the enemy, hoping to enjoy the fruits of the spoil.
To this class belonged lawyers, who had their eyes on judge-
ships, and editors who were willing to change their politics
for the usufruct the “district printing bill” would confer.

But I am glad to be able to testify that no such allure-
ments were sufficient to cause A. J. Frantz to change his
policies or his plans, or to let up in the fight he was making
upon the carpet-bag government that was degrading, disgrac-
32 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

ing and humiliating Mississippi and its people. He denounced
the district printing bill in unmeasured terms, which was a
device of the Radical government then in control of the State,
to furnish “pap” to a number of papers to maintain them
while they advocated the cause of the despoilers—the district
printing bill being nothing more nor less than a reward to
papers for treachery to their party and country.

II.

The Constitutional Convention of 1868, known as the
“Black and Tan,” called under the Reconstruction Acts of
Congress, had finished its session in Jackson and adjourned,
after passing a resolution to submit the draft of the constitu-
tion to the people of the State for ratification, having no
doubt it would be adopted, for all negro men over twenty-one
had been enfranchised and qualified as voters, even before the
adoption of the Fifteenth Amendment.

Frantz had been pouring hot shot into the proposed con-
stitution, and urging its defeat, and to assist in the good
work I was called to Brandon, to make woodcuts of the lead-
ing members of the carpet-bag-scalawag-alien government, to
burlesque them and associates in every way possible. He
made life a burden for B. B. Eggleston, Hook Nose Fisher,
Millinery Bill Lake, J. Aaron Moore, negro delegate from
Lauderdale, Bullet Head Ames, A. J. Morgan, Charles Cald-
well, afterwards killed in the Clinton riot, Cy Myers, Fred
Barrett, Hell Roaring Pease and others of the saturnalian
brood.

It is a notable fact that five members of the Eggleston
convention were killed for their crimes against the people of
the State, viz: Charles Caldwell, a negro senator from Hinds.
county, was killed in Clinton, charged with instigating the
riot of that place in 1875; Combast was hung by the Ku Klux
in Sunflower county; Orr was killed at Pass Christian by P.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 33

 

K. Mayers; Fawn was killed in the courthouse at Yazoo City,
for incendiary speech, calculated to bring about race troubles:
Fred Parsons, defender of Ames in his impeachment trial,
was found dead in the road, having been killed by unknown
persons.

Frantz poked all manner of fun at the negro delegates
and their carpet-bag and scalawag allies in the Constitutional
Convention. He had special aversion to B. B. Eggleston, a
carpet-bagger who misrepresented Lowndes county. He was
president, having defeated Judge J. W. C. Watson for the
place. Frantz had a cut made of Eggleston presiding, and
printed underneath, “That thing in the box, nailed up to the
wall, is Brindle Buzzard Eggleston, chief of them all,” and
what he said of old B. B. was a plenty.

II.

Colonel Frantz was an interesting editor, and his paper
had the largest circulation in Mississippi, having practically
the field east of Jackson, south of Winston and north of Perry,
with a scattering circulation in other counties. He depended
largely upon horse-mails, as railroad facilities were poor, and
he loaded down the mail bags every Thursday morning. The
bulk of his circulation was in counties east of Pearl river, a
section that had been dubbed “the Mighty East,’’ by Franklin
E. Plummer.

Frantz was a good dresser, and had a pleasing face,
which always reminded me of the features of Simeon R.
Adams, and like Adams he was short and corpulent, and fairly
shook and wobbled as he walked. Both were Northern jour-
neymen printers, who came South before the Civil War,
Adams from Pennsylvania, and Frantz from Maryland. They
became connected with insignificant country weeklies, which
they made the most powerful papers of the State, Adams
winning his reputation before and Frantz after the Civil War,
34 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the mantle of Adams rather descending upon Frantz’s should-
ers. They were well skilled in the arts preservative, and
possessed extraordinary energy.

There was one difference—Adams was a better business
man than Frantz, but being a poor writer, employed editors
to get out his paper while he looked after the business de-
partments. Frantz was a thoroughly practical newspaper
man, and could edit and manage his own paper. Both were
persistent solicitors, each succeeded and built up fine news-
paper properties.

Frantz had a ruddy complexion, his cheeks, as spotted-
red as a Norwegian girl. He had bright, sparkling brown
eyes, a small, expressive mouth, and his smiling face was but
an index to his genial nature and happy disposition. His
hair was long and black as the raven’s wing, which he parted
on both right and left side, when I first knew him, leaving a
broad patch in the center, which he rounded up in handsome
curls, much after the style of mothers who paid special care
to combing the hair of their curly-headed children.

IV.

Frantz did not get full credit for editing his paper, the
public being disposed to award that honor to Mayers and
Lowry and Andrew Harper, when the truth is they furnished
the Republican few editorials. It was no secret, they did
occasionally write for the paper, as did some other lawyers of
Brandon, but were in no sense its editors.

Their style was wholly different from Frantz. He wrote
simply, and indulged in no end of invective, abuse and slang
when referring to the carpet-baggers and scalawags, and the
way he could trim them up was a sight to behold.

Occasionally Mayers would write a leader, but his
principal forte was personal and humorous paragraphs, in
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 35

 

which he excelled. He also wrote amusing and telling dog-
gerel. Lowry, fresh from the army, had a dignified, some-
what stilted style, that could not be disguised, unless he
stopped to satarize some carpetbagger in his own peculiar
way. Harper was long-winded and tedious, his mind rurining
on Chronicles.

Mayers and Harper were the terror of the printers.
Mayers could not understand why a ten dollar a week printer
did not know as much as he did, and would raise Cain when-
ever the slightest errors were made in his copy.

Harper had a mania for commas, and stormed at Bob
McDonnell so much, holding the foreman responsible for all
omissions of his pet punctuation point, rubbing Bob so hard
in the presence of the printers, that the old Irish Presby-
terian would sometimes lose his religion and curse old
Andrew black and blue, telling him to “Go to h—— with your
d—— commas.”

Dear, sweet-natured General Lowry, never complained,
if he ever detected errors in his articles, for he rarely read
proof.

Frantz had an odd, original style which made his paper.
He was called the “Brick Pomeroy of the South.” While
their style was not dissimilar, when it came to abusing Re-
publicans, carpet baggers and scalawags, both being past
masters in the art, Frantz never saw the LaCrosse Democrat,
which always fell to the writer.

Truth is that while the Republican had a large city
exchange list, Frantz rarely read a paper printed outside the
State, holding to the idea that the way to make a Mississippi
paper was to print Mississippi news, which he did almost
exclusively. The only exceptions were on election nights,
when Frantz made special efforts to get the news by wire—the
first exception to be noted by the writer was on Wednesday
night after the presidential election in 1868, when Grant de-
36 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

feated Seymour for President, Mississippi’s vote not being
counted. In writing up the result Frantz paraphrazed the
message sent by Commodore Perry to General Harrison, after
the naval engagement, September, 1813, making it read, “We
have met the enemy and we are theirs.”

V.

I was quite a verdant when I went to Brandon, and was
dazzled by the strange sights and the stylish people, especially
the young ladies, who put on their best dresses and paraded
up and down Silk Stocking every evening, after the boys had
finished their work in the stores and offices. I used to wonder
if they met by accident or design, but they certainly met and
had great times. I was slow in breaking in for I was a
“young man from the country,” and had never visited a girl
in my life. But under the leadership of the boys in the office,
I soon caught on, and got in the swim, for in those days a
printer boy ranked as high as a student, dry goods clerk or
office man.

But back to Frantz. He was by no means sociable with
his men, and rarely had anything to say to them. He had
his paper made up Wednesday afternoon, printed and mailed
that night, in order to catch the horse mails next morning,
the date of publication; for come what would the Republican
must go out Thursday morning. We had no union hours,
and worked until Bob said quit, and we never expected pay
for extra hours, which came only on Wednesday night, mail-
ing night, when we worked till the big edition had been
printed, put in packages and sent to the postoffice.

A half dozen boys took their places around the big table,
each boy with a subscription book before him, with Colonel
Frantz sitting at the head, doing as much work as any two,
for he wrote with electric rapidity. There was no talking;
nothing but work, till the Colonel, after pushing his pencil
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 37

 

for an hour or so, said, “Well boys, let’s stop and go round
to Block & Ohyler’s and get some beer.”

VI.

That was a novel experience to me, for I had never been
in a saloon in my life; but I did not feel that I could act
prudish, and I went with the Colonel and his boys to the
designated place—in the rear of the main store, reached by
an outside door. A keg of beer rested at half-mast on the
bar—bottled beer was unknown—and every one was invited
to come up and drink. I could only swallow a half glass my
first night, so bitter did it taste. Bob said, “Oh, you'll like
it after awhile,” and so I did.

That practice was continued every Wednesday night as
long as I remained in Brandon.

One night I took a little too much. Returning to the
office, I felt a slight disturbance in my head. My brains and
hands would not co-ordinate. I knew I was not tipsy, for I
could walk and think, but there was an unrest in my mind.

One of the boys, Ben Carroll, saw my dilemma, and con-
sidered it great fun, and made remarks that irritated me, for
he delighted in nagging. I got up, excused myself to Colonel
Frantz, saying while I was not tight that I did not think I
could continue writing. He was kind and considerate and
said, “That is all right.”

Ben roared with laughter, making unpleasant remarks,
other boys joined in, and volunteered to take me home. I
indignantly declined their offer, and made them a little speech
somewhat after this fashion, “Laugh away, boys, laugh till
your sides are sore. My laugh will come later, for here I
vow that never more shall beer pass my lips. Go on, and die
drunkards as some of you will.” Strange prophesy for a boy;
but it came true. That object lesson was the greatest I ever
38 EDITORS I .HAVE KNOWN

 

learned, and the most beneficial, for it may have saved me
from a drunkard’s grave.

VII.

Ben Carroll was the pet of the Frantz household—after-
wards marrying Mrs. Frantz’s sister, Miss Mollie Johnson—and I
judged from what I saw around the house that he had “blown”
on me, and made up my mind to get even with him. We occu-
pied the same room and slept in the same bed, he on the
front, while I was satisfied with the back side, next to the
wall, which proved a strategic position.

One morning while Ben was lying on his back, dead
asleep, the thought occurred to me, “Now is the time to even
up matters.” So I squared myself against the wall, drew up
my legs, cantflever-like, and straightening them out quickly,
kicked Ben out of the bed. He did not wake up till he
landed, and from the sound his head made as it hit the floor,
I feared I had cracked his skull. He awoke swearing like a
trooper; he was so mad his oaths were not intelligible; but
they were warm. I was too convulsed with laughter to re-
spond to his inquiry, “What in the h—— do you mean?” He
threatened to kill me on the spot, but I persuaded him to
desist until after breakfast—and he desisted; but we never
spoke again—never, till I gave him the mumps, which is
referred to in another chapter.

VIL.

In the winter of 1860 Frantz went with the sheriff’s posse
to arrest a fugitive named Gardner, who lived between Bran-
don and Jackson. Gardner fired from his house as the posse
approached and Frantz was seriously wounded in the shoulder
and groin, the latter wound almost proving fatal, keeping him
in bed several months, and on crutches over two years. He
never entirely recovered.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 39

 

Frantz boasted that he never missed an issue of his paper
before, during or since the war. He anticipated Sherman’s
raid, and moved a small press and two or three cases of type
to the woods, and got out his paper on time in spite of all
drawbacks.
CHAPTER SEVEN.

Frantz Lived Like a Prince and Entertained Like a Sovereign.
He Goes to Jackson to Fight Editor Whipple.—Beautiful
Brandon Girls and Fatality Hanging Over Them.

One Big Event.

When I went to Brandon in the fall of 1868, it was a
beautiful and prosperous town, having an intelligent and
progressive citizenship, surpassed by no place in the country.
There was an air of culture and refinement there that im-
pressed itself upon all visitors. On every hand were evidences
of enterprise and prosperity. The people were of the better
class, kind, generous and lovable, many from old aristocratic
families of the wealthy, ante-bellum type, but all, regardless
of caste, were sociable, happy and contented, forming a homo-
geneous population, among whom it was a great pleasure, a
never ending delight to live.

I felt that my lines were cast in pleasant places, when I
learned I was to become an inmate of the Frantz home—a
home presided over by a pure, sweet Christian wife and
mother, whose influence was wholesome and ennobling;: for
while Col. Frantz belonged rather to the worldly set, having
been a Bohemian of extensive travel, he had great respect
for the religion of his wife, who exercised wonderful influence
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 41

 

over him, and had been to him as a beacon light, casting its
rays of beneficence across his pathway in life.

Frantz lived like a nabob, having not only a comfort-
able, well furnished home, but a table “good enough for a
bishop.” He prided himself on native grown products, both
wild and domestic, meat, fowl, fruits and vegetables, raising
much of the latter himself, being an expert gardener. His
wine cellar was stocked with the best vintage of France, from
Mum’s extra dry, to sparkling sherry and ruddy St. Julien;
with a “wee drop of the crater” from Robinson county for
his more democratic visitors.

I.

Frantz loved a newspaper controversy better than any
editor I have ever known, and when once started he held on
with bull-dog tenacity. Sometimes these controversies reached
a very acute point, especially when conducted with a carpet-
bag editor.

He became involved in a controversy with Whippel, editor
of the old Pilot, the Radical organ published by the firm of
Kimball, Raymond & Co., at Jackson. It began very pleasant-
ly, but Frantz became so severe and abusive as the controversy
progressed, that Whippel, the carpet-bagger who had been
imported here from the North to edit the Pilot, felt that he
was warranted in denouncing Frantz, having no idea that he
would be called to account; but he was.

There was a council of war held in Brandon attended
by Frantz, Lowry, Mayers, McCaskill, Henry, Cole and others,
and the decision was that Frantz should go to Jackson, post
Whippel, and notify him that he was on hand ready to defend
his poster.

Frantz took a position in front of the old capitol, armed
with a double barrel shot gun, and notified Whippel that he
42 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

was ready for him. He stood there till he was almost frozen,
puffing a long black cigar, and Whippel failing to appear,
friends of Frantz told him he had done all that was necessary
to vindicate his honor, and the whole crowd adjourned to the
old Edwards house and had a big blow out. Frantz returned
to Brandon after nightfall, and was hailed as the hero of the
hour. After that he had no further trouble with the old
carpet-bag editor, who had learned to respect him.

An impression had grown that Frantz would not fight,
and while I don’t think he yearned for the sport, I have seen
Frantz in some rather tight places, and I never saw him show
the white feather. For instance, he had been roasting a law-
less character down in some of the counties south of Rankin,
named Pryor Pryor had written a letter demanding an
apology, in default of which he threatened to shoot Frantz
on sight; which only called for another denunciation. That
induced Pryor to come to Brandon. He reached there about
one o’clock, and forthwith called at the Republican office and
asked for the editor. I was in the editorial office at the time,
and told him Frantz would return soon, asking him to take a
seat, having no idea who he was. He told me his name, say-
ing he had ridden up from below to whip Frantz.

Hearing the Colonel’s footstep on the stairs, I went down
and told him that Pryor was waiting for him. Without answer-
ing me Frantz rushed upstairs and approaching Pryor gave
him the worst cursing I ever heard mortal man take, abusing
him for everything in the catalogue, and ordered him out of
his office. Pryor simply smiled, without retorting, and dis-
appeared. He never returned.

I saw much of Frantz the three years I worked for him,
and besides making his wood cuts, often assisted in editorial
work when he was away. He had his fads and fancies,
his bad and good parts, but was of great help to his State
and country. He was patriotic, and will be long remembered
 

 

 

 

 

Col. J. J. Shannon
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 43

 

for the good work he did in helping to rid Mississippi of
carpet-bag rule.
IIL.

I recall the time when A. T. Morgan, a white renegade
of Yazoo, which county had favored him with several official
positions, came over to Jackson and married a negro woman
named Carrie Highgate, the ceremony being performed by
Rev. J. Aaron Moore, a blacksmith by trade, and who had been
forced to leave Lauderdale coun'ty after a riot at that place.

Frantz asked me if I could draw and make a cut of the
marriage scene. I told him I would try. He wanted a three-
column cartoon for his front page. I had never seen any of
the parties, but made a stagger at it. I represented Morgan
as a mean-looking white man, Carrie as a comely lady of
color, dressed in the prevailing style. I drew her with a long
flowing tight-fitting dress, short in front, with large bustle
attachment and exaggerated bust, with chignon covering her
kinky hair. She held on to the arm of Morgan with a look
of grim death upon her dusky face. They were standing before
a table decorated with flowers—crudest flowers that every
bloomed in the spring—behind which stood a big, burley,
rotund, thick lipped negro, holding a book in his hand, pre-
sumably the Bible. He was marrying the mulatto and the
renegade, for the marriage license was in evidence.

A marriage notice of explanation was printed under the
picture, and no picture was ever more in need of explanation,
which was followed by a piece of doggerel written by General
Lowry, which was exceedingly witty but just a trifle off color.

That was the most famous picture I ever drew, and so
pleased was Frantz with the effort that he had hundreds of
them photographed by L. D. Greenlaw, who married Dora
Runnels, sending them to his friends. I kept one of the
photos for years, but like many others, it disappeared.
44 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

IV.

Colonel Frantz made piles of money, which he spent with
a free hand, living at the top of the pot; but he remained in
the publishing business too long, till he got old, poor and
feeble. He was forced to the necessity of putting on a patent
outside, which he hated above all things. He lost his energy
and ginger. Times changed; the people after “turning the
rascals out,” in which good work Frantz was a leading factor,
grew tired of his style of writing, which had lost its savor,
and assisted in killing his paper by discontinuing their sub-
scriptions.

New railroads were built, mail facilities improved; local
papers sprang up in every county, sapping his circulation and
injuring his business; and when he died his paper had become
but a shadow of its former self. His son, Ed., tried to con-
tinue the publication. of the Republican, but, after giving it a
fair trial, abandoned the task, having found it to be a losing
game. And then the Republican followed the man who had
made it, and gave up the ghost. Ed. secured a position on my
paper as local and associate editor, and remained with me
twenty years.

V.

Another brief reference to dear Mrs. Frantz, and I close
the book of memory so far as she is concerned. One dark,
rainy Sunday, she came in her library, where I was reading
Hume, and said to me, “My boy, I am afraid you are disposed
to be skeptical. I fear you are becoming under old
Richardson’s influence, who is an atheist, and has done much
harm in the world. I am really sorry that he is kept in the
office.” I replied I might be a bit skeptical, as there were so
many things connected with religious teachings that I could
not understand. Then she argued this way:

‘It is a great blessing to me to believe in God and the
hereafter. If it be a delusion, it is the delight of my life,
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 45

 

and fills my heart with over flowing joy: and, mark you, if it
be a delusion, I lose nothing. But, my dear boy, if you do
not believe in the immortality of the soul, and it proves to
be a fact, you lose all. So you see, I am on the safe side in
either event, while you take chances of losing your soul.”

That was the best sermon I ever heard preached, and if I
had ever before been disposed toward skepticism, with char-
acter unformed, and mind immature, Mrs. Frantz’s logic saved
me; and I have thanked her thousands of times for her little
speech, and the repeating of it, has caused many a wayward
boy to stop and think and get right in his heart, soul and mind
with God. Should any skeptic read these lines, I admonish
him to paste Mrs. Frantz’s sermon in his hat or scrap book;
it may be the means of saving his soul and enable him to meet
dear ones Up Yonder.

VI.

Meanwhile, I had branched out in society, and had be-
come quite a ladies’ man. I paid diligent court to half a dozen
or so pretty girls who were students at the old Brandon
Academy—taught by Miss Frank Johnston, sister of Mrs.
Frantz, assisted by Mrs. Julia Jayne, mother of R. K. Jayne—
among them Annie Cocke, Anna Lee Maxey, Ella Lowry,
Emmie Moore, Margie Cocke, Dora Runnells, Ada Lowry,
Marie Stevens, Zella Hargrove, Flossie Jack, Sallie Patton,
and last, but but not least, the brilliant Ida Johnson—who got
me, to have and to hold, for 50 years and more.

Strange fatality seemed to hang over those beautiful
girls; all of whom married except dear Annie Cocke, and she
died while in the flower of her youthful beauty. All the
others were widowed except her sister, Margie, and the girl
who bears my name.

A similar fate seemed suspended over the set above me,
Dora Lowry, Mamie Cocke, Mollie Lowry, Bettie Henry and
46 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Laura Johnson, all of whom lost their husbands except the
latter two.

VII.

In looking over the names of printers and boys with
whom I worked on the Brandon Republican, | find that P. E.
Williams and E. E. Frantz are the only survivors. Bob
McDonnell, Ben Carroll, Willie Williams, Willie Estes, Jim
Ware and P. Richardson, have passed over the river, all dying
young, except the two latter. Ware walked off the long
railroad bridge at Bay St. Louis and was drowned, while P.
Richardson sleeps in an unmarked grave at Port Gibson,
having spent his last days in the office of his old friend, Jas.
S. Mason, founder of the Reveille at that place.
CHAPTER EIGHT.

Sorrowfully, But With High Amibition, I Bade Goodbye to
Dear Old Brandon and Went to Newton to Establish
My First Paper.—Met Several Editors
Before It Appeared.

Filled with the enthusiasm of youth, and ambitious to
establish a paper of my own, even in my twentieth year, it
was with deep regret and many heartaches that I made up my
mind to say good-bye to dear old Brandon and its splendid
people, among whom I had passed three happy, delightful
years, where I had made many friends and gotten expanded
ideas of life.

There I saw the best and most intelligent citizens of the
town, for to be a printer in Colonel Frantz’s office was an
open sesame to the best circles, a passport into good society.
I belonged to the literary clubs and societies, where I naturally
learned much of history, for which I had a special penchant,
even back in my school boy days.

There might have been gambling and clubs of chance,
but if so I never found them. Certain it is, there were no
progressive euchre or society gambling clubs in Brandon, and
while there was some drinking and occasional shooting, the
town was regarded as a moral place.
48 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I had a settlement with Colonel Frantz, and ordered type,
rules, cases, and material sufficient to set up a country print-
ing office. Meanwhile I had been over to Newton, discussed
the establishment of a newspaper there and closed deals with
merchants and business firms for one year’s advertising.

IH.

The people of Newton county had been greatly worried
by carpet-baggers, scalawags and free negroes, backed up in
their murderous designs by the Freedman’s Bureau. Swann,
Howard and Harvey were the leaders of the negroes, all being
imports from the North, who had come South hoping to find
good picking; or, as Judge Harris once said of Bill Figures,
in the celebrated Hamilton-Gambrel case, ‘Floating on the
surface of an occasion, waiting for something to turn up.”

Harvey, a carpetbagger, and teacher of negro schools, held
the petty office of justice of the peace and hoping to improve
his condition and ingratiate himself more firmly in the
esteem of negro voters, disgraced a negro woman by marry-
ing her, a la Morgan-Highgate episode. Then he attempted
to lead the negroes into riots, till called down by the stalwart
white Democrats of Newton.

Swann had higher aspirations than Harvey. He had been
a postmaster at Newton and chancery clerk under radical
regime. He was by no means as bold as Harvey. Swann was
the greater rascal, but possessed manners more suave and oily
than his political partner. He lost his office when the Demo-
crats were allowed to vote, honest old Eugene Carleton being
his successor. Swann left Newton for Jackson where he
engaged in the very laudable get-rich-quick occupation of
counterfeiting. He was arrested, convicted and sentenced to
the Federal penitentiary, but by some hook or crook managed
to escape, and was last heard from in New Orleans, where
he disappeared as though the earth had swallowed him up.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 49

 

After being defeated for sheriff, Howard stole a negro’s
horse and fled northward, never to return, to the relief of
the white people of Newton county.

Several white persons had been killed in race conflicts,
some good white men and a number of bad negroes. Harvey’s
last effort to bring about a collision between the races was
played at Decatur, the day that Geo. C. McKee, candidate for
Congress, and James Lynch, Canadian negro candidate for
Secretary of State, had dates to speak there. Harvey had
armed several hundred negroes and marched them into town,
saying he would lead them into the court house.

They approached court square, when the white people
decided matters had gone far enough and called a halt. The
Radical speakers were informed that if a single shot was fired
that they would be the first men killed. Having a due appre-
ciation for their hides, McKee and Lynch advised the negroes
to disarm, come in the court house if they desired to, but that
they must behave themselves.

Harvey was unnerved by the sudden turn of affairs, and
knowing that he would be killed should a riot follow, he
ordered his negro soldiers to lay down their arms—and peace
reigned once more.

IIl.

In those dark days, leading Democrats of Newton were
subjected to all kinds of outrages and insults, and were
arrested by order of the commander of the Freedman’s
Bureau on the slightest pretext.

The negroes and their carpet-bag friends were mortally
afraid of the Ku Klux Klan, which had been organized to
bring peace and order out of chaos in the South, and to
make negroes and their associates behave themselves. It
was known that Newton had many Ku Klux, for Robinson
rode and had scared hundreds of negroes almost to death.
50 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

The white renegades, Harvey, Swann and others trumped
up some charges against leading citizens of Newton who
belonged to the Ku Klux, and succeeded in having a number
taken to Jackson by United States Marshals. Prominent
among them was the well known citizen, T. M. Scanlan,
sterling old Confederate soldier. He was carried before the
Federal Court and when asked certain questions about the
order, refused to answer them. He was interrogated time
after time, and told he would be committed to jail if he did
not answer. He stood firm, refusing to give the Court the
names of the members of the Klan or divulge any of its
secret work. He was ordered to jail, where he remained three
months, when he was released by order of the Court, but
never gave away any of the secrets of the Klan. Excitement
was at fever heat.

This outrage so fired the people that they expressed a
willingness to extend a liberal support towards the establish-
ment of an outspoken, white-line Democratic paper; and amid
such exciting scenes the Newton Ledger was born September
14, 1871, in the adjoining county to Jasper, where the Clarion
was established in 1837, the two being consolidated at Jackson
in 1888 under the name of the Clarion-Ledger.

IV.

Awaiting the material for the paper, I made a canvass
of Newton for advertising, and secured from the merchants
and business firms of Newton yearly contracts amounting to
$1,080, payable monthly.

I then visited Decatur, while Court was in session, with
Judge R. E. Lechman, presiding, Thos. H. Woods, district
attorney.

It was there I met the first editor I ever knew in East
Mississippi, in the person of Dr. John D. Woods, of the
Scooba Spectator.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 51

 

Dr. Woods was one of the brighest, as well as one of the
wittiest editors I ever saw. He came to Mississippi from
Kentucky, where he had edited a paper at Glasgow and being
fond of writing, agreed to furnish the editorials for the
Spectator. With his brilliant leaders and witty paragraphs,
he soon made it one of the best known papers in the state.

We discussed “shop” at length, and I got from him some
good ideas regarding the conduct of a weekly paper. I
remember, he said, “My son, get all the business you can
from your merchants the first year, while your newspaper
is a novelty, for my experience is that local advertising always
drops off in a country paper after the first year.” and I
found his prophetic words came true.

He remained with the Spectator for several years, and,
as I remember, returned to Kentucky and re-established rela-
tions with his old paper.

When it is said that Dr. John D. Woods, in gentility and
intelligence, was the equal of his brother, Thomas H. Woods,
whom Governor Lowry appointed a Supreme Court Judge, all
is said that need be said.

V.

Tired waiting for the arrival of the material with which
I was to print the Newton Ledger, I visited Vicksburg to
solicit advertisements, the latter part of August, 1871.

I called at the Herald office and for the first time met
one of the truly great editors of Mississippi, Col. W. H.
McCardle, a giant among his fellows, where I was received
most cordially by that princely gentleman, the terror to
radicalism in Mississippi, for he never let a day pass that he
did not slug the carpet-baggers, scalawags and interlopers
with all the power of his trenchant pen. He was sometimes
arrested for pouring hot shot into them, but that made no
difference for he never changed his course.
52 EDITORS | HAVE KNOWN

 

McCardle was once arrested by General Ord for criticis-
ing the arbitrary action of that official He was confined
in a military prison, but released on a writ of habeas corpus.
His case was carried to the Supreme Court of the United
States, but never tried, Congress having repealed the law
authorizing the trial of civilians by military commissioners.

The radical horde hated McCardle with all the bitterness
of their vile natures, and would have been glad to murder
him if they had had the courage. He never left his office
without a brace of pistols, for he did not know when he
might be attacked.

As a writer of pure, expressive English, McCardle never
had a superior in this state. He could say harder things
about the wolves feeding upon the bleeding carcass of
Mississippi, than any man, and say it in the very best
language, chaste and beautiful but as hard as steel, and his
phillipics against the radicals were as strong as those of
Cicero against Catiline, cutting his adversaries into mince-
meat.

McCardle could swear more artistically than any man I
ever knew. It was almost musical to hear him rip out oaths
about the radicals, and they came so thick, so free and
so fast, and with such perfect smoothness, that they did not
sound offensive, but there was really a charm about them
that had the power to chain and delight.

Vi.

When I told McCardle who I was, on the occasion of
my first visit to Vicksburg, and that I had come over to
solicit advertisements for the Newton Ledger, he looked at
me in surprise, and said, “Why, I never heard of the paper
before; have you a copy?” I replied I had not, that it had
not been printed yet. Then he gave me a penetrating look,
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 53

 

as much as to ask if I were crazy, and said, “My boy, do you
really come to Vicksburg to solicit advertisements for a
paper that is not in existence?” I answered, “It exists in
my mind and will be printed in a week or two.”

Turning round in his chair he ripped out an oath, as
though about to attack me and exclaimed, “Well, of all the
d—— cheek and impudence, this excels anything I have ever
before heard of in my journalistic experience.” That almost
floored me, but I held my ground.

“That may be so, Colonel, but if you will give me a
notice in the Herald, letting the merchants of the Hill City
know I am in town, and what I am here for, I will be grate-
ful to you, and I’ll let you know the result when I return.”
Seeing that I was not to be put off or discouraged, McCardle
quickly replied, “Well, I'll be d—— if I don’t do it, for I
like your nerve, and will add, if you keep it up, and live
long enough you will not only succeed, but you’ll become the
leading publisher of Mississippi.”

I thanked the Colonel, for the privilege of the interview
and went to work—worked all day, without getting an ad,
but the receptions I received did my youthful heart good.
All the’ merchants asked me to call again, just as a matter
of form, never supposing I would return; but I was on them
again bright and early next morning, and before the sunset
I had made contracts for $125.00, and had the copy in my
pocket, for it is usually more trouble to get copy than ads.
Just fmagine how proud I felt when I called again to see
McCardle that night after supper. He heard my story, asked
to see the ads, and when I presented the names of Ben.
Hardaway & Co., John A. Peale, McCutchon & Co., Folkes &
Co., J. D. Stiles, Lee Richardson, Jos. Podesta, and others,
the Colonel said, “Good as gold; my boy you are a wonder;
You are bound to succeed.” I thanked him, and replied, “I
never doubted it.”
54 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

VII.

Col. McCardle was one of the most agreeable editors
I have ever known. He was genial as the sun, companionable
and delightful at all times, an inspiration to ambitious young
editors, with whom he was always on the best terms.

He had no political ambition or personal interest to
serve in the conduct of his paper, which was, therefore, free
to express opinions in the most positive manner as to men
and measures. While he and other Democratic editors of the
state often disagreed, there was little bitterness or spleen in
any discussions he might have with them. He was an instruc-
tive and interesting writer, and adorned and illuminated every
subject he touched upon. His sentences were never involved,
but as clear as the tones of a silver bell on a frosty morning,
strong but beautiful, chaste but virile, having about them a
ring and rattle that few editors could command.

I met McCardle frequently afterwards, and knew him
as the editor of several Vicksburg papers, for he cared
nothing about ownership and knew nothing about publishing,
but gave his whole time to editing, in which line he achieved
great success. I met him at Press Associations, political
gatherings and public meetings of various kinds. I knew him
in his days of prosperity and adversity, and after he had
grown old and feeble. When he could no longer run the
pace of morning paper work, he turned his attention to history
writing, -he and Governor Lowry preparing the History of
Mississippi, which bears the imprint of R. H. Henry & Co.
It was a good work, but a poor financial success, though the
proceeds helped to support McCardle the few remaining years
he lived.

Like Frantz, McCardle stuck to the newspaper business
too long, dying poor in purse but rich in friends. He sleeps
in Greenwood Cemetery, Jackson, with only a modest stone
to mark his last resting place.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 55

 

VIII.

Returning to Newton, and finding that the material I
had ordered for the Ledger had not arrived, I ran over to
Meridian on a soliciting tour, hoping that I might duplicate
my Vicksburg experience. I met the leading merchants, who
seemed glad to encourage my youthful ambition, and gave
me two or three columns of advertisements.

While on that visit I formed the acquaintance of East
Mississippi’s leading editors and publishers, Col. J. J. Shannon,
of the Gazette, and Col. A. G. Horn of the Daily Mercury.
I had heard much of Shannon, as he was continually on the
go, but I knew little of Horn, who seldom left his office.
Both were remarkable men, Shannon a distinguished publisher,
while Horn was recognized as one of the greatest editors of
his day, one of the few writers of the state in a class with
Barksdale and McCardle—and that was to reach the top of
Mississippi journalism. Horn was a trained editor, having
been connected with a number of papers before he founded
the Meridian Mercury, which was regarded as the best
edited paper in East Mississippi, which spoke the sentiments
of its editor, regardless of consequences. The business office
of the Mercury had no strings on the editorial department.

Col. Horn was an able and vigorous writer, and his
trenchant pen was never silent when the interest of his country
or party was at stake. He was a strict party man, and
never flickered one jot or tittle during the dark days follow-
ing the war, when so many Southern men were ready to
go over to the enemy for the loaves and fishes offered them by
the radical regime then in power. Horn stood steadfast,
firm as the rocks of the mountains, immutable as the law of
Moses.

When the Democrats endorsed Horace Greely for
President at Baltimore in 1872, after the Liberal Republicans
56 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

had nominated him at Cincinnati, Colonel Horn, though no
admirer of the Tribune editor, decided to stand with his
party, in view of the fact that Greely had advocated general
amnesty for the people of the South, and had signed Jefferson
Davis’ bail bond. And thousands of other Southern men
shared the same views, the writer among them, who cast his
first boyish vote for the man who had the nerve to say by
his acts that he believed Mr. Davis was entitled to bail,
pending his trial, which never occurred.

Horn was a good editor, but paid little attention to the
business end of his paper, the result being that he made
barely enough to sustain himself and family; and when he
passed away, his paper soon followed him, for he had no
successors.
CHAPTER NINE.

The Newton Ledger Receives a Hearty Welcome and Cordial
Reception.—First Paper of the County.—Visit Decatur
and Have as Room-mates Shannon, Cooper and
Others.—Night in Memory.

When James Gordon Bennett, the elder, gave to the
public the first copy of the New York Herald, May 6, 1835,
he felt no prouder of the achievement than did the writer,
when he printed the first edition of the Newton Ledger,
September 14, 1871. Both were small, unpretentious-looking
papers, and would attract little attention in these days of
modern journalism. There was one difference, at least—the
Ledger was twice the size of the Herald, but there com-
parisons ended.

The Ledger did have one advantage over the Herald;
it was printed on the first floor of an old store building,
and had fine ventilation—too much ventilation, in fact, as the
approaching winter proved—while the Herald was printed in
a close, stuffy cellar, meagerly and poorly furnished.

IL.

But the Herald did not receive a more enthusiastic
reception on the first day of its publication than was accorded
58 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the Newton Ledger when given to the public: the Herald
was not a pioneer in the field of journalism, while the Ledger
was. There was no novelty about one, while great curiosity
and interest attended the appearance of Newton county’s first
paper.

The county was in the throes of carpet baggers and
scalawags, and the Democrats had made up their minds to
“turn the rascals out,” and they welcomed the Ledger as an
adjunct in that laudable endeavor, welcomed it as an im-
portant factor in the effort to elect Democrats to office.

Democrats of Newton were smarting under outrages put
upon their county by Republican leaders, the arrest and
dragging to Jackson, to be tried before the federal court,
some of its leading citizens, charged with belonging to the
Ku Klux Klan, before referred to. They could not forget
Swann, Harvey, Howard and other carpet-baggers who had
come South to feather their nests, and who had given the
white people no end of trouble. So the Democrats held a
mass convention at Decatur, just about the time the Ledger
was born, and nominated a full county ticket, and passing
some stringent resolutions in which they declared their inten-
tion to elect the ticket, from top to bottom.

The Ledger espoused the cause of the white-line
Democrats of Newton, ran up the county ticket at its
mast-head and battled for its election. All of the nominees
won, notwithstanding the efforts of Swann, Howard and
Harvey to steal the ballots and falsify the election, the
management of which was in their hands.

HI.

After working several days with the assistance of one
printer and two boys trying to learn the printing business, I
managed to get the office together, making the stands myself,
assisted by Mr. Seth Selby, grandfather of Rev. Robert Selby,
 

 

 

. Power

L

ie

Col
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 59

 

now filling the pulpit of the First Methodist Church of
Vicksburg, and got out the first issue on the morning of
September 14, 1871. In that issue I laid down my platform,
gave my idea of the kind of paper I expected to publish, and
those who have followed the course of my paper for the last
half century, will judge if the promise and pledges made in
that first issue have been kept. The salutatory is printed
in full below:

To the Public:

In appearing before the public as an editor, it is expected that
we should indicate the course we shall pursue in conducting our
paper. We know it is so often the case in all vocations that men
promise more than they perform, that the world hardly expects of
anyone the exact performance of what he promises. It should be
the aim of all men to respect their obligations, and discharge them
to the letter.

We have had but little experience in the ways of the world,
having devoted most of our time to the learning of the printing
business. With a desire to do something for ourself, and a determina-
tion to use all our energies, and whatever ability we may possess, to
succeed, we have seen proper to start a newspaper, relying upon the
generous public for its support, and knowing that if we deserve
patronage, we will surely receive it.

We hope to make THE LEDGER such a paper, on the score of
morality, that no one will refuse it admittance into the family circle,
and that if it is not edited with ability, nor interesting to the reader,
it will be free from vulgarity and abuse, which too many editors now-
a-days like to fill their papers with and which too many people like
to read. We shall strive to make it emphatically a NEWS-paper,
containing local items of interest and indeed everything interesting
to the good people of Newton County, whose favor and assistance we
hope to merit and secure.

In politics it will be decidedly Democratic, believing as we do-
that upon the success of the Democratic party depends the overthrow
of Radicalism and the restoration of civil liberty to the people.
“Everything for the cause and nothing for men,” should be the motto
of all good and true men in the present crisis of our political affairs,
and they should be willing to lay aside all personal considerations
60 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

and unite in their efforts to drive from place and power those who
now rule us, and who will soon destroy the liberties of the people,
as well as our material interests, if not checked in their career of
misrule and corruption.

In discussing political affairs, we hope we shall ever treat our
Opponents with proper respect, and not subject ourselves to censure
for indulging in personal abuse.

We hope to conduct ourself toward our brethren of the Press,
that whatever they may think of our ability as an editor, they will
have no occasion to treat us as altogether an unworthy member of
the “gang.” We may sometimes differ in our opinions, but we hope
that difference will not make us personal enemies, or convert us
into “dirt-daubers.”

We shall do the very best we can to make THE LEDGER an
acceptable paper to all who may chance to read it, and so conduct
ourself as to merit the patronage of the public.

R. H. HENRY.

IV.

Fifty years have rolled away since the above declaration
was written, and readers of the Clarion-Ledger will render the
verdict, and decide if the writer has not fought a good
fight and kept the faith. And though he does not feel that
he “has finished his course,” he would be happy to know
when the end does come, that his life has been such that he
had, at least, in some small degree, merited the admonition
of St. John, “Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give
thee a crown of life.”

The Ledger was well received and was a success from
its first issue, its initial number carrying over fifteen hundred
dollars worth of contract advertising. It performed its part
in life as its editor saw it, helped in an humble way to
redeem Newton county from radical domination, and saw the
last carpet-bagger, scalawag and alien driven from place of
power, and the county named for Sir Isaac Newton restored
to its rightful owners.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 61

 

V.

But I was lonesome over at Newton by myself, and after
printing ten issues of the Ledger, and being satisfied that I
could maintain it, and also sustain a wife, I returned to
Brandon to keep an important engagement; when on Novem-
ber 22, 1871, Dr. A. L. Kline officiated at a marriage in
which R. H. Henry and Ida Johnson were the high contracting
parties, which Mrs. Virginia Frantz chronicled in verse as

follows:

How beautiful it is to see
Two happy, loving hearts unite,
And blend in perfect harmony
Their full sweet chords of pure delight.

Life spreads before them bright and fair.
May joyous love shine on their way

And pleasure meet them everywhere—
And sweet and new every day.

And as the days and years go by
Let love be tender, still and strong,
And if they breathe a sorrowing sigh,
Let it be lost in faith’s sweet song.

And oh, remember life was given
A jewel for our keeping here,
And when you take it back to heaven
In perfect light may it appear.

A life of happy usefulness,
A life of faith and hope and love,
Be yours upon the bounteous earth,
And may it be yours above.

VI.

The writer remembers the first court he attended at
Decatur after establishing his paper. There he met Col. J.
62 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

J. Shannon, and Col. F. T. Cooper. Shannon had sold the
Meridian Gazette to Cooper, who had moved up from Summit,
having sold his paper, the Times, to Major Croker; and
Shannon had established the Homestead, for he could no
more live without a paper than a fish could exist out of
water,

Cooper seemed a little sore towards Shannon for start-
ing another paper in Meridian after selling him the Gazette;
but they tolerated each other. Shannon was at Decatur
trying to collect his back subscriptions and Cooper was
endeavoring to get new subscribers.

There was only one hotel in the place, the Leslie House,
and it was nothing more than a large old country residence.
It was packed with court officials, lawyers, editors, and
others.

Some of the guests kicked at Leslie’s backwoods manner
of crowding, but what difference did that make? None at
all; it was simply stay with him and submit to his packing
methods, walk the streets or roost in the court house, which
many countrymen and pocr litigants did.

I was scheduled to sleep in the “big room” with Shannon,
Cooper and a half dozen lawyers, including S. B. Watts,
Thomas H. Woods, T. W. Brame, and others. There were
four double beds, one in each corner, with several mattresses
on the floor. Did we have a bed apiece? No indeed, two
men to each bed! and glad to get it.

Vil.

It was a cold winter evening, and by actual count 14
men sat around the fire all of whom were booked to sleep
in that one room. Woods and Watts and other lawyers talked
law; Shannon and Cooper talked newspapers, with the writer
venturing in modestly, for what he did not know about news-
paper management would fill several volumes.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 63

 

Shannon and Cooper told of some marvelous newspaper
experiences that greatly interested the writer. Woods, Watts
and other lawyers cleared and hung more criminals that night
than I supposed lived in the state. The litigants, witnesses and
other court attendants had nothing to say—they were simply
listeners, forming the audience for the real performers.

One by one the guests began “shucking for bed.” I
wondered if Shannon and Cooper would sleep together, and
where I should “lay me down.” It soon became evident that
they would not nestle together, for Shannon picked Woods,
and Cooper selected Watts as his partner; and T. W. Brame,
now of Macon, was my chum for the night. But being
modest by nature, I waited till the others had gotten in bed
before I retired.

Then I witnessed a performance that was equal to a
vaudeville act, and which would have been regarded as a top-
notcher on any program. Shannon was stripping for his
nocturnal rest. He tossed his coat, vest and pants into
already overloaded chairs, throwing his shoes and socks
right and left. He was soon asleep, snoring to beat the band.
It was a sight to behold, for Shannon was a giant in size,
large and tall, about 6 feet 3, weighing over 200 pounds, with
all the development of a trained prize-fighter.

Cooper was a nervous man, much given to terrible
headaches, and could not sleep with “Shannon’s sawmill run-
ning.” He yelled and swore at him several times, but all
to no purpose, but to wake every person in the room except
the snorer. Then the conversation became general all round,
everyone saying hard things about Shannon, all declaring
there was nothing to do except to sue old Leslie for loss of
a night’s lodging, Watts, Woods and Cooper leading the
chorus. Finally Shannon gave a snort as though he had hit
a knot and overcome an awful obstacle, and then he simmered
down gently as though holding his breath, when Cooper yelled
64 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

out, “Thank God he is dead.” Even that did not wake the
sleeper.

Daylight finally came, and there was stirring hither and
thither, every man hunting for his clothes and complaining
that he felt worse than when he retired. Shannon likewise
awoke, and said “Well I hope all have had a good night’s
rest. I slept like a top and did not turn over during the
night.”

“Sleep, you old hippopotamus! Not a soul in this room
has slept a wink but you. You have kept every one awake
with your infernal snoring, and you ought to be outlawed
from hotels and boarding houses,” declared Cooper with
asperity, and rising inflection of the voice.

Shannon answered, “If I were a nervous old maid like you,
Cooper, I’d stay at home—you’re not built for roughing it,
anyway.”

VIII.

Shannon was lawyer, editor and publisher, and enter-
tained the idea that he was also a good farmer, a fallacious
and costly dream. He was accounted a good lawyer, a fair
editor, but a better publisher. He was the owner of the
Clarion, after it passed out of the hands of the Adams
estate, and was one of the charter members of the Missis-
sippi Press Association, being elected chairman of the first
meeting held in Jackson, May 15, 1866, and frequent attendant
thereafter. He was elected president of the Press Association
at Jackson in 1884, dying a few years afterwards, loved, hon-
ored and respected by all. He was a most companionable man,
and while he towered far above the average editor, in
intelligence as well as height, he was always agreeable and
entirely at home with the humblest quill-driver in the state.
Hence his universal popularity with editors.

After remaining with the Clarion for several years
till it was merged with the Standard, and became the property
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 65

 

of Power, Jones, Hamilton and Barksdale, the old journalist
became the owner of the Gazette at Meridian, which he pub-
lished for several years, till he sold the paper to F. T. Cooper.

Shannon was a thrifty manager, and retired, well fixed
in life.
IX.

F. T. Cooper had a varied newspaper experience. The
first I knew of him he was publishing the Times at Summit,
which seemed to be a success, though he had printed the
Journal at Monticello and the Mississippian at Jackson. But
he became ambitious, sold his Summit property and bought
the Meridian Gazette, from J. J. Shannon, which he published,
with indifferent success.

The Republican legislature, under direction of Governor
Alcorn, passed what was known as the district printing bill,
the purpose being to give aid to newspapers supporting the
Republican administration. So Cooper eased his conscience,
unlimbered his democracy, and started two district printing
organs, one at Brandon and the other at Enterprise, under
the name of the Argus. Their lives were short and profits
small, for the press of the state made such demand for the
repeal of the district printing law, that the legislature soon
wiped it off the statutes.

Cooper then started the Comet at Meridian, which proved
a very brilliant paper, for Cooper, when in the mood, could
write with as much grace and ease as any editor of the state,
and his humor was unbounded. He could write as well on one
subject as another; but his last Meridian enterprise was not
a financial success.

Cooper moved his Comet from Meridian to Brookhaven,
where he had many old Lawrence county friends, hoping to
get the county printing, which he failed to do.
66 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

After remaining at Brookhaven a short while, he moved
his outfit to Jackson and resumed publication of the Comet,
but could never get a foothold, as his political tergiversations
were never forgiven.

The Clarion was the dominant force at the State Capitol,
and after Cooper had struggled along a few years, barely
making expenses, he was stricken down in 1881 and died a
poor, heart-broken man. He stuck to the newspaper game too
long. He sleeps in Greenwood Cemetery, Jackson, near his
old editorial associates, Barksdale and McCardle.

The Comet was leased to R. K. Jayne, who published it
till the material was sold to the writer, and used on the State
Ledger, which moved -to Jackson, 1883.
CHAPTER TEN.

Meet Henry Watterson and Have a Shop Talk With Him in
His Office at Louisville, Ky.—Visit Murat Halstead and
John McLean at Cincinnati.—A Good Editorial Story.

“Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight, and .
make me a child again just for tonight.”

While few of us would care to live our lives over again,
with their joys and pleasures, their griefs and sorrows, one
perhaps overbalancing the other, there are events in every
life, bright spots, happy days and glorious hours, that all,
regardless of caste or class, circumstance or condition, would
be glad to live over again, and sip once more the joys that
have fled, but still live in memory green.

You, dear reader, will remember many hours of your
life that you would gladly recall, days and nights spent with
dear ones, the recollection of which still gives you infinite
pleasure. You will never forget the caresses and advice of
mother, the evening prayer she taught you as you knelt at
her knees; the kind words and admonitions she gave as you
kissed her good-night, and the joys and smiles with which
she greeted you in the morning.

You will never forget your first sweetheart, or the hour
when you asked her the important question. You then felt
68 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

like the boy who, when accepted by his girl, was so happy
that he could not refrain from saying, “Oh Lord, I feel so
good, I ’haint got nothing gin nobody.”

But the happiest time in life is when you lead a trustful
girl to hyman’s altar, who pledges her troth to you, and there
comes a time when you are equally happy, when the first
child appears. Then you begin to realize that “Life is real;
life is earnest,’ and that you are to assist in the wonderful
plan foreordained by the Great Creator of men and évents.

II.

An incident of that kind had happened at my little home at
Newton, when my first boy arrived, September 19, 1873. Then
I decided I must hustle northward on a soliciting tour, and
mapped out a route covering several cities, none of which I
had ever before visited. But that made no difference, for
men are but men, the world over, and while naturally a very
timid and shrinking youth, which newspaper work was wearing
away, and finally effaced altogether, I did not feel afraid to
tackle business men North or South.

My first stop was Louisville, Ky., and I did not feel that
I could begin work till I had formed the acquaintance of
Henry Watterson, and gathered inspiration from that great
editor, the best writer in the United States. I found Marse
Henry in his elegantly appointed offices on the fifth floor
of the Courier-Journal. He was compartively young then,
not over 35, and had succeeded Geo. D. Prentice, whose asso-
ciate he was, as editor of the Courier-Journal.

Watterson was a very handsome man, with pleasant,
intellectual face, which indicated decided character and un-
usual strength. He had rather small but penetrating eyes,
overhung by drooping lashes. One eye being defective, entirely
gone, as I afterwards learned, he concentrated all his force
on the other, which gave him the effect of staring as he
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 69

 

looked at you, or perhaps it were best to say, he seemed
to be giving intense attention to your face and words. I
thought he would look me through when I first met him, and
for the nonce I was embarrassed. But his genial disposition —
and fluent speech not only attracted but charmed me, and
soon set me entirely at ease.

Il.

When Watterson learned I was from Missisippi, he became
interested and exerted himself to please and make me feel
at home, saying:

“From old Mississippi, home of Jefferson Davis? Why I
know a good deal about your state; visited it during the war,
and since. I was with Forrest and Polk in the early days
of the war, but did much more as war correspondent than as
fighter, though I was a private.

“I was quartered for a while in the Governor’s Mansion
at Jackson, where I wrote several articles which were printed
in The Rebel at Chattanooga, which I had a contract to
edit, at long range. Pettus was Governor, and L. Q. C. Lamar
was regarded as the coming Mississippian, next to Jefferson
Davis, who was President of the Confederate States.

“While the guest of Governor Pettus I happened to see a
copy of the Ordinance of Session, as adopted by the Missis-
sippi Convention, which was reported by Lamar, who was
understood to be its author. It was not so long as the
Declaration of Independence, but it was well phrased and told
the story in less than five hundred words, telling it well.”

I feared I was taking up too much of Watterson’s time,
and was preparing to leave, when he said: “No, no; I have
more time than anything else. I write my editorials early
in the day. I am through for today unless something extra-
ordinary occurs.”
70 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I expressed surprise that the editor of a morning paper
would write his articles before evening, when he said, “Morn-
ing is the best time to write, when the mind is fresh and
clear, for you never know what may happen before night.
Louisville is a social town, and I am inclined to be social
myself. I don’t belong to the Sons of Temperance, and
believe in the largest liberty of the citizen.”

IV.

I asked Watterson if he dictated his editorials to an
amanuensis, as Prentice did, or if he wrote them out him-
self, for in those days typewriters were unknown and
stenography was in its infancy.

“No,” he said, “I cannot dictate, for I am likely to become
too fond of my own voice and draw out my articles too long
and thin. I write them out with my own good hand—then
I make them short and compact, concise and explicit. I do
not believe in printing essays or theses in the editorial
columns. You may remember that Alex H. Stephens almost
killed the Atlanta Constitution with his long editorials, often
writing articles of from three to five columns in length. The
owners of the paper were compelled to let Alex go in self-
defense. His was a brief but not brilliant career as editorial
writer.”

Watterson invited me around to his club, where there
was eating as well as drinking galore. He was a perfect
gourmand and ordered the best on the bill of fare; I noticed
he never mixed his drinks. He had a passion for wild game
and seafood, and could eat more than Bryan, and Bryan never
suffers for lack of appetite himself and needs no vinous or
spiritous liquors to wash down his food.

V.

I met Watterson occasionally after my first visit to Louis-
ville, the next time at the National Democratic Convention at
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 71

 

St. Louis in 1876, when Tilden was nominated—Watterson, a
great friend of the Sage of Gramercy Park, was elected
chairman of the convention.

The suffragets had just begun buzzing, and in some way,
I suppose through pure courtesy, Phoeba Cousins was per-
mitted to speak. She occupied the platform, and made a
rather pleasing impression at first, which she wore out by
her long-winded talk, for there was not a delegate present

that gave a thrip for female suffrage, regarding it as a wild
fad.

The band was stationed at the opposite end of the hall,
and played by instructions from the speaker’s ‘stand. There
“was a push button on a post near the chairman, labeled,
“Press once for music.” ‘Press twice for music to stop.”

John Fellows of New York, was then in the heyday of his
glory. He was chairman of one delegation from New York,
while Boss Kelly headed the Tammany braves. Fellows knew
that the committee on credentials was about ready to report
and that Phoeba was delaying the game.. He was wild to get
at Boss Kelly, knowing he could outspeak him, and make. him
look like a school boy in that big convention, for while Kelly
could set grates and mantels, and run with the boys, he could
not speak.

Fellows was on the stand, and when he read the instruc-
tions, ‘Press once for music,” he said to Nick Bell, one of
the reading clerks, “Press that button once,” and without
stopping to consider, Bell pushed the botton, as directed, and
the band commenced playing a lively air, literally blowing
Phoeba off the stage.

Watterson pretended to be worried, and tried to stop the
music, but all to no purpose, and before the band had com-
pleted one bar the venerable, pioneer, suffraget, had left the
stand. I always believed Watterson had a hand in the game,
72 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

for he and Fellows were anxious to nominate Tilden, which
they did; but Tilden wrote the platform, sending it to the
Convention by Lieut.-Gov. Dorshemier, with the understanding
that it must not be changed—and it was not. The platform
criticised the abuses of power by the Republicans, and de-
manded reforms in all departments of government, and in the
tariff.
VI.

After my somewhat prolonged visit with Watterson, I
began looking around for business, first calling on Dr. J. P.
Dromgoole, whose advertisements of Dromgoole’s English
Female Bitters I had set up while working on the Brandon
Republican. After making my business known, Dromgoole’
said he would give me a column for a year, as he did not
believe in small, spasmodic advertising. He asked me as to
the condition of my better half; I told him she was not
well, and that medicine seemed to have no effect on her.

Thereupon he said:

“lll send her a case of English Female Bitters if she
will take it, and I guarantee that it will put her on her
feet.” I thanked him, and went on about my business. The
bitters arrived and were promptly consumed. I saw no more
of Dromgoole for six years when by chance I met him one
night on Vine street in Cincinnati. He recognized me and
asked: ‘“How’s your wife? Did she drink the bitters?”

I replied: ‘“She’s is very well, thank you; your bitters
saved her life, but if she ever sees you she will kill you, for
since you sent her your medicine three other children have
come to brightcn and cheer our home.” “Will do it every
time,” the Doctor remarked.

I have told that story a number of times in the presence
of men whose wives had not come up to the Napoleonic
standard, and straightway they began feeling for pencil and
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 73

 

paper to write down the name of that wonderful bitters. I
told it to a state officer, whose wife had been a little back-
ward coming forward. He took down the name of the bitters,
and several years passed before I saw him again, when he
said, “Look here, old friend, you know you have just about
made me a pauper? Why, since you gave me the name of
that confounded bitters, four children have arrived, and I
am having a h—— of a time supporting them. And we
cannot tell what the future will bring. I believe I would
be justified in suing you for damage or support.” Then I
quoted Dromgoole’s words, “Will do it every time.”

VIL.

By way of variety I decided to make the trip from
Louisville to Cincinnati by boat, taking passage on a night
packet, which proved very delightful, the novelty of the trip
appealing to my youthful fancy.

I thought Louisville a big city, but Cincinnati far sur-
passed it in size and beauty. I took bearings before enter-
ing upon a canvass for business. I went out on the Walnut
Hills, via the cable car route; visited “Over the Rhine,” and
became acquainted with Vine Street, where the best amuse-
ments were located. I saw Edwin Forest play “Othello” at the
Grand Opera House; heard the festival at the Exposition
Auditorium; paid three dollars to hear Patti sing, and sold
the ticket after hearing two of her songs, for five dollars,
and congratulated myself on my financial ability.

VIII.

Next day I called on Murat Halstead of the Commercial
and John McLean of the Enquirer; but they were not Henry
Wattersons, and had no time to give to a boy editor from
the South. They treated me politely, but that was all.
74 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Halstead was a big editor and McLean was a great manager,
so great in fact that he afterwards owned both papers, and
Halstead was writing books of the United States’ possessions
in foreign lands.

McLean did take time to say that he cared very little
about editorials, and told me the story of his leader writer,
getting drunk the day before the 4th of July, after he had
written one sentence of his leader, for the next morning’s
paper, beginning, “This is the Fourth day of July.” The
editor went off to wet his whistle, and failing to return that
day the foreman who handled his copy printed that one
sentence as the only editorial in the paper. McLean says it
attracted more attention than any editorial he had ever before
printed, and he was then and there convinced that the public
did not want leaders, and he quit printing them.

McLean afterwards bought the. Washington Post, and
ran it quite successfully, providing that both papers should
be continued in his name after his death. He aspired to be
a politician, and attended several National Democratic Con-
ventions as a delegate from the state at large. He was a
great admirer of Allen G. Thurman, who had been a United
States Senator, but was never able to nominate him for
President. Thurman was nominated as Cleveland’s running
mate in 1888, when the twain went down in defeat, the
Democracy being routed that year.

McLean tried to be Governor of Ohio, and when defeated,
waxed sore and sour, and his politics became of very dubious
quality. He tried to run his brother-in-law, Admiral Dewey,
for President, but the boom died before it bloomed.
 

 

 

 

 

Col. A. J. Frantz
CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Meet P. K. Mayers Enroute to Press Convention and Impression
Made Upon Me.—<Attractive Man.—He Had Killed
Orr at Pass Christian in Self-Defense.

Oh wad some power the giftie gie us

To see oursel’s as others see us;

It wad frae monie a blunder free us;
And foolish notion.

Never did the plow boy of Scotland pen a truer senti-
ment, a wiser thought, than is expressed in the above, which
embraces sound sense and true philosophy, which all must
appreciate as the milestones of life are passed and shadows
lengthen.

We see the absurdities of youth as we grow older; how
ridiculous we made ourselves by words and acts in our
younger days. None see this with more force than the men
who have devoted their lives to journalism from youth to
‘mature manhood.

The writer is no exception to the rule. Beginning
newspaper work when a boy, with immature mind and scant
76 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

knowledge of men and public affairs, and ready to shoot off
his mouth on all subjects, he often wrote and printed
editorials that now appear foolish. Having scaled the apex
of the mountain, and descended far down on the other side,
he now sees the absurdity of many thoughts that he penned
and expressions he uttered.

As we grow older, and become better acquainted with
the ways of the world, and look back over the vista of years
and down the lane of life, and recall the silly things said
in youth, we are comforted by the wisdom and consoling
words of St. Paul: “When I was a child I spake as a child,
I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I
became a man, I put away childish things.”

Il.

I had heard so much of Press Conventions that I was
anxious to attend the annual meeting of editors at Columbus,
June 5, 1872; but seeing that I could not possibly spare the
time, as I had only one printer and two cubs, I did not feel
that I could go, especially as my little business was growing,
and needed all the nursing I could give to it.

I had the program before me, in which the name of
Kinloch Falconer, Holly Springs Reporter, appeared as presi-
dent, with B. F. Jones, Winona Democrat, as secretary; and
at that early date they looked as big and grand as did the
names of Woodrow Wilson, president, and W. J. Bryan,
secretary of state.

When I decided I could not attend the Convention at
Columbus, I sent my proxy, and “Constitutional Dollar,” to
W. H. Worthington, of the Columbus Democrat, requesting
that he represent me. I was a great admirer of Worthington,
who was regarded as one of the ablest editors of the state,
and represented the Lamar school of politics, towards which
I lent, in opposition to the Barksdale school, which was always
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 77

 

antagonistic to Lamar’s political ambition, and favorable to
the promotion of Barksdale and friends.

Ill.

While [ regreted I could not attend the Columbus Con-
vention I was compensated, in a measure, by meeting P. K.
Mayers, of the Handsboro Democrat, who stopped off at
Newton en route to the Press Convention, to visit his sister,
Mrs. Dr. G. G. Everitt, and did me the honor to call at my
poor office. Asked if I was going to the Convention and
upon being informed that I could not get off, because of
short force, he astonished me by saying, “Why, I never
pretend to publish my paper during Press Convention week.
I take a whole week off; give my printers a rest as well as
my readers, visit relatives and friends, attend the Convention
taking in everything offered in the way of amusements and
am back home in one week to a day. If I have an extra day
on hand, I spend it in New Orleans or Mobile, depending
entirely on the route of travel, going one way and returning
another. That’s been my rule for many years and I never
intend varying it.”

He urged me to adopt this plan, but I could not make
up my mind to do so—I never had the time.

IV.

I was very glad to meet P. K. Mayers, of whom I had
heard so much.

He was a large and handsome man, and carried himself
like an athlete.

He was tall and well built, and next to Shannon and
Shands towered above any editor in the state. I was much
pleased with his strong individuality and attractive manner-
isms. He had a prominent Roman-like face, and while genial
78 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

and pleasant, had an air of imperious superiority that never
failed to impress itself upon all with whom he came in
contact. He had a good opinion of himself, was positive and
self-assertive. He talked big about his paper, his business and
himself. He was a successful publisher, and was conscious
of the fact. He published the only paper between New
Orleans and Mobile and thoroughly covered the field that he
had developed. He was proud of his home-print paper, which
he published for home people and was really “monarch of all
he surveyed” for many years, the people of the seacoast coun-
try literally swearing by the Democrat and its owner, welcom-
ing it every Thursday as their text-book.

Mayers was as well groomed as a bank president, carried
a large gold-headed cane, and showed every indication of
prosperity, which proved a valuable asset, for the public
admires a successful-looking man, and will give him business
when it will not hesitate to turn down a seedy individual.
Mayers forcibly reminded me of Hancock “The Superb.”

He had his ups and downs after returning from the war,
when the Freedman’s Bureau was doing incalculable harm in
the South. With his fiery nature and Rebel heart, Mayers
often roasted Freedman Bureau Commanders in his paper.
He had an especial dislike to a Gulfcoast Commander named
Orr, who had done much to incite trouble between the races,
and Mayers lost no opportunity to ‘skin him.”

V.

In those early days, the only method of transportation
was by boat, packets running to New Orleans and Mobile, and
stopping at intermediate Gulf points, notably Pascagoula,
Ocean Springs, Biloxi, Mississippi City, Pass Christian and
Bay St. Louis. There was no Gulfport at the time.

Mayers frequently made visits to coast towns by boats,
as he did to New Orleans and Mobile, for Morgan had not
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 79

 

then completed his railroad connecting the two cities, now
known as the L. & N.

The tragedy I am about to relate occurred in the summer
of 1867. P. K. Mayers had as his guests, over at Handsboro,
Mrs. A. G. Mayers and children of Brandon. Accompanied by
his wife and guests, he took boat at Mississippi City for Pass
Christian, to spend the day with Col. J. J. Thornton, an old
friend of the Mayers family.

Mayers was informed, during the day, that Orr felt
outraged at his last article, and intended attacking him at
the boat that evening. Mayers had been. provided with a
double-barrel shot gun, having no pistol, and returning to
the boat, saw Orr, his son, and others standing on the
wharf. Orr, informing Mayers that he would no longer take
his abuse, began drawing his pistol; but Mayers was too
quick for him, and shot Orr dead on the spot. Orr’s son
then fired upon Mayers and shot him through the wrist.
The Orr crowd dispersed and Mayers went back to town to
secure the services of a doctor. The wound being dressed,
Mayers and party returned to the boat, and resumed their
trip homeward.

The news of the tragedy had reached Handsboro and
renegade white men and negroes were organizing to march
on the place and mob Mayers; but a few old Confederate
soldiers, under the leadership of Capt. Charles Humphreys,
met the leaders of the mob and forced them to disperse.

When well enough Mayers returned to Pass Christian
and. gave bond, but was never tried.

VI.

For several years Green Chandler was judge of the
Seacoast district. Mayers freely criticised him, denouncing
some of his decisions. A son of the judge seeking to redress
80 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

his father’s wrongs, attempted to kill Mayers at Bay St.
Louis, firing upon him as the train stopped, but missing him
and killed a newsboy.

Though taken unawares, Mayers drew his pistol but
was prevented from shooting young Chandler by passengers
and others who surrounded him. The boy was taken to the
court house where his father was holding court. Mayers
attempted to follow him into the court room with a drawn
gun, but court officers interfered. Young Chandler was
tried and released on the plea of insanity.

After the second tragedy, Mayers was allowed to live
in peace, and say what he pleased, but he gave the Republicans
no rest.

In 1878, Mayers moved his paper to Pascagoula, con-
solidating it with the Star, owned by M. B. Richmond, the
title being the Pascagoula Democrat-Star. Richmond sold
out to Mayers after being associated with him for several
years and moved to Texas.

VII.

As one of the charter members of the Mississippi Press
Association, Mayers lived many years longer than any of the
original incorporators.

He had occupied all of the places of honor in the Associa-
tion, president, vice-president, secretary and treasurer, being
re-elected to the latter office time after time, until he became
so feeble he could not attend the meeting of the Association.
He never missed a meeting till too old to attend, his last
convention being at Hattiesburg ten years ago.

I shall never forget his expression and remark, after I
had concluded reading the report of the Committee on
Necrology, when he arose with a sad, withered face and
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 81

 

trembling voice, said, “Well, Henry, I suppose my name will
be included in your next report.”

He was then over seventy-five and never attended another
convention, but lived several years thereafter, and suitable
tribute was paid to his memory after he had passed away.

P. K. Mayers had been a successful publisher, and made
a good deal of money. He owned a good home, lived well
and had one of the most complete printing offices in the
state, while his paper was typographically perfect, and well
filled with home news. He invested his earnings, amounting
to several thousand dollars, in a local bank, which failed,
through incompetency or cupidity of its officers, and his
accumulations for years were swept away.

Mayers tried several partners in his old age without success,
for the old war horse could never adapt himself to the ways
of his younger associates, and he bought them out. Losing
his vim and vigor, pep and push, and with bad health creeping
on with old age, Mayers saw his paper passing with himself,
and before he died the Democrat-Star had lost much of its
prestige and power to earn money.

VIII.

Mayers had some peculiar characteristics, and never
attempted to curb his feelings and restrain his opposition
towards matters or events that he disapproved. He never
made a speech, and held in supreme contempt long-winded
talkers and wind-jammers. He always looked bored at
banquets or social functions where toasts were proposed or
responded to. He would often be heard to say, “Oh, Lord,
will he never stop?” And then he would do more talking in
an audible conversational tone, than the speakers, and attract
equally as much attention. He was dogmatic to an extreme,
very dictatorial and never hesitated to express his positive
contempt for any proceeding that grated on his nerves. But
82 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

with all that, he possessed a charming manner, a manly
bearing, that made him extremely popular with the “brethren,”
as he called his editorial associates, who overlooked his
idiosyncracies, for Mayers had carte blanche to do and say
whatever he pleased.

IX.

For many years Mayers was the oldest member of the
Press Association, all his early associates having passed over
the river.

Sitting upon the stage with other officers, many of whom
were boys in years compared with Mayers, I ysed to think
he looked lonesome, among his young associates, and wondered
if he was not thinking of other days, of his old chums; or who
might become his successor, never dreaming that the honor
would fall to me, as it does by virtue of the fact that I am
the oldest member of the Press Association in regular
attendance. I trust I may wear the honors as well as did
Mayers, as worthily, if not as long.

Like his old confreres, Frantz, McCardle, Cooper Horn
and others, Mayers remained in the newspaper field too long,
losing his hard-earned money through unfortunate investments,
and dying a poor man.
CHAPTER TWELVE.

Some of the Celebrities I Met at the Meridian Press Conven-
tion.—Big Meeting Made Up Almost Entirely of Weekly
Papers.—Miss Johnnie Hunt Reads Her
Beautiful Poem, “Happy.”

When I took my seat in the Press Convention at Meridian,
June 4, 1873, saw my name enrolled as a member and full-
fledged editor, I felt the honor and dignity of the position,
felt it mightily, for from that time henceforth I would be in
the editorial swim.

I had before met several of the editors present, but
many were there I had never seen. F. T. Cooper was
president; W. H. Worthington, vice-president; R. Walpole,
secretary; J. J. Shannon, treasurer. There were big guns
there, and a number of young men whose pin feathers were
just sprounting, and to the latter class I belonged.

I had long anticipated the pleasure of the meeting at
Meridian, and while I was prepared for a great convention,
it far surpassed my expectations. I had heard of the fine
times editors had at their annual outings, and while I had
not personally met many of the quill-drivers, I knew the most
prominent editors by name, for in those days all the papers
84 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

exchanged, and more attention was given to state than to
general news. Publishers read their exchanges, and each
knew what was going on in every part of Mississippi where
a paper was printed.

I had never met H. D. Money, ‘Uncle George” Harper,
G. D. Shands, “Saw Mill” Jones, J. L. McCullum, W. H.
Worthington, Wm. Ward, John Armstrong, H. S. Bonney,
Kinlock Falconer, J. A. Stevens, and many others present,
but I had read their papers and formed an opinion as to
their personal appearance and mental make-up.

The Meridian Press Convention was called to order by
President F. T. Cooper, who made a pleasing welcome address
to the editors, whom I found a social lot. There were no
lines or caste, all meeting on common ground, on terms of
perfect equality.

We had few dailies then, none that I remember except
at Vicksburg, Natchez, Meridian and Jackson for the Capitol
was the headquarters of the Republican party, and Ames,
then in the U. S. Senate, who had his eye on the gubernatorial
office, felt the necessity of keeping alive the Pilot. He was
canvassing the state against Alcorn that year, and was right
in predicting he would defeat him; which he did after the
disbandment of the Democratic party at Meridian, in the

fall of 1873.
II.

The Press Convention was well attended, and citizens
of Meridian exerted themselves to please and entertain the
members, welcoming them to their city and homes in real
old Southern style, giving them so many entertainments, re-
ceptions, musical recitals, etc., that the Convention had little
time for business, though that seemed to be its mission.

Many resolutions, plans and suggestions were offered
and discussed as to the best method of increasing business.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 85

 

“Shop” was talked early and late, when the citizens permitted
the editors to hold their sessions, which were necessarily
short.

I remember one suggestion, which was seriously dis-
cussed, that condemning “Deadheadism,” as a_ pernicious
practice that should be abolished. Several of the editors
could not hold their faces straight, for all had free passes
in their pockets, and their hats were either ‘‘chalked” at the
hotels, or they were enjoying the hospitality of private homes,
getting all their entertainment “free, gratis for nothing.”
Then the old quotation, “Consistency thou are a jewel,” came
before my mind, and I felt like saying something, but I was
too young to buck Cooper, Shannon, Frantz, Horn, Money,
Stevens, Shands, Jones, et al.

II.

Miss Johnnie Hunt, of Vicksburg, who had been elected
poetess for the convention, had come over to read her poem,
entitled, “Happy,” and an excellent production it proved. It
was divided into four stanzas, representing Spring, Summer,
Autumn and Winter, each beginning “I am happy in the,”
etc., beautifully describing the four seasons. This poem
established Miss Hunt’s reputation as a true poet.

The four introductory lines are printed below to show
the beauty and smoothness of the verse, the vivid imagination
and descriptive powers of the writer:

I am happy when the winter drops the ermine robes of King,
When the birds begin to carol with the gushings of the spring,

How they fly and dart and nestle ’neath the quaint old fashioned eaves
How I hear them coo and twitter in the ever rustling leaves.

There were other poems, also addresses and essays, but
nothing to compare to “Happy,” which proved the greatest
hit of the Convention, in fact, of the year.
86 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

IV.

It is a pleasure to recall that when I was elected president
of the Press Association, at Pascagoula, in 1879, and when
we were making up the program for the meeting to be held
in 1880, | appointed Miss Hunt to write the poem to be read
at the dedication and unveiling of the Press Monument, at
Holly Springs, erected to commemorate the memories of six
editors who had died of yellow fever during the great
epidemic of 1878, namely, W. J. L. Holland of the Holly
Springs South, W. J. Adams of the Enterprise Courier, Single-
ton Garrett of the Canton Mail, O. V. Shearer of the Vicksburg
press, (though one of the editors of the New Orleans Times
at the time of his death), Kinloch Falconer of the Holly
Springs press; J. P. Allen of the Vicksburg Herald.

When president of the National Editorial Association,
I was glad to appoint the author of “Happy” to write and
read the poem welcoming the editors to the New Orleans
Convention, in 1889, when she surpassed all her former
efforts. The Convention gave her a special vote of thanks,
and ordered the publication of her beautiful poem in the
official journal of the Association, and requested members to
print it in their papers.

This gifted poetess lives in New Orleans and is a frequent
contributor to the press of that city. So far as I remember,
she, now Mrs. Margaret Hunt Brisbane, James A. Stevens,
John H. Miller, and the writer are the only survivors of the
Press Convention held at Meridian in 1873. All the others
have paid the last debt of nature, P. K. Mayers, A. Y. Harper
and G. D. Shands being the last to go. Three only of that
large body of editors are left, and I often wonder who will
be the next to go. The future only will answer the question.

V.

A rather amusing little incident occurred at the Meridian
Convention. The more prominent members of the Association
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 87

 

were invited to attend a reception and banquet at the residence
of one of the leading citizens, while the younger editors were
ignored, and to that class I belonged. We were to meet at
the depot at 12 o’clock that night to take trains for our
several homes. The young fellows who had not been invited
to the swell reception, having nothing to do, assembled long
before the appointed hour, and held an indignation meeting,
condemning the slight put upon them.

The favored members, those who had been preferred
above the “boys,” arrived before time, and seeing me in the
number, Dr. S. Davis, of the Forest Register, remarked,
“High, I did not see you at the reception tonight. Why did
you not attend?” I responded, ‘‘For three reasons: I had no
good clothes; I was feeling unwell, and I had no invitation.”
Whereupon the “Old Youth” always equal to any occasion,
responded, “Well, by George, you might have stated the last
reason first and the others would have been unnecessary.”

VI.

Jas. A. Stevens, for many years editor of the Columbus
Index, was a notable editor at the Meridian Convention. He
was as soft and gentle as a woman, with a voice full of music
and beauty. He was a perfect type of gentility, and one of
the most fluent writers in the state. His sentences were as
smooth as a silken ribbon, and they flowed as easily as a
mountain stream. He was the Bulwer of the Mississippi
press, and his editorials were not surpassed by Dana. 1!
sometimes thought he sacrificed strength for beauty, for his
diction was perfect, and his sentences would stand the test
of the most skilled grammarian, each finished and ready to
be parsed.

Many years ago, much to the regret of his Mississippi
associates, Stevens moved to Texas, becoming the editor of
the Burnet Bulletin, but he has never forgotten his native
state, and correspondence indicates his regret for leaving it.
88 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

VII.

There were several editors in the Meridian convention
who were afterwards elected to high position, among them
H. D. Money, who lead a forlorn hope for Congress in 1875,
and was elected, serving several terms in the House and twelve
years in the Senate; Kinloch Falconer was elected Secretary
of State; G. D. Shands was honored with the post of Lieu-
tenant-Governor, and served eight years:; Walter Acker moved
to Texas and was elected one of the Judges of the Lone Star
State, while several editors became candidates for state office
and were defeated. VIL.

A most amusing aftermath followed the Press Convention
at Meridian. A foreign musician, who called himself Gen’.
von Godasky, or some such name, gave the editors a musical
entertainment by his pupils, in which he took a prominent
part. It seemed a good concert, but was a bit too classic for
most editors, one of whom mere in mirth than in malice,
criticized in a half-humerous, half-serious way the entertain-
ment, rather burlesquing the old Russian impressario, which
so grieviously wounded him that straightway he sat down
and challenged the offending editor.

He thoroughly advertised the fact around Meridian, and
asked Cooper and Shannon to be his seconds. They obligingly
accepted, notifying the editor who had given offense of the
farce they were playing, and asked him to likewise mame his
seconds. He complied, naming one second from California
and the other from New York, stating that he could not
venture upon the sanguinary business till his seconds arrived,
promising that when they came, he would forthwith hie
himself to Meridian and clean up the town, and prepare
Gen. von Godasky’s body for the undertaker. It is said the
old man, after waiting a reasonable time, watched the trains
day and night for the arrival of the editor and seconds, making
himself appear so ridiculous that he was literally laughed out
of town and compelled to give up his music class.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

°

1 Offend Major Barksdale by Criticising Coalition of Clarion
and Pilot to Control State Printing —We Afterwards
Became Staunch Friends, and I Supported Him
for the United States Senate.

For many years Power and Barksdale were the editors
and publishers of the Clarion, Shannon, Jones and Hamilton
having sold their interests in “The Thunderer,” as the Clarion
was known. With all the state printing in the hands of the
Republicans, the Clarion, which, in those days had little
advertising, was hard pressed making both ends meet.

The Pilot, owned by Kimball, Raymond & Co., had long
been the official Republican organ, and had grown rich on
state printing, and other work that naturally followed.

The Leader, the opposition Republican organ, edited by
Dr. W. M. Compton, superintendent of the State Lunatic
Asylum, was a candidate for state printer against the Pilot,
and bade fair to give that paper a hard race.

There were a few Democratic senators and representatives
in the legislature, and somebody suggested the idea of Demo-
cratic members voting for the Pilot, provided some of the
patronage was given to the Clarion. The owners of the Pilot,
90 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

being hard pressed, agreed to the deal, and the Pilot was

elected.
Il.

A number of the Democratic papers of the state repro-
bated the coalescence. As a boy editor, much given to saying
whatever I pleased, I condemned the Democratic members for
voting for the Pilot and criticized the Clarion for going
into the deal with its old Republican enemy.

Barksdale took umbrage- at my remarks, and cut whatever
acquaintance we may have had, and resorted to his old
method of rebuking papers that said unkind things about
him, by cutting me off his exchange list. He was very
autocratic, dogmatic and intolerant, and could not brook
criticism, opposition or familiarity. He seldom replied to
editors having the temerity to criticise his acts or editorials,
his plan being either to cut them off without a word or de-
nounce them outright in the fewest possible words, never
using more than two or three lines to dispose of the offending
editor.

As a result, Barksdale had many enemies among the
editors of the state, and barely escaped several duels, one
with Fleet T. Cooper, whose principal method of attack was
by the employment of burlesque and ridicule. He disliked
Barksdale, and had several disagreeable controversies with
him, but he crossed the dead line when he once referred to
him, in a semi-burlesquing manner as “Ethel,” which so
offended Barksdale, that it was all that mutual friends could
do to prevent a fight between them.

There was an estrangement between Barksdale and
myself that lasted for several years. He never replied to
what I said, but irritated my boyish pride by entirely ignoring
me, the most effective weapon that can be employed, the
most complete answer that can be made to a little offensive
 

 

 

 

 

Col. W. H. McCardle
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 91

 

editor who imagines he is annoying you, and whom you do
not consider worthy of notice. Barksdale taught me a
valuable lesson, which I have never forgotten, and which I
have often used, for no one, however obscure, or great, rarely
forgives the editor who ignores him.

III.

I met Barksdale face to face at the Brookhaven Press
Convention in 1874. He stared at me with his cold, steel-
grey eyes, but spoke not a word.

I felt the slight keenly, my sensitive nature rebelling
against his silent but awful insult; and then and there I
made up my mind that the next time we met he would be
the first to speak, or silence would reign supreme. The
opportunity came a few years afterwards, and in the same
town. Barksdale was a candidate for Governor in 1881. He
had an engagement to speak in Brookhaven; I went out to
hear him. He met me more than half way. We exchanged
the usual compliments of the day, both forgetting, apparently
the offense of 1874.

I had employed Oscar Crosby, brother of George
Crosby of the Brookhaven Echo—a bright little weekly—a
stenographer of some local repute, and afterwards assistant
secretary of the United States Treasury, to report Barksdale’s
speech for my paper, the Brookhaven Ledger. There the
hatchet was buried, and ever afterwards we remained good

friends.
IV.

Barksdale failed to receive the nomination for Governor
in the State Convention, 1881, but holding the balance of
power, he performed the unusual feat of transferring all his
votes to Gen. Robert Lowry, whose name had never been
before the Convention, and with votes that Lowry could get
on his own account, had him nominated.
92 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Barksdale had his followers and the supporters of Col.
Robert Taylor, assemble in representatives’ hall. He an-
nounced his purpose to withdraw, but pledged his support to
any man the caucus might name, the roll call showing a
majority of the delegates present. He made a speech, thanking
his friends for their support, and asked them to vote for
General Lowry. A vote was taken, Lowry leading Taylor
by a good majority. Thereupon the Taylor men resolved to
stand by the caucus nominee, and on returning to the con-
vention hall, Lowry received every Barksdale and Taylor vote,
winning on the first ballot with votes to spare.

Barksdale was hailed as the Warwick of the occasion,
for by his skill and genius he had united the opposition, had
defeated his old political enemy, Governor Stone, and nomi-
nated his personal friend, General Lowry—an unparalleled
victory, the like of which had never before been accomplished
in Mississippi.

V.

Barksdale was an extraordinary man, a great editor, an
able and artful politician, and but for his ability to make
enemies among his editorial brethren, and public men of the
state, he would, doubtless have won not only the governor-
ship, but a seat in the United States Senate as well. He
had little control of his temper, less of his tongue, and being
as bold as Julius Caesar, never failed to pay his respects to
men who opposed him. He never tried to placate, and it
will be recalled he insulted both Marion Smith and Thos C.
Catchings at the State Convention of 1881, before which he
was a candidate for the gubernatorial nomination. He was
always aggressive, and his plan was to run over men if he
could not control them.

He disliked many editors of the state, and cherished a
bitter hatred towards W. H. McCardle, F. T. Cooper, C. E.
Wright, W. H. Worthington and others; and could always
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 93

 

expect their opposition when he aspired to public office, as
he often did. He defeated Col. Chas. E. Hooker for the
Congressional nomination in 1882, and served four years in
the National House of Representatives, but Hooker defeated
him for renomination after allowing him to serve two terms
and Barksdale never held another political office.

VI.

Barksdale was by all odds the ablest editor of the state,
and dealt the Republicans more sledge-hammer blows than
any editor of his time. His writing was heavy, strong and
powerful—not bright, brilliant and cheerful, as was McCardle’s;
but it had the force of thunder behind it. Aside from
his great ability as a leader writer, he held a position of
vantage as the editor of the official journal of the Democratic
party of Mississippi for many years: and wieded more in-
fluence than any editor of the state. He was regarded as
an authority on political questions, and whatever Barksdale
said in his editorial columns was accepted by the great mass
of his readers as the “law and the gospel.”

He lead the fight to impeach Ames in 1876, and by the
power of his wonderful ability and the force of his genius,
he compelled other Democratic leaders to accept his views.
Though not a lawyer he was well acquainted with forms and
legal procedure, and mapped out the plan that lead to the
drafting of articles of impeachment against Ames, Davis and
Cardoza, on the assembling of the legislature in 1876, the
most memorable legislative body meeting at the State Capital
since the war. In its membership were such distinguished
men as Gen. W. S. Featherston, Col. R. O. Reynolds, Judge
Amos R. Johnston, J. W. Fewell, Col. H. M. Street, Col. J.
M. Stone, Col. T. B. Graham, Gen. W. F. Tucker, Col. W. A.
Percy, T. C. Catchings, Gen. J. R. Chalmers, Judge J. B.
Morgan, R. H. Thompson, G. D. Shands, H. L. Muldrow, R.
94 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

H. Taylor, Thomas Spight, Col. W. R. Barksdale, J. P. Carter,
G. B. Huddleston, Hon. W. H. Sims, and a host of others.

VII.

Barksdale was a leader of men—at home, in State Con-
ventions, in National Councils, in the editor’s room, on the
rostrum—being not only a great editor, but a strong speaker
and an able debater. He could be very sociable, but being
a hard student, he thought more of his editorial office than
the public. He knew more political history than any man in
the state, and the Clarion, under his editorial management,
was regarded as the compendium of political history, especially
of Mississippi.

Barksdale had his enemies as well as his friends, one
of the foremost being Gen. Reuben Davis, of Aberdeen, who
in his Mississippi book makes mean references to Barksdale
as a good “paragraphist,” when, in fact, leader-writing was
his forte. Davis says Barksdale “had a smile that partook
more of malice than of mirth.” They were never friends, and
Davis never said anything good of an enemy. Like Barksdale,
he rarely forgave and never forgot.

Major Barksdale had a way of doing things after his
own plan with no fear of imitators. He perhaps made more
editors and public men mad than any politician in the state, and
rarely was there a reconcilement, for, as a rule, when Barks-
dale crossed the Rubicon he burnt his bridges behind him.

VII.

I remember an act of Barksdale’s on a Yazoo train one
morning thirty years ago, when the editors were going to the
Press Convention at Yazoo City. He was passing through
the rear coach and shook hands with all who spoke to him,
but not in the effusive manner of O. R. Singleton or Anse
McLaurin.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 95

 

He had had a litle brush with E. P. Thompson, editor of
the Aberdeen Weekly, whom he had never seen. As Barksdale
neared Thompson, the Aberdeen editor, arose, extended his
hand and said, “Good morning, Major; I am glad to see you.”
Barksdale, not knowing who he was, returned the salutation,
and passed on.

Reaching my seat he said, “Henry, who is that fat little
fellow, in that blue suit, sitting over there to the right?” I
replied, “That is Ed. Thompson, editor of the Aberdeen
Weekly.” He looked annoyed and asked, “Are you sure?”
I replied, “Dead sure; I know him well.”

Without a word, but with a flash of hatred in his eye,
Barksdale turned around, and going back to Thompson’s
seat said, in a loud tone of voice, “I understand you are
Thompson. I did not know who you were when I spoke to
you. Had I known you, I would not have permitted you to
speak to me, sir, and I now withdraw any recognition of
you, and my civil remarks. Don’t you dare speak to me
again in the future.”

Thompson discreetly kept his seat and made no response,
A number of editors looked for a fight or footrace, but
neither occurred. Can you imagine any other man of your
acquaintance doing such an act, except Barksdale? Though
regarded as a good politician, he seemed to take no thought
for the morrow in the lexicon of politics, though frequently
a candidate. About the severest criticism made upon him was
that he edited his paper with an eye single to his own
political advancement.

IX.

When Barksdale became a candidate for the United
States Senate against Senator J. Z. George, in 1892, I gave
him the support of the Clarion-Ledger, and did what I could
for him. He conferred with me freely, and one day called
96 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

attention to the fact that Money was canvassing the state
for George, that he had an appointment for a joint debate
with him, saying, “I have agreed to meet Money at Oxford,
in joint debate, and intend firing his old record at him,
about Huntington of the Union Pacific, loaning him $50,000
on some Lincoln county sawmill and pine land securities, when
Money was chairman of the House committee on post office
and post roads, the security having been wholly insufficient.
What do you think of it?”

I replied, “Burkitt made that charge when he was
opposing Money for Congress, a few years ago, Money
resented it and denounced Burkitt as a liar and challenged
him to mortal combat, which friends prevented.”

That seemed to fire the old Democratic leader up, and
he replied, “Well, I am going to meet Money at Oxford on
Monday; and I’ll make the charge to his face, and if he de-
nounces me, I'll take care of myself.”

He kept his word, and Money jumping up denounced
Barksdale as a liar, when the Major grabbed a law book, and
hurled it in Money’s face with all the strength he could
command, leaping from the stand and rushing towards Money.
Friends interfered and prevented a fight, for the courage of
both men was well known.

Later in the day an agreement was reached through the
intercession of mutual friends, by which all offensive remarks
were withdrawn, and the men were to speak as they passed
each oither, but they were not required to shake hands or
refer to the unpleasant incident.

That broke up the Barksdale-Money joint debates, and
following close thereon, the joint appointments between
George and Barksdale were. cancelled, as serious trouble was
feared if they were continued, for Barksdale bored into the
Old Commoner’s record without mercy, in a most irritating
and annoying manner.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 97

 

Each knew the other for they had served together while
working with legislative committees in devising plans and
securing evidence to impeach Ames and his two negro asso-
ciates, Davis and Cardoza.

I tried to get Barksdale to tell me which side made the
advance looking toward cancelling the joint debate dates; when
he said it was understood that no such information would
be given out; that the arrangement was mutual and that was
all that need be said.

x

After returning from Washington, Barksdale sold his
interest in the Clarion to his partner, Colonel Power, and
retired from active journalism, though he frequently wrote
for agricultural papers, and edited a farm department for
the Clarion-Ledger, for some time, but finally retired from
journalism altogether, devoting himelf to his farming opera-
tions in Yazoo county, where he suddenly died while on a
visit to his farm, when passed one of the best writers known
to the country.

Barksdale never reached the goal of his ambition,
Governor and Senator, and died with bitterness in his heart
towards two of his former close friends, Governor Robert
Lowry and Col. J. L. Power. Lowry had appointed Walthall
as Senator Lamar’s successor in 1885, when Barksdale was
an applicant for the place; and Barksdale never forgave
Power for favoring George over himself for the United States
Senate.

He had his faults and his virtues, but never in its history
has Mississippi had a man who has done more to clear its
political atmosphere and advance its material developments
than Major E. Barksdale.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Press Handsomely Entertained at the Brookhaven Meeting.
There Met S. H. Stackhouse, Who Became Famous
For His Great Buffalo Speech.—Never
Delivered.

I was much impressed with Brookhaven, during the
sitting of the Press Convention in that city June, 1874.
Especially was I attracted by its intelligent, social and hospit-
able people; by its church and school advantages, its pro-
gressive and business-like men, its beautiful and charming
women—its social life appealed to me strongly. The citizens
extended every hospitality to the representatives of the press,
throwing open their doors and entertaining them in their
homes, feasting them on the fat of the land, giving them
three hot square meals a day, which was more than the
average editor got at home.

Few editors are alive today who attended the Brookhaven
convention, but who among them will ever forget the beautiful
girls who assisted in their entertainment? That was a long
time ago, but I still see in my mind’s eye, the beautiful
Storm sisters, the attractive Ferguson girls, the handsome
Hardy sisters, the stately Misses Bowen, and the queenly
Mary Millsaps, just married to the wealthiest and most
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 99

 

prosperous business man of the community, Major R. W.
Millsaps.

Mrs. Millsaps joined with the girls to assist in enter-
taining the editors. She was bright and vivacious, of charming
and entertaining manners. She was young then, and a
handsomer woman did not live in the state; and she was as
good as she was beautiful, believing in living not only for
self but for others.

Major Millsaps and wife kept open house to the editors,
favoring them with special dinings, to which all were wel-
come. They spent their last years in Jackson, Millsaps College
attesting their generosity; and today they are sleeping in a
granite mausoleum on the crest of the college campus.

I.

At the Brookhaven convention Major George W. Harper,
of the Raymond Gazette, was elected president of the Press
Association. No man could have appreciated the honor more,
and never was the distinction more worthily bestowed, for
“Uncle George” was a veritable Chevalier Bayard of the
press.

We all remember “Uncle George,” either personally or
in history, for he occupies a prominent place in Mississippi
life—in its journalism, its legislative, religious, business and
political activities; for Major Harper was no drone, and
must, perforce, take part in everything calculated to elevate,
benefit or ennoble the people of his state.

Major Harper became a citizen of Hinds county over
75 years ago, and with others, established the Raymond
Gazette, which, under his management, became one of the
best papers of the state, conservatively Democratic, but clean,
newsy and reliable. He had few equals as a writer and
newspaper manager. Like himself, his paper was always
neat, clean, tidy, well dressed and ready to go to church.
100 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

He was esteemed at home and abroad and greatly beloved
by his brother editors, for ‘Uncle George’ was a man of
ability, and could shine on any occasion, able to make
speeches or write papers on any subject. He was a man of
deep religious convictions, believing in the fatherhood of God
and brotherhood of man,

“He was a man, take him for all in all—
I shall not look upon his like again.”

WI.

There was a quiet looking fellow at the Brookhaven
convention, who seemed to be moving around in a somnambu-
lant condition, who attracted my attention. Speaking to no
one, hearing no one, and apparently seeing no one, I won-
dered who he was and what he was doing. It occurred to
me that he must be representing some deaf and dumb journal,
for I could see he was not blind. I made inquiry as to who
he was and was informed that he was S. H. Stackhouse, who
had been connected with several papers at Crystal Springs,
for it should not be forgotten that forty-five years ago
Crystal Springs was a veritable newspaper grave yard. As
one gave up the ghost another was born and Stackhouse,
having a penchant for the editor’s chair, hitched on to one
paper and another as time went on.

Stackhouse was known as the quiet man of the Mis-
sissippi press. He rarely spoke to any one, never bothered
about convention business and if he was ever seen to smile,
there is no record of the happy event. Still he seemed to
enjoy himself, though he never opened his mouth to discuss
or refer to any business coming before the convention.
Nothing disturbed his deep serenity or had the least effect
in limbering up his tongue. The only thing Stackhouse did
in Press Conventions was to answer to his name and pay
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 101

 

his dues, and that was done as though an irksome and tire-
some task.

Editors commented on his presence and wondered what
pleasure he was getting out of press meetings; but he never
missed a convention or excursion. I met and liked him,
becoming his life-long friend. “Stack’’ as he was familiarly
called, went on the press excursion to Chicago, Indianapolis,
Cincinnati, Buffalo, Louisville, and other points north in
1875. The usual courtesies were extended the press brethren,
but Buffalo excelled all other cities in hospitality. After
showing the editors the sights of the city, and giving them a
grand banquet at one of the leading hotels, the whole party
adjourned to meet at the Grand Opera House, where a big
reception was to be tendered by the mayor, city council, local
papers and others.

IV.

It was a great affair, and many were the speeches of
welcome made, which were suitably responded to, for there
were several good talkers in the party. After hearing from
every one who seemed able to talk, the Mississippi editors set
up a cry for “Stackhouse, Stackhouse, Stackhouse.” Stack
looked embarrassed, and arose from his seat to acknowledge
the compliment, but was so taken aback that he could not
utter a word.

“Take the stand; go on the platform; we can’t hear you,”
came volley after volley. But Stackhouse stood as one
transfixed. He could not move; neither could he speak.
He was urged to respond to the call, and two thousand
Buffalonians united in the cry, “Take the stand; go on; let’s
hear something about Dixie.”

Stackhouse stood as still as the boy on the burning
deck. He was terribly embarrased; he was frightfully mad;
he was, indeed, livid with rage, and held his own till the
102 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

meeting adjourned. His friends crowed around to congratulate
him on the honor of being called to speak; but he made no
response; he ignored them, and his looks indicated his feeling.
He went to his room and refused to see anybody during the
night, though several reporters called who had been spurred
on to devilment by some of the Mississippi editors.

Stackhouse was mad the night of the big reception, when
he was called on to speak. But, oh, my, that madness was as
a spring breeze, compared to the way he felt the next morn-
ing, when, in the account of the meeting, the Buffalo papers,
with wonderful unanimity of thought, printed Stackhouse’s
response to the hearty calls, covering two colmns. That is,
it was what purported to be his speech, but he could not re-
member delivering it. It was a great speech, and glowed
with sparkling wit, rich humor, pathos and historic facts about
the South, but more especially of Mississippi.

V.

It was such a speech as Grady or Henry Watterson might
have delivered. As one of his friends, he called at my room,
early, before I knew what had transpired. He held copies
of all the Buffalo papers in his hand, and yelled out, ‘Read
that, and be ready to help me, for I intend killing the man
who perpetrated that joke, who has made me appear ridiculous
before the world. I want you to act as my second.”

I read the speech, laughing as I read and roaring when
I finished. Stack asked, “What do you see so d—— funny in
the piece? You seem to enjoy it immensely.” I replied,
“Stack, that is one of the most humerous productions I ever
read. Mark-Twain, Bill Arp, Bill Nye, Artemus Ward—all of
them put together, never wrote anything half as good. You
should not be mad about it, but hunt up the reporter and
thank him, for he has made you famous.”
 

EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 103

“Thank him, h——. I'll kill him. No reporter wrote
that speech. It contains too many local references. Some
of this crowd wrote it, and I’m going to find out who it
was, and hold him responsible.”

Seeing that Stackhouse was desperately in earnest, I
advised him to quiet down and laugh the thing off, enjoy it
with the boys, for he would never have such an opportunity
again. He finally said he would consider what I said, but
did not feel that he could accept my suggestion. “Then go
ahead and make a fool of yourself, and have all the Mississippi
crowd laughing at you.”

We went to breakfast together. I saw Col. Fleet Cooper
and Judge A. G. Mayers in the dining room, and was satisfied
they had perpetrated the joke. I went over and told them
of my suspicion, remarking that Stackhouse suspected them
also and he was in no laughing humor, and threatened to
shoot somebody. They neither denied nor affirmed, but said
they would tell the boys not to tease Stack, and suggested
I get him quiet. He looked over at them. They bowed to
him, but he did not return the salutation.

VI.

That ended the matter for the time being; but low and
behold, when we reached Louisville, Ky., a few days later, we
found that Henry Watterson had received the speech, and
printed it in the Courier-Journal the morning of our arrival,
with glaring headlines, and florid introduction. Cooper or
Mayers had “turned the trick” a second time, and Stack
was mad again.

I was called in conference, and told Stackhouse the best
way out of the trouble was to claim the speech, and offer a
prize to any Mississippian who could do as well. He accepted
my suggestion, and the event was soon forgotten.
104 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

But when Stackhouse reached home he heard so much
about his Buffalo speech, and saw how well it had been re-
ceived by the public, that he really began to believe he made
it and gracefully accepted all the compliments bestowed upon
him. After that, he was introduced as the man who made
the famous Buffalo speech, and he was really proud of the
distinction.

Stackhouse was a fine fellow, and deserved a larger field
than Crystal Springs in which to exhibit his talents; for he
was a good writer, a high-class gentleman, and was greatly
beliked by all who knew him. Peace to his ashes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Emmet L. Ross Reads His Great Poem, “The Sock That Baby
Wore,” Which Established His Fame as a Human-
Interest Poet.

One of the most talented editors of the state was Emmett
L. Ross, of the Canton Mail, which he changed to the Canton
Picket when he started his little daily in 1880.

He early developed literary ability, and wrote many
memorial articles to be read at Confederate reunions, some
in prose, but often in poetry. He was in great demand, and
frequently attended reunions of his old army associates, and
addressed them in fluent and eloquent terms.

He was a gentle, likable man, and to know Emmett L.
Ross was to love him. He was a Chesterfield in manners,
and very popular with the editors. He loved poetry better
than prose, and frequently gave to the public the thoughts
of his poetic mind.

In the olden days the Mississippi Press Association elected
an orator, a poet and an essayist, and their productions were
delivered on what was known as “Literary Nights,” inter-
spersed with talks, recitations and musical recitals by local

talent.
106 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Ross’s best effort was at the Kosciusko Convention,
June, 1875, the year of the great political revolution in
Mississippi, when he thrilled an immense audience with his
famous poem, “The Sock That Baby Wore,” delivered with
all the force and fervor of a skilled actor. His poem described
a scene between an old farmer and wife, sitting before their
country hearthstone on a winter evening. The good wife
while rummaging through an old basket found a little sock
that her first born had worn, and its discovery brought back
old and hallowed memories, which formed the basis of the
poem that was to make Ross famous. Its tender sweetness
has rarely been equalled. It struck a responsive chord in
every heart, and had the run of the state. It was read in
entertainments and declaimed in the public schools, was set
to music and sung in many households.

Ross at once became the hero of the hour, and received
more invitations to attend entertainments and deliver his
poem than he could accept. He afterwards included it in
readings of his own composition, and gave entertainments
in many of the towns of the state.

II.

As “The Sock That Baby Wore” has not been printed
for forty years or more, and few of the present generation
have read it, I feel warranted in giving it a place in my
memoirs in full, satisfied that readers will be glad to peruse
and preserve this gem among their poetic collections. It is
therefore printed in full below without apologies for the
space it occupies.

“The Sock That Baby Wore”

Before a crackling fire’s blaze a matron drew her chair,

And turned the kettle from the crane that sang its evening air,
Responsive to the good dame’s will, who waited all alone

The sound of distant rolling wheels that brought her husband home.
 

 

 

 

P. K. Mayers

 
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 107

 

A moment more, the great yard gate swung wide to John and team,
And soon his face popped in the door, with happy smile agleam.

He drew his old wife to his heart, his bride of long ago,

And kissed her cheeks of cherry red, her brow so like the snow,
Forgetting Time had left its trace and made its furrows there,

Nor knew that raven locks and curls had turned to silver hair.

To him it was enough to know her heart beat just as true

As it had done back forty years, when first they ’gan to woo.

He led her to her low-back chair, and drew his by her side,

And told her all the news in town,—the latest death and bride;

How ’Squire Dyke, from “rheumatiz,” had taken to his bed;.

How Dolly Dill had caught a beau, and very soon would wed;
How Sarah Smith and Polly Green, and lots of other ’wimin,”
Wore flaming feathers on their hats and piled on ribbon “trimmin.”

In fact, how all the girls put on their hi-fa-lu-tin ways,

And wore their dresses all hitched up with patent straps and stays;

And how their precious little cheeks were smeared with paints and
dyes,

And how they wore their hair all crimped or pulled down o’er their
eyes.

And how they sang their opera tunes, and banged piano keys

As if they owed the thing a grude, and wanted to appease

Their wrath by pulling off its hair or scratching out its eyes,

Until the “critter” fairly groaned beneath a weight of sighs.

And how the boys put on the swell and wore their nobby clothes,
But where they get their money from Old Harry only knows;

And how they stand upon the streets and twirl their little canes,
And twist the down upon their lips with most exquisite pains;

And how they talk of blooded stock, horses and dogs in turn,

And how they mix their talk with drinks, and all took sugar in their’n.

How times were tight and money scarce and growing worse each day;

How many merchants had “bust up” cause people would not pay;

How meat had “riz” and cotton “fell,” how taxes had grown bigger;

How black the white folks all had got, how white had grown the
nigger,

And how the State was in a mess—its little credit gone—

And how its bonds were scarcely worth the paper printed on.
108 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

In all this time the good old wife kept busy as a bee

In getting for her dear old man his meal of toast and tea;
And as he chatted, laughed and ate, she drew beside her chair
A basket full of half-worn socks, and with the tenderest care
Began the work of darning up each worn out toe and heel,

Till John should finish out his talk and eat his evening meal.

This done she set the things aright, and gave the fire a poke,
While he filled up his corn-cob pipe and fixed himself to smoke.
Again she took the work in hand, and searched the basket o’er,
While he had fallen off to sleep and now began to snore.

Among the pile of socks that lay about her here and there,

She spied a tiny little one her baby used to wear.

Long years had passed since last she saw this precious little thing;

It had not been on baby’s foot for thirty years last Spring;

But oh, the memories that it brought of sadness and of joy;—

Oh, how it called up in her mind her blue-eyed baby boy—

The toils, the pains, the anxious cares that she had ’round him
thrown—

How watched him through his boyhood’s years until a man he’d
grown—

How her fond heart, his father’s, too, had centered all in him—

How kind, how gentle in return that boy to them had been.

How proud he looked that April morn, in eighteen-sixty-one;
They saw him with his gray suit on, with knapsack and with gun;
They never saw him after that. The day he went away,

“As long as country needs an arm,” he said, “I mean to stay.”

One day they got a letter from his Captain, and it said,

In the fight before Atlanta he was numbered with the dead,
And on the crimson hillside they had laid his form away,
With a score of other heroes from ranks of blue and gray.

No useless coffin held his form; his blanket was his shroud;
The twinkling stars watched o’er his grave from skies without a

As if in joyous welcome to another spirit borne
Unto the glorious Prince of Peace from battle’s smoke and storm.

And here the mother’s heart-strings loosed in bursts of sobs and
cries

That drove the heavy slumbers from the old man’s drowsy eyes.

He crossed the room to where she sat, and knelt beside her chair,
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 169

 

Just as their boy had, years ago, to lisp his evening prayer.
She told him of the little sock she’d found upon the floor,
The many memories that it brought back from the days of yore.

He said to her: “Dear wife, grieve not; in yonder far-off skies
There is a fountain at whose brink all pain, all sorrow dies;

And high upon a pearly throne, Jehovah, King of Kings,

Dispenses to the sons of men, from out its crystal springs,

The heeling drops in amplitude, while angels voices fill

The gladsome air with songs of love; Peace troubled soul, be still.”

He raised his face to gaze on her’s. Her eyes could ope’ no more,
“While to her heart she pressed the sock, the sock that baby wore
Next day the friends and neighbors came and bore her form away,
And laid it ’neath the churchyard mold—gave back the clay to clay.

That night the old man had a dream: He thought the angels came

And bore his old and shattered form up into God’s domain;

And as they passed the golden gates, there on the pearly floor,

He saw the sock, the little sock, the sock that baby wore.

And just beyond, at Jesus feet, there stood his wife and child;

And joined their songs with seraph hosts, while God and angels
smiled.

Ross wrote many good poems, but none had the ring
and the rattle, the sweet sentiment, the human touch, the soul-

inspiring heart-throbs that “The Sock That Baby Wore”
imparted.

While he was a pleasing and correct writer, for he had the
advantage of a classic education, Ross was too idealistic, too
visionary, too poetic, to be a very strong editorial writer,
though in the dark days of reconstruction he did valiant
service with his pen for the Democracy.

He remained in editorial harness till stricken by illness
which forced him to lay down his polished pen forever, when
his press brethren felt the loss of one of their knightliest
members, and mourned the passing of the peerless editor.
1100 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Hil.

W. J. L. Holland, of the Holly Springs Reporter, was
an ideal editor, and under his management the Reporter
ranked as one of the best papers of the state. His style was
dignified, his sentences clear cut and incisive. He took high
standing as an editor, though he served only a few years, the
great yellow fever epidemic of 1878 carrying him away, with
five other Mississippi editors.

When the dreaded scourge broke out in Holly Springs,
Holland remained at his post of duty, administering to the
stricken, and comforting the dying. He lived to see many of
his most intimate friends, the flower of his town, pass away,
and when there seemed little more for him to do for suffer-
ing humanity, he too fell a victim to the terrible plague, and
was laid to rest in the Holly Springs cemetery, where so
many of his friends had preceded him.

The Press monument, erected to commemorate the
heroism and courage of the six editors who gave up their
lives while ministering to the afflicted, stands at the head
of Holland’s grave, which will be referred to more at length
in another chapter.

Richard Walpole, who had owned and managed several
Mississippi papers in his time, the Goodman Star, the
Kosciusko Star and the Yazoo City Herald, was another be-
loved member of the Old Guard; and while not a great
editor, was decidedly one of the best publishers of the state.
As a manager and solicitor he was a pastmaster. He was
an indefatigable worker, and succeeded far better than many
of his brother publishers. Dick Walpole was a gentleman
of high character and lofty impulses, and his paper was but
a reflex of his real life.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 1li

 

He moved to Florida some years ago, bought out a
newspaper, and worked himself to death, losing most of the
money he had made in Mississippi. He might have retired
with a competency when he decided to leave his native
state, but like most publishers, he stuck to the game too
long, and died poor, and sleeps in the sands of Florida.

J. L. McCullum, who had been connected with several
papers, was a professional editorial writer. He thought of
nothing else, and did nothing else. If he ever owned a paper
I never heard of it, but he was connected with the Mississippi
press for many years, writing leaders for papers in a half
dozen towns of the state, including Jackson and Vicksburg.
He never aspired to public office, but was always a hard
party worker, writing scores of editorials in favor of
Democracy.

McCultum was a well educated man, and wrote with equal
facility on any subject, furnishing the editorial brains for
many papers. He edited R. Walpole’s several papers, first
the Goodman Star, then the Kosciusko Star, and later the
Yazoo City Herald. He also wrote the leaders for the New
Mississippian, owned by Edgar S. Wilson, and had been con-
nected with the Vicksburg press. But years ago, much to the
regret of his friends, McCullum moved to El Paso, Texas,
where he died, his body being returned to Mississippi for
interment. He was a courtly, dignified gentleman, modest
and quiet in his intercourse with men; rarely expressed an
opinion, except in his editorials, and never engaged in con-
troversies, unless forced to do so with his pen, when he “made
the fur fly,”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Many Editorial Abuses Practiced in Olden Days.—Captain
Frank Burkitt, Who Opposed Me for Many
Years, Finally Became My Steadfast
Friend.

The Mississippi Press Association had within its member-
ship real and near-editors, men who devoted themselves to the
newspaper business as a livelihood and men who wrote for
the press for pleasure and to accommodate publishers.

This class of near-editors was made up of lawyers,
politicians, school teachers, students and Handy-Andys, who
were always ready to help out their newspaper friends for
however humble and obscure the home journal, it possesses
an influence not to be despised.

Editorial abuses became so great that the railroads finally
stepped in and demanded certified lists of names before
granting transportation to Press Conventions. While this
cut off a large number of dead-heads who had been regularly
attending the conventions, sharing all the courtesies and
hospitality intended for legitimate newspaper men, the evil
was not entirely abated until the Interstate Commerce Com-
mission put a ban upon all free transportation, and railroads
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 113

 

were ready to make the ruling applicable to intra as well
as to interstate transportation.

I recall the name of one near-editor who took his family
to a Press Convention and remained not only during the
session, but for several days after adjournment, and when
ready to leave was confronted with a bill for several days
entertainment, remarked with contemptuous sangfroid,
“Charge it to the entertainment committee.” If old Peter
Montrose were alive, he could supply the name, as he gave
it to me, but I am not telling any secrets out of school.

Il.

While in my earlier days I never cared for Capt. Frank
Burkitt, for many years editor of the Chickasaw Messenger,
because he disliked and always opposed me, I must admit that
he was really a valuable “balance wheel,” though I could not
see it in that light at the time he was criticising the Democratic
state administration, and laying the predicate to run for
representative from Chickasaw county on a “Wool Hat,” non-
progressive platform.

Burkitt was elected to the house of representatives of
1886, his father being in the senate. At the same time I
was a candidate for state printer, and the father and son
distinguished themselves by opposing my aspirations, one
undertaking to lead the senate and the other the house
against me, without success, as the vote of the joint session
stood 91 for me and 51 for my opponent, Col. J. L. Power.

Failing to defeat me, Burkitt, as chairman of the appro-
priations committee, sought to have the appropriation for
state printer, (a mere bagatelle to what it is now), cut down
in every way possible, always meeting with defeat, a majority
of the committee being opposed to Burkitt’s parsimonious
methods in dealing with departments of the state government,
114 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the State Colleges, Lunatic Asylum, Deaf and Dumb, Blind
and other eleemosynary institutions.

Burkitt continued to pursue me, as I thought. He
opposed me for state printer the third time, and I was com-
pelled to make a hard fight to defeat him. He was never
an announced candidate himself, but supported others for
state printer—J. L. Power, Foster & Kemp, and Banks &
McNeily, all of whom I defeated.

IN].

After that 1 became a bit vicious towards Burkitt and
made it my duty to lint him daily through my paper, and I
will not deny that I enjoyed the exercise, for I believed I
was drawing blood every time I hit him.

My friends often warned me against Burkitt, saying he
would attack me unawares some day, and that I had better
get ready. I got ready; which was wholly unnecessary, for
instead of annoying Burkitt, many years my senior, I° was
adding to his daily pleasure. While I thought I was worry-
ing him almost to death, he was really laughing at and
enjoying my criticisms.

Finally it dawned upon me that possibly I was going
too far, that I might be making a gump of myself in the
eyes of the public, and I decided to hold up, and let Burkitt
alone. So I ignored him severely for several days.

Meeting him one morning in front of the Hook and
Ladder Hall, which stood on part of the lot now occupied
as the Dr. Hunter residence, Burkitt, with his big stick in
hand, and which he would use if necessity required, as had
been shown before and since, thus addressing me:

“Well, you have had nothing to say about me for
several days. What’s the matter?” I responded, measuring
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 115

 

the distance between us with my eye, “I have already written
more of you than you are worth, and don’t intend to print
another line about you, for it is a waste of ammunition to
shoot at a dead duck.”

I did not know what effect my speech might have, and
kept my eye on Burkett’s big stick, planning my defense if
he should attack. It had no more effect on him than pouring
water on a duck’s back, for instead of being offended, he put
his hand on my shoulder, looked me squarely in the eyes, and
in a kind, fatherly tone, said, ‘Praise me, if you can, my boy;
abuse me if you must, but for God’s sake don’t ignore me.”

Then I discovered his weak point—anxiety to be constant-
ly before the public, either by praise or abuse, so he could be
kept in the limelight.

IV.

I knew I should have no more trouble with Burkitt and
decided then and there never to mention his name again in
the Clarion-Ledger, a resolution I did not keep, for in after
years, I learned to know him better. He had his bad and
good qualities, the good doubtless predominating.

We were thrown much together in the George-Barksdale
campaign. We looked into each other’s hands, understood
each other’s moves, wishes and desires, and I must confess I
had misunderstood the man.

While Burkitt was lacking in party convictions, which
caused him to waver around rather recklessly, going from
one party to the other, he was at heart a man of the people,
and believed in the rule of the common masses in contra-
distinction to the classes.

He was a proud and selfish man, but just and honest as
he understood the terms. He was as careful with the funds
of: the state as with his own money, and spent nothing fool-
ishly.
116 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

V.

I saw much of Burkitt as a member of the World’s Fair
Commission, and while he was rather fond of Vardaman, who
had become chairman of the board of directors, after
Governor Longino’s term had expired, he would not follow
him in his opposition to me, Vardaman’s purpose being to
force me to resign as Commissioner, though he did not have
the power to remove me.

Burkitt always stood by me when he believed I was right,
and did not hesitate to oppose Vardaman when he knew he
was wrong, in the fights he made upon me; and in discredit-
ing the Mississippi exhibits at the Exposition, which I would
remark in passing, took two Grand Prizes over all competi-
tors, one on cotton and the other on timbers, and various
Gold Medals, Silver Medals and prizes on 69 other exhibits.
I expected to capture the Grand Prize on cotton, but hardly
hoped to win on forestry, as the North Carolina exhibit had
taken the World’s Prize at the Paris Exposition, a few years
before, and had been carefully preserved in tissue paper and
woolen wrappings. I won this Grand Timber Prize for the
State by having selections of the best merchantable timbers
from the forests of Mississippi, and in securing the aid of the
Pullman company in preparing and installing the exhibit.

I cannot close this paper of the memoir series without
thanking Captain Burkitt for his just and fair treatment of
me when serving as the Mississippi Commissioner to the
World’s Fair. He could have made life very unpleasant for
me in that thankless position; but he did not. He did what
he conscientiously believed was right, though in doing so he
ran the risk of offending an official whom he had always liked
and supported.

Burkitt was a clear and emphatic writer. He spoke his
convictions with his pen. No one could misunderstand his
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 117

 

meaning. Courteous as a rule, he at times wrote with a pen
of fire, and never hesitated to speak his mind of public men
or those aspiring to public office. He made many enemies,
but friends he had by the score and bound them to him with
hoops of steel. He was a successful publisher, and general
were the regrets of the press when he announced he had sold
his paper and had retired from the field of journalism with
enough of this world’s goods to sustain himself and family
through life.
Vi.

A good friend of mine read the above remarks when
printed in the Clarion-Ledger and said, “Your generous
tribute to Burkitt both astonished and delighted me, knowing
how far part you two had been. It shows a magnanimous
spirit, and convinces me that you do not harbor malice to-
wards your fellow man.”

I am grateful for the above kind expression, and trust
my friend is not mistaken in his analysis of my mental make-
up. This leads to the suggegstion which I make deliberately,
that keeping alive the fires of malice is the poorest asset in
the world. Get mad, as all do occasionally; disagree with and
“curse out the other fellow;” get the bile out of your
system, and forget about it. The man who harbors
malice, and abuses those who disagree with him, does
himself more harm than the men he dislikes. We are often
our own worst enemy, but never more so than in cultivating
malice towards a fellow man. Some men we cannot love or
like—some men are born to be disagreeable—but in such
cases there is no need to dissemble, no reason to practice a
fraud; but to dislike a man is one thing and to bear malice
towards him is quite another. Cardinal Wolsey had the
right idea and begged that he might be spoken of as he was,
“Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.” But how
few of us follow his wise admonition?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Simeon R. Adams, Who Made the Eastern Clarion, Was the
Greatest Publisher of the State—B. F. Jones
Marries a French Widow Who Bequeaths
Him Her Family Portraits.

While I did not know Simeon R. Adams personally, I
knew a great deal about his history and methods, as I have
intimately known several men who were printers in the
Eastern Clarion office, among them the late Judge J. B.
Christman, P. K. Mayers, James A. Chambers, James P.
Dement and others; all of whom have related to me incidents
and sketches of his life, showing his peculiar characteristics,
his wonderful ability to organize and conduct the most re-
markable paper of his time.

His paper was what was known as a “bed-blanket sheet,”
usually of four pages, but frequently double size, and was
filled with advertisements, from first to last page, for in those
days the first page was not considered as sacred as now, and
carried columns of ads.

Il.

Simeon R. Adams was Mississippi’s greatest publisher of
his day. He did not edit but managed his paper, and made
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 119

 

frequent trips to New Orleans and Mobile. If he could not
get cash for his advertisements he would trade them out, and
accumulated many odds and ends in that way, believing with
Mrs. Toodles that they would come in handy some day. He
solicited an advertisement from an undertaker, so the story
goes, in New Orleans, and with such persistency that the
keeper of the place, in order to get rid of Adams, proposed
to swap him a coffin for an advertisement, never imagining
that his offer would be accepted, but he did not know Adams.
Space and price were agreed upon, and casket was selected.
Adams ordered the coffin shipped at once, hoping to be able
to dispose of it during the season, for people sometimes, but
rarely, died in the piney wood town of Paulding.

In due course of time the casket arrived, and was ordered
placed in the loft over the Clarion press room. The town was
all agog, but Adams was not disturbed, and on the death of
the first person in the community whose family was able to
buy a fine coffin, Adams sent his foreman over to the house
of mourning, and disposed of the casket at a good price. The
story sounds fairy and fishy, but an uncle of mine, who
worked for Adams, vouches for it.

i 008

Adams had two editor sons, Will J. and Frank Adams,
and a son-in-law, Walter Acker, who was also an editor, who
published the Paulding Messenger, while the Adams brothers
published the Enterprise Courier, most of the work being
done by Will, Frank being a lawyer with fair practice.

Will Adams had inherited some of his father’s genius,
and bid fair to distinguish himself in journalism, when in
1878, death knocked at his door and claimed him while he
was nursing friends suffering with yellow fever, being one of
six editors to die of the dread scourge that year.

After the sale of his father’s paper to J. J. Shannon, W.
J. Adams secured a position on the old Picayune, and remained
in New Orleans several years, doing newspaper work. But
120 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

tiring of city life, he returned to Mississippi and purchased
the Courier at Enterprise, making of it a first class local
paper. It had an able editorial department, and never hesitated
to express Opinions on the current thought of the day, for
Adams had the courage of his convictions. He was also a
good publisher with limited opportunities.

Will Adams was intended for a broader sphere, and when
he had about perfected arrangements to move his paper to a
larger city he was stricken down with yellow fever in 1878,
and fell at his post of duty while ministering to the afflicted.

IV.

S. R. Adams was not the only Mississippi publisher who
would accept trade advertisements. We have had several of
that kind, but next to Adams came B. F. Jones, who had
published and been connected with a number of papers, in
this State, the Clarion, the Winona Democrat, the Greenwood
Flag, Winona Advance, and others; he also believed in taking
advertisements on any terms and at any price.

He was known as Sawmill Jones, as he had attempted to
run a sawmill and newspaper at the same time.

Jones was one of the charter members of the Mississippi
Press Association, and one of the most genial publishers of
the state. He attended all the meetings of the Press Con-
ventions, and never missed an excursion. He was always
in evidence, and being a ceaseless talker, with pleasing
manners, was known by all the editors of the state. He
mingled with all classes, and was as much at home with the
little country editor as with the nabobs of the daily press.
He played no favorites, and was as agreeable as a politician.

He was not a great editor, but a good publisher and in-
cessant solicitor. He let no opportunity pass to solicit busi-
ness, and Col. Shannon, one of the oldest publishers of the
EDITORS I HAVETKNOWN 121

 

state, said Jones was the best advertising solicitor he had
ever known, and he had encountered many: that he had known
Jones to leave home with a dollar and a quarter in his pocket,
railroad passes and hotel due bills, and return with enough
money to pay off his printers, meet weekly expenses, and
have a nest egg left over for next week.

He had no pride of opinion, and never crossed his
patrons, or run counter to their ideas. He did not care what
they believed or said, it made no difference to him, so he
got their advertisements. He devoted very little time to
obtaining subscriptions, and never stopped a subscriber, his
idea being to get business along the lines of least resistance.
Jones’ energy knew no bounds, his effort no limit, his enthusi-
asm no terminals.

He united his paper with the Winona Advance of H. D.
Money, and a good team it proved, for Money was a fine
writer while Jones was an indefatigable worker in the busi-
ness department. They pulled harmoniously together till
Money was elected to Congress in 1875, leading a forlorn
hope. Jones remained his steadfast supporter, and saw him
landed several times; but a coolness grew up between them
when Money failed to provide Jones a good government berth.

V.

Jones sold his paper, and turned his attention to local
politics, succeeding but indifferently. He spent a good deal
of his time in Jackson, the latter years of his life, during the
winter season, being one of the officers of the legislature,
though he never entirely severed his connection with the
press. While on a trip to New Orleans he formed the ac-
quaintance of a well-to-do buxom French widow, Mme. Janet
Yale.

The admiration was mutual, and after a brief acquain-
tance they were married. The widow needed some one to
122 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

look after her property interest in New Orleans and on the
Gulf Coast, and Jones needed a wife, a companion to sooth
and comfort him in his old age; and he used to boast that
it was the best business deal he had ever made in his life.

When his friends would joke him about the obligation
he took at the marriage altar to raise up any children of the
union in the Catholic faith, Jones would say “The priest
smiled when he delivered the admonition, for he knew I was
over 60 and the madam owned up to 58. I was satisfied the
priest’s smile and the age limit absolved the obligation. It
was like betting on a certainty.”

VI.

I knew Jones many years, and under different circum-
stances, but never saw him mad or out of sorts. He was one
of the few “old editors,” that I could get along with without
some occasional friction. He always treated me as an equal,
and when I was elected state printer in 1886 he was the first
man to offer congratulations, not of a perfunctory sort, but
real, genuine, such as he really felt, for with all his effusive
nature, he was sincere and square and could be depended
upon.

Jones lived very happy with his French wife for a few
years. They had a residence on Esplanade street, New
Orleans, and a summer home across the bay. The widow, so
the story goes, imagined she was marrying a rich editor, and
Jones felt certain that his French wife would he able to take
care of him handsomely. The madame passed off first, and
Jones had her put away as became her station, straining his
personal account to meet funeral expenses, expecting to
recoup after the will was read. The day after the last sad
rites had been paid his wife, relatives assembled at the
family residence to hear the will, and then there were some
surprises, indeed.
 

James A. Stevens
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 123

 

The will gave to nephews and neices all the real estate:
money, jewels, and other chattels, and bequeathed to the
sorrowing husband all the FAMILY PORTRAITS, covering
several generations. Jones was terribly disappointed, for the
“blow almost killed father.” Having no use for family
portraits of people he did not know or care a rap for, he tried
to dispose of them to old Armand Hawkins and other curio
dealers of New Orleans, who refused to buy at any price.
Utterly disgusted, old “Saw Mill” presented the portraits to
Mrs. Charles G. Moreau, of the Sea Coast Echo, next of kin,
as he could not figure out how he could use them in his
business or make them an available asset.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

My Old Partner, Col. J. L. Power, the Humanitarian of the
State—I Cast My Lot With the Lamar Faction in
Mississippi Politics—Names of Several
Editors Figure in This Chapter

I have heretofore referred in a general way to Col. J. L.
Power, with whom I was several years associated, but have not
given him the extended mention he deserves, for if Mississippi
ever had a real humanitarian, J. L. Power was the man. He
was a tireless worker, was at his desk before breakfast and
remained till late in the night, with slight intermissions for
meals.

There was no romance in his make-up; no fun in his
composition; he had no time for the frivolities of life. He
took no rest, except on Sundays and when he was visiting the
numerous secret orders to which he belonged; and I have
known him to return to his desk after attending lodge
meetings, and “make up time,” as he would say, till mid-
night.

He paid no attention to Christmas, Thanksgiving, Fourth
of July and other holidays, saying he could do his best work
on such days, when there were few visitors. He devoted
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 125

 

Christmas day to getting up his Masonic work, that he might
have all his reports ready for the Grand Masonic Bodies, for
he was grand secretary of the four orders of York Rite
Masonry, serving for over thirty years, without a break, till
death released him from labor.

II.

Coloned Power came from Ireland when a boy, locating
in Jackson as a journeyman printer before the Civil War,
when he began publishing the Daily News. He served during
hositilities as a member of Withers’ artillery, being adjutant
of the regiment. He returned home after the war and
engaged in newspaper work, establishing The Standard, with
Major E. Barksdale, which was afterwards merged with The
Clarion. He looked after the publishing department, while
Major Barksdale did the editing, the firm being Power &
Barksdale, after they had bought out the Shannon,’ Jones and
Hamilton interest.

In addition to his newspaper, book, job and printing
business, Colonel Power did more than the work of one man,
giving much of his time to his Masonic duties, to charity and
humanitarian labors, not to mention the various secretary-
ships he held. He was always at his post of duty during
yellow fever or other epidemics, and was secretary of the
Howard Association during many years. He helped to organ-
ize it, kept the books, looked after the distressed, as far as
possible, and disbursed thousands of dollars in alleviating the
afflicted, handling over $100,000 during the awful epidemic of
1878.

He was also the friend of the orphans, and largely
through his individual efforts was the Protestant Orphan
Asylum, at Natchez, kept alive, and his work of charity did
not end there, for he assisted orphans in many parts of the
state, from funds that he had quietly raised for that purpose.
Much of the work he did for charity will never be known.
126 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

He was a strict churchman, and for many years had been
an elder in the First Presbyterian Church at Jackson. He
was honored with the post of Secretary of State, being re-
nominated without opposition, holding that office at the time
of his death.

Ht.

Having been associated with Colonel Power for several
years, I am free to say I knew him well. While at times he
appeared austere and indifferent, the result of constant and
excessive work, he was kind-hearted and generous; was easily
influenced by those whom he esteemed, and was always will-
ing to go his length for his friends. He was not only gener-
ous and just, but brave as the bravest. While he sought to
avoid difficulties, he never shirked them, and was always
ready to share responsibilities such as all editors and pub-
lishers must assume.

When we were getting together as partners in 1888, he
named the firm and I named the paper, the firm being R. H.
Henry & Co., and the paper the Clarion-Ledger.

Colonel Power was laid to rest in his lot, in Greenwood
Cemetery, at the close of an autumnal day, September 24,
1901, the Grand Officers of the Grand Commandery of Mis-
sissippi officiating at the funeral services. His last resting
place is marked by memorials erected by the Masoris, the Odd
Fellows, the Knights of Pythias and Woodmen of the World;
and there sleeps one who has done as much for the relief of
suffering humanity as any man or woman who has claimed
Mississippi as home.

IV.

In my youthful days as publisher, I had no enemies
among the publishers of the state; but they soon came, for
we have always had factional politics in Mississippi, as far
back as I remember, and the editor who took sides with either
faction made enemies of the other.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 127

 

L. Q. C. Lamar, professor of law at the State University,
when I began the publication of a paper, was my ideal of
the public men of the state, next to Jefferson Davis. Lamar
had much less experience in public life than Davis, having
only been a representative in Congress before the war, while
Davis had been Representative, U. S. Senator and President of
the Confederate States. Lamar was by love and instinct a
politician, and often left the class room to make political
speeches. But they were the speeches of a statesman.

It will be remembered when General Robert Lowry, who
seemed to be the only Democrat in Mississippi willing to meet
Alcorn on the stump, broke down while speaking at Oxford.
Lamar came forward, took his place, and finished the debate
with Alcorn as though he had been scheduled for the canvass,
completing the series with the Sage of Coahoma; and winning
so much fame, that the Democrats of the Northern District
forced Lamar to become a candidate for Congress. He was
elected, and soon became the South’s greatest leader in the
House and afterwards in the Senate.

Remembering Lamar’s famous canvass with Alcorn, I
drifted naturally toward him, and became one of his warmest
advocates, which caused resentment by the opposition press,
under the leadership of Barksdale.

Then factional lines were drawn in Mississippi. McCardle
leading the Lamar forces, while Barksdale and his political
and newspaper friends opposed Lamar, seeing no good in any-
thing he did, and criticising unmercifully his eulogy on Chas.
Sumner and his disregard of legislative instructions on the
silver question.

I stood by Lamar, believing he knew what he was doing,
and that he was doing the best he could for his state and
country as he saw it. His offense, if it deserved to come
under that head, was condoned by his people, who re-elected
and kept him in the Senate till President Cleveland named
128 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

him as his Secretary of the Interior and afterwards appointed
him a Justice of the United States Supreme Court.

V.

Thus casting my lot early with the Lamar forces, several
papers that followed the lead of Barksdale did not fail to
express themselves against the views of the humble paper that
I printed—mild in terms, and never discourteous, in com-
parison with editorials now printed by factional papers of the
state.

Thirty years ago editors were shot and killed in Missis-
sippi for much less than they tolerate from each other today.
The past quarter century has developed a class of editors
never before known in this state, not numerous in number,
but loud in coarse vituperation, who would not have lived
fifteen minutes in the days of Edward M. Yerger, E. Barks-
dale, W. H. McCardle, Giles M. Hiller, and editors of that
class. They say what they please and allow others to reply in
kind, neither apparently taking offense at the billingsgate of
the other. This may be regarded as modern, progressive
journalism; but the writer has never been ambitious to be
enrolled in such membership.

In the olden time editors frequently disagreed with each
other, but seldom resorted to personal abuse—unless being
promptly “called,” and that was seldom; for in the good
old days when the Democratic papers were united in opposing
radicalism in Mississippi the liberty of the press was not
perverted into licensed abuse, as is too often the case now-
a-days.

VI.

While I had no personal acquaintance with Edward M.
Yerger—Prince Edward, as he was called—I do remember him
as one of the editors of Mississippi who stood at the top
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 129

 

of his profession. He was a finished writer and made the
Jackson News a great paper. During the dark days of
reconstruction, he had some trouble with a Yankee mayor of
Jackson, named Crane, and felt justified in killing him. I
remember hearing the story that Yerger’s lawyers told him
that they had only one chance to clear him, by setting up a
plea of insanity, when “Prince Edward,’ as he was known,
became enraged, and cursed out his attorneys, saying he had
rather be hung than proven insane.

Yerger was carried before a military court for trial, where
many stormy scenes were enacted, as he had the best
lawyers of the city as counsel, including Wiley P. Harris,
Amos R. Johnston, Wm. Yerger, Geo. L. Potter, Fulton Ander-
son and others. Yerger’s counsel contended that a military
court had no right to try the prisoner, and applied to the
United States Court for a writ of habeas corpus, which was
granted. The court decided that the imprisonment was law-
ful, and remanded the prisoner to the custody of the military,
whereupon Yerger appealed to the United States Supreme
Court; but before that court rendered its opinion, the military
government came to an end, and the Yerger case went before
the state court, and finally wore itself out.

Vil.

Mr. L. P. Brown, of Meridian, but resident of Jacksun
till grown, has given an account of an early morning fight
between Barksdale and Yerger, which occurred just after the
war. He said, Barksdale, editor of ‘the Mississippian, was an
early riser and went to his office before breakfast in order to
get his copy ready for the printers. He was returning to his
home to get breakfast, reading Yerger’s paper, the Daily
News, which contained some offensive allusions to himself,
when it had been understood between the two editors that no
other personalities would be indulged in between them.
130 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

The editors met as they turned Spengler’s corner, and
Barksdale, exasperated with the personal notice in the
News, struck Yerger in the face with the paper, exclaiming,
“It was understood there was to be no more of this.” Yerger
returned the blow by striking and breaking his cane over
Barksdale shoulder. The men clinched, and Barksdale, shor'ter
than his antagonist, ducked, and caught Yerger’s wrist in his
teeth, biting him with all his strength. Yerger was helpless
and called on bystanders to “Take the terrier off, he is biting
my wrist.”

The men were separated, but Barksdale, unsatisfied,
mounted a curb post and denounced Yerger in terrific terms,
saying he would not keep his word and could not be believed.
“The Prince,” as Yerger was known, pulled his pistol and
informed Barksdale, “If you don’t stop your abuse of me I'll
shoot you off that post like a bird.”

Mutual friends interfered and prevented further hostili-
ties.
VIL.

William Ward, the elder, editor of the Macon Beacon,
published by P. T. Ferris, was one of the most popular editors
of the state, but had only a local reputation. He was classic
in style and could write anything needed in the make-up of
a newspaper, from leaders to poetry. He was modest in
manner, but “wearing his heart on his sleeve,” was a friend
of every one. Nothing of a questionable nature, or in the
slangy class was ever admitted to his columns. Being unable
to attend the Press Convention held at Kosciusko; in 1875, Mr.
Ward sent his brother editors the following catchy poetic
greeting:

Greeting To Editors.

From the North, from the South, from the East, from the West,
The Press of the State sends its strongest and best;
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 131

 

And no truer a Council, go search where you will,

Can be found than this conclave of “Knights of the Quill.”
From his home near the Capital, earnest and true,

Comes the Nestor of children and editors, too,

With the gavel of office and honor in charge,

Here’s a health (in cold water) to thee “Uncle George.’*

A health to McCardle, the knightly, whose pen,

Like the lance of a Bayard, ne’er glitters in vain;

From the city of heroes he comes, with the glow

Of a true heart for friend, and a true hand for foe.

Here’s a bumper for Mayers, free and fresh as the breeze
That blows o’er his home by the fetterless seas;

And Falconer, gallant, and true to the cause,

Whose glance is as swift as the falchion he draws.

Here’s to Hollard, the manly, to Money whose speech
Has a scholarly touch with a logical reach,

With a greeting to Frantz, the jolliest editor

That ever shook hands with a moneyless creditor;
The life of conventions, and dinners—and here

Let us drink to his health in the best lager beer.

Cold water for Stevens, poor fellow, his case

Is distributed, set, and locked up in a chase.
Here’s to Bonny, and Adams, and Henry; indeed,
We can scarcely forget gallant Capers, and Mead,
McCullum, whose sentences clear cut and bold,
Are set in an arabesque frame-work of gold,

And Barksdale, whose motto, when duty may call,
Is “semper paratus”—a health to you all.

 

*Maj. George W. Harper. :
IX.

Kincloch Falconer, was one of the best known editors
of the state. He was one of the earliest members of the
Press Association and one of its leaders when I joined it.
He was always prominent both in newspaper work and in
state affairs, and made himself felt in every sphere of activity
132 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

in which engaged. He was for many years editor of the
Holly Springs Reporter, and with thorough newspaper train-
ing made that one of the best papers of the commonwealth.
He was fond of politics, and was Secretary of State at the
time death came to him during the awful yellow fever scourge
of 1878, he having died while endeavoring to alleviate suffer-
ers who had been prostrated in his own town.

J. L. Meade, of the old Westville News, helped to put
Westville on the map. He was an aggressive writer and one
of the boldest in the state, saying whatever he pleased about
people, regardless of consequences. While managing his paper
at Westville he studied law, and began practice before Judge
Mayers, and spoke so loud and with such earnestness when-
ever presenting a case, that the witty Judge was once heard
to say “If noise would win a case Joe would succeed every
time, for he makes more noise than all the other attorneys
practicing at my court combined.”

He moved to Birmingham, and secured a connection
with the Age-Herald, but the court room claimed him, and
he returned to the practice of the law, in which he succeeded
fairly well.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Personal Incidents.—Duel Between Col. Jones S. Hamilton
and Roderick Gambrel on the “Old Bridge.”—Gen.
Wirt Adams and John Martin Kill Each
Other on the Streets of Jackson.

The three largest towns of the state, Jackson, Meridian
and Vicksburg, have been such a fertile field for newspapers,
have seen so many come and go since the Civil War, that it
is utterly impossible to enumerate even a fair percentage of
the number. The cities named have been veritable newspaper
graveyards, especially Meridian, while Jackson and Vicksburg
have not been far behind the Queen Cilty of the East in news-
paper funerals, they have maintained stable and reliable papers
all along.

I will not attempt to name the papers in the three
cities that have budded and bloomed in the spring and
withered with the frost of winter. Many reasons may be
assigned for this unusual death rate among the newspapers
of the tri-cities—desire of ambitious, inexperienced men to
enter the field of journalism, on the idea that they were
especially fitted for the newspaper arena, or were better quali-
fied for newspaper work than E. Barksdale, J. L. Power, E.
M. Yerger, Kimball, Raymond & Co., and others at Jackson;
134 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

J. J. Shannon, A. G. Horn, Fleet Cooper, Chas. N. Dement
and others at Meridian; W. H. McCardle, Swords & Spears,
Charles E. Wright, James Sullivan, Thomas C. Campbell, and
others of Vicksburg.

Il.

When, in 1883, I decided to move the State Ledger from
Brookhaven to Jackson—where I had published it success-
fully for eight years—my friends generally advised against
it, predicting ultimate failure. One of my most intimate
associates insisted that “Barksdale will not allow another
paper printed in Jackson. He will seek some way to destroy
it, resorting to personal methods, if necessary.”

I paid no attention to the false alarm, entirely discredit-
ing it; and it now gives me pleasure to announce that Major
Barksdale treated me with the greatest courtesy after I moved
to Jackson.

We became close friends, the relations lasting till his
death.
III.

I recall two tragedies growing out of newspaper criticisms
over thirty years ago, resulting in three deaths and the
serious wounding of a fourth party.

The Sword and Shield, published by Roderick Gambrell,
was an earnest advocate of the prohibition cause and did not
hesitate to criticise those who opposed its views, editor or
layman. I[t published a very severe article about Col. Jones
S. Hamilton, who was opposed to statutory prohibition.

After its publication Roderick went over to Vicksburg
on business for his paper. Colonel Hamilton and friends
were outraged at the publication. It was learned that
Gambrell would return on the night train; and whether by
accident or design, Hamilton and Roderick met on the old
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 135

 

wooden bridge over town creek, on Capitol street, and the
shooting began that ended the editor’s life, who fired several
shots at Hamilton, and would have killed him but for the
small pistol he used.

Both men were shot down on the bridge, the young
editor being carried off dead or dying, while Hamilton was
borne home seriously wounded, where he lingered for weeks.
When able to appear for trial, he secured a change of venue
to Rankin county, where he was acquitted after a long trial,
in which District Attorney Green B. Huddleston, John M.
Allen, L. Brame and C. H. Alexander were the principal
prosecutors. Hamilton was represented by W. L. Nugent, S.
S. Calhoon, A. J. McLaurin, Hiram Cassedy, Walter White and
other prominent lawyers.

An amusing incident occurred during the trial, in which
the somewhat celebrated Matt Burns acted as special deputy
for Colonel Hamilton, escorting him to and from his rooms
at the Shelton House to the court building. Hamilton being
allowed to remain in the hotel at his own expense, rather
than go to jail. He was guarded by Matt and others, which
distinction Matt regarded as one of the greatest honors of
his life. He has since told me that he allowed Hamilton to
carry his pistol during the trial, as a matter of protection
against a possible assault, excitement being at fever heat.

A drummer entered the court house while the trial was
in progress and asked to have the prisoner pointed out. Some
wag said “That tall, raw-boney man near the district attorney
is the prisoner.” “Guilty, by gosh,” said the drummer, “for
no man with that face could be innocent.” Dr. J. G. Gambrell,
father of the dead boy, had been pointed out to the drummer
as the prisoner.

IV.

The other tragedy resulting from editorial criticism, was
enacted on President street, in front of the old Cadwallader
136 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

home, about midday, between Gen. Wirt Adams and John
Martin. Martin had conceived a dislike to Gen. Adams, post-
master, intimate personal friend of Colonel Hamilton, and who
shared his views on prohibition questions.

Martin’s office was next to the old Clarion-Ledger build-
ing. He had a small plant, and a crazy old Campbell press
that was noted for getting out of order. He was printing his
last side, when the press bucked and he could do nothing
with it. He sent for me to help him out. I sent my press-
man over to set the press going. While he was working on
the machine, I picked up one of Martin’s papers, the New
Mississippian, and glancing over its editorials, saw a rather
savage attack on General Adams, in which he was practically
charged by Martin with holding up his paper in the postoffice.

I called Martin’s attention to the item, and cautioned him
against such publication, telling him that General Adams was
a gallant old Confederate soldier, that he was an honorable,
high-mettled gentleman, suggesting that unless he was court-
ing death he had better let up on his criticisms of the post-
master, who was likely to surprise him some day.

Martin laughed at the warning, saying there was nothing
in the article to produce a fight. But the surprise came with-
in less than an hour afterwards, while returning from
dinner, Martin met General Adams and Ned Farish on
President street. With little ado and few words so far as
the public knows, Adams drew his pistol and fired upon
Martin as they neared each other. Martin fired also; several
shoots were exchanged.

Thinking that convicts were escaping from the old peni-
tentiary, I hurried downstairs and up President street, to find
Adams dying and Martin gasping for breath.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 137

 

V.

That was a sad day for Jackson, and as each man had
strong partisan friends, it was feared that other difficulties
might follow, as there was a deal of wild talking; but better
judgment prevailed and there was no more trouble.

John Martin was one of the most brilliant writers of his
day, and gave promise of a life of great usefulness. He was
his own greatest enemy—he wrote whatever he pleased and
was always ready to take the consequence. Though possessing
an amiable and lovable disposition, with malice in his heart
towards no one, he often wrote with the bitterness of a
Bran, though as a rule his editorials were mild and often
enlivened by brilliant flashes of humor, and at times
sparkled with the fire of genius.

He had no idea of newspaper management, but as a
writer stood close up to the top of the best. But he died
too young for the state to have full appreciation of his merits

as an editor.
VI.

Few daily newspaper in Mississippi have had a greater
number of distinguished editors than the Natchez Democrat,
among them, Paul A. Botto, Thomas Grafton and Douglass
Walworth. ‘The scene of their drama has shifted; they have
slipped from our presence away.”

I had slight acquaintance with Paul A. Botto, for though
one of the early presidents of the Mississippi Press Associa-
tion, he seldom attended the annual meetings. He was ac-
counted one of the best editors of the state.

Thomas Grafton, for several years editor of the Natchez
Democrat, belonged to the old school of journalists and had
few equals in this state as a leader writer. His editorials,
while somewhat “heavy,” were always couched in the best
138 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

language, and no interpretor was needed to explain their
meaning.

Douglass Walworth, one of the editors of the Democrat,
possessed literary ability of a high order, and gave to the
world some exceedingly fine productions. His editorials were
always pitched in a high key, and for pure, clear-cut English
were never surpassed in Mississippi journalism.

VII.

After the passing of all the above editors, James W.
Lambert assumed editorial control. He had long been con-
nected with the Democrat, as publisher and manager, and
though having little experience in the editorial department, he
had so much good sense, combined with sound, practical ideas,
that he dropped into the editorial chair easily.

Captain Lambert, courteous gentleman that he was, was
one of the most popular members of the Mississippi press.
His manner was natural and pleasing, and he made friends
without appearing to do so. He died in harness, and his going
was a source of grief to his brother editors and intimate
friends, for he was a prince of men. He had lofty ideas,
lived a correct life, and by his superb deportment, won the
love and esteem of all. His equal we seldom see; his superior,
never.

He is succeeded by his son J. K. Lambert, who main-
tains the reputation the Democrat has long enjoyed.
 

 

 

 

Galloway

Bishop Charles B
CHAPTER TWENTY.

In Which Reference is Made to Col. W. Lee Patton, J. D.
Burke, James L. Magee and Robert Stowers.—Love
is Pursued Across the State and Killed
by an Outraged Father.

One of the most pleasing editors of the state was Col.
W. Lee Patton, for many years editor of the Summit Times.
He came from a fine old Southern family, who believed first
of all in the education of sons and daughters. He looked and
acted like a prince and wrote with a polished pen. Leaders
were his long suit, and in an intelligent way Col. Patton dis-
cussed the questions of the day.

He did not write a great deal, but what he said was
accurately phrased and properly expressed. He maintained
the dignity of the editorial column, and left to his sons the
local and miscellaneous work. He was always well groomed
and carried his age better than 99 per cent of his associates,
looking many years younger than he really was. He had a
pompous, dignified air, was quité soldierly and stilted in his
appearance, but genial and agreeable to all.

He was the father of three sons, Charles, Farar and
Sam M., all of whom became distinguished. The oldest and
140 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the youngest, Charles and Sam, were connected with Col.
Patton in newspaper work till he retired. Charles afterwards
became president of the University Publishing Company, with
headquarters in New York; Sam studied architecture, and was
burned to death in a hotel at Chattanooga, which he had
planned, proving not only the Mississippi boy’s monument,
but his mausolem as well.

Dr. Farar Patton settled in New Orleans and became
one of the famous doctors of the Crescent City.

II.

I became acquainted with three editors, Jas. L. Magee,
Brookhaven Citizen, J. D. Burke, Mississippi Democrat, and
D. L. Love, West Point Citizen, about the same time, the two
latter meeting tragic deaths, while the former, just about
starved to death.

James Magee was a good country publisher, and made a
readable paper of the Brookhaven Citizen, which he was
induced to sell to a local Republican organization with Major
R. W. Millssaps as president—which I afterwards bought to
get rid of. But like most men who have worn newspaper
harness, Jim was never satisfied till he returned to the tripod.
He moved over to Meadville and established the “Rip Saw,”
and a rough ripper it proved, for its editor was much disposed
to say rough things in his paper, some of a semi-humorous
nature, while the others were intended to be taken in their
literal sense.

Jim was induced to put on a patent outside, and a sight
it was to behold, with one side printed in small, new type,
while the other side was set up in worn-out small pica and
looked as though it might have been printed on a wheel
barrow.

Jim had been poking fun at me for some time, and
considered himself licensed to say whatever he pleased about
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 141

 

my poor efforts. I had been laying for opportunity to get
back at him—and it will come to every man who has the
patience to lie low and wait. It came when the Rip-Saw
donned its patent outside.

In noting the historic event I said editorially: “The Rip-
Saw of Meadville, has greatly improved its appearance by the
addition of a patent outside. It would be still further im-
proved by the adoption of a patent inside.”

That made Jim so mad that he cut me off his exchange
list and died never forgiving the offense.

II.

Capt. J. D. Burke had been connected with several papers
of the state, at Brookhaven, Magnolia, Hazelhurst, and other
towns. He had served in the Civil War with credit to him-
self and country, and when mustered out bore the commis-
sion of captain. He was editor of the Brookhaven Citizen
when I bought it from Millsaps and others and merged it
with the Ledger of Brookhaven in 1877. He became my
local éditor, remaining with me till he secured an interest in
the Magnolia Gazette. Meanwhile Burke’s wife died, and he
was never entirely himself afterwards. And one day his life-
less body was found in his room; a Smith & Wesson with one
exploded cartridge, by his side, told the story better than pen
can describe it.

Burke had been with me several years and a more agree-
able man I have never known. He was of quiet disposition
but when the war was mentioned he became talkative and
eloquent of the days when he had followed the fortunes of
the Lost Cause.

The press of the state paid deserved and just tribute
to the memory of J. D. Burke when he closed the last page
of his life, which I am attempting to do after a lapse of
over forty years.
142 EDITORS’ I HAVE KNOWN

 

Iv.

Rarely has the Mississippi press had within its member-
ship a more brilliant editor than D. L. Love, of the West
Point Citizen and afterwards of the Columbus Dispatch. He
had a rich, vivid imagination and a florid style that always
entertained, especially when spoken from the rostrum, for
he was a most captivating speaker.

He edited the West Point Citizen with success, and his
peculiar composition and splendid diction, attracted most
favorable attention from brother editors. But his life, which
promised so much, was destined to end in a most deplorable
tragedy.

He was a very imprudent man, and made the mistake of
his life when be broke with a young lady friend whom he
hoped to marry. His insulting letters to the young lady so
‘outraged her father that he swore to have Love’s life.

Love offered to apologize and marry the girl he had
slandered, but the father would have none of it—the insult
could not be wiped out. He sent Love word he intended
killing him on sight—advising him to get ready for the
worst; that he would follow him to the end of the world if
necessary to vindicate the honor of his daughter.

The race began, Love going from one place to another,
only to discover his nemesis upon his track. The end came
after several days of pursuit, at Greenville, Love’s purpose
evidently being to cross the Mississippi river, hoping to escape
in the great west. But he was too slow. The father of the
girl located Love and running him into a stable shot him
down in one of the stalls without a dog’s chance for his life.

And there the brilliant writer and eloquent speaker died
like a beast while poisonous flies sang their requiem over his
dishonored remains, no friend near to speak a word of com-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 143

 

fort, to lighten his spirit over the dark waters, or staunch
the blood that flowed from his side and mingled with the
filth of the stable.

It was an awful death for a young man of good
parentage, and high social standing, to die; the act seemed
brutal and heartless, and crushed the poor widowed mother,
but the offense was great and called for condign punishment.

Love had only a short while before shot and killed Col.
Louis A. Middleton, editor of the Columbus Sentinel, having
moved from West Point to Columbus. Some of the editors
acquainted with the circumstances declared the killing of Love
by an avenging father, was but an act of retributive justice.

Vv.

I recall another editor’s troubles, Robert Stowers, of the
Oxford Eagle. Stowers was one of the most charming mem-
bers of the Mississippi press. He was a hale fellow well
met—the friend of all; the enemy of none. Universally
popular, Bob was always welcomed among editors, lawyers,
politicians and others. He published a fairly good local

paper.

So popular was Bob with the public, that he was induced
to run for State’ Treasurer, and was elected with Longino
for Governor, twenty years ago. He was wholly unfitted for
the office, for he had no business training, and he allowed
others to put it over him, and to bring about his undoing.

He had as his deputy and confidential man an ex-editor,
Raiford, of Senatobia, who really ran the Treasurer’s office,
and with the assistance of Phil. A. Rush, of Senatobia, an
ex-member of the legislature, succeeded in running it into the
ground and causing the removal of State Treasurer Stowers,
with a scandal thereto attached.
144 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

There was a good deal of idle money in the Treasury,
several hundred thousand dollars. Raiford and Rush, or Rush
with the assistance and connivance of Raiford, the latter
being the only person having the combination of the treasury
vaults except the State Treasurer, conceived the idea to take
one hundred thousand dollars of the state’s money to Memphis
and loan it out at small interest on call, Rush and Raiford
to be the beneficaries.

The scheme was carried out and the hundred thousand
dollars packed up to Memphis in a suit case, and negotiations
effected. But the “get-rich-quick” twain had overlooked
the fact that the Governor was authorized to call upon the
State Treasurer at any time and demand the right to count
the money. And that is exactly what Governor Longino
did, and then he discovered a shortage of one hundred thou-
sand dollars or more.

This exposure led to investigations, when the fact was
developed that Rush and Raiford had carried off one hundred
thousand dollars to Memphis for the purpose of making a
little speculation on the side for their sole use and exclusive
benefit.

Stowers insisted he knew nothing of the questionable
transaction but that did not satisfy the Governor, who sus-
pended the State Treasurer and caused suits to be instituted.
Raiford turned state’s evidence; Rush was tried, and by the
skillful handling of his case by Bob Miller, he was acquitted.

All the money was returned; Stowers was allowed to
resign and George W. Carlisle was appointed to succeed him.
Ill health caused the resignation of Carlisle shortly afterwards
and Thad B. Lampton was appointed treasurer.

Bob Stowers was much beloved by the editors of Mis-
sissippi, and few of them believed he knew anything of the
slick work of Rush and Raiford—he had been over-reached
by two smarter and less scrupulous men.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Col. A. Y. Harper Cowhides W. H. Kernan at Vicksburg
While Enroute to a Press Convention—Old Time
Editors, J. Augustine Signaigo and S. A.
Jonas.—Soon Forgotten.

It was intended when the thought first occurred to me
to give these memoirs to the public, to write them in
chronological order, but that rule has not been wholly ob-
served, as I frequently find characters and events crossing
each other as I introduced, and decribed them.

Chronological history is regarded as the best, but it often
becomes tiresome and stupid, lacking in spice, life, and
incidents to brighten its pages. Therefore one who would
entertain must weave in with his facts human interest stories
to claim the attention of his readers; and every man has done
or said something worth relating if memory, which, like a
field, must be cultivated, can recall them.

I had known Col. A. Y. Harper for many years, as
soldier, lawyer and editor, in all of which he excelled. We
entered upon newspaper work about the same time, though
he was several years my senior. While a practicing lawyer
at Okolona he established that very unique and original paper,
146 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the “Southern States,” which because of its extreme radicalism
and denunciation of Republicanism, its principals and lead-
ers, had a large circulation at home, and better outside the
state, for every Republican politician in the North wanted
to see the “Southern States,” and subscribed for it through
curiosity, and filed it away as a sample of Southern intoler-
ance.

It was a red-hot sheet when conducted by Colonel
Harper alone, but when he secured W. H. Kernan as co-
editor, it was indeed a hummer, the like of which had never
before been known in Mississippi.

Both men had poetic temperaments, rather emotional
and somewhat sensational, and together they produced the
most remarkable paper of the state. Harper wrote solid
leaders and bitter invectives against Northern Republicans
and home scalawags, whom he denounced in the strongest
language, such as might have been applied to thieves and
cutthroats.

Kernan, a man of decided genius, had a Pat Donan
style of breaking up his articles in short paragraphs from one
to three lines each, afterwards somewhat employed by the
Hearst papers, but never with the poetic ewphony that char-
acterized Kernan.

Harper and Kernan were unreconstructed Rebels, though
Kernan was a Northern man by birth, who came South after
the war that he might be near the South’s Grand Old Man,
Jefferson Davis, at whose shrine he really worshipped, re-
garding Mr. Davis as the greatest statesman of his day.

Harper and Kernan made a great editorial team and
had they possessed less dreamy idealism, and more practical
common sense, and had given more attention to the business
department than fashioning odd, fantastic phrases, to catch
the ear of the masses, they would have had a veritable
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 147

 

“tubmill,” for in those days of reconstruction the people
were fired up to white heat and wanted just such a paper
which spoke its sentiments freely, with force and without
fear.

Il.

I shall never forget a scene enacted at the Press Con-
vention at Pascagoula in 1879. Jefferson Davis lived at
Beauvoir, only a few miles away. The Convention extended
him an invitation to attend and address the editors, and a
committee, headed by Major Barksdale, was appointed to
convey the invitation to the Old Confederate Chieftain.

Mr. Davis visited the convention and was handsomely
presented to his.admirers by Major Barksdale, in the little
brick court house still standing at Pascagoula.

The speech was befitting the occasion and at its
conclusion, Colonel Harper and Kernan rushed upon the
rostrum, congratulated Mr. Davis for his patriotic talk and
fell upon his bosom and wept for joy, embracing him from
his head to his feet, holding on to his legs and caressing them
as a mother would caress her baby, till they were utterly
exhausted and the distinguished visitor wearied with the un-
usual performance.

Il.

The next year there was a disagreement between Harper
and Kernan and their relations were severed, Harper being
outraged, so far as I could learn, with Kernan for something
he had said about his family, warning him that should he ever
cross his path again he would cowhide him.

The Mississippi editors were rendezvouing at Vicksburg
in the spring of 1880, waiting for a steamboat ‘to take them to
the Press Convention at Yazoo City.

We had several hours to wait for the boat, scheduled
to leave at 5 o’clock, and amused ourselves as best we could,
148 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

looking at the sights of the city. We had headquarters at
the old Washington Hotel, the leading hostelery at the time.

Going down Washington street about midday, I noticed
quite a crowd assembling and hastened on, wondering what
the excitement was about. I saw A. Y. Harper, very much
excited, flourishing a cowhide over his head, and yelling
out, “I have cowhided that d—— rascal, Kernan, whipping
him like a negro, and I will cowhide him again if he dare
go upon the boat this evening for Yazoo City!”

Being president of the Press Association and a special
friend of Colonel Harper, I approached and requested him
to give me his cowhide, which he reluctantly did, repeating
that he would whip Kernan if he came upon the boat. He
insisted that accommodations be denied Kernan, which was
not done, for I told Harper one editor had as much right
upon the boat as another, and if Kernan desired to go I would
see that he was not molested.

IV.

Both men were arrested—in a way. I knew Mayor Worrell
quite well, and calling at his office, explained matters, telling
him how much he would embarrass the Press Association
if he held Harper and Kernan for trial, offering to go bond
for both, and agreeing to pay any fine he might assess. He
treated me like a white-head, and remarked, “That’s all right.
Just see that the men are kept apart, that there will be no
other altercation, and if I want them I will send for them on
their return.”

I thanked the mayor, in the name of the Press Associa-
tion, assuring him his kindness was greatly appreciated.

Worrell, Harper and Kernan have long since passed from
the walks of man, and as I write of so many of my old friends
who have gone forever, I wonder how long before I shall
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 149

 

follow them, and who will be my chronicler, and if I will be
remembered as kindly as are those of whom I write.

V.

After the exhibition at Vicksburg, in which Kernan not
only made no effort to resent the insult put upon him, but
ran like a turkey when assailed, he lost his standing in Mis-
sissippi, moving soon thereafter to Missouri where he drank
himself to death.

After submitting to the cowhiding, Kernan rushed into
a telegraph office and wired a friend named Merriwether,
Memphis, “Send me a gun, for I am going to kill A. Y.
Harper.” Some of the press boys saw the telegram and
gleefully spread the news around with more than Marconi
swiftness. Harper heard of the telegram and sent Kernan
word he would loan him the money to buy a pistol.

Kernan did, however, go on the boat to Yazoo City, but
took no part in the proceedings of the Press Convention. He
soon left the state, and what became of him I did not know
till I met him several years afterwards in St. Louis.

VI.

I was attending the National Democratic Convention
that re-nominated Cleveland at St. Louis in 1888, enjoying a
suite of rooms at the Southern Hotel with my intimate friend
Jas. F. McCool, also a delegate. Kernan, looking around for
some acquaintance to prey upon, saw my name on _ the
register, and lost no time in getting up to my room, where
the Judge and I were supposed to be discussing matters of
state and politics.

A loud rap on the door indicated that a friend or ac-
quaintance was near. I opened the door and there beheld
150 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the discredited and disgraced Will Kernan, the erratic genius
whom whiskey had prostituted in the dust. He had never
met McCool and I introduced them, seeing at a glance that
Mack did not feel honored at the presentation.

Kernan went over the old stereotyped expression, “Happy
to meet you; hope you are well,” etc., and sniffing around soon
made his wants known, which were in liquid form—first a
highball and then a beer; then a beer and a Manhattan, with
more beer.

McCool tried to keep up with Kernan on the beer route,
but failed, and becoming disgusted with the intruder, Jim
looked at me and I looked at Jim, and with sardonic smile Jim
asked, “Can such things be?” and as I answered, “They can,”
Jim went for the poetic visitor in voluable words more force-
ful than polite, and what he said would have dazed Ah Sin,
who did ‘‘not understand,” but it phazed not William H., who
with a smile that was child-like and bland, replied. ‘Just one
more bottle as an evidence of good faith and no hard feel-
ings.”

Then Jim did really go for William, not in words, but
in manner calculated to impress the incident upon his be-
fuddled mind. He grabbed Kernan by the collar and gable
end of his pants, and the last I saw of the poet-beer-ate he was
describing geometrical figures through the doorway, as though
some impelling motive was accelerating his hasty departure.

VII.

Another distinguished editor of the state was Major S.
A. Jonas of the Aberdeen Examiner, having few equals among
the writers of Mississippi. He was a peculiar man, and kept
himself aloof from Press Associations, never attending them.
He did get caught at the Press Convention in Jackson in
1884, being there on business, and seeing that he could not
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN ‘151

 

escape the press banquet, and having been invited to respond
to one of the sentiments, he dashed off a little poem of two
verses, which he was too timid to read, requesting the writer
to perform that duty for him.

For many years Jonas published the Examiner as a
weekly and semi-weekly made up almost entirely of editorials,
locals and farm articles. Real news items were ignored: unless
treated in local or editorial departments, written almost en-
tirely by Jonas, for -he allowed no one to write for him when
at home, and while residing in Washington, either as Senator
Lamar’s private secretary, or filling some federal position, he
wrote all his editorials from the national capital.

Jonas had a peculiar, effusive, double superlative style,
all his own, magnifying and beautifying everything that he
‘touched upon. His office was a curiosity shop, having more
the appearance of an agricultural museum than newspaper
etablishment. He had on hand carefully labeled samples of
all the grasses and grains grown in Monroe and near-by
counties.

He was a most optimistic man, always seeing brightness,
beauty and prosperity ahead. It made no difference how dark
the cloud there was always a silver-lining for Jonas.

VIL.

Jonas had served through the war and while a prisonér
wrote for a young lady the well-known poem on the “Back
of a Confederate Note,” which had the run of the country and
made Jonas famous.

He wrote good political editorials, and attracted the
attention of well known public men like Lamar, Lowry,
George, Stone and others, the acquaintance proving a valuable
asset to Jonas.
152 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

He continued the publication of the Aberdeen Examiner
to a few years ago, when he passed away in his eightieth year,
leaving an honored name as a rich legacy to his family and

friends.
IX.

Another old-time editor, with whom I had slight ac-
quaintance, but who made his mark as a high class journalist,
was J. Augustine Signaigo of the Grenada Sentinel, which
he published with marked success for several years, his paper
being one of the neatest and best in the state. His editorials
were always good, possessed none of the element of crankism,
and made fine impressions where read. He was very popular
with his editorial friends, who had honored him with the
highest office within their power to bestow.

At the death of Signaigo, his beautiful and accomplished
wife succeeded him as publisher, finally selling the paper to
a printer in her office named J. W. Buchanan.

To show how soon we are forgotten, I recall the fact that
when going up from the depot to the business part of Gre-
nada last year with a citizen of that place, I was attracted
by an old-style two-story building and asked concerning it.
The gentleman replied “It was built by an old dago editor,
who settled here years ago. I believe his name was Singario,
or something like that. I don’t know what became of him.”

Alas, alas, “A dago editor named Singario,” indeed, when
j. Augustine Signaigo, though he may have had a strain
of Italian blood in his veins, was a gentleman of the
finest culture, and of the best social standing, who graced
and brightened any company, of which he was a part.

“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is often
interred with their bones.” Would it were not so for vices
should be forgotten and virtues remembered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

J. M. Norment Had Published 23 Papers.—His Daughter
Lillian Dies While on Press Excursion.—Editor S.
W. Dale Killed in Monticello Cyclone,
1882.—An Afterclap.

A dear little woman who read my memoirs as they ap-
peared in the Clarion-Ledger, evidently sees nothing beyond
the circle of her own family, lives wholly within the sphere
of home, and thinks only of “me and mine,” attaching no
importance whatever to “thee and thine;” one of a class who
is always quoting what Johnnie said, what mamma wants,
what papa likes or sister thinks, has asked the writer, through
the medium of a note, “Why have you overlooked my father
so long? He is an editor, and one of the best in the state,
and still you have ignored him entirely in your memoirs.”

Dear girl, it is nice of you to think well of your father,
and be anxious to see his name in print, but you must re-
member that the “elder statesmen” come first, and that so
far only those who have “answered the roll call” with slight
exceptions, have received notice in these memoirs. Your
father is not dead, in the flesh at least, though some editors,
like Poke Miller’s turtle, are dead but don’t know it.
154 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

II.

At one of the Press Conventions I met an_ editorial
curiosity in the person of Col. J. M. Norment, who claimed
to be the oldest editor present, and who had printed 23 papers
in as many places. He bragged that he had never lived in
any one town more than one, two or three years, and estab-
lished a new paper at each; that he was a Methodist and be-
lieved in the system of moving around. When tired of a
community, or when living in a place that failed to appreciate
his efforts, he pulled up stake, including his printing outfit
and moved to pastures new and fields more inviting. He had
printed papers in almost.every town of any size in northeast
Mississippi, including Booneville, Corinth, Tupelo, Starkville,
West Point, and others.

Norment was not a great, but was indeed a miscellaneous
editor, having started, starved, stranded and buried more
papers than any dozen editors of the state.

He was the father of sweet Lillian Norment, who pub-
lished the Citizen at Starkville, with her brother Jim, long
after her father’s death, and made some reputation as a
writer, her poems being especially pleasing. She married
“Clip” Wise, the old Picayune representative who put Brandon
on the map, by referring to every town of which he wrote as
being so “many miles from Brandon.”

Ill.

Rev. W. S. Dale of the Southern Journal, published first
at Monticello, and afterwards at Brookhaven, and later the
editor and owner of the Monticello Advocate, seems to have
-been a man of parts, as he was publisher, editor, lawyer,
teacher and minister of the gospel and as was often said of
him, he “trotted well in any. harness.”
 

 

Capt. J..S. McNeily
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 155

 

He was of Northern birth, but came South before the
election of Lincoln, from Illinois, but when war was declared
between the states Mr. Dale was one of the first to enlist and
carried to his last day a wound he received while fighting
for the South.

The war over, he returned to school teaching, followed
by practising law and preaching, drifting back into his old
business of publisher. When the Southern Journal left Monti-
cello, Bro. Dale established the Advocate, and published it
several years.

Parson Dale, as he was known to the older members of
the press, was one of the charter members of the Mississippi
Press Association and continued in the publishing business
till the morning of April 22, 1882, when he was killed in the
terrible cyclone that swept over Monticello, destroying court
house, churches, stores and residences, leaving many citizens
dead and injured in its wake.

His three sons learned the printing business in their
father’s office, the eldest, whom I never knew, going to
Texas and embarking in newspaper work, while the others,
Steve and Joe, located at Columbia and Monticello, where
they are today printing creditable papers.

IV.

While it may sound a bit sacreligious, I give an amusing
little story of thé aftermath of the Monticello cyclone, as told
by Gov. A. H. Longino, then a resident of the town. After
the storm had swept over the place, Sylvester Gwin, Billy
Butler, George Carlisle, Jake Myers, Longino and others who
had escaped personal injury, went over the scene of damage
and destruction.

Myers was a merchant, and it made his heart bleed to
see his store levelled with the ground, his dry goods, groceries,
156 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

furniture, crockery and willow ware scattered in every direc-
tion, some of his best fabrics flying from the limbs of trees.
He was inconsolable, and his lamentations heart-rending. It
required no stretch of the imagination for him to see that
his earthly goods had taken wings and flown away. Dear old
Gwin remarked by way of consolation, “This is awfully bad,
Jake, but it might have been worse, and we still have much
to be thankful for.”

Myers could not see it in that light or take Gwin’s
philosophical view of the case, and blurted out in the most
profarie manner: “Jesus Christ, God Almighty, h 1 and
d——nation to the devil, how could it be worse when every-
thing I had is gone to h——1.”

 

Awful but expressive language. Can you beat it!

A year thereafter, to the day, April 22, 1883, Beauregard
and Wesson were destroyed by a cyclone with great loss of
life and property.

Myers moved to Beauregard and opened a general mer-
chandise store, and had just gotten started well in business,
when his place for the second time was blown away, and his
goods and wares scattered to the four winds. He was
rescued from the debris with some difficulty, injured, but not
seriously hurt, and when released was found clutching a paper
bag containing a dozen eggs, with not a broken one among
them. That ended Jake’s mercantile ventures, and he spent
the balance of his days in quiet retirement; but he never
forgot his two cyclone experiences and was always ready to
describe them to willing listeners.

V.

One of the most original editors of the state, was R. M.
Brown of the Mississippi Central, which he started at Water
Valley when that city was taking on its first big boom, over
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 157

 

a half century ago. It was a large, readable, paper, some-
what after the free lance order but was well edited, for
Brown was a man of decided ability. He was not only a
good editor, and evidently well up in the printing business,
but had some knowledge of wood engraving, and illustrated
his paper every week with wood cuts, appropriate to the
times, of local and political character.

The Mississippi Central was to North Mississippi what
the Brandon Republican was to Central and South Mississippi,
though the papers were as wide apart in policies as are the
poles. The Republican was sound politically, being Demo-
cratic to the core, while the Central was constructed on
independent lines, thinking more of local questions than of
political matters.

The editor was known as Central Brown, and as a con-
troversalist, had none to surpass him. He was always ready
for newspaper tilts; in fact, invited them and never quit as
long as he could induce an opponent to reply.

He published the Central several years, but finally gave
up the ghost and his brother, Capt. S. B. Brown, in 1875,
succeeded to the management of the paper, changing the
name to that of the Progress, which he conducted till his
death.

VI.

Capt. Brown was lacking in the striking characteristics that
distinguished his brother, but a more splendid gentleman, a
more agreeable companion, never edited a paper than Sam
Brown. He was universally popular with the press brethren.

His son, Garland, became manager of the Progress on
the death of his father, but his health was so poor that he
could give little of his time to the paper, which prospered
only fairly well under his management.
158 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

All the Brown family have passed away except the only
daughter, Miss Pearl, and she lives in the old home at
Water Valley. For many years she accompanied her father to
the Press Conventions where she had many friends and is most
affectionately remembered. She is now an invalid, faded and
broken, patiently awaiting the summons to join loved ones
in the “Land of the Leal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

The Memorable Pascagoula Press Convention, First Held on
Coast.—Reception to Jefferson Davis.—Gen. J. H.
Sharp Presides.—First Boy Editor.

Elected President.

It is an old and true axiom that ‘poets, painters and
orators are born, not made.

A tutor cannot carve from his pupils a poet or painter,
no more than an orator, but may give instructions as to
finishing touches; for without inborn genius, poets, painters
and orators are impossible.

One may be taught to write rhymes, but such com-
position is not poetry, unless inspired by the divine afflatus,
nor is declamation oratory, unless fired by the spark of
genius.

The pot-house politician, the blatant demagogue, who
memorizes beautiful extracts from great writers and speak-
ers—is not an orator. He is only a declaimer, one who
memorizes and speaks the thought of others, as an actor, or
like a school boy on commencement day.

Men of the type of Prentiss, Jefferson Davis, Lamar,
Hooker, Galloway, Whitfield and Walthall, were orators, not
160 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

declaimers, speaking their own sublime thoughts and pre-
senting their great creations.

It has also been asserted that soldiers and editors are
born, not made in the field or in the office, but this is a
debatable question, and each man will settle it in his own
way. Certain it is, however, that the boy who has an aptitude
for a pursuit or profession, will succeed better therein than
one who enters upon such duties as an irksome task.

II.

Gen. J. H. Sharp, for many years a citizen of Lowndes
county, where his honored remains now rest, was a born
soldier. He had a martial air, a soldierly bearing and looked
the part of a military man in uniform, or in citizens dress.

Being peculiarly adapted for military life, both by
education and inclination, he enlisted at the beginning of the
war between the states, and arose rapidly till he became a
Brigadier General, the commander of Sharp’s High Pressure
Brigade, one of the most famous in the Confederate army,
and which has to its credit a line of achievements that would
fill a book.

General Sharp made a gallant soldier, and his deeds are
written down in the history of the great conflict.

With his property wasted at the end of the Civil War,
Gen. Sharp had hard sailing and staggered under the blow.
With insufficient funds, and lacking in the fundamentals so
necessary to successful farming, he did not prosper as a
planter, finally giving up farm life, and moving to Columbus,
where he opened an insurance office, with perhaps other
agencies on the side, none of which suited him or earned a
living for his family.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 161

 

III.

James A. Stevens of the Columbus Independent, offered
General Sharp a position on his editorial staff, but his news-
paper career was brief and somewhat brilliant. Being an
educated man, his editorials were well prepared, were smooth
and graceful and made some impression upon the public mind.

As president, General Sharp held the memorable Press
Convention at Pascagoula in 1879, one of the largest in
the history of the Association, for all the editors of the
state were anxious to attend the first press meeting given on
the Gulf Coast, where P. K. Mayers had promised them the
“earth, the sea and the air,” and he kept his word, peace to
his memory.

Aside from the unusual and extraordinary entertainment
given the editors, two important events occurred at the
Pascagoula meeting, the visit and reception to President
Jefferson Davis, alluded to in a previous paper, and the
capture of the convention by the “boy members.” Up to that
time the old heads had controlled the Press Convention in
the most autocratic manner, always electing the president
from their own numbers, or clique.

Some of the “boys” decided to make an inroad upon the
past custom,—the election of old members as presidents—to
break the rule and elect one of their own number as presid-
ing officer. They held a meeting, perhaps a “secret caucus”
counted noses and decided to elect a young man president;
and the honor fell to me, an honor I could not make up my
mind to decline, though I had but little more than completed
my quarter century of existence.

The old men, whose names I will not call, thought it an
outrage that a “boy” should presume to become president of
the association. They put up Saw Mill Jones to beat the
“nominee”; but he didn’t.
162 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

The leading “boys” engaged in the movement to turn the
“elder statesmen” down were: G. D. Shands, J. H. Neville, Ira
D. Oglesby, W. H. Powell, R. K. Jayne, J. W. Buchanan, Wm.
Ward, Walter Birdsong, W. H. Seitzler, J. K. Almond, S. H.
Stackhouse, E. H. Dial, J. J. Haynie, S. D. Persell, Hunter
Sharp, Sam Patton, W. H. Kernan, Nellie Bonney, R. A.
Bonner and others whose names I do not recall.

The old members soon got over their disappointment
and disgust, and the Pascagoula incident was forgotten.

IV.

Gen. Sharp went from editorship into politics, and was
elected to the house of representatives in 1885. He became
a candidate for speaker and was elected in 1886. He was
one of the boldest politicians I have ever known; but he was
not a politician, for he said what he pleased on all occasions.
He even advocated my election for state printer while he
was a candidate for speaker. Just imagine a candidate open-
ing his mouth now-a-days in favor of another running for
public office.

If Gen. Sharp had been a politician in 1903 he would
have been nominated for State Treasurer. His friends induced
him to become a candidate for that office, but could not
get him to make a canvass of the state. He said he had no
money; his friends offered to provide his campaign fund, but
he declined the offer, saying solicitation for a state office
was undignified, and that he could not do it: that the people
knew him and would elect him if they wanted him to serve
them. He was defeated by a small majority.

He was later elected to the legislature again and was
afterwards appointed a trustee of the Deaf and Dumb Institu-
tion. It was one of the greatest pleasures of his old age to
attend the meetings of the board and come in contact with
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 163

 

the afflicted little girls and boys of the institution, who loved
him as a father.
V.

I often think that the army being the real sphere for
such men as Gen. J. H. Sharp and Gen. J. A. Smith, where
men of the soldier class belong, that some provision should
be made to keep them with the colors.

Gen. J. A. Smith was a graduate of West Point and
spent many years of his life in the regular army in the west.
At the breaking out of the Civil War he resigned his com-
mission in the U. S. army and cast his lot with his own
people. When the war was over in 1865 he was wearing the
insignia of a Major General; but he had no training in
business, and was at a loss what to do to make a living.

Col. A. J. Frantz was in bad health and engaged General
Smith to edit the Brandon Republican for two years which
he did in a scholarly, dignified way. But his editorials were
entirely different from those of Colonel Frantz. They were
well written, but cold and lacked the snap that the readers
of that paper wanted.

At the end of his contract with Col. Frantz. Gen. Smith
became a candidate for State Superintendent of Education,
and was elected, and to him is largely due the many im-
portant changes made in the educational system of the
state.

Just after the war Gen. Smith was frequently requested
to serve on educational examining boards, to examine appli-
cants seeking appointments to West Point, Annapolis, etc.
The boys were submitted a lot of questions which they were
supposed to answer in writing to the best of their ability; and
it is said that the General never failed to include in the
list, “What was the most notable event in James K. Polk’s
administration?” A wagish boy knowing that General Smith
164 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

had been appointed to West Point by President Polk, wrote
underneath the question, in a bold hand, “The appointment
of J. Argyle Smith to West Point.” It is needless to say
that boy received the appointment, for genius and humor
generally go together, and should be rewarded.

VI.

Some families have developed a number of editors—
some fathers and sons, others brothers, among them the
Garret family of Canton, which produced three good news-
paper men, namely:

L. M. Garrett, the senior, made a strong paper of the
Carthage Cartheginian, as did J. W. Garrett of the Kosciusko
Leader.

Singleton Garrett, of the Canton Mail, was stricken with
yellow fever in 1878 and died before having opportunity to
fully develop his editorial powers. His brother, Jos. W., also
died young, while just ascending the ladder of successful
journalism.

L. M. Garrett, who established the Carthaginian, was a
writer of force. His leaders were really classics. He was
the author of many editorials printed in the Times-Democrat,
being a regular member of the staff of that paper, and the
writer of many of its best editorials.

His daughter, Miss Singleton, succeeded to the publica-
tion of the Carthaginian, continuing to edit and manage the
paper till she had opportunity to improve her condition in
life—and then she got married and retired.

VII.

At a Press Convention held at Meridian, I was down
for the oration, and worked weeks in getting up and memoriz-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 165

 

ing it. The subject was “Types, Animate and Inanimate.” The
exercises were held in the Meridian Opera House, and it
was packed and jammed. Jefferson Davis and his daughter,
Miss Winnie, were on hand, as were Gen. E. C. Walthall, Judge
Thomas H. Woods, Col. T. R. Stockdale, and other prominent
citizens of the state.

The press people occupied the front rows of seats, editors
and wives, and guests of the association. The preliminaries
were long, taking in a wide range of vocal and instrumental
music, addresses of welcome and responses thereto, the
audience being surfeited before I was introduced.

J. W. Buchanan, who never enjoyed a good speech or intel-
lectual address in his life, sat immediately in front, showing
his contempt for the whole proceedings by frequently yawning,
and making sotto voce remarks to those near him.

I began with the birth of Adam, so to speak, and when
I had been talking about thirty minutes, I said, “We now
come to the Christian Era,” when Buchanan in an audible
voice that could be heard all over the auditorium, drawled
out, ‘Thank God; he has only eighteen hundred years more
to travel.”

The laugh that remark produced can better be imagined
than described. It was an awful interruption, a_ terrible
staggerer, and would have thrown me entirely off my cue if
I had not thoroughly committed the address to memory, and
knowing I was dead-letter-perfect in the text.

I was at first disposed to quit, but after allowing the
laughter to subside, which I tried to make the audience
believe I enjoyed, but confidentially did not, I wandered on,
but Buchanan had taken the starch—pep they now call it—
out of the address, and I felt as though I would like to
attend his execution.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When I First Saw Charles B. Galloway—Took Him to Be
Some Big Actor.—His Rapid Development.—Great
Speech He Delivered Before National
Press Association.

While Dr. Charles B. Galloway did not gain his livelihood
in the editor’s office, he had, in his earlier years, been the
editor of two or more papers, the Temperance Banner and
New Orleans Christian Advocate, and was a voluminous con-
tributor to the secular press.

With a University education, a born orator, and careful
theology training, Chas. B. Galloway, as soon as licensed as
a minister, shot forward like a meteor across a cloudless
sky, astonishing and charmung large audiences by his elo-
quence and learning. He was regarded as a marvel and
wonder of his day, and friends predicted for him a briliant
future; and their predictions were more than verified.

Il.

When courting the black-eyed girl I afterwards married,
I sometimes visited the old State Fair at Jackson, when Capt.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 167

 

Tom Green, as president, and Col. J. L. Power, as secretary,
were at the zenith of their glory. Then the star of Charles
Betts Galloway was in the ascendant.

I had heard much of the man but had never seen him.
Promenading one evening with my best girl on the broad
walk, at the top of the grand stand, at the fair grounds, where
lovers and others delighted to stroll, my attention was directed
to a tall and extremely handsome man, wearing a beaver hat
and a Prince Albert coat, buttoned all the way up. His
stride was majestic, his carriage superb, his manners courtly,
his dignity great, but not stilted, while his intellectual face
beamed with radiance and kindness that attracted passers-by,
an inspiration and benediction; I had never seen a hand-
somer man.

As he impressively marched down the broad promenade,
I stopped to admire him, and wondered who he was, taking
him to be some prominent actor, for he “suited the action
to the word and the word to the action,” as he swept along,
talking and gesticulating to a friend.

My girl companion remarked, “That’s Galloway, the
new star that has arisen in the Methodist firmament, and
they say that as a preacher he is the equal of Dr. Charles K,
Marshall of Vicksburg,” then regarded as the greatest orator
and preacher of the Mississippi conference.

II.

Several years rolled away before I saw the handsome
preacher again, meeting him at a Press Convention when he
was editing the Temperance Banner. While not what we
would call a “regular” editor, the brilliant minister had much
to do with newspapers, dating his membership in the Press
Association beyond my connection therewith.

When I first became acquainted with Chas. B. Galloway
he was not a Bishop, neither was he a D. D., but simply an
168 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

itinerant Methodist minister, likely to be moved around from
place to place with each annual conference, at the will of the
presiding Bishop, to be sent wherever it was believed he could
do the most good working in the Lord’s Vineyard.

Iv.

Dr. Galloway’s best editorial work was done on the New
Orleans Christian Advocate, his genius and ability to write
readable and religious editorials lifting the paper up and
making it again a power in the land, which had greatly run
down since the retirement of its old publisher, Robert J.
Harp. His editorials had a freshness and brightness about
them which had been a stranger to the Advocate for years.

He continued to edit the Advocate with increasing ability,
‘for mental faculties develop the more they are used, till he
was elected Bishop, when he resigned to give his whole time
fo the duties of the high office to which he had been called.

But the Bishop did not stop writing for the press after
being elevated to the Bishopric. He was a great traveler, a
close observer, and often furnished the secular press with
accounts of his travels in home and foreign lands, and im-
pressions made upon his mind from time to time.

He was fond of writing, which he did with his own good
right hand, for he never used a stenographer in his sketch
or editorial work; and furnished more “copy” for the state
and local press than half its editors. He wrote upon all
kinds of subjects, religious, travel, political, church and state
affairs; and for vividness of description, beauty of expression,
clearness of thought and smoothness of language, there were
none to surpass him. As a writer and descriptive word-
painter, with ability to make his readers see things as he
saw them on the mountains, in the valleys or on the sea,
Bishop Galloway stood in a class by himself, on a towering
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 169

 

peak which he entirely covered, where there was no room for
another.
V.

Bishop Galloway not only wrote of his travels, his impres-
sions of men and events generally, church and social matters,
state news and local affairs, but was not adverse to touching
upon politics occasionally, for he took great interest in
national and state questions, feeling that he had as much
right to express himself upon public matters as others, re-
gardless of the high office he held.

In fact, Bishop Galloway was looked upon as a pretty
good politician himself, and dearly loved the game, and in-
dulged in it as much as he could afford: and it was common
talk and general belief that had he turned his attention to
politics rather than to the ministry, he would have distin-
guished himself as a party leader, ranking with such able
Statesmen as Jefferson Davis, L. Q. C. Lamar, J. Z. George
and E. C. Walthall—and what greater honor could anyone
desire?

The writer knows that Bishop Galloway was often
solicited and urged to become a candidate for United States
Senator, but always declined, being opposed to mixing affairs
of church and state, and regarding the position of Bishop
as being higher and greater than that of United States
Senator.

When reminded that Leonidas Polk of Louisiana laid
aside the Bishop’s robes to don the uniform of a Confederate
General at the beginning of the Civil War and winning undy-
ing fame as the Bishop-General of the Confederacy, Bishop
Galloway replied that was different, that Polk was educated
at West Point, was a soldier by instinct and training and
besides it was right and proper for a minister to fight for his
country when it needed his services; that Polk’s advancement
170 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

was not a political preferment, but the performance of a
patriotic duty, in which the Bishop-General lost his life, falling
gloriously on the field of battle while fighting for his
country, for a cause he believed to be just.

VI.

When the National Editorial Association held a meeting
in Jackson in 1899, the writer, as president of that organiza-
tion, requested Bishop Galloway to deliver an address before
the national editors; and those who heard his great speech
on “The Ethics of Journalism,” will never forget the electrical
effect 1¢ had on that body of distinguished newspaper people.
It was pronounced the greatest oration ever delivered before
the National Editorial Association. It made such a profound
impression upon the press representatives that a resolution
was adopted requested the Bishop to furnish a copy for publi-
cation in the official journal of the Association, and all
papers represented were requested to print the speech in full,
an unusual request, an extraordinary honor.

In the address Bishop Galloway discussed “Journalism
in its ethical relation to the public,” “Journalism in its relation
to language and literature,” “Journalism in its relation to
public morals,” “Journalism in its relation to private char-
acter,” “Journalism in its relation to journalists.”

To give some idea as to the sublime beauty and wonderful
power of the address, the following paragraphs are given,
which readers must admit have rarely been equaled.

“The history of journalism is a perpetual marvel. Its growth
has been phenominal. But a few years ago, comparatively, the art
of printing was invented, and the crude newspaper was issued from
a cruder press. Its aims were unpretentious, and of its mighty
destiny there was not the faintest conception. Now they have mul-
tiplied to thousands and become the most potent factor in every
civilized land. Along with the family, the church and the state, and
not inferior to either because affecting each, it ranks as a dominant
 

 

 

 

Dr. J. B. Gambrell
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 171

 

force in all civilizations. Its lines have gone out to the ends of
the earth, We may lament its abnormal development in certain
directions, grow restless over its pretentious boldness, rebuke its
audacity and deny its influence, but the fact remains that the press
is
“The mightiest of the mighty means
On which the arm of progress leans.”

“It is the magic wand which strikes the diapason of human
thought, and evokes music from every chord. It is the fabled touch
of Midas that turns everything to gold for the world’s enrichment
put keeps itself poor. It is the swarthy Hercules, to whose mighty
muscles society looks for sure defense. It has the eagle eyes of
Argus from which nothing escapes, and the hundred defty hands
of Morarius whose grasp is well nigh exhaustless. All lands and
people, all agencies and inventions, all commerce and discoveries,
are brought under tribute to its daring enterprise and sublime
conquests. It gathers news on the lightning’s fiery wing and sends it
out over the land with all the speed of steam. Everywhere its
influence is felt at home or abroad, on land or sea.

“As noiseless as the daylight comes when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean’s cheek grows into the great sun.”

“So quietly and gently in all the homes of our people its in-
fluence is a work furnishing instruction, moulding opinion, formulat-
ing principles, arousing dormant energies and guiding a nation’s
destiny. From the home newspaper, and amid the quiet evening hours,
is gathered the intellectual and political pabulum on which nine-tenths
of our people feed. Of it are born the convictions and inspiration
that kindles enthusiasm in all great public questions. The news-
paper of today is the phenominal orator of the early republic. What
the eloquent tongue of Tully was to Rome, and the impassioned
periods of Demosthenes to Athenian patriotism, the modern press is to
American citizenship.”

VII.

Bishop Galloway, as a writer of pure, terse, expressive
English, had no superior in his day. He was the Addison
of his time. His language was chaste, his meaning clear,
his presentation forceful, his sentences well rounded.
172 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

As an orator he stood at the top, and when he passed
away he was by common consent and general acclaim, the
greatest orator of Mississippi.

It was said that Demosthenes dreaded only one public
speaker of Greece, Phocion, the Athenian orator, who had
always opposed him, and to whom he referred “As the cleaver
of my periods,” meaning that Phocion’s words, rough and to
the point, would destroy the effect of his logic and eloquence.
Bishop Galloway had no occasion to make such acknowledg-
ment, for he had no Phocion to fear.

There were many things about the Bishop’s writing to
attract special attention, not the least of which was his won-
derful power for alliteration which has never been surpassed,
even in Burchard’s classic, ‘‘Rum, Romanism and Rebellion,”
which sealed the fate of James G. Blaine when a candidate
against Grover Cleveland in 1884.

Bishop Galloway was the author of many valuable works,
his most noted being his “Trip Around the World,” while in
the performance of the duties of his sacred office, whose
honors he wore worthily and well.

Galloway retired to his studio when getting ready to
make a speech, and wrote out every word of his address,
which he committed to memory, word for word, as written,
and he never transposed a sentence or substituted a word in
delivery. Galloway had a wonderful memory, possessing a
faculty that few men had been favored with, to be able to
memorize whatever he had written, regardless of length,
after two or three readings. I have known only one other
man who could do likewise, the cultured and classic Hon.
Thomas A. McWillie, of honored memory.

VII.

I recall a pleasing incident in the life of Bishop Galloway.
He had been selected to deliver the opening prayer at the
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 173

 

convening of the Constitutional Convention in 1890. When
the convention was called to order, the Bishop arose, ap-
proached the speaker’s chair and delivered one of the most
sublime, one of the most beautiful, one of the most impressive
and inspiring prayers that ever fell from the lips of mortal
man, and its magnificent delivery could not have been im-
proved by Forrest or Booth. It was the key-note speech of
that gathering of the state’s intellectual giants.

When the last word had been uttered, I rushed forward,
anxious to get the invocation in my paper that evening, and
requested the Bishop to retire to one of the committee rooms
and dictate the prayer to a stenographer. Swelling up with
pride, he asked, “Did you like it?” ‘Indeed I did, for it was
one of the best addresses I ever heard.” Stepping aside he
unbuttoned his Prince Albert, and running his hand inside,
drew forth the precious document, remarking, “Here it is,”
thus enabling my paper to scoop creation, for there was only
one copy in existence, and no duplicate proofs were given
out.

I carefully compared the copy with his prayer as I re-
membered it and found it to be just as the eminent divine
had spoken it. IX

On another occasion, at the dedication of the new
capitol building, June 3rd, 1903, Bishop Galloway delivered
the first address, and as master of ceremonies, I was about to
present him to the audience in the rotunda, when he handed
me a type-written copy of his speech, which he requested me
to hold, and prompt him if he made a break. I did not
prompt him; there was no occasion to do so, for in that
address of seven thousand words, he did not make a bobble,
improvise, or substitute one word for an other, transpose a
paragraph, clause or sentence. He was dead-letter-perfect, as
the actors say, and spoke every word just as written. I doubt
if there is another such instance on record in the state.
174 EDITORS I HAVE- KNOWN

 

When the old First Methodist Church was torn down
in Jackson a new house of God was erected on its site, known
as the Galloway Memorial. It is a monument to Mississippi’s
great Bishop, and the suggestion has been made that the
mortal remains of the beloved minister whose name it bears
should find sepulcture therein. :

A great monument it is to the memory of one of the
most eminent preachers of the land. It will endure for ages
yet to come, but will sink into dust before the name of
Bishop Charles B. Galloway will fade from the memory of
man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

The “Vicksburger” an Innovation in Mississippi Journatism.
John Armstrong Edited One Section and C. E.
Wright the Other.—Barksdale Pays His
Respects to Wright.

“John Armstrong was one of the best known editorial
writers of Mississippi, having been connected with several
papers of Vicksburg, notably the Herald, which he edited
while having a residence in Meridian, where he also wrote
editorials for papers of that city. He was a good writer,
rather ornate and classic in style and used quotations galore.
He must have been a voracious reader, for he seemed familiar
with the best authors, as his writings contained liberal and
frequent quotations from their writings, which Armstrong
had the faculty of working into his editorials most happily, it
made no difference the nature of the question under dis-
cussion.

He had such a stilted, touch-me-not air about him that I
do not remember to have talked with him for five minutes;
though I did admire his smooth and graphic writing, especially
was I charmed with his poetic quotations, for I was young
and impressionable.
176 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

II.

Colonel McCardle was succeeded on the Herald by Arm-
strong, and also succeeded Armstrong when that editor united
his fortunes with C. E. Wright on the brilliant but short-lived
“Vicksburger.”

That each might have equal prominence as editors of
the “Vicksburger,” a page was set aside for Armstrong and
another for Wright. Everything Wright wrote or prepared,
went on a page bearing his name—editorials, locals, personals,
miscellaneous articles, etc., and all Armstrong’s matter of
whatever nature appeared on the page carrying his name.

It was an original and unique arrangement and gave
entire satisfaction to both editors and readers, carrying a
decided personal coloring, without which no newspaper is
worth a continental. The “Vicksburger” was a bright and
interesting paper, and forged rapidly to the front, and why
not? It had two of the best editors in the state, who were
well acquainted with the political and economic conditions of
the day, with ability to discuss them in a most readable
manner.

John Armstrong was an editor of long training, a good
leader writer, paying very little attention to paragraphs, his
mind leaning decidedly towards politics.

McCardle, who rarely spoke unkindly of anyone, did not
admire him, and said Armstrong’s quotations did not occur to
him as he wrote, but that he selected them in advance and
wrote his editorials to fit them, thereby creating the impres-
sion that he was well read in the classics.

III.

Charles E. Wright, without journalistic training, and
with no knowledge of the arts preservative, sprang full
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 177

 

panoplied into the editor’s chair, at one bound and before the
state realized it, a new editor was born with ability not only
to take care of himself, but able to fence with the best of
them, and to let adversaries know, before the bout was over,
that they had been in a battle with the new knight of the
quill.

His was one of the most remarkable editorial develop-
ments of the state. He seemed to know just what to say
and how to say it hardest, whenever engaged in a war of
words with an opponent.

While Wright could pen strong leaders, his forte
was in paragraphing; and I often thought he could say
sharper, brighter, keener and meaner things in his paragraphs
than any editor of his time. He had no method or particular
style, but cut and slashed in a way that made opponents fear
him; and could do more damage in a ten line paragraph than
many editors could accomplish in a half column leader. His
manner, while occasionally tinged with a bit of humor, was
direct, incisive and trenchant.

Wright had a way of saying whatever he pleased and
naturally that made him a host of enemies. He did not
admire Governor Stone, or Major Barksdale, and nagged
them frequently.

Barksdale would stand a certain amount of criticism
without replying through his editorial columns; but, when he
did take up his pen to answer one who dared assail him, he
fairly made the fur fly, and in the fewest words. Wright
had annoyed him beyond endurance, and desiring to silence
him, Barksdale wrote a six word editorial reply, which he
printed as the first item on his editorial page, to-wit: “Charles
E. Wright isa...... ” with the last word spelled out.

Never did an editorial receive more attention than the
above, but it brought forth no response from Wright.
178 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Iv.

In those good old days Governors had some respect for
the dignity of their office, and did not make fools of them-
selves getting into controversies with editors; but, they did
reserve to themselves the right to ignore or rebuke editors
who had harshly criticised them.

Wright had severely criticised Governor Stone for some
official act, and perhaps thought no more about it; but during
a state convention the two men chanced to meet at the old
Edwards House, political headquarters of the state. Wright
spoke to Stone, who made a cutting reply, which caused the
editor to remark, “Why, Governor, I am surprised; I thought
we were friends.” Stone, quick as a flash, answered, “I
have selected my friends and you are not among them.” The
remark, overheard by several politicians, caused some sensa-
tion at the time, but the excitement soon died out.

V.

Wright afterwards became editor of the Vicksburg
Herald, when the paper was sold to a company made up of
several stockholders, including himself, Rodgers and Groome,
and afterwards, Thos. W. Campbell, of the Commercial. For
many years the paper bore the name of Commercial-Herald.
The word “Commercial” was dropped when Campbell sold
his interest and moved to Rolling Fork, seeking rest and
recreation in that quiet valley town, where he bought the
Pilot, just to “keep his hand in.” He sold his paper a few
years ago and recently died. Peace to his ashes.

Under Wright’s administration the Herald was one of
the ablest advocates of free silver coinage. But ‘the gold-bugs
of the state, particularly of Vicksburg, wanted a gold-stand-
ard paper, and bought the Herald, and changed its policies
over-night from a double-standard to a gold standard paper,
putting Capt. J. S. McNeilly in charge as editor.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 179

 

Mr. Wright then stepped down and out of the editor’s
chair, presumably selling his stock for enough to support him-
self and family.

Educated in his father’s office, Chas. E. Wright, Jr.,
became one of the best local editors of Vicksburg, and was
night editor of the Herald when he passed away only a few
years ago. He possessed rare ability as a newspaper man,
and the regret was universal when the news was flashed over
the wires that Charlie Wright had written his last news story.
No greater compliment could be paid him than when the
general manager, Fitzgerald, of the Herald, said: “Charlie
Wright was the best local newspaper man I have ever known.
He could do any kind of work, and do it accurately; no use
to verify anything that he wrote, for he took no chance with
facts.”

VI.

Some families have given a number of editors to the
state, as in cases like the Worthingtons, the Garrets, the
Bosworths, the Harrises and others; and in this connection
reference to editors coming from the household of the late
Rev. H. J. Harris is made.

When quite a young man, H. J. Harris entered the
newspaper office of Amos R. Johnston, at Clinton, and
served an apprenticeship. After the Civil War he edited the
Woodville Republican, being succeeded in that capacity by
Capt. J. S. McNeily, now of the Vicksburg Herald.

He edited papers at Hazelhurst and at Crystal Springs,
and in the eighties he owned and edited the American Citizen
of Hattiesburg, the first paper printed there.

R. G. Harris, the eldest son, edited the Goodman Star;
E. H. and J. N. Harris edited the Mirror at Crystal Springs;
and also launched the Citizen at Edwards. They sold the Citi-
zen to their brother, C. N. Harris, and went to Texas, but
180 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

returned to Mississippi and published several newspapers.
Harris sold the Citizen and retired for a time from the tripod.
In the eighties he edited the Brandon Democrat, when there
were two Democratic parties in Rankin, and is now associate
editor of the Madison County Herald, owned and edited by
his son, C. N. Harris, Jr.

J. F. Bosworth of the Canton Citizen, was also the head
of a newspaper family. He had two bright sons, Harry and
Tommie, who continued the paper after their father had passed
away, ably assisted by their mother, who was the business
head of the paper. Her daughter, Annie, won some distinc-
tion as a poet, and so far as I know, is the only member
of the family alive, residing in New Orleans.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Papers, Like Men, Succeed Best When Possessing Personality.
Unveiling of the Press Monument at Holly Springs
to Six Editors Who Died of Yellow
Fever in 1878.

The newspaper without individuality, personality, origi-
nality, as a rule is not worth a continental. The reserved,
dignified paper, so very straight-laced that it refrains from
expressing an opinion, has no more influence than a capon
in a barnyard.

Newspapers are supposed to be moulders of public
opinion, but, unfortunately, too many papers are moulded by
public opinion; having no views of their own, they become
trailers rather than leaders.

Of course there is a difference between opinions and
personal abuse, a la Bran of the Iconoclast, and his insipid
followers and poor imitators, papers which have no influence
on the public mind.

What would the New York Herald have amounted to
without the personality and influence of James Gordon

Bennett?
182 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Who would have cared for the old Courier-Journal with-
out the individuality of George D. Prentice and personality of
Henry Watterson?

What would the Springfield Republican have amounted
to without the personality of Samuel Bowles ruling in its
editorial columns?

Who would have cared for the New York Sun without
the individuality of Charles A. Dana in its editorials; or the
New York Tribune without the dominating writings of Horace
Greely?

See what wrecks the Sun and Tribune became after the
withdrawal or death of Dana and Greely.

What made the Chicago Tribune and Times of that city?
The personality of Medill and Story, who formed, shaped
and fashioned their journals upon lines that were never de-
parted from, the individuality of the two great western
editors, their impress upon journalism, remaining long after
they had been gathered to their fathers.

II.

What made the old run-down New York World, which
Manton Marble with all his wealth had barely been able to
keep alive, prick up its ears and lead all papers of Gotham?
The individuality of Joseph Pulitzer, the best newspaper man
of his day.

What gave the Hearst papers their power? The per-
sonality of W. R. Hearst, who had the good sense and sound
judgment to gather around him the best writers of the day,
notably Arthur Brisbane.

Who gave national reputation to Philadelphia’s great
papers, the Public Ledger and the Record? The personality
of Geo. W. Chiles and individuality of Wm. R. Singerly; and
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 183

 

though long since dead, the voice of those great editors still
speak through the papers they founded.

Who set the Atlanta Constitution upon a pedestal for
the world to behold and admire? The personality of Henry
W. Grady, ably succeeded by Clarke Howell; while the personal
and fiery editorials of the lamented Carmack made the Mem-
phis Commercial one of the greatest papers in the land,
whose mantel fell upon Mooney, a pupil of Hearst.

The personality of Major E. A. Burke made the Times-
Democrat, and McCullough’s genius started the Globe-Demo-
crat on its road to eminence and power.

The individuality of Major E. Barksdale gave the old
Clarion a reputation which won for it the title The Thunderer
of Mississippi: and the public read the old Vicksburg Herald
just to see what Colonel McCardle had to say each morning,
the personality of the men being so interwoven in their
respective journals that they were better known than their
papers.

Look over the list of papers you read. What do you care
for the paper that had no individuality, whose editorials are
dull, hum-drum affairs, would do as well for one time as
another, being stupid recitals of unimportant matters, lacking
pep, piquancy, and personality to commend them; long-winded
theses that would be better placed if buried in magazines
where one rarely looks for anything bright or breezy.

IIT.

Papers, like men, possessing personality, succeed best in
life—personality in the editorial colmn, in make-up and in
general appearance. Papers largely reflect the character,
manner afd bearing of their editors or owners.

A paper with clean editorials and neat appearance, which
pleases rather than offends by the display of its news service,
184 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

must be directed by a man of careful dress and upright bear-
ing, the personality of editor running throughout the paper.

While the writer makes no claim to perfection, his pur-
pose throughout life has been to print a paper clean in
appearance and clean in tone. Having his own rules as to
the make-up of his paper, he has adhered rigidly to them for
fifty years, following the policy of Dana and Bennett never
to mix advertisements and reading matter, or to print black-
faced lines among news items.

Doubtless this policy has cost him thousands of dollars,
which he does not regret, as he has been able to maintain
the standard he sought to establish in his youth, and has
succeeded fairly well as editor and publisher.

IV.

Few editors of today remember George P. Herndon,
former editor of the Tupelo Journal. He left the state many
years ago, but in his day he was regarded as one of the
leading editors of Mississippi. A model gentleman, his edi-
torials simply reflected his own character.

He was a correct writer, his sentences polished, showing
evidence of careful preparation. While he delighted in writ-
ing beautiful, soulful articles, he could, when occasion re-
quired, as during the dark days of reconstruction, deal in
sledge hammer blows, and did much towards arousing the
people of the state to the importance of overthrowing carpet-
bag government in Mississippi.

Mr. Herndon was not a regular attendant upon Press
Conventions, but always took an active part in their proceed-
ings when present. Because of his well-known ability to
write beautiful essays and editorials and his ease as a public
speaker, he was selected to deliver the memorial address at
the unveiling of the Press monument at Holly Springs, June
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 185

 

5, 1880, erected in the city cemetery of that place to the
memory of six editors who died of yellow fever in 1878, and
well did he acquit himself.

After paying tributes to each deceased editor on that
occasion, Mr. Herndon, among other handsome things, said:

“Were it in my power, I would wreathe the brows of
Shearer, of Allen, and of Garrett, with an everliving crown
of flowers. I would add to this the lily emblem of modest
worth, and place it upon the brow of W. J Adams. I would
entwine with this laurel symbol of manly strength, and with
it deck the forehead of Kinloch Falconer, and I would add to
this the bright fillets of gold interwoven therewith and place
it upon the brow of W. J. L. Holland.

“Tt is a beautiful philosophy which teaches that there is
no death of anything, only a change from one state to
another. That the faded flower rises Phoenix-like, from its
ashes to blossom again, when the genial sunshine and the
warm breath of springtime woos it to bud forth in all its
former loveliness. That the decaying forest trees, which time
at last transforms into seeming nothingness, will shoot up
again in a new form and become the monarch of the forest as
before. That these human forms of ours likewise are changed
into dust, but to be rehabilitated in another corporal exist-
ence, or, as some believe, to live and move amongst us here
in their mental essence, though unseen by us. Lord Bulwer
clothes this idea in a garniture of beauty:

“There is no death; the stars go down
To rise upon some fairer shore;
And bright in heaven’s jeweled crown,
They shine forever more.”

“f have never looked upon the termination of our exist-
ence here in ‘the light 'that many Christian teachers do. They
often speak of this fair world of ours as a dreary abode at
best, where man finds but little to cheer him, little to make
186 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

him happy, and of death as the great deliverer from a
miserable bondage. This is not my idea of life. I love the
world in which I live, and I love the noble-hearted beings
who inhabit it. I love its frowning hills and its fair green
valleys. I love its purling brooklets and its mighty flowing
rivers. I love its gladsome spring-time, and its sear and
yellow autumn. I love its high-peaked mountains and its
far-stretched level plains. I love its dells and wild-woods,
and its wealth of creeping vines, I love its storms and
tempest and its bright and radiant sunshine, fresh from the
realm of God.

“T endulge the wish that the recollection of our deceased
contemporaries -may burn long and brightly in the hearts of
their friends, and cherish the hope that their memories will
last as long as the cold marble that commemorates their lives.
They lived bravely, they died gloriously. May their noble
spirits ‘summer high in bliss, upon the hills of God.”

Miss Johnnie Hunt, then of Vicksburg, now Mrs. Dr.
Brisbane of New Orleans, wrote the Memorial Poem, which is
one of her best productions. A sample of its beauty may be
had from its first verse, as follows:

In the flush of this June-lighted weather,,
An arch without cloud overhead,

We are gathered in sadness together
Unveiling a shaft to our dead.

As fair as their records of glory,
It stainless stands under the sky,

A beautiful, white sculptured story,
Of deeds that we cannot let die.

V.

Reference having been made to the Press Monument, it
will be in order to give some details regarding it. The idea
of building a monument to commemorate the memory of the
six editors who died of yellow fever in the great epidemic
 

 

 

 

 

ight

Charles E. Wr
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 187

 

of 1878 was Suggested by the writer, in the Brookhaven
Ledger in 1879. The suggestion was taken up at the
Pascagoula meeting, Major E. Barksdale making the principle
speech in favor of the proposition which was adopted.

Subscriptions were opened and the members of the
Press Convention made liberal contributions to the monu-
ment fund. A committee was appointed consisting of R. H.
Henry, W. H. Cochran and J. J. Haynie, to raise the necessary
funds, to contract for and build the monument. Numerous
designs and prices were examined and the contract was let
to the Hollowell Granite Co., for $1,500.

After canvassing all the papers in the state, the com-
mittee found the subscription short over $500, which the writer
offered to raise by soliciting from Metropolitan papers, visit-
ing New Orleans, Memphis, St. Louis, Chicago, Cincinnati and
Philadelphia; John McLean of the Cincinnati Enquirer and
Geo. W. Chiles of the Philadelphia Public Ledger, being the
largest subscribers, $100 each.

The committee was given full power to locate the monu-
ment in the most available town in the state and two of
the editors, whose names it bore—Holland and Falconer—
being buried at Holly Springs, selected the City of Flowers
as the site for the memorial, locating it at the grave of
Holland.

It is a granite shaft, a monolith in design, 20 feet high,
with suitable bases, upon which are inscribed the names of
W. J. L. Holland. W. J. Adams, O. V. Shearer, Singleton
Garrett, Kinloch Falconer and J. P. Allen, with legend show-
ing that the monument was erected by the Mississippi Press
Association to commemerate the memory of editors who had
died of yellow fever in 1878.
188 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

VI.

The dedicatory exercises were held June 5, 1880, the
Press Convention having adjourned from Yazoo City to Holly
Springs for that purpose.

A special from Holly Springs to the Times-Democrat
describes the memorial exercises as follows:

“At 10 a. m., a procession formed on the south side of the
Court Square proceeding to the cemetery in the following order:

“First, Holly Springs band; second, Autry Rifles; third, ladies
and members of press; fourth, citizens. Arriving at the cemetery,
the military formed in a hollow square around the monument, which
was extensively decorated with wreaths and flowers. After a prayer
by Rev. J. N. Craig, the granite shaft, elegant in its simplicity, was
unveiled by the new president, B. F. Jones, and vice-president, C. R.
Boyd.

“On account of the absence of Mr. Geo. P. Herndon, the orator
of the occasion, Col. A. Y. Harper, had been invited to deliver a
memorial address in which he fully sustained his reputation as an
orator.

“Mr. R. H. Henry, retiring president, read the beautiful memorial
poem written by Miss Johnnie Hunt, which proved a literary gem,
that lady being detained at home by illness.

“Vice-President Boyd read the address prepared by Mr. Herndon,
who was unable to attend and the benediction was invoked by Rev.
Mr. Miller.

“The exercises were impressive and sadly beautiful.”
VII.
But let us turn from these mournful proceedings to

something more cheerful.

We have had a good many wags among the editors of
Mississippi, prominent among them J. W. Youngblood, who
wrote for the Oxford Falcon, the Vicksburg Commercial,
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 189

 

Clarion-Ledger, and other state papers. He would go to
the end of his tether to play a practical joke on a brother
editor or anyone else.

I remember when the editors were rendezvouing in
Jackson to go to the Press Convention at Columbus, Young-
blood was of the jolly number. In those days old black
valises were in use, looking much alike.

We assembled at the depot one night and deposited
our satchels in the middle of the room awaiting the A. and
V. train. On its arrival, Youngblood deliberately took up my
valise and carried it aboard the cars. Presuming he was
trying to play one of his jokes, I made no objection, but kept
my eyes on the bag. Arriving at Meridian, he took my
valise from the train and carried it over to the M. and O.
depot, depositing it in a pile with the others.

When the north-bound train was announced, Youngblood
took the satchel into the smoker and guarded it all the way
to Artesia. There he removed it to the depot, carrying it
into the eating station where the editors were given break-
fast. I said nothing but kept watch over my property that
he was kindly lugging around. When the short little train
was ready for Columbus, Youngblood again took charge of
the bag and packed it into the smoking car. I was close
behind.

VII.

Arriving at Columbus, Youngblood took my satchel from
the train and piled it up with others of its kind, the editors
standing around like Methodist ministers foraging for yellow
legged chickens, waiting to be assigned to homes. When
Youngblood got his assignment he picked up my bag again
and started off with it, when I interposed, saying, “Old friend,
if you are through with my valise, I will relieve you of
it
1999 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

“Your valise, h——; why I have been packing that thing
around all night. It’s my valise,” I assured him it was not,
and asked that he open it and see for himself. He did so,
and was horrified to find none of his clothes therein, when
he exclaimed, “Why did you let me pack that bag all the
way from Jackson, when you knew it was yours?” “Oh, I
thotight you were just trying to play off a joke on me.”
“Joke, h——; I don’t see where the joke comes in.” “I do;
the joke is on you.” I responded.

The editors greatly enjoyed the joke, and offered to
loan Youngblood shirts, collars, cravats and such other
articles of clothing as he needed; but his wants were few,
as he could wear a shirt a week, while two collars were
sufficient, and as to underclothing—Well, the least said about
that the better, for small things like underclothing never dis-
turbed Youngblood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I Meet Captain A. T. Wimberly Under Peculiar Circum-
stances; also Captain Jack Williams of the Grenada
Sentinel—J. W. Buchanan, an Odd Mixture
of Strange Contradictions.

Back in the early eighties, when the New Orleans Mardi
Gras was attracting most attention, when people were crowd-
ing the cars going to the Crescent City to see the festivities
that gala event afforded, a large number of young men
boarded a passenger train at Coffeeville for the festival
Mecca of the South.

They were lead by Capt. A. T. Wimberly, better known
as “Gus”, who won his spurs and title in the war between
the states, and who never “played second fiddle” in any
crowd of which he might be a member.

The passenger coaches were packed, and Wimberly,
known for his adventurous disposition, led the crowd into the
sleeper where they found a number of vacant seats which
they proceeded to occupy, against the remonstrance of
Conductor Howell. The boys were enjoying themselves, and
had doubtless been drinking rather freely, for that was the
rule and not the exception back in those old days, when every
192 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

place of any size in Mississippi had one or more saloons, and
Coffeeville had several.

Conductor Howell demanded that the crowd keep quiet,
pay their sleeper fares or leave the Pullman, all demands
being promptly refused; Captain Wimberly taking the posi-
tion that it was the duty of the railroad to furnish seats for
passengers, if not in the coaches, in the sleepers.

Howell insisted on the sleeping car fares. He and
Wimberly were well acquainted, one from DeSoto and the
other from Yalobusha county, and it is said there was no
good feeling between them. Howell upraided Wimberly for
bringing his boisterous crowd into the sleeper, which brought
forth bitter words from Wimberly. A published report said
that Howell, outraged at Wimberly’s conduct, notified him
that when he reached New Orleans, where he had a brother,
he would make him apologize for what he had done when
Wimberly slapped the conductor in the face.

I.

After reaching New Orleans, and while going in or pass-
ing a saloon, Wimberly and some of his friends saw Howell
and his brother, Seth, approaching. All were armed, and
shooting began simultaneously. The conductor was mortally
wounded, and died, while Wimberly was also seriously
wounded. A uumber of shots were fired by principals and
friends, and as the streets were filled with people, it is a
great wonder that several were not killed.

The New Orleans papers printed long stories of the
fight, their reports conflicting, some leaning towards Wim-
berly, and others were friendlier to Howell. Wimberly re-
mained in a hospital some time, till he was able to appear
in Court and was acquitted.

The incident created quite a flurry in Mississippi, and
as Wimberly had left the Democracy and gone off to the
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 193

 

opposition party, sentiment was against him; and those who
read the reports looked upon him as a terror, as a man who
was always ready to respond to any call made upon him, with
a disposition to urge the call. I had never met Wimberly
and felt’ prejudiced towards him, and rather hoped I would
never see him. But I did, and thereby hangs another tale,
which accounts for this long introductory.

Il.

Back in 1881, I had occasion to spend a night at the
old Chamberlain Hotel, Grenada. I requested the clerk to
call me éarly, as I desired to catch the north-bound train
for Memphis. Coming down to the office and seeing a half-
dozen old black satchels on the floor, all more or less alike,
I picked out mine and requested the porter to carry it to
the train.

A sharp-featured man, with black-piercing eyes, came
forward, and in kind but positive voice, said, “Pardner, hold
on; that’s my valise.” I replied, “I beg your pardon, sir, but
it’s mine.” “No,” he said, “it is not yours; it’s mine; let it
alone.”

His defiant manner nettled me, and with some heat, |
responded, “But I know it’s mine, and I shall carry it with
me.” Without changing color, but in the most offensive man-
ner, he said, “Young man, don’t put your hand on that bag.
It’s mine.”

His words more than his looks, carried a threat, and I
said, “I know the valise; it is mine, and it goes with me on
to Memphis, as certain as the train arrives.” He cooly an-
swered, “I have warned you not to take that valise. It’s mine;
let it alone.”

I was almost beside myself, and without another word,
started towards the satchel, when an elderly, sweet-voiced
man laid his hand on my shoulder and gently said, “Wait,
there is no need to have trouble about a valise. Open it
and see to whom it belongs.”
194 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

The dark-featured man said, “That’s fair enough: let’s
examine it.” I replied, “That is satisfactory to me.” The
examination was made, and the bag proved to be mine, when
the man said, “Well, young man, you are right; I was wrong
and beg your pardon. I admire your grit.”

I told him my name and he said, ‘Well, I do not sup-
pose you ever heard of me before. My name is Wimberly.”
I modestly asked, “Are you Capt. A. T. Wimberly, who shot
up the Howell brothers recently in New Orleans?” “The
same—at your service.”

I made a staggering reply: “Well, if you had announced
your name before the controversy, there would have been no
necessity for an examination of my old valise—I would have
surrendered it to you without a word.” ‘Why,’ he said, with
a twinkle in his eye, “Is my reputation so bad as.that?”

I made some evasive reply, when he said, “Well, that’s
all right. I am real glad to meet you. Where are you going?”
I answered “To Memphis.” “So am 1; we'll travel together
and be the best of friends;” as we were for many years after-
wards, as long as Capt. Wimberly lived.

IV.

Capt. Wimberly located in New Orleans, where he held
some minor office in the custom house. He became an appli-
cant for collector of the port of New Orleans; his name had
gone to the senate and was being held up, the Mississippi
Senators opposing him. He wired me to come to New
Orleans, and asked if I would go to Washington and do what
I could to assist in removing the Democratic opposition to
him, remarking, “I’ll pay all expenses?” I answered, “Cap-
tain, I'll go with pleasure; I don’t known what I can do,
but I'll try. There will be no expenses.” ‘

He thanked.me almost with tears in his eyes. I went
to Washington and while I do not imagine I changed a vote,
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 195

 

Captain Wimberly was confirmed and held office till his
death. He was a loyal friend, an honorable foe, a hard
hitter, but never striking below the belt.

Senator Walthall, who began the practice of law at
Coffeeville, and was in the army with Wimberly, whom he
greatly admired, said he was one of the bravest and truest
men he had ever known. He overlooked his political estrange-
ment, and spoke of him in the most affectionate manner up
to his dying day.

Vv.

But what has all this to do with editors? asks a hypo-
critical reader. A good deal, directly and indirectly, and is the
first opportunity I have had to pay Capt. Wimberly the com-
pliment due him.

Besides, it served to introduce me to one of the best
editorial writers of the state, for the kind, elderly man who
laid his hand on my shoulder, and by a soft word stopped me
when I might have made a great mistake, was none other than
Capt. Jack Williams, for many years editor of the Grenada
Sentinel. For a long time he did all the editorial work for
the Sentinel, though his name never appeared therein. He
was well posted in the general news of the day, and could
discuss any subject fluently, intelligently and well. He was
simply an editorial writer, like McCallum, Armstrong, Allen,
Youngblood, and others who never undertook to manage, con-
trol or dictate the policy of a newspaper.

VI.

J. W. Buchanan, the owner and publisher of the Grenada
Sentinel, and who never wrote an editorial himself, had great
confidence in “Captain Jack” and allowed him to write on any
subject he pleased, but suggested many topics.
196 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Buchanan became associated with Mrs. J. A. Signaigo, in
the publication of the Grenada Sentinel, after the death of
her husband, later succeeding to its ownership, and making of
it a profitable paper.

Born in Buffalo, N. Y., Buchanan inherited the Yankee
instinct for thrift and money-making. He was one of the
strangest men I have ever known, moody, peculiar, and vari-
able as the wind, and I never knew how to take him,—whether
he would be pleased or mad with what I might say, whether
he would smile or swear at me, and he was as likely to do
one thing as the other, reserving to himself the right to say
whatever he pleased.

Buchanan was an odd mixture of strange contradictions,
a heterogenous mass of contrarieties, and by his emphatic,
dogmatic, positive and self-assertive manner often made
enemies in his daily intercourse with the public.

Brought up at the printer’s case and accustomed to the
hard knocks of a printing office, he had never cultivated
polished habits, or grace of manners, but had rather affected
a rough, rude style that made him appear much worse than
he really was; for “Buck” had a kind heart, and could be as
sweet and gentle as a girl when his better nature was stirred.
Never too complimentary to anyone, he was at times so brutu-
ally frank as to offend some of his best friends.

By his energy and own effort, he built up a good news-
paper, book and job office business, and had accumulated a
good deal of real estate, stocks and bonds before passing away.

Vil.

“Buck” seldom attended State Press Conventions; but he
went to the annual meetings of the National Editorial Associa-
tion, where he met friends from different states, whose ac-
quaintance he had formed from time to time.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 197

 

In his latter years he was a worn-out, extremely nervous
man, fretful and unhappy. Seeing his condition, I persuaded
him to take a trip with the National Editors to the Pacific
coast, which he agreed to do, provided I would secure him
a berth in the Mississippi sleeper.

When “Buck” came aboard he had numerous baskets and
boxes of edibles, some of which he had purchased from the
grocery stores, while the handiwork of his good wife was
apparent in others. He had enough “provisions” to carry him
across the continent; but he was generous and liberal in dis-
tributing his “rations” to the Mississippians, and they ate
with a relish.

VII.

We had been out four weeks, and were returning east-
ward on the Canadian Pacific, after visiting all the cities of
importance out West, when “Buck” came to me and asked if |
would let him sleep in my lower berth for a night or two, say-
ing he was all in and was afraid of a nervous breakdown. |
gladly agreed to exchange berths with him.

But, “Buck” not only remained in my lower two nights,
but several. In fact, he seemed to like it so well that I was
compelled to resort to strategy to get rid of him. I called
to my assistance Jo Richardson of the Sunflower Tocsin, and
Will Ward of the Starkville Times, faithful aids when fun or
mischief was contemplated.

So, after a council of war, it was decided that we would
“snore” Buck out—I was to do so naturally and Jo and Will
by simulation, each to watch opportunity and perform his
part when I left off. It was no hardship to them for they
sat up all night anyway, and the diversion afforded them a new
method of entertainment. They came to my upper frequently
during the night, and one or the other snored while I rested.
It was a night of great fun—fun to all except Buchanan. He
198 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

was astir early next morning and as he pulled his clothes on
preparatory to making his matinal ablution, the curses he
uttered and the oaths he swore would have shocked a sailor.

Buck woke me up with his noise and profanity. I fol-
lowed him into the lavatory, where Richardson and Ward had
already preceded me, and asking him his troubles, requested
that he desist from such loud swearing, many ladies being in
the sleeper. He suspected me, suspected the trio, and the more
Trampus-like he became, the more absurd became the situa-
tion. Who could keep a straight face under the circum-
stances? I presume I smiled, and it was a dear smile, for
then and there “Buck” said things I could not afford to hear,
but I do recall he said, “You can take your d—— old No. 6
and go to h with it, for I would not sleep in it another
night to save your d——— life.”

 

I thought he was most ungrateful and exceedingly un-
kind, but did not stop to tell him so, for subsequent proceed-
ings in the Mississippi car interested me no more that day, for
it took Buck twelve hours or more to run down when he
became aroused.

I spent the whole day in the Massachusetts car, with my
good friends Ernest Pierce, Joe McCabe, Garry Williard, Luke
McHenry, Dr. Jarvis, Dr. Winship and other kindred spirits,
where no politics, religion or sectionalism were discussed, for
on those big inter-national trips every one was on an equality,
with no North, South, East or West known, and politics were
entirely eschewed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

A Looker-cn at Winona Gives a Candid Opinion of the
Personnel of the Mississippi Editors.—Frank
Bellenger, One of the Founders of
the Jackson News.

We have had a good many freaks and cranks among the
editorial brotherhood of the state, men noted for their eccen-
tricities and idiosyncrasies, and some women, equally odd,
even back in the good old days, before the short skirt craze
had hit the country.

The press memberhsip has not only embraced freaks, fad-
dists and cranks, but wits and humorists as well. A case in
point is well-remembered and is recalled as one of the most
laughable incidents in the journalistic life of the writer. The
press brethren were on their way to attend an annual meeting.
The weather was hot and dry, and in those days linen dusters
and broad-brimmed straw hats were the rule, with Prince
Alberts and beavers the exception.

We had aboard a handsome young editor of long, flowing,
raven locks, of statuesque manner and dressy apparel, who
liked to pose and air himself on the platforms, somewhat
after the order of Buffalo Bill.
200 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

We also had the convention poetess, who wore extra large
goggle-eyed glasses and swell suit, reflecting all the colors of
the rainbow, with picture-hat, decorated with birds of para-
dise, golden berries, purple cherries and other tempting fruits
of the vineyard, with all the flowers described by the fair
Ophelia in her mad ravings. She looked more like an oriental
princess than a Mississippi poetess. But wait!

A long stop was made at Winona, when a number of
people came aboard to take in and size up the Mississippi
editors, their wives and daughters.

A witty fellow entered the coach occupied by the editors,
and scanned the whole “menagerie,” as he dubbed the press
people. He was not favorably impressed with the linen duster
and straw hat brigade; but he was interested in the man and
woman described, who were conversing at the time of the
visitation. Slowly, deliberately, viewing the field as he left the
car, the visitor in a loud voice, said, “Well, the Mississippi
editors are a hard looking set, and must have gotten down
pretty low, when compelled to carry around as their principal
attractions, an Indian doctor and a snake-charmer.” The em-
barrassment of the moment can be better imagined than de-
scribed, which was relieved by the departure of the train.

II.

Some one has said that eccentricity is an evidence of
genius—but not always. I once knew an editor—and his
name is not hard to guess—who often forgot to go to his
dinners, yet he was no great genius, simply a hard working
man who became so absorbed in his duties that he forgot all
about his meals, when his faithful old associate, A. B. Lowe,
would often ask, “Isn’t it about time for you to go to dinner?”

The response would be, “Why, haven’t I been to dinner?
I forgot all about it. Well, it’s too late to go now; besides I
am not hungry and very busy.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 201

 

Here allow me to say that I have had many men in my
employ, printers, pressmen, foremen, reporters, news and
associate editors, but none to remain with me as long as A.
B. Lowe, and none to do more faithful work. He has been
with the Clarion-Ledger for 38 years, and is competent to
fill any position in the office. He is one man I could always
depend upon, regardless of weather or physical condition. He
has never failed me, and I have frequently left the editorial
and telegraph departments in his hands for months at a time,
while absent on trips of pleasure or business.

We have worked together day in and night through for
more than a third of a century, longer than the average life
of man, and have sustained to each other the love of father
and son. He knows me better than any man alive—knows
my good qualities and short-comings, my likes and dislikes,
the promptings of my heart, the impulses of my nature, and
the crotchets of my brain. He has seen me mad as a hornet
and happy as a lover; but he has seldom been disturbed, unless
he thought that he was personally reflected upon. In that
case Lowe’s pride asserted itself, and he said warm things
himself, which he always regretted and properly atoned for.

Lowe is one of the sweetest-natured men I have ever
known, of a kind and shrinking disposition, and will submit
to much before showing his temper; but when he does get
mad, there are only two things to do—let him blow off or
fight him. He is “little but he is loud,” and not afraid of
Old Harry. I remember a big, burly pressman struck one
of Lowe’s boys, who was a carrier in the office. There was
not much said, but it took two men to pull Lowe off the press-
man, who was whipped before he knew it. We had another
pressman for several days.

III.

Next to Lowe in point of service is T. M. Hederman, who
began in the Clarion-Ledger office as an apprentice twenty-
202 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

five years ago. He passed through all the grades, made good
and is now one of the owners and editor of the paper. For
his experience in editorial work, he does remarkably well, and
bids fair to become prominent in journalism.

His brother, R. M. Hederman, a co-owner of the paper,
also began with me when a very small boy, taking a course
in the book and job department. While hé has had no train-
ing in newspaper work, he is an adept in his own line. When
I decided to give up book and job printing, I sold my office
and bindery to the Hederman brothers, and their office has
grown and prospered under the management of the elder
brother.

I desired to train my three sons in newspaper work, that
I might have a successor from my own immediate family,
but, after remaining in the office for awhile, and seeing the
hard labor necessary to get out a daily paper and its slight
remuneration, they decided while getting newspaper experi-
ence that they would. engage in other occupations greatly to
my regret.

My oldest son, Robert, became interested in the fire
insurance adjustment business, which he is following with
success; my second boy, Thomas, having an aptitude for Lino-
type printing, engaged in that pursuit and has abundantly
prospered; my third son, Miller, studied medicine, and has
adopted that profession as his life work, and is doing well.

Iv.

But I find I have wandered from the subject, like a
garrulous old mother, proud of her children and must needs
talk about them; for the Hederman brothers are my blood
relatives, were reared in my office, and I have felt almost as
close to me as my own children. So in naming them as my
successors I do not feel that the Clarion-Ledger has gone
entirely out of the family.
 
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 203

 

Here is a passing thought: Any editor, any man, who
loves his work and keeps everlastingly at it, will succeed.
Mark that, reader, man, woman, boy or girl just beginning
the race of life. Success comes only to those who work to
win it—not to the loafer or laggard who woos success in
shady places, or to the whittler who mars dry goods boxes by
his keen edged barlow and idle ways.

No editors ever succeeded by killing their time on the
streets, gabbing with loafers having no ambition in life, and
whose principal occupation is to scandalize their neighbors,
or detailing some personal event over which decency should
cause them to draw the mantel of silence.

The editor who sits down and waits for good fortune to
bring him success, never achieves it, is not worthy to win it,
for success in any branch of life comes only by hard work,
steady licks, persistently applied. Genius and good fortune
have little to do with one’s success. Abandon such ideas,
if you entertain them, and depend on your own efforts for
success, for in no other way can you reach the goal of your
ambition.

Genius—a very beautiful idea; so is talent, but individual
effort is better than either, for the man of genius depending
upon God-given faculties to win him the race in life, will
be distanced by the hard-plodder, who will have made the
home-run before genius gets started on the course.

V.

There was an old editor at Cornith, S. G. Barr, known
as “Umbrella Barr,” from the fact he made it an inflexible
rule to carry his old worn cotton umbrella around with him,
day and night, in sunshine and in rain. He edited the Sub-
Soldier and Democrat, and while not a great editor his was
an entirely dependable paper. It was edited somewhat after
204 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the style of the Literary Digest, by reproduction of the opin-
ions and expressions of other editors. Barr did not write
much, but he condensed largely. It was his boast, that he
kept on file every paper that came to his office, which I know
to be correct, as I once had occasion to trace some historic
events through his exchange rooms. He allowed any one
access to his exchanges, but permitted no one to take a paper
from his office or to clip his files, and though he made liberal
extracts from his state exchanges, he copied therefrom every
line he printed in his own paper.

It has been said in some way or somehow, every man
has his “trolley-off’ on one subject or another, and Barr had
his off on exchanges—a slip that did him no harm, but
afforded a lot of pleasure, not only to himself, but others.

VI.

G. D. Bustamante, while never the owner of a newspaper,
was fond of writing, and was a constant contributor to the
papers of the state, for two reasons—he loved to write on
current topics and was exceedingly fond of seeing his name
in print. It is said, when a resident of Kosciusko, that he
often edited both papers of that place when the editors were
away.

The two papers had different political views, but a little
thing like that made no difference to “Old Busta,” as he
was called. Tiring of discussing politics from different
angles, he wrote an article jumping on Steve Wilson’s paper,
the Chronicle, and replied through the other, giving Wilson
unshirted Hail Columbia, being so personal that the people of
Kosciusko thought a fight would follow.

He answered the other paper in a most vitriolic manner,
and had the town keyed up to high tension till the editors
returned, and made peace.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 205

 

One day Col. J. S. Hamilton, who was interested in some
local questions in Jackson, which he hoped to see carried,
wrote a communication urging its passage; but as he did not
care to be personally known in the controversy, he read the
communication to “Old Busta,” who pronounced it excellent.
Seeing that he had him committed, the Colonel asked Busta-
mante if he would care to sign the article, knowing his eager-
ness to get before the public. “Certainly; I'll be glad to sign
it, for it is right, and I approve the position you take,
Colonel.”

His anxiety to see his name in print, came near getting
Bustamante in all kinds of trouble, for numerous “Citizens”
replied, and wanted to know why such a poor taxpayer as
Bustamante should be advising other people what ‘to do. Mean-
while, Colonel Hamilton had been called from Jackson, and
Bustamante was unable to reply to his many assailants, being
wholly unposted as to the merits of the proposition.

He played the part of Brer Rabbit, and laid low till the
Colonel returned and furnished him the necessary ammuni-
tion to reply. Meanwhile it leaked out that Bustamante had
not written the communication, but had simply signed it to
accommodate a friend.

VII.

On the consolidation of the Clarion and State Ledger,
in 1888, a number of printers were thrown out of work,
among them Frank Bellenger, Robt. Davidson, Walter John-
ston and Milton Dunkley. As a means of livelihood they
started the News with Bellenger as editor, who had had some
experience on the local staff of the Clarion, and had a remark-
ably good nose for news.

Smarting under the thought that the writer dominated
the consolidated paper, and had taken care of his own force,
206 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

while letting several of the printers of the Clarion go, Frank
decided he would get even by lambasting the Clarion-Ledger
and its editor in his paper, which he did with great regularity.

Appreciating his feelings, which were perfectly natural,
I made no reply to anything Bellenger wrote, and he wrote

a plenty.

But the chance to get even arrived when I[ was elected
president of the National Editorial Association. I had the
giving out of many complimentary places—the appointment
of orators, essayists, committeemen, etc. The convention was
to be held at New Orleans. A most elaborate program cover-
ing several days was made up, and the name of Frank L.
Bellenger appeared as one of the essayists.

Frank was so overcome when notified of his selection,
that he did not risk himself to write a note of thanks but
called at my office and thanked me personally, saying he had
no right to expect the honor, that he had done nothing to
deserve it, but on the other hand had done many things to
disqualify himself for the place.

Frank prepared a good paper, read it well, and made a
favorable impression upon the National Editorial Association.
He told of the relationship that had existed between himseif
and the editor of the Clarion-Ledger, how, as a young man,
he thought iit his duty, to criticise the elder editor, who, he
was very glad to say, had the wisdom to ignore him; that
it was hard treatment, he thought at the time, but the proper
remedy to apply to carping critics. It was a bitter lesson,
but he had profited by it and commended the course of the
senior editor to other young publishers who thought the easiest
road to fame was by abusing their elders. He made full
public acknowledgement for the honor shown him, which he
said came from one who should hereafter be his friend, as
he was.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 207

 

VILL.

Frank Bellenger was a good, newsy, editor, never letting
anything escape his Argus eyes. As a collector of real live
items, he has rarely been surpassed in this state. He did not
stickle over words, his one thought being to write his
stories or articles in language that all could understand.
Words never bothered him; it was the idea that he was after.

Bellenger cared little for editorial leaders, and would
crowd out an editorial any time to accomodate a good local
story. He wrote very much as he thought, said whatever he
pleased, being one of the boldest editors of the state, as well
as one of the most energetic and industrious publishers.

Bellenger was always polite and agreeable, and had scores
of friends as well as many enemies, the fate of all positive,
outspoken men. He was an incessant worker, really work-
ing himself into his grave. Years ago, when tuberculosis
developed, he was compelled to give up the daily grind and
moved to Western Texas, where he made his home for several
years, till forced to succumb to the dread plague which has
made such terrible inroads upon the human family.

His body was returned to Jackson and now rests in
Cedarlawn Cemetery, preceding his brother and mother in the
silent city of the dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

Some of the Old Timers, J. S. McNeily, James A. Stevens,
John Calhoon, John H. Miller, and Ira D. Oglesby.
R. W. Banks, Good Writer With Bad
Terminal Facilities.

I have received many messages commending my memoirs,
congratulating and thanking me for what I have said of loved
ones, all of which is appreciated, but none more than a note re-.
ceived from Capt. James A. Stevens, for many years identified
with the press of the state, having been the distinguished editor
of the Columbus Index and for more than forty years a resi-.
dent of the Lone Star State, the publisher of the Bulletin at
Burnett, Texas, but now retired at 80 years of age.

In his note Captain Stevens says:

“I have had the pleasure of reading your sketches, ‘Editors I
Have Known,’ in which you were good enough to mention myself.
Thinking my residence in Texas of forty years had caused me to be
forgotten in my dear native state, made your reference to myself,
along with the rest of the clan, all the more grateful.

“Let me thank you now, with all my heart, and to assure you
I appreciate all you have said in your delightful memoirs, not because
my name is mentioned therein, but as a matter of wide political and
personal interest in the old state, and to leave something apart from
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 209

 

your perishable files, that should be published in book form. I
would like to engage a copy in advance to hand down to my boys,
and to go over again for my own pleasure. You know we all hate
to be forgotten.

“From one of your articles it seems I am one of the remaining
four or five old editors left of the craft of the long ago. It makes
me feel sad and reminiscent, and to realize that our time is near at
hand. As poor Hamlet would say: ‘The readiness is all,’ and I hope
we are ready.”

The above cheery message was as a ray of sunshine in the
heart of one whose early editorial associates, with few excep-
tions, have either died, left the state, or engaged in other
business.

II.

The only Mississippi editor of today who has devoted
more years to newspaper work than the writer, is Captain J.
S. McNeily, of the Vicksburg Herald—and there was an
interregnum in his service, while filling the post of United
States Marshal under President Cleveland. But with the
writer it was different—he never had a day off, except when
traveling abroad or serving as Commissioner to the St. Louis
Exposition; and even then he was never out of harness, writ-
ing sketches and editorials every week.

So far as I can remember, only half a dozen men who
were engaged in newspaper work when | entered upon the
field of journalism are alive today, viz: Jas. A. Stevens, J. S.
McNeily, John Calhoon, Jas. H. Sullivan, J. H. Miller and
Ira D. Oglesby.

Of the number, Stevens of the old Columbus Index,
Sullivan of the Vicksburg Herald, and Oglesby of the Sena-
tobia press, left Mississippi years ago, the first two going to
Texas, and the latter to Arkansas.

John H. Miller, the old editor of the Tupelo Journal, quit

newspaper work years ago, moving to Biloxi, where he has
amassed quite a little fortune in the real-estate business.
210 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

John Calhoon, after editing the Holly Springs Reporter,
for many years, retired from journalism, returned to his old
home-town of Canton, where he now resides with his third
wife, the “sweetheart of his boyhood dreams,” having an
abundance of this world’s goods to support himself and non-
growing family the balance of his life.

Only two of the “Old Guard” are today engaged in
editorial work in Mississippi, Captain J. S. McNeily and the
writer, and in the olden days one was as a boy compared to
the other, and the distance between their ages has not
diminished which, confidentially, is between 10 and 15 years.

Hi.

R. W. Banks was the son of a wealthy planter of
Lowndes county. He was given the benefit of the best edu-
cational advantages, which were interrupted by the tocsin of
war’s alarum in 1861.

He was attached to Gen. E. C. Walthall’s staff with title
of captain, and did as much fighting as any soldier in-either
army, for while he may not have been ushered into the world
in the midst of a storm, he was born with a fight in him, and
rather courted than avoided a scrap—his well-known char-
acteristic. His bravery was acknowledged at Nashville, and
the battle of Franklin. He with his boon companion, E. L.
Russell, were two of the most reckless dare-devil fighters of
the Confederate Army—to whom Banks pays a handsome
tribute for his bravery in advancing anid defending his flag.

IV.
After the war, Captain Banks moved to Columbus, and

like many other ambitious men, aspired to become the owner
of a newspaper; and purchased the Columbus Index.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 211

 

Under Banks’ editorship the Index continued as one of
the best papers of Mississippi.

He had two fads—Latin and poetry, his writing being
liberally interspersed with both. He was decidedly an idealist,
had big visions and lived in a realm that few men attained.

V.

After his newspaper experience in Columbus, Banks
moved to Meridian and became the editor of the Standard of
that place, which was well edited. Not only was he a good
editorial writer, but as the author of historic sketches he
won additional fame.

Only one criticism could be made upon his writings—
their extreme length—for Banks had no idea of brevity or
condensation. In commenting upon Banks articles, and com-
mending them for their beauty and purity, a wise editor once
said there was one serious objection to Banks’ writings—
that his terminal facilities were bad.

He was one of the most graceful and fluent writers of
the State. His pen was smooth and polished, his style ornate
and classic, his language beautiful and attractive, his vocabu-
lary large and imagery great, his powers of analysis and
expression extraordinary. He could discuss a proposition
from more angles and throw upon it more side lights than
any writer I have ever known.

VI.

While a resident of the Gulf coast, after his venture in
Texas, Colonel Banks’ only means of livelihood lay in his
pen, which recorded productions of his briNiant mind.

His latter days were spent in great pain, caused by an
internal trouble which he was compelled to have removed.
212 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

He survived the operation, though past seventy-six; went to
Hot Springs to recuperate, and there breathed his last, away
from home and with few loved ones present.

He was laid to rest in the Biloxi cemetery, besides his
wife, who had preceded him to the grave, whom he always
referred to as ‘The Bride.”

VI.

For many years Harry Moss, of Yazoo County, was one
of the celebrities of the Mississippi press, and its greatest
humorist, though he never owned a Mississippi paper. He
wrote for Yazoo City, Vicksburg and other papers, in and
without the statte. In the early eighties he printed a paper
on the Chesapeak Bay called the Chesapeak Chisapike, which
was a curiosity in its way, but not a success. His articles
were written in a light, humorous vein, for he saw fun in
everything. He not only wrote good stories but told them
well, and pity it is that his writings were not preserved, for
some of his humor was as rich as that of Mark Twain, and
somewhat after his style, and as good as Mark’s “Jumping
Frog.” He filled the swamps of Yazoo with strange, fantastic
people, that played all kinds of tricks upon each other. But
I will not attempt to relate them at this late date. One of
his most humorous productions was entitled “Frantz and Me
at the Fireman’s Ball.”

I was fond of Harry Moss. He was a most agree-
able fellow and pleasant companion. The last time he visited
Jackson he was lobbying for the creation of a new county in
the Delta, in 1884, and a speech he made before the com-
mittee on county affairs will never be forgotten by those who
heard it, for it was full of humor, pathos and good sense. It
was on that trip he contracted pneumonia and died in my
own home, where I took him, seeing he was so poorly pro-
vided for at a local hotel. His body was shipped to Yazoo
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 213

 

county, care of his sister, Mrs. George Stewart, who accom-
panied it to its last resting place, and saw it deposited in the
cold earth on a cheerless winter day, with a few sorrowing
friends to lay it away.

Harry was an odd genius. He believed in personal
liberty in its broadest sense. He said many odd things,
original and striking. His will was a curiosity. He directed
how his personal effects should be disposed of, and requested
that his body be buried in a shallow grave, that a pole pen
be constructed around it, and that a bottle of whiskey, lightly
corked, be placed at his head, and that no prayer be offered
or sad songs be sung at his funeral. He wanted to go quietly,
without noise or excitement, and thanked such of his friends
as might attend his funeral.
CHAPTER THIRTY.

No Royal Path to the Editor’s Chair—Some Prominent
Editors of North Mississippi—Judge Watson, Col. F.
A. Tyler, S. M. Thompson, P. B. Murray, Judge
Simmons—Great Old Editor, Dr. J. B. Gambrell

When the Egyptian King, Ptolmy, asked the great Euclid
if geometry could not be mastered by an easier process than
the arduous method used, he replied, “There is no royal road
to learning.”

The answer of the old Alexandrian philosopher might be
paraphrased and made to apply with equal force to journal-
ism, for there is no easy road to its accomplishment. To suc-
ceed in journalism, one must toil incessantly and unremitting-
ly, must labor hard and continuously, must travel many rough
and rugged roads, beset with great difficulties. The obstruc-
tions to be surmounted are innumerable, the obstacles to be
overcome are incalculable, the efforts necessary to achieve
success are stupendous and few there are to win the crown.

Editors, publishers, journalists are slowly developed,
their training school covering many laborious years. They
must begin at the bottom and work themselves up, gradu-
ally, must go through an arduous educational process to fit
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 215

 

them for the positions necessary to win success aS members
of the “Fourth Estate.”

Newspaper publishing requires men of training and ex-
perience to conduct its various departments. A man cannot
be created an editor or publisher at sight no more than he
can be made a lawyer, doctor, banker, pilot or engineer, by
the laying on of hands. He can only fit himself for such
positions by experience and education, for there is no royal
road by which they may be obtained.

II.

An educated man, one who may have qualified himself
in some one of the professions, does not necessarily make a
good editor, for there is more in editing than in ability to
express one’s-self in rounded sentences or correct language.
In fact, an educated man without experience in the routine
of news-paper work, rarely makes a good editor, for editing
consists of much more than ability to give expression to ideas
on paper.

Ability to write well does not necessarily fit a man for
the editor’s chair, but often has the opposite effect, for good
editing does not consist in stringing out sentences or long
articles, but power to express thought in the fewest words,
to condense, abbreviate and compact ideas in the smallest
space possible.

Editors are developed by hard knocks in the severe
school of experience, such as they can only get by training
in newspaper offices. Some men may have natural aptitude
for editing, but newspaper training for such work is better
than all the schools of journalism in the country.

There is no royal road to the editor’s chair.

It must be won after many fights, hard scraps and severe
scrambles with the world after exhaustion of mental and
216 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

physical energies; and the best editor is the one who has
fought hardest for the distinction he has won.

Hl.

Holly Springs, with its refining influences and cultured
people, has been noted for its splendid editors. Prominent
among them was Judge J. W. C. Watson, of the Holly Springs
South, who always took a deep interest in the affairs of his
state, secular, political and religious. He had represented
his constituents in several constitutional conventions. He
opposed secession in 1861, but yielded to the will of his people
and became one of the most zealous champions of the cause
of the South. He was elected to the Senate of the Confeder-
ate States, where he served with distinction.

Judge Watson was active in the overthrow of the Ames
dynasty in 1876, and as editor of the Holly Springs South
contributed largely to the reconstruction literature of the
time.

When J. M. Stone had been declared Governor by the
legislature of 1876, after the impeachment of Ames and
Davis, Judge Watson was appointed circuit judge, and proved
a terror to evil-doers of his district.

Considering it incompatible for a criminal judge to be
the editor of a newspaper, he employed Col. F. A. Tyler to
edit the South.

Iv.

Colonel Tyler was an old editor who had won his spurs
in the journalistic field. He was of the old school of journal-
ists, but admirably adapted himself to the times in which he
lived.

Colonel Tyler was a prim and pleasing old gentleman.
For the cause of democracy, he did valiant service, and his
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 217

 

polished pen made the sparks fly when he discussed a proposi-
tion. He continued on the South, which he made a fine paper,
for several years, till called hence, and many were the regrets
at his going.

Old men of similar views on public questions and inti-
mate friends, Colonel Tyler and Judge Watson, harmonized
beautifully and were great cronies, and chummed long hours
together in each other’s society, discussing questions present
and past. Colonel Tyler was an incessant smoker, while
Judge Watson neither smoked, chewed nor drank, he loved to
sit by Colonel Tyler and be “smoked” by him, and made no
secret about it. It was too comical, the sight of those old
men sitting close together, and one smoking the other.
Colonel Tyler used heavy black cigars, with fumes almost
strong enough to run an elevator; and while in action he
puffed liks a tar-kiln, and blew his smoke in Judge Watson’s
face with evident enjoyment, the Judge smiling serenely and
grunting approvingly as the clouds of smoke enveloped his
benign countenance, till the smoke was almost thick enough
to cut with a knife.

After Colonel Tyler’s death, the South passed into the
hands of J. B. Mattison, then descending from sire to son,
and is still a clean and readable paper.

V.

Oxford has had a number of papers, the two best.
remembered by the writer taking their names from the birds
of the air—the Falcon and Eagle.

S. M. Thompson was owner and editor of the Falcon,
which was a good local paper, for Thompson was an industri-
ous news-gatherers. He sold the Falcon to Patton B. Murray
who improved the paper in many ways, for he was a talented
man, and devoted his life to his work.
218 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Thompson, evidently tired of resting, decided to start
another paper at Oxford, and pleased with bird names, called
it the Eagle, and a rare old bird it proved, and strong com-
petitor of the Falcon. It is said the establishment of the
Eagle caused an estrangement between Murray and Thomp-
son that was never healed, for in the same year both men
died, Murray a natural death, while Thompson was shot down
and killed by the city marshal on the streets of Oxford. The
marshal was acquitted.

VI.

Oxford had two other remarkable editors, Judge J. M.
Howry, who wrote the able and brilliant editorials of the
Falcon for several years, and Victor Thompson, brother of
S. M. Thompson, but a much better writer, who was, in fact,
one of the classiest editors of the state. His language was
fluent, chaste and beautiful. He and his brother never agreed
in politics. Sam being an uncompromising Democrat, while
Victor was a Republican with an eye on the North Missis-
sippi marshalship. His paper was named the “Ricochet,” and
it printed many editorials taking the Democratic party to task
in the severest manner, but in entirely parliamentary lan-
gauge. In the beauty of his phrases one really overlooked
the fact that Victor Thompson was criticising the Democracy,
and extoling the party of Hays, Garfield, Arthur, Harrison,
McKinley, Roosevelt, Taft and others.

VII.

Mississippi has had a number of good editors, a few of
whom were really great while many were fair, and above the
average of sister states. Of the number of great editors the
name of Dr. J. B. Gambrell is well up to the head of the
list.

As editor of the Baptist Record of Jackson, Miss., and
the Baptist Standard, of Dallas, Texas, Dr. Gambrell made
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 219

 

a name that will live long after his mortal body decays and
resolves itself back to mother earth.

No editor of the state could express a thought in stronger,
better language than Dr. Gambrell. No one could illuminate
an idea in more vivid or clearer phrases than he. At times
he wrote like one inspired.

Dr. Grambell not only wrote well but preached better,
for writing was but an incident with him, the ministry being
his forum, on which he towered above his fellows. His fame
spread to other states, and Mississippi lost him. He was
called to Texas, where he has been a power for righteousness
in upholding the banner of his Creator, law and order, and
advancing the cause of prohibition, which movement was
greatly accelerated in Mississippi by the assistance and in-
fluence of the grand old Baptist preacher, whose life had
been devoted to good works.

Dr. Gambrell has written for the leading religious papers
of Texas, and has been a frequent contributor to the secular
press of that state, and is appreciated and beloved as much
in the Lone Star State as in his own Mississippi.

Mississippi lost much when Dr. Gambrell decided to leave
it, at the call of his church, but our loss was Texas’ gain—the
gain of the whole country, for in a larger sphere, Dr. Gam-
brell had a greater field in which to extend his God-given
talents, a broader zone for the exercise of his religious
activities.

He recently passed away in his Texas home, respected
and beloved by all who knew him.

VIII.

North Mississippi had a newspaper celebrity, in the
person of Judge J. F. Simmons of the Sardis Reporter. He
220 EDITORS I HAVE EKNOWN

 

was an odd old man, as polite as a French dancing master,
and bowed and scraped to the public like a politician. He
was friendly with every one, and seemed to know everybody
between Grenada and Memphis. He was as deaf as a post,
but having the faculty of reading the lips and divining facial
expression, he seldom made mistakes in his replies. He was
an incessant talker, and I often wondered if he did not adopt
that method to avoid the necessity of replying directly to what
his friends might say, for some lips cannot be read,
because of mustache, and other faces cannot be interpreted
for the reason they are expressionless, being devoid of char-
acter as the surface of an ostrich egg.

But the old judge was expert in the handling of people,
knowing generally what tact to take, and rarely made a
bobble. He heard best while on trains, as most deaf people
do, there being something in the buzzing noise of the car
that conveys sound to the ear. It will be remembered that
two of the best old conductors of the A. and V. R. R., William
and Robt. Harris, were ordinarily so deaf that it was difficult
to carry on a conversation with them, when off duty, but after
getting their trains in motion, and the hum of the wheels
began, they had no trouble in hearing everything passengers
said.

Judge Simmons wrote well, and his editorials, while never
very numerous, had a ring about them that always sounded
good.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Two of My Printer Boys, B. T. Hobbs and W. A. Henry, Did
Well in Life—Men of Strong Character and Deep
Convictions, But Fair and Just.—Both
Christian Gentlemen.

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

What a boon, blessing and comfort is memory, enabling
us to live over the past again, with its joys and its sorrows,
its pleasures and its pains. It takes us back to the days of
our childhood, conducts us through the paths of youth along
the lanes of manhood, and down the thoroughfares of middle
age. It shows us ourselves again, as we entered upon the
roadway of life; and reflects the features and forms of
those we knew in our earliest years, whose faces will never
vanish from memory; though their visible forms have faded

away.

Who does not love to sit in the shade of the evening and
live over the pleasures of life again—to visit in memory the
dear friends who have gone on before? And who does not feel
better after contemplating the lives of loved ones who have
222 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

left us forever, but who can never be forgotten, for their
good works will live so long as reason holds its seat; their
influence upon those they loved will last forever.

Which is greater, the pleasures of memory or the pleas-
ures of hope? is a debatable question, which every one must
answer for himself. Each has its influence on the mind and
contributes largely to human happiness; and miserable indeed,
must be the man or woman deprived of the supreme happi-
ness of looking backward and living over the past, or the joys
that hope inspires for the future, which springs eternal in the
human breast.

All men have hope, hope in a blessed immortality, the
life beyond the grave, and meeting of loved ones after life’s
fitful fever is over. And no one, however checkered his
career or seared his conscience, would be deprived of the
pleasure that memory affords.

II.

When I began printing a paper at Newton, now the
Clarion-Ledger, I had little of this world’s goods, and being
unable to pay the high salaries demanded by journeymen
printers, I undertook to instruct a number of boys in the
arts preservative, known as the printing business and had
boys who played many parts in after life. Some became good
printers and pressmen, some excellent solicitors, and a few
business men; some becoming good editors on their own
account, notably B. T. Hobbs and W. A. Henry.

Turner Hobbs, a native of Hinds country, came to me
when but a boy, Dick Batte, a cousin of his and friend of
mine, inducing me to give him a trial, which I was loath to
do, as I had tried so many boys who were unsatisfactory.

Finding myself unable to resist Mr. Batte’s appeals, I
informed him I would agree to put his cousin in my office
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 223

 

only after he had signed a contract to serve a four years
term as apprentice, contract to be endorsed by the boy’s
father and Mr. Batte.

The contract of apprenticeship was drawn and signed
in duplicate.
II.

In a few days Turner arrived, but if he had sent his
photo in advance there would have been no necessity for his
father buying his railroad fare to Newton. With that face
before me I should have declined to close the negotiations;
for his features were not reassuring; nor was his appearance
comely. He was as ungainly as one of Wackford Squeers
boys at Dotheboys Hall, as described by Dickens in Nicholas
Nickleby and as I looked at young Hobbs I almost wondered
if one of the boys of the Yorkshire school-master had escaped
and stood before me.

He was a small, awkward lad of some sixteen, with
straggling hair and grey eyes, set well back in his head. He
was dressed in a suit of ill-fitting copperas jeans, with sleeves
too long and pants too short by several inches, which brought
to view his woolen socks, knit by loving hands at home, to
provide him with warm foot-wear in winter. His hands and
feet were large, and he did not know what to do with them,
as he stood before me to hear what I had to say, and to await
instructions. His features were not specially prominent,
except eyes and mouth, the first denoting determination and
the later self-will and dogged tenacity of purpose.

Turner’s face interested me; it was kind and positive.
He could look me squarely in the eye when he talked. Be-
ware, dear reader, of the man or boy who cannot, for the
eye is the index of the soul, the unfailing sign of character.
He was not only awkward but modest and taciturn, and only
talked as I dragged the words from him, making no boast of
what he could do, as most boys will.
224 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I questioned him as to his education, which he said was
very limited. I asked him if he knew anything about gram-
mar and spelling, when, with boyish frankness he said he
could parse a little and spell ordinary words. I gave out the
word “auroraborealis,” which I had been taught was a jaw-
breaker. He spelt it correctly. I then tried him with
“hieroglyphic” and others all of which Turner spelled without
the least trouble.

I was impressed by the boy, and saw he could do things
without boasting, and for one so young had decided traces of
character in his face. I put him to work, “learning the
boxes,” for he had never before seen the inside of a printing
office, and had no idea as to its workings. He proved an
apt pupil, learned fast, and soon outdistanced all the other
boys in the office.

He possessed one trait I did not specially admire, he was
always ready to fight; a nervy little fellow who had confidence
in his ability to take care of himself. I had several big
country boys in the office, all larger than Turner, and much
duller, who became jealous of him, as he was soon “leading
the row,” and they conspired to humiliate him, one after an-
other picking a fuss with him, but after he had scrapped with
all of them, they let him severely alone.

Turner progressed so rapidly, showing such a decided
aptitude for printing office work, that he was made foreman
of the Newton Ledger office, and wrote many of its locals.
He remained with me till I left Newton, going with me to
Brookhaven, where he had charge of the office in my absence,
being both assistant manager, foreman and associate editor.

IV.

Tiring of newspaper work, Hobbs formed an association
with a relative, Dr. R. R. Ledbetter of Jackson, and re-
mained with him some time. But the call of the print shop
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 225

 

claimed him and he returned to Brookhaven, where he re-
sumed his old position in my office, remaining with me till
I moved to Jackson in 1883, when he established the Brook-
haven Leader, which he published for a few years, which
became one of the most successful papers of the state.

I knew Turner Hobbs well, knew him like a father
knows a son, and feel that I am in position to pass judgment
upon him. He was an honest, honorable, conscientious man,
a strong editor, a good publisher. He did many things I
disapproved, and often lined up with factions that I opposed,
but he always felt that he was right and acted according to
the dictates of an honest heart, the promptings of a sincere
conscience. He was wholly incorruptible, and could not be
bought, bribed or bulldozed. He always acted independently
and from my view-point, was often wrong, but I knew if he
erred, his mistakes were of the head and not of the heart for
a more honorable editor than B. T. Hobbs never put pen to
paper. He was absolutely dependable, and no one ever
doubted the stand he would take on questions of morality,
law-enforcement, prohibition and other matters calculated
to advance the progress and best interest of his state.

He was an ardent prohibitionist, a sincere Christian, and
was never absent from the councils of the leading prohibi-
tionists, an intimate friend and co-worker with Bishop Gal-
loway, Dr. J. B. Gambrell, Dr. J. T. Bailey, Judge J. B.
Chrisman and others who devoted much of their time to free-
ing the state of the curse of liquor.

No editor of Mississippi had a more intimate knowledge
of the writer, his feelings, aspirations and desires, than B.
T. Hobbs, and no man liked him better; and the feeling was
fully reciprocated.
V.
s
At the Press Convention held at New Albany a few
years ago—the last one attended by Hobbs—after I read the
226 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

report of the committee on necrology, Turner approached me
and said, “Mr. Henry, you have been preparing and reading
the obituary report for many years. You are a hard, an in-
cessant worker; I have never known an editor to do so much
hard work as you, and it seems to increase as you grow
older. Do you ever think that some day some other editor
will read that report, and your name will be embraced in the
list?”

“Yes, Turner,” I replied, “I never arise to read the
necrological report but that question comes to me. In the
ordinary course of nature I will go before you. You know
me better than any member of the State Press Association,
and I want you to write my obituary, and speak of me just
as you knew me, as you have known me for over forty
years.” He replied, “I will, and I’ll do you justice, God
being my guide.”

In less than six months I had written Hobbs’ obituary,
and read a tribute to his memory at the Brookhaven Press
Convention, the editors holding a memorial meeting at his
grave for the purpose. It was a sad meeting, in which the
President of the Association, E. A. Fitzgerald, of the Vicks-
burg Herald, broke down and wept like a child while presid-
ing, passing the gavel to the writer to complete the exercises.

All of which reminds us that in the midst of life we are
in death; for there on that leafy day in May, I did for B. T.
Hobbs what he had promised to do for me, read a tribute to
his memory, speaking of him just as I had known him for
many years.

VI.

While W. A. Henry was not an apprentice in the full
meaning of the term, he obtained the rudimentary knowledge
he possessed of printing in my office. Coming to me as a
young boy after his mother died, he devoted himself to learn-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 227

 

ing the printing business in summer and going to school
during the winter sessions, which embraced about one-half
the year. He was a hard student and learned rapidly, soon
becoming an efficient printer.

When old enough I sent him to Oxford, where he gradu-
ated in law, under the distinguished Edward Mayes, law pro-
fessor. Returning home, he entered upon the practice of
law, but was a bit discouraged when in defending his first
client, he succeeded in sending him to the penitentiary for
life. Being somewhat familiar with the case, and hearing
the testimony, I told him I thought he had won a great
victory, for if any negro ever deserved to be hung, it was that
same client of his.

The law coming slow with him and having a love for
newspaper work,.W. A. Henry bought an interest in the
Sentinel at Yazoo City, from C. T. Calhoon, afterwards be-
coming the sole owner. Under his management the paper
made many improvements, and was regarded as one of the
most reliable journals of the state. My brother was fairly
well educated, and being in love with his paper exerted him-
self to make it one of the best weeklies of the state. He had
convictions and never failed to express them.

He was a regular attendant upon the meetings of the
Mississippi Press Association, and shared its honors from
orator to president, ranking with its foremost members.

The Sentinel was a success under his direction though
he could only give it part of his time, as his law business was
increasing. He was finally prevailed upon to sell the paper
and give his whole time to the law, which he did, with many
regrets, for he loved newspaper publishing, which had really
put him on his feet.

He sold the Sentinel to Frank R. Birdsell, who has pub-
lished it with success.
228 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

VII.

Disassociating himself from newspaper work, W. A.
Henry devoted his time exclusively to law, and built up a
fine and lucrative practice, the labor becoming so heavy that
he was forced to take in partners to assist him.

He never cared much for politics, except to help his
friends, but did agree to serve one term in the Mississippi
legislature, declining re-election.

He was offered the chancelorship of his district by Gov-
ernor Longino, which he declined, as his law business was
growing, and he did not feel that he could give it up at his
time of life. Later on he was tendered the circuit-judge-
ship by Governor Noel, which he accepted. He was re-
appointed by Governor Brewer, but resigned before the
expiration of the second term, his health failing. He re-
turned to the law, but only accepted large cases, devoting
himself more to consultations than to active practice.

He was stricken with paralysis while holding court at
-Raymond, but recovered sufficiently to resume his duties on
the bench. After retiring from office and while seeking
health in the mountains of North Carolina, he had a second
stroke, which resulted fatally, several members of his family
being present at the time of dissolution.

While it may not become me to eulogize my brother, I
but voice what every one who knew him will say, that he was
an upright, honorable, Christian gentleman, who lived a cor-
rect life, doing much of good in the world. He was to me
more of a son than a brother, for he lived in my house all
his youthful life, and I am proud to say that he was
worthy of every word spoken in commendation of his merits.
He never betrayed a trust, deceived a friend, or mislead an
enemy, for his life was an embodiment of frankness, truth-
fulness and honorable dealings to all men.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

A True Story of J. S. Madison, the Heroic Snorer of the
State Press.—Frank Moorehead, the Beau Brummel
of the Editors.—Published a
Model Monthly.

In the good old days of which I write, we had big and
little editors, physically and mentally—thus was upheld the
editorial equilibrium and status quo maintained. The press
of Mississippi did not suffer in comparison with the press
of sister states, though we had no cities or metropolitan
papers like Tennessee, Louisiana and Alabama.

Many of the smaller papers, with sensible editors at their
head, have exerted great influence within their own sphere,
for as a rule the local paper, when conducted with dignity and
ability, wields an influence in its own section that no other
paper can equal.

I have many papers of this kind in mind, especially, the
Noxubee Democrat, edited and published by James S. Madi-
son, who was both an editor and politician. He was several
times elected a representative from Noxubee county, and be-
came one of the best legislators of the state. He was also a
strong editorial writer, and had the ability to discuss any
230 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

public question. He was, however, little known as a news-
paper publisher, which was a secondary consideration with
him.

Being an eminently practical man, having been raised on
a farm, and knowing the needs of the masses of the people,
he became the author of many constructive measures.

Il.

Madison was elected Speaker of the House, and com-
pletely filled the chair, for he weighed nigh onto 375 pounds,
having a big body as well as big brain. He made an excellent
presiding officer, being.a fine parliamentarian, and by nature
fair and just, he seemed to give entire satisfaction.

I had helped elect Madison Speaker when first a candi-
date, and was for him the second time, as he had always
supported me for State Printer, and besides he “was worthy
and well qualified.” He knew he could command me in any
emergency; and in order that we might be near so we could
discuss his candidacy at odd hours, he ordered his trunk sent
up to my house, and without consulting me, proceeded to take
charge of one of the best rooms, for he always felt at home
at my residence.

When I went home to dinner after Madison’s arrival, I
was accosted by my wife, who asked, “Why did you send Mr.
Madison up here?” I assured her I had not, did not know that
he was in the house. “Well, he is,’ she added, “has taken
possession of the room over ours, and you must get him out—
I'll have no roomers or boarders.” I replied, “Madison is
neither—he is a guest.” She responded, “That is worse—no
guest, no roomer, no boarders. Get him out.”

I began to see I must put on the gloves or my wife
would undo me. So I said, “I cannot, and will not ask the
man to leave the house, till the election of State Printer is
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 231

 

over, as he controls a number of votes, and if I make him
mad, he might throw them all against me, and bring about
my defeat.” She asked, “When will the election occur?” I
replied, “That is problematical; there is no time fixed. It
may be within one week, a month or more: but till it is over
I can do nothing, and you must grin and bear it.”

That reasonable statement seemed to satisfy the madam
for a time. We had dinner, chatted awhile, when I returned
to my office, forgetting all about Madison, in the work inci-
dent to getting out a morning paper.

III.

I returned home at 2:30 a. m., having seen the work of
the office cleared for the night, with never a thought of
Madison in my mind. As I neared the First Presbyterian
Church, a square and a half from my residence, I heard a
rumbling sound in the distance, as though a storm were
gathering. The nearer I approached, the more audible be-
came the roar; and when I reached my gate, it burst forth in
all the fury of a West Indian hurricane—louder than the
rattling of the street cars.

I was dumbfounded! Bright lights were burning in my
wife’s room—and I knew I was up against it. I unlocked
the front door and entered gently—for I had been married
several years; and this is the grand picture I beheld:

My wife, in her long, white gown, was charging up and
down the room, her black, disheveled hair flowing in the
breeze, her bright eyes emitting fire as they snapped and
glowed. She was a perfect picture of Charlotte Cushman
playing Meg Merriles—a beautiful scene that will ever live in
memory. And though many years have passed over our heads
since then, and the frost of time has left its traces, I still
see her in her girlish beauty on that cold January night as
232 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

she raved, ripped and roared and unconsciously played the part
of a tragic queen.

Old Madison was snoring terrifically. He was ripping
off the boards, tearing down the roof, and busting out the
knots. He was surely enjoying himself.

My wife exclaimed as I eased myself into the room,
“Listen at that! Listen at that!! LISTEN AT THAT!!! Do
you hear it?” with rising inflection and increasing emphasis
with each exclamation.

I responded, “J believe I do,” as old Jim gave out a snort
like unto the grunt of a hippopotamus, that fairly shook the
house. “But my dear if you don’t calm yourself you will
wake up every person in the neighborhood, and are likely to
burst a blood vessel besides.” That was an unfortunate re-
mark, and only tended to irritate. It was not diplomatic or
soothing. I saw I had made a mistake, and must needs
change tactics, if I hoped to win.

She yelled back at me, “You shall get him out. I have
not slept a wink tonight.’’ I was nettled at her defiance, and
responded, “Then you must learn to sleep in the daytime;”
and she went all to pieces, and I saw I had made mistake
number two—that I must resort to milder methods or I would
be undone altogether and lose entirely.

So I tacked again and employed the weapons of flattery
to overcome my thoroughly maddened frow—and confidenti-
ally, I would say that is the strongest weapon man ever used
to win over a woman. If flattery fails, the case is hopeless.

Then, in loving tone, I said, “My dear, I vow you are
the handsomest creature I ever saw, a radiant, regal queen,
and that costume suits you so admirably. You are hand-
somer than Charlotte Cushman or Mary Anderson playing
Meg Merriles, and I’d give a thousand dollars for a snap shot
as you appear this moment.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 233

 

She sighed and simply said, “Shut up,” and I knew I
had won my case.

Old Madison remained with us till the end of the session,
and when he left it was with difficulty we could sleep, so
accustomed had we become to the hypnotic influence of his
sonorous snore.

IV.

A remarkable newspaperman was Frank C. Morehead, of
the Planters Journal, printed at Vicksburg. He was not only
a good writer on agricultural and industrial subjects, but an
extraordinary publisher, and perhaps made more money for the
capital invested than any person belonging to the Fourth
Estate. He conceived the idea that an industrial paper, with
a sprinkling of agricultural matter, was a necessity in this
state, where so many agricultural journals had failed, and
having faith in himself, he began the publication of the Plant-
ers Journal, which was printed on fine, heavy paper, the typo-
graphy and press work being decidedly the best in Mississippi.

He paid very little attention to editing his paper, dele-
gating that work to others. He kept two men around his
office to look after the publication of the Journal in his
absence—T. P. Grasty, an exceedingly clever writer, and Dr.
I. E. Nagle, the ostensible publisher, though most of his time
was taken up in looking wise and entertaining. It was often
said that Nagle would sell for 150 per cent at any time, while
Morehead classed higher.

V.

Morehead claims to have suggested the Cotton Cen-
tennial at New Orleans, in 1884, and to have furnished the
general plans for the exposition, which I never heard denied.

Morehead published the Planters Journal as long as the
publishing was good; and when the picking became lean, he
234 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

suspended his paper, and went to New York, where he en-
gaged in the bond business.

I don’t know what became of Dr. Nagle, but I do know
that no member of the Mississippi Press Association wore
crape or emblems of sorrow when he disappeared.

Grasty’ became one of the owners of the Baltimore Sun,
where he made some considerable reputation, for he was a
most entertaining writer.

Vi.

Captain J. S. Hoskins, of the Lexington Advertiser, was
one of the most charming men I ever knew, and a good editor
he was. He never attempted to soar in the clouds or deal in
heavy platitudes, but as a correct and pleasing editor he had
few equals in his class. He made a most readable paper of
the Advertiser, setting the pace for editors to follow when he
devoted most of his news space to local matters and personals.
He could write good editorials and did so often, but his main
forte was locals. Under his editorship his paper stood at the
head of the weeklies.

His son, William W., had great love for a printing office,
and was constantly around his father’s place. He wrote
several serial stories before he was grown, and developed
into quite a local poet, and gave to the world a volume of
poems, entitled “Atlantis,” which had a good sale in this

state.
VII.

H. P. Johnson, of the Kosciusko Star, was another high-
class, gentlemanly editor, not specially great, but above the
average. He did not do as many editors, depending upon
others to write his articles, but ‘wrote his own editorials with
his own hand.”
 

 

 

3—J. G. Cashman

. Bonney

Henry S
—C. N. Dement

2

1—Emmett L. Ross

4
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 235

 

Johnson bought the Star from Dick Walpole, and labored
hard to keep it up to the standard, set by J. L. McCallum,
who was Walpole’s professional editor, having edited all the
papers that splendid publisher had.owned. Johnson knew he
had a difficult task before him, but it soon developed that
Johnson was equal to the emergency, and made of the Star
a really good paper.

One of the best-known editors of this state was Dr. W.
A. Hurt, of Winona, who had been connected with The
Argus, state prohibition organ, and afterwards purchased by
Roderick Gambrell and converted into the Sword and Shield;
The Winona Times; The New Farmer, the state organ of the
Farmers Alliance, which he sold to the Mississippian, then
published in Jackson, and established the Baptist Layman
at Winona, which became a great denominational paper.

VII.

The old editor—old in service, not in years—of the
Clarion-Ledger, has received many compliments from his
press brethren and readers of his memoirs of editors he has
known for the past fifty years: but the following commenda-
tion from Editor Lawrence, of the Grenada Sentinel, excells
any compliment yet bestowed, and for which the writer is
grateful and hereby returns his sincere thanks:

Grenada, Miss., Oct. 14, 1920.

Col. R. H. Henry,
Jackson, Miss.
My Dear Colonel Henry:

_ I cannot refrain from telling you that you eclipsed yourself for
lofty utterance in your article, No. 31 on “Some Editors I Have
Known,” especially in the first three paragraphs. You soared away
from temporal things in those paragraphs and rung the very door
bells of the gates of the Eternal City.
236 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

You touched upon the purest and tenderest chords of human life
and exhibited that spirit which is so beautifully taught in our Lord’s
prayer where we are enjoined to think and do for others as we would
have them do for us.

I am almost persuaded that the gates of Heaven swung ajar to
give some of your loved ones and friends, who have gone on before,
a look at our restless world and perhaps it is not too much to believe
that such sentiments as you expressed caused your dear ones over
there to add emphasis to their intercessions for you and yours.

You are serving well your State by the publication of these
articles and are showing that even what some would term the most
vigorous and fearless editorial writers are tender of heart and really
yearn for the true sweets of life, sweets that can be got only in the
home and in the association of loyal and confiding friends.

With sincerest wishes,
Yours friend,

O. F. LAWRENCE.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

Some of the Women Publishers of Mississippi—Miss Piney
Woods Forsythe, the First, Followed by Mrs. S. C.
Maer, Mrs. Lena Hobbs, and Mrs. E. A.

Thompson and Others.

We have had a large number of women editors and man-
agers of newspapers, in this state, some of whom distinguished
themselves and wrote their lives down in the history of Mis-
sissippi; some succeeding their husbands, after they had been
called hence, others assuming full responsibility of editorship
while their husbands conducted other business, and in some
instances, girls raised and brought up in printing offices,
never left them, even to marry.

The first full-fledged woman editor I knew of was Miss
Piney Woods Forsythe, who succeeded her father as editor
of the Advocate, Osyka, Miss. It was a rather small paper,
but had the merit of being printed wholly at home, for in
those early days that greatest of all newspaper afflictions,
the patent outside, had not been evolved from the brain of A.
N. Kellogg.

The Advocate was an old style, original paper, carried a
good line of business, and made some impression in the news-
238 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

paper world. Mercantile advertising consisted of bare men-
tions, and some ads were frights to behold, for in those days
the science of advertising was unknown. Most of them started
with the line, “Just received,” followed by a list of articles on
sale.

Miss Piney had a brother who worked in the office with
her, Ijaah Forsythe, and published the Brookhaven Democrat
after her death. He had been elected marshal of Brook-
haven and was killed while in the discharge of his duties, but
he got his assailant, and two funerals followed the tragedy.

Il.

One of the most successful women publishers in Mis-
sissippi was Mrs. S. C. Maer of the Columbus Dispatch,
which she managed and edited for several years. She was
a fine business woman and under her direction the Dispatch
became one of the foremost papers of the state. She person-
ally looked after the business department, giving all her time
to the duties of her paper, and knew exactly what she was
doing every day. While she wrote many of the articles ap-
pearing in the paper, she was assisted in the editorial work
by her son, P. W. Maer, who succeeded his mother as pub-
lisher and made a most interesting paper of the Dispatch,
till death called him home two years ago.

Mrs. Lena Hobbs, widow of the late B. T. Hobbs, of the
Brookhaven Leader, is also an extraordinary woman, com-
petent to write upon any subject of the day, and has con-
tributed to the press gems of poetry and prose. —

Upon her husband’s death she assumed the management
and editorship of the Leader, and has kept it up to the high

standard set by him, for few men have had higher ideals than
Turner Hobbs.

Mrs. Hobbs spends most of her time in her office, and
gives her attention to its minutest details, with all of which
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 239

 

she is thoroughly familiar, and prints a paper of standing,
character and influence.

In her work she is assisted by her son Paul, who has had
the advantage of training both by father and mother, as he
has been in a printing office all his life.

Mrs. Halla Hammond Butt, one of the original suffragets
of this state, was for several years publisher and editor of
the Clarksdale Challenge. She was an exceptionally good
writer, and her editorials would favorably compare with those
of the best editors of the state. She devoted the best years
of her life to the publication of the Challenge, but being a
better editor than manager, disposed of her paper, and en-
gaged almost exclusively in suffrage work. She was well
known to the editors of the state, all of whom acknowledged
her ability.

Lillian Norment succeeded her father as publisher of the
Starkville Citizen, which she conducted for several years,
writing upon all kinds of topics and gave the country a num-
ber of beautiful poems.

III.

Mrs. E. A. Thompson, who succeeded her husband, S. M.
Thompson, as editor and publisher of the Oxford Eagle, was
for many years an attendant upon the annual meetings of the
Press Association, where her merits were always recognized,
for she is a woman of strong mentality, and never fails to
impress herself upon any company of which she might be a
member. She wrote with the vigor of her husband, and kept
the Eagle well to the front as a strong paper.

Mrs. H. C. Bosworth succeeded to the management of
the Canton Citizen after the death of her husband, and raised
an interesting family of boys and girls, all of whom became
identified with newspaper publishing.
240 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Mrs. Bosworth believed more in soliciting advertisements
than writing editorials or locals. She secured columns of ad-
vertisements from New Orleans and Memphis firms, and was
regarded as one of the best solicitors on the state press.

IV.

We have had a number of editors who were regular
practicing physicians, and who drifted into the editor’s chair
for one reason and another, but generally as a matter of pro-
tection, to look after interests they might have in newspaper
plants.

Dr. S. Davis, before referred to, a man of leisure and
education, became the editor of the Forest Register as a
matter of recreation; and getting in the harness, he became
infatuated with newspaper work and never quit.

Dr. A. E. Fant was leading stockholder in the West Point
Citizen and became its editor while enjoying a large and
lucrative practice, not that he cared for the work, but because
of necessity. He wrote well, and his reconstruction editorials
were among the best to appear during the days that really
tried men’s souls.

Dr. Alexander Hunter, for years the directing spirit of
the Crystal Springs Monitor, was an editor through choice
because he liked the work and believed he could do his state
some service. He was in the thickest of the fight during
reconstruction days, and remained at his post of duty till the
real owners of Mississippi had come into their own.

Dr. W. L. Lee, of the Ellisville Eagle, printed a good
country paper and remained in the business several years,
and doing much for the redemption of the state. He has re-
tired from journalism.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 241

 

V.

As much of this article is about women editors, it will
not be out of place to here tell a story of a woman, which is
recalled by my reference to Dr. Hunter of Crystal Springs.

I had been invited to deliver a lecture on “Journalism,”
before the Crystal Springs Chautauqua, and after carefully
preparing and assiduously memorizing the effort, I invited
my wife to accompany me and criticise the speech, for my
life was all before me and I did not know what the future
held in store for an ambitious young man about my age. She
accepted, never refusing to go with me on a trip and has
afforded me great pleasure in my travels.

We reached the Chautauqua grounds after midday and
were comfortably quartered in one of the cottages of the
association. A number of people called to extend a social
welcome, and made the hours pass most delightfully.

After dinner, some young folks invited my wife to take
a ride on the lake, which favor she accepted, and had been
gone about an hour when a committee called to escort me to
the tabernacle, announcing it was time for the lecture. The
bell was rung as notice to the campers that it was time to
assemble for the evening address. I was ushered into the
pavilion, and introduced in a most splendid manner, in such
eulogistic terms that I did not recognize the picture.

I arose, acknowledged the distinguished honor shown in
the presentation and began my talk. Looking over the large
audience—most of those present had season tickets—I was just
a little bit annoyed not to see the bright face of my wife and
critic as I glanced over the assembly.

After I had been speaking twenty minutes or more, the
madam entered and took a seat in the rear of the tabernacle
as though ashamed of the performance. I struggled on, and
242 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

had a hard road reaching the end, feeling that I had made a
failure.

At the conclusion of the lecture, and after receiving the
usual congratulations, I approached my wife timidly for we
had been married several years and I was wise to her ways,
and I said, “My dear, what was the matter? You came in
after the best part of the speech had been delivered.”

.She responded: “I was down on the lake when the bell
rang; something got wrong with the engine. When the
trouble was repaired we headed for the landing; I climbed
the hill and rushed to the gate-way of the tabernacle, when
the ticket-taker refused to let me inside unless I paid him a
quarter. Having no money, I returned to the cottage, got
my purse and paid my way inside the pavillion. Now dear,
you know I care nothing about a quarter, but I do hate to
throw it away.”

While that was almost the blow that killed father, I
rallied and replied, “Well, your criticism at least has the
merit of frankness, my girl, and reminds me of the time
when Judge Calhoon delivered the leading address at a press
banquet in Yazoo City, years ago. There was no wine on the
table and the cold water almost froze the marrow in the
Judge’s bones, and having nothing to inspire him, brighten
his thoughts, or loosen his tongue, the Judge floundered
around for twenty minutes and quit in disgust, realizing that
he had made a failure.

“John Sharp Williams, seeing the Judge’s predicament, in-
vited him down to his office to get a drink. On the way,
seeking consolation, the Judge said to Williams, ‘John, I feel
like I made a d—— fool of myself tonight.’ John, in’ his
matter-of-fact, frank manner, responded, ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ when
the Judge quickly replied, ‘Well, you need not be so d——ed
candid about it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

W. E. Mollison, a Negro Editor, Banquets With Mississippi
Editors Years Before the Roosevelt-Washington
Dinner.—Walter McLaurin Gets Best
of Jim Liddle.

The public will recall the hullabaloo raised over the
Roosevelt-Booker Washington dinner in 1903, when the Presi-
dent of the United States ate lunch with the negro president
of Tuskegee Institute.

No event of the day attracted more attention than that
memorable incident, both Democratic and Republican papers
criticising and condemning it.

During the Roosevelt-Washington discussion the writer
called attention to the fact that that was not the only time
a white man had publicly eaten with a negro. The fact
was recalled that W. E. Mollison, editor of the Mayersville
Spectator, had been a member of the Mississippi Press Asso-
ciation, though he was a negro, as there was nothing in the
constitution drawing the color or the political line.

II.

Several Republican editors had belonged to the Press
Association, but Mollison was the only negro to join.
244 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Mollison, being a sensible, well behaved negro, did not
attempt to take part in the proceedings of the Conventions.
But the crucial test came when the editors were given their
annual banquet by citizens of Natchez. The invitation was
general and all members of the press were expected to attend.
Then the question arose, “What are we to do with Mollison?”
and the editors were much disturbed.

They decided not to cross the bridge till they reached the
creek, hoping that Mollison would have the good sense not to
attend the banquet. But he didn’t; the event was too big
for him to miss. So, at the appointed time the negro ap-
peared, having made up his mind to eat supper with the white
editors unless he was thrown out. A consultation of the
leaders was held, and it was decided not to deny Mollison a
seat at the banquet table.

No one wanted to sit with him, and it was proposed to
give him a table by himself, when that was declared imprac-
ticable, and Captain Frank Burkitt, who objected to “strain-
ing at a gnat and swallowing a camel,” as he expressed it in
his frank manner, said, “Oh, h——; sit the negro down by
me; I'll eat with him.” That solved the difficulty, and
Mollison was sandwiched in between two noted editors, Capt.
Burkitt on his right and Major Barksdale on his left—and
behaved himself modestly and well during the dining, and has
the honor of being the only negro editor to eat with
the Mississippi Press Association.

Mollison greatly enjoyed the distinction shown him, and
when the Roosevelt-Washington incident was being aired in
the press, he was glad that his dining with white people ante
dated that of Booker’s. Mollison retired from the editor’s
chair, moved to Vicksburg and became a fairly successful
lawyer. Hl

Many men were employed upon the staff of the Clarion,
from time to time; and two of its editors died the same
year—Harris Barskdale and Willie S. Power, in 1882.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 245

 

Harris Barksdale was known as the local and news
editor, but he possessed extraordinary ability as a writer, and
was at home in any of the departments, and really did much
of the editorial work during his father’s absence. He was
especially happy as a sketch writer, and his fluent pen de-
scribed many of the most interesting scenes and great events
in Mississippi history. Perhaps his best work was his reports
of State Conventions and assembly gatherings.

Though he died while a young man, he had made con-
siderable reputation as a writer, and President Walpole said
of him in his address to the Press Convention, “Harris Barks-
dale was a bold, incisive writer, having few equals in the
state; was faithful to the press, a fearless defender and an
earnest advocate of its every right.”

 

Willie S. Power, son of Col. J. L. Power, was local editor
of the Clarion, and performed his work well, especially for
one so young, for he was but fresh from college when death
laid its cold hand upon him, and removed one of the brightest
and most intelligent young writers of the state. He gave
promise of great usefulness and was regarded as one of the
rising young members of the Mississippi Press, as his writings
so ably proved. “Bright, brief and honorable was his young
career,”

Oliver Clifton was another of the Clarion editors to pass
away in the prime of life. He succeeded to the editor-
ship after Major Barksdale’s retirement, on his election to
Congress; and was a worthy successor of Mississippi’s great
old editor. He was essentially a leader writer, and was much
given to saying whatever he pleased, regardless of con-
sequences, which came near involving him in several difficul-
ties with editors with whom he differed.
246 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Mr. Clifton had had so much experience around the
Supreme Court as reporter, and as a writer of political
articles, platforms and resolutions, that he fell naturally and
gracefully into the editor’s chair. He doted on statistics,
especially of a political nature, and filled his paper with facts
and figures of incalculable value. And being an accurate
writer and reliable statistican, his articles were accepted as
correct, there being no one to question them, as Clifton was
regarded as an authority on such matters.

IV.

J. M. Liddle, known as “one of the swamp angels,” be-
cause of his connection with several negro shooting affairs,
had edited several papers, the last at Grenada. He was
bitter upon the “McLaurin dynasty,” which he said ‘was
a greater menace to the country than the Republican party.”
He rarely printed a paper without roasting one or more of
the McLaurins.

The genial Walter McLaurin was Railroad Commissioner,
and had been Jim’s meat for months. He had said everything
mean about Walter that it was possible to say.

One day Walter chanced to meet Jim in Jackson, and
being a thorough politician, and never taking offense at any-
thing written or said about him, cordially extended his hand,
remarking, “Jim, I am mighty glad to meet you, old man.
Where are you living now?” for Liddle roamed around a good
deal. Jim, drawing himself up with haughty pride replied,
“I am living at Grenada.” “What are you doing there, Jim?”
asked Walter as meek as Moses and as innocent as a child.
“Why, I am publishing a paper there.” “You are; well I
declare I did not know it. What’s your subscription price?”
When told that it was one dollar per year, Walter said, “Well,
Jim, I want you to send me your paper; here is a dollar; send
it on and don’t stop when the time is out, for I know you
must be getting up a mighty readable paper.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 247

 

That was too much for Jim, and he quit abusing Walter,
holding that a man with such free and open manners was not
altogether bad, and they became good friends before they
died, Walter passing away in Brandon, the result of an injury
sustained while trying to stop a runaway horse, in order to
save the life of a young lady friend. Jim died in the Phillip-
pine Islands, where he held a position as federal judge, going
over there with Louis Southworth in 1904.

Vv.

Sam D. Harper succeeded his father on the Hinds County
Gazette, with whom he had worked many years. He was well
trained and thoroughly conversant with newspaper details.
Sam made a very good paper of the Gazette, but did not
seem to succeed financially and decided to try new fields,
moving to Hazlehurst where he printed a really bright paper
for a few years, which he finally sold and opened business in
Jackson, giving up newspaper work and devoting himself to
job printing. Sam was a happy, go-lucky fellow, who took
life easy. He was kind and courteous to all and was much
liked by brother editors and the public.

The Gazette was taken over by his brothers and continued
in the family till most of the boys died off, when it was sold
to strangers.

We have had a number of odd, peculiar men in the news-
paper profession—Claiborne calls it a profession and he is a
good authority—some of whom have proven quite interesting.

There was F. H. Culley of the Fayette Chronicle. He
was no great editor, but he did get up a good local paper,
was a fair manager and made money. He understood the
science of country publishing, knew what his receipts would
be, and kept his paper within expenses, putting aside a few
248 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

hundred dollars a year for himself and wife, as they had no
children.

Culley was a peculiar fellow. He attended meetings of
the Press Association with punctual regularity, and carried
along a wardrobe of clothes, several suits and a half dozen
hats. He never wore one hat more than a day when on press
trips, and changed his clothing every day, sometimes twice.
The press boys used to gamble on his changes.

VI.

Then there was another oddity, in the person of J. F.
Vance, of the Hazelhurst Copiahan, whose motto was to
“Keep the owl a-hooting.” The Copiahan was a large four
page paper, of the bed blanket variety. It was all home
print, set in leaded small pica, Vance holding to the opin-
ion that he should print a paper that all his subscribers could
read. He was a printer himself, and set his editorials and
locals out of his head, composing them as he stood at the
printer’s case. He had a fancy for long-winded reprints as
they kept the printers busy and saved the preparation of

copy.

Vance was a tall, large man of rather serious caste of
features, and attracted attention because of his size and
solemn looks. He attended press meetings for years, and
never opened his mouth on the floor. He seemed content
to let the world wag, and never offered a suggestion regard-
ing newspaper work or betterment. He always appeared
entirely satisfied. But he could run with the boys when op-
portunity offered, and keep up with the high rollers.

Vance was a rather lively old duck, not entirely like
Caesar’s wife, and when in his cups was charged with “wand-
ering around in the dark.” He frequently went out to his
daughter’s home in the country, after he had worked like
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 249

 

a dray horse all day at the case. He had an enemy living
on the road who had been heard to make threats on his life;
but Vance cared nothing about that; and started on his way
to the country, after night had fallen.

Another man on horse back was ahead of him, which he
knew not of. A third man lay in wait, with a shot gun, and
as horseman No. 1 approached, the assassin fired upon and
killed him, thinking he had shot Vance.

In those red-hot days in Copiah, the shooting of a man
attracted no very great attention; but an effort was made
to apprehend the murderer, and the blame was placed on a
negro, around whose cabin blood was found, which after-
wards proved to be the blood of a hog the boy had stolen.
The negro escaped, and never returned till he was proven
innocent by the dying confession of the man who had sworn
to kill Vance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

J. J. Haynie, the Premier Advertising Solicitor of the State.
One Mississippi Editor, F. C. McGee, Accumulates
Money and Retires.—Poet-Editor,

S. Newton Berryhill.

While the purpose of these memoirs has been to deal
with editors and publishers who have passed away, it will
not be out of place to refer to some who have retired to the
walks of private life, as I have heretofore done in a few
instances.

Prominent among the men who have devoted their active
lives to newspaper publishing may be mentioned J. J.
Haynie. He was for many years a conspicious figure in the
journalistic world of Mississippi, and was regarded as the
premier advertising solicitor of his day.

Haynie has printed a number of papers in his time, all
with fair success, and has solicited for more papers than he
has owned. He began newspaper reporting before my name
was discernable at a mast head, but was never the owner of
a paper till 1875, when he established the Noxubee County
Star at Shuqulak, which he moved to Macon, changing the
name to that of the Mississippi Sun, publishing it for ten
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 251

 

or fifteen years. It was a good newspaper, and was filled
with advertisements, not only from Macon, but from New
Orleans, Mobile, Memphis and other cities.

Il.

Publishers with less energy and far less initiative than
Haynie, wondered how he managed to secure so many “for-
eign” advertisements, as all business away from the scene of
publication is called. They looked upon Haynie as the
wonder of the day. Dick Walpole and J. J. Shannon were
regarded as extraordinary advertising solicitors, but they did,
not surpass, if indeed, they equalled Haynie, who seemed able
to get advertisements anywhere and from anybody.

The first time I met Haynie was in 1878. He was
in Jackson soliciting advertisements for his Macon paper, and
I was there on the same mission for my own paper, the
Brookhaven Ledger. I was impressed by his remarkable
personality, his great energy and wonderful resourcefulness.

The steamer Oliver Clifton, built by the penitentiary
lessees, had just been put in the packet line from Jackson
to Carthage. I could understand why manufacturing estab-
lishments of Jackson might with profit advertise in a Brook-
haven paper, as plow factories, undertaking concerns and
music houses were rare in those days; but could not, in my
most vivid imagination, see how Jackson firms could hope
to benefit by advertising in a Macon paper.

But Haynie, advertizing wizard that he was, inventive
genius that he proved to be, worked out the problem, and
presented it with such force and effectiveness that he had
no trouble in getting a big batch of advertisements at

Jackson.

His plan was attractive and altogether original. He
argued that the Clifton would carry manufactured articles,
252 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

merchandise, fertilizers, etc., up to the head of navigation,
and from there they would be distributed through Neshoba,
Winston and Noxubee counties, till they came within the
sphere of the Sun’s circulation, thus bringing the consumer
in close touch with Jackson.

Returning, the Clifton would bring down staves, lum-
ber, hoop poles, hogs, poultry, etc. The scheme was worthy
of the brain of Haynie, though no other publisher in the
state possessed the initiative to evolve it, or had the nerve
to present it. But with Haynie everything was fair not only
in love and war, but in advertising soliciting. When he con-
fided his plan to me, with the assurance that he could not
only get a double column advertisement from Hamilton, Hos-
kins & Co., and others for the Sun, but for the Ledger as
well, I looked at him in amazement, wondering if I stood in
the presence of Baron Munchausen, or had received a visit
from Lamar Fontaine. But the scheme worked, and Haynie
wrote contracts for both papers, for I did not have the gall
to solicit the business myself.

II.

I have solicited with Haynie in several cities, and must
say I have never known his equal. His energy was un-
excelled, his nerve unsurpassed, while his cheek had no
parallel even in the proverbial government mule.

We worked side by side in the oil boom days of Beau-
mont, when he was representing a rather obscure paper known
as the American Ginner. At first, business was bad with
him. No man in the oil fields had ever heard of the
American Ginner. He worked like a Trogan for three or
four days, and secured less than $100 worth of business. He
was thoroughly disgusted, and was about to throw up the
sponge when a suggestion I made induced him to continue
his work.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 253

 

We held a council of war, and discussed means and
plan to increase our advertising business. I asked him what
circulation he claimed when soliciting oil well advertisements,
when he replied, “All that I dare claim, 7,500, and advertisers
simply ridicule my small circulation.” I replied, “Why, Haynie,
I am amazed at you. Don’t you see that these stock-selling
men are frauds and fakirs. Swindlers themselves, they look
upon every person they deal with as humbugs and rascals.
Why don’t you move up your circulation a few thousand every
day just to see what effect it will have? You have no con-
scientious scruples, and if there is a man in the newspaper
game that has the nerve to work the scheme it is none other
than your own precious self.”

He appeared to be shocked at the suggestion—but he
wasn’t, and replied, “Why, Colonel, I am surprised, but thank
you.” “Don’t mention it, my dear boy. I am simply showing
you a way out of your trouble. You are not compelled to
adopt the suggestion.”

I am not prepared to say that Haynie profited by my
advice, but I do know that business suddenly picked up in
his direction, and was surprised to learn as I moved around
among the oil advertisers that the circulation of the American
Ginner far exceeded that of the Clarion-Ledger—and that
was going some, for the circulation of Mississippi’s Great
Religious Daily, which I had dubbed my paper in a joking
vein, had not been understated.

Haynie has retired from active newspaper work, and is
near the age of 80, enjoying the fruits of a well directed life,
spending his latter days with relatives in the quiet of a Quit-
man home among friends who have known him long, and who

love and honor him.
IV.

Few editors accumulate money, and when one is known
to have put aside a few dollars for a rainy day, he is entitled
254 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

to special mention. In that class comes F. C. McGee, for
many years the editor of the Enterprise Courier, succeeding
to the ownership of that paper on the death of W. J. Adams.

He was an active supporter of Hon. O. R. Singleton in
his memorable canvass in 1882, when he defeated Hon. Thomas
H. Woods for Congress, after he had in reality been legislated
out of his district. Singleton lived in Madison county, which
was thrown out of his district in the legislative reapportion-
ment; but undaunted he moved over to Forest, bought him
a home, moved his citizenship to the capital of Scott county,
and was re-elected.

McGee was appointed to a clerical position by Singleton,
and remained in the Federal service several years. He after-
wards moved to Meridian, organized a bank, became its
head, and made a lot of money, and was a rich man before
he passed away.

His brother, Addie McGee, was also an editor of the
Courier, and kept it up to the standard.

S. Newton Berryhill was known as the poet-editor of
Mississippi. He first attracted attention as poet, from the
interior village of Bellfontaine, where he resided from his
boyhood. He had been afflicted with an infirm body all his
life, and being unable to romp and play, had devoted him-
self to books, and had the benefit of a good education, being
specially tutored. He early turned his attention to literature,
writing both prose and verse. He published a volume en-
titled “Backwoods Poems,” that had good sale and was favor-
ably received by competent critics.

He wrote many magazine articles on current topics, and
was a frequent contributor to the Metropolitan press. He
became the editor of one of the Columbus papers, but the
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 255

 

grind was too great for his frail body, and he passed away
early, but not before he had shown his ability as an editorial
writer.

S. W. Townsend published the Intelligencer at McComb
City, in the early days of that place. The paper was an
adjunct to a large book and job plant that did much of the
work for New Orleans, Jackson and Great Northern Railroad.
afterwards merged with, and is now part of the Illinois Cen-
tral system.

The Intelligencer was a handsome weekly, devoted largely
to industrial matters and home development, and for quite
a while was edited. by Major E. Barksdale, which is tanta-
mount to saying its editorials were second to none in the
state.

The plant of the Intelligencer was owned by a stock
company, and it was understood the railroad was the largest
shareholder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Barksdale Would Sumbit to no Procrustean Rule With
His Heads.—J. S. Mason, Port Gibson Reveille, and
J. S. Lewis, Woodville Republican.—Celebrated
New Orleans Editors.

It is an easy matter to write history—some kind of
history—but not always so easy to write interesting or
pleasing history; for however careful one may be in what
he says he is almost certain to say something that will grate
upon sensitive nerves, or tread upon delicate toes, if he
writes correctly, or details incidents as he saw or remembers
them, for many people object to the whole story being told
of themselves.

Others, whose lives have been uneventful, often magnify
their own importance, and want all events of which they have
formed a part, extravagantly elaborated.

Carlyle says that “Histories are as perfect as the
historian is wise, and gifted with an eye and a soul.” Another
author says that “History is a systematic written account of
events, distinguished from annals and chronicals, which re-
late facts and events in chronological order.” And he might
have added that obituaries are not history, for no class of
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 257

 

writing is so exaggerated as obituaries, except in rare, cases,
for necrological writers view their subjects from one angle
only—the better side.

108

That recalls an incident in the newspaper life of the
late Major E. Barksdale, who was a frequent contributor to
the Clarion-Ledger, after his retirement from Congress. He
always wrote his own headings, and would tolerate no changes
whatever, unlike Geo. D. Prentice who could never write heads
to his own articles, delegating that duty to someone else,
to Henry Watterson, Polk Johnson, or the foreman.

Major Barksdale lived before the days of the “head-
writer,’ knew nothing of and cared less for what is now
known as “‘style” in head writing. He wrote his heads accord-
ing to his own ideas, and frequently put enough words in
one sentence to make four head-lines. He was often requested
to change his headings to conform to the style of the paper,
or permit changes made by others. But he invariably said
“No; I will allow no one to edit my headings. I know what
I want to say in a head; care nothing about your modern
style, and will be bound by no procrustean rule. You can
neither saw off a clause or add a word to my heads.” And
that settled it. We must take the Major’s articles as he pre-
pared them, heads and all, or leave them out entirely; and
no one dared omit them, for in that case no more would be
forthcoming, for he would stand no bossing or dictating.

Major Barksdale was editing a department in the Clarion-
Ledger when it was published by R. H. Henry & Co. He
always kept his “hook” loaded with copy, and when the
announcement was made that I had sold my interest in the
paper to Capt. J. S. McNeily, (which I repurchased in one
year), the Major came up into the editorial rooms, went
deliberately to his “hook” in the composing room and stripped
258 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

off several columns of matter, saying, “That is my valedic-
tory,” leaving the office without another word, and never
returned. I bought the McNeily interest back, and the
Clarion-Ledger corporation was formed, but Barksdale was
dead.

Il.

One of the most forceful writers on the State press was
Major J. S. Mason, of the Port Gibson Reveille, whose edi-
torials were lofty and able. He came to Mississippi from
Delaware when a young man and entered upon the duties
of journalism before the war.

After the close of hostilities he returned to his chosen
calling, and made a good paper of the Reveille. One who
knew him well said that Mason brought with him from Dela-
ware the “conservative principles, the stern integrity and
lofty sense of honor, that constitute the characteristics of
his native state. Lenient, charitable and forgiving, he had
no compromise to make with fraud and deliberate wrong.”

Under his management no paper in the state manifested
more firmness, independence and fearlessness than the
Reveille. Mason never attended the Press Conventions, and
was personally known to few editors of Mississippi.

He established the Reveille before the war and resumed
its publication after peace had been declared.

For several years Capt. J. S. Lewis was the editor of the
Woodville Republican, and those who remember him cannot
forget the bright editorials emanating from his polished pen.
He was a Democrat of Democrats and was always in the
forefront of battles waged for his party. For a long while
his county was hopelessly Republican, but in the tidal wave
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 259

 

of 1875 purged itself of carpet baggers and scalawags, and
took its part in ousting Ames,. Davis and Cardoza, at the
legislative session of 1876.

Capt. Lewis was a splendid type of the manhood of the
old South. He came from a well-to-do family, was raised
in the lap of plenty, and had little need to work till after
the Civil War, when he put his shoulder to the wheel, and
did a man’s part to assist in rehabilitating the waste places
of the South.

IV.

I have known many of the editors of New Orleans, and
in the list were some of the best writers of the country.
Many of them were men of ability, the only objection that
could be found to them, was a lack of personality. Most of
them went along in hum-drum fashion, simply filling editorial
space, in a groved, beaten track way, without attracting any
special attention, with not one man in a thousand knowing
who might be the dominant force in the editorial room.

Of course, there have been exceptions. Major Burke,
who really made the Times-Democrat, possessed a personality
that was patent to readers generally.

The same might be said of Major Hearsey of the Daily
States, whose style was easily distinguishable, for it had
behind it force and power.

Page Baker, with his classic face and positive manner,
was a trained editor, pleasing, graceful and ornate, and for
many years was considered the dean of the editorial faculty
of New Orleans, his name coming first in the list.

Harrison Parker, of the Daily Delta, was another editor
with a personality, and the fight he made against the Louisiana
Lottery, which involved him in a duel with Major Burke, will
go down in history as one of the best journalistic triumphs
of the past century. He was born in Jackson, Miss.
260 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Ned Burbank, leading editorial writer of the Picayune,
was handicapped with excess of humor, which overshadowed
his solid work. But he was a fine editor.

Col. Robinson of the same paper, was also a most fin-
ished writer, but utterly lacking in personality. As an essay-
ist he had no superiors, but as a rule the public does not care
for editorial essays, preferring grits and grain to smooth
sentences and rounded periods.

Ballard of the Item is the only New Orleans editor of
the day showing marked individuality in his writings, though
not as smooth and graceful as Norman Walker of the Times-
Picayune, the oldest editor in the Crescent City.

One of the greatest editors of New Orleans was Ashton
Phelps, who passed away two years ago in a Northern re-
treat, where he had gone hoping to recover his strength and
health. In the passing of Ashton Phelps, journalism lost one
of its brighest and most intellectual members, New Orleans
one of its leading and most useful citizens, the South one
of its most progressive and thoughtful sons, the country a
man who was a credit to the nation.

New Orleans had another remarkable newspaper man
in the person of Domonick O’Malley, who succeeded John W.
Fairfax as owner of the old Item; but he was more of a pub-
lisher than an editor. He was sensational but interesting, and
had more fights on account of his articles than all the other
editors of New Orleans combined, and carried to his grave
wounds received in many street encounters.

V.

I once heard a good story about Col. Louis A. Middleton,
that members of the craft at least will appreciate. He pub-
lished the Sentinel at Columbus, and never allowed his paper
printed till he saw the first press proof, in order to make
final corrections.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 261

 

Colonel Middleton had a big buck negro to put the
forms on the press and work off the paper. He was im-
patiently waiting for the first copy. The negro had lifted
and carried one form of type to the press, when, being hur-
ried, he concluded to try a different plan, so raising the locked
_chase, he put it on his head, with the result that type, column
rules, quoins and furniture went to the floor in a heap, while
the chase remained around the negro’s neck like a collar.

The old Colonel was a brave man, and had many noble
attributes, swearing being one of his weaknesses. Without
mercy he tongue-lashed the poor darkey, now with head down
and trembling in his boots. There was a peck of “pi” on
the floor. He cursed the negro in installments, and then
walked around and swore at him from all points of the com-
pass. In fact, the office had a sulphurious odor for a week.

I knew one incident similar to the above when I was
working on the Brandon Republican. Charlie was the negro
office boy, and knew a good deal about handling the old
Howe railway press. He could get it ready, put on the forms,
and start it running. Charlie furnished the motive power
with his own strong arms.

Colonel Frantz was careful as to the appearance of his
paper, and always wanted to see the first copy, holding the
press till he could go over it. Charlie could put on the
forms, plane them down and take an impression, but could
not tell if the type were standing on their heads or their
heels.

The foreman had made up and locked the forms, and
told Charlie to put them on the press, take an impression
and hand it to Colonel Frantz.
262 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

The old editor took the sheet and looking at it yelled
out, “You d—— fool; you have the forms on upside down,”
and the other things he said must be imagined. The sheet
was as black as the pot, for the face of the type was next
the bed of the press, while Charlie had inked and taken an
impression of the bottom of the type.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN.

A Really Great Editor Was John Forsyth of the Mobile
Register—J. H. Duke Proves a Loyal Friend.
Gen. J. R. Chalmers Deserts Party.
Remains in Congress.

One of the greatest editors I have ever known was Col.
John Forsyth, of the Mobile Register, and my acquaintance
with him was only slight, such as a boy would have with a
man old enough to be his father. He was regarded as the
truly great editor of the South, for in Forsyth’s time, Henry
Watterson was just coming on the stage, as the successor
of Geo. D. Prentice, and Henry Grady was unknown.

Under Forsyth’s control the old Register was a great
paper, one of the most influential in the land, for at the time
New Orleans had no really great editor, nor had Atlanta,
Nashville, Montgomery or Memphis.

I was particularly interested in his editorials on Ben
H. Hill, whom he regarded as Georgia’s leading statesman,
Bob Toombs having quit politics, to give his time entirely to
the law, and A. H. Colquitt and John B. Gordon had not
entered the political arena.
264 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I recall a little story that I have heard related of Forsyth,
An advertiser meeting him one day remarked, “I have sent
you an advertisement, not that I expect it to do me any good,
for people do not read advertisements, but I feel it my duty
to assist in supporting the Register.

Forsyth was a proud old man, through whose veins, it
was said, coursed the blood of Isabella of Spain, and an-
swered, “I want no advertisements on such terms, but am
ready to test the truth of your assertion. I shall print a
small advertisement for you in tomorrow’s Register, will put
it in an obscure place and guarantee that you will have more
callers than you: can attend to. If you do not, I will treat
you to the best supper the Battle House can get up; but if
you admit that the advertisement kept you busy, you will pay
for the supper.”

The agreement was entered into, and next morning the
Register contained the following advertisement: Wanted—To
buy a small black dog. Call at No. 322 Royal street.” .

By ten o’clock next day the merchant had received calls
from several parties who had dogs for sale. He declared he
wanted no dog, and ordered the intruders away. The follow-
ing morning he heard the barking of many dogs, and arising
to see what was wanted, was horrified on beholding an army
of small boys at his door with all kinds of dogs—terriers,
hounds, pointers, setters, and other kinds. He asked what
was wanted, and ordered the crowd to depart; but they in-
sisted they had come to sell him a dog, having seen his
advertisement in the Register.

The merchant called at the Register office, and informed
Col. Forsyth that he had won his wager, and that the supper
would be forthcoming; that the ad also proved to his satis-
faction that people do read advertisements, and in the future
he would be a regular partron of his paper.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 265

 

If.

J. H. Duke became a newspaper owner by accident, not
by design. He was by occupation a merchant, and when his
local paper, the Scooba Herald, was having a hard time, he
came to its rescue, taking the paper over, with no thought of
making money, but to keep it alive. He new nothing what-
ever of the newspaper business, but felt a pride in keeping
the Herald on its feet, and remained its principal owner the
balance of his days.

It made him eligible to membership in the Mississippi
Press Association, and he was not slow to embrace all the
opportunities that such connection afforded.

For more than fifteen years Duke attended the annual
conventions of the National Editorial Association, and became
its third, second and first vice-presidents, and would have
been elected president of the Association, but for the fact
that the constitution provided that only practical and active
newspaper men should be advanced to the presidency. But
Jim was loyal to his state, and when informed by friends at
Portland, Oregon, that he could not be elected president be-
cause of constitutional inhibition, he promptly answered,
“Well, no such objections can apply to my friend R. H.
Henry, for he is an old and trained editor and publisher and
I want my friends to vote for and elect him;” and it was
done, the election being by acclamation—an unusual honor,
one I did not deserve, as I was a new member of the Asso-
ciation, having attended only two of its previous meetings.

Il.

Jim Duke was always on hand at Press Conventions, good
natured, happy, pleasant and accommodating—a regular
bonhomie. He paid particular attention to the ladies and
was never too busy to wait upon or serve them, and it is
 

266 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

unnecessary to say that the girls doted on Jim. I have traveled
with him across the continent on editorial excursions, and
never saw him tired of ladies’ society, and he was ever ready
to be their beau or chaperone.

He was their defender at all times, always holding
women in the highest esteem, their steadfast friend under
all circumstances.

Duke was the only man I ever knew that made money
suing newspapers. It will be remembered during the Guy
Jack-Lipscomb trials in Kemper county, the New York Journal
connected Duke’s name with what was known and denounced
as insurance swindles, intimating that he was one of the
beneficiaries, the Journal using stronger language. Upon
seeing the charges made by the Journal, Duke secured the
services of a good lawyer and proceeded to institute suit
against Hearst for criminal libel. Hearst made a show of
fight, in order to sustain himself; but the case never went
to trial, and Jim got $20,000 on compromise.

Jim Duke was a good citizen, a strict churchman, a man
of large charity, universally popular, and while not a great
newspaperman, his friends of the press grieved when they
learned that he who had given so much pleasure to others,
had been called to meet his Maker, passing away in an in-
firmary in Mobile where he had been carried for treatment.
A handsome monolith marks his last resting place in the
Scooba Cemetery.

IV.

Gen. J. R. Chalmers, being hard- pressed in a Con-
gressional race in the Shoe-Strong district, made up of coun-
ties along the Mississippi River, secured an interest in the
Vicksburg Commercial, in 1881, and became its editor. He
did not do all the editorial writing, having J. W. Youngblood
to assist him, but what he wrote had life and warmth in it,
 
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 267

 

for few men could write better than Gen’l Chalmers. He
had fine command of language, and could mould hard or
soft sentences as occasion required. He had an incisive but
pleasing style; was a master of invective, and could rend an
opponent or delight a friend with his finished phrases.

But he was more of a politician than an editor. He was
also a good lawyer, and had been a fine soldier, winning his
spurs as commander of a “High-Pressure Brigade.”

General Chalmers was elected to Congress from the
“Shoe-String District,” serving two terms. He ran again but
was defeated by the negro politician, John R. Lynch, who had
once defeated Roderick Seal in the Southern district.

Chalmers never returned to the Democratic party, which
would have nothing to do with him after his wanderings in
Republican fields, and beclouding a brilliant life.

V.

C. T. Calhoon of the Yazoo Sentinel was a kind-hearted,
pleasant gentleman, modest and unaffected, weak in body
but strong in mind. He was a poor mixer but a good editor,
and made a fine local paper of the Sentinel. He seldom left
his home town, and for that reason was little known to the
editors of the state, except through the columns of his paper,
in which he spoke his convictions quite freely.

He was a man, and believed in rendering justice to all
his fellowmen. He was spared to fight many battles for his
country and lived to see the reins of government transferred
to the Democracy before being called hence.

 

A. M. Roach was another Yazoo editor of note. He
succeeded R. Walpole as owner of the Yazoo Herald, and
soon developed into a good editor. He wrote well, and printed
268 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

one of the largest and best weeklies in the state, keeping the
Herald up to the high standard it had maintained for years.

He took great pride in his work, and his editorials would
have done credit to any editor of the state. He was a most
agreeable man, beliked by all, and friendly to everyone. Un-
fortunately for the press and the state, A. M. Roach was
called away when quite young, and before he had fully
developed his faculties as an editor and publisher.

Mississippi has had prose and poetic editors, and I re-
member one whose prose was almost equal to poetry. I refer
to the late Dr. B. F. Passmore, who was for several years
editor of the Canton Times, and many of his leaders were really
poems in prose.

He was not long on politics, having a somewhat mixed
political record, but delighted to write pretty things about
his state, county and people, and the tributes he paid to
women could not have been excelled by any editor of the
state. He had a poetic-romantic nature, and did love to
pay panegyrics to the ladies. He was an old man when I
first knew him, but young in spirit, in thought and in action.
At Press banquets he always responded to the sentiment
“The Ladies,” and he fairly made the welkin ring with chaste
sentences and poetic expressions.

It has been said, that no one can “Gild refined gold;
paint the lily, perfume the violet, smooth the ice, or add an-
other hue to the rainbow.” But Shakespeare lived before and
knew nothing of the poetic and descriptive powers of Benja-
min Franklin Passmore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT.

Citizens of Vicksburg Wanted a New Morning Paper and
Offered Me the Management.—J. G. Cashman Estab-
lishes the Post.—I Meet Samuel J. Tilden, Joseph
Pulitzer and Other Celebrities.

The “unembroidered and unfrilled” Democrats of the
Hill City were out with the Daily Herald, under the editor-
ship of Charles E. Wright, and were anxious to see another
morning paper established there.

I was called to Vicksburg by gentlemen who were en-
couraging the establishment of another paper, and though
quite a young man, was offered the business management
of the enterprise.

A number of citizens held a meeting to discuss the
proposition, and when I met them in conference, was sur-
prised at the small number present. Among them I remember
A. G. Paxton, Dr. C. K. Marshall, Dr. H. Shannon, George
Dorsey, H. B. Bruser, Jno. A. Peale, Ben Hardaway, Lee
Richardson, Dr C. B. Galloway—he was not Bishop then—
and some merchants and business men whose name I do not
recall. Cashman was either present, or it was understood he
was in sympathy with the movement. Dr. Galloway was to
be editor-in-chief.
270 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

When I heard their proposition, and was informed that
$10,000 had been subscribed or promised, I remarked, ‘Why,
gentlemen, you have not enough funds in sight to start a
morning paper, much less to keep one alive till it could be
made to pay expenses. If you will raise $100,000 in money,
or in bankable paper, I might be disposed to give the propo-
sition consideration, but $10,000 would be swallowed up before
you would know it, for a daily paper eats up more money
than a saw mill.”

I advised the buying of the Herald, saying two morn-
ing papers could not live in Vicksburg, and that the older
paper would have all the advantage, being established and a
going concern, with Associated Press franchise, and having
a prestige that no paper could overcome without the expendi-
ture of a large sum of money. The gentlemen behind the
movement did not agree with me, and said $100,000 could
not be raised. I thanked them for the honor they had done
me, and returned to Brookhaven where I remained till I
moved my paper to Jackson in 1883.

II.

It was not so long after the conference above referred to
that J. G. Cashman established the Evening Post at Vicksburg
—a bold thing to do, in view of the fact that Vicksburg had
been a perfect graveyard for evening papers, their number
being too large to count, the Telegram, Monitor, the Commer-
cial and the Vicksburger being among them; all of which long
since turned their toes to the daisies, to which might be added
the American, of later date, across whose name “hic jacet,”
was written ten years ago.

J. S. Senter of the Columbus Commercial, saw visions
and money in a Vicksburg daily, and being an old publisher,
established the American, which was a bright and interesting
paper; but after struggling along with it for years, he sold
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 271

it to Capt. E. C. Carroll, a man of meéans and great popu-
larity. Carroll was not a newspaper man, and did the wisest
thing of his life when he decided to sell the paper and plant
to Cashman. Then the Post took on new life, and with no
evening competitor in the field, it forged rapidly forward, the
Cashman brothers assisting their father in its publication, in-
fusing into the Post new blood and energy.

Cashman seems to have seen farther ahead than most
publishers, or aspiring newspaper men, when he established
the Post, for it was a success from the first issue. Begin-
ning in a very modest way, it built up gradually, till now it
is one of the largest, and best dailies in the state.

Capt. Cashman became a good editor, and could write any
kind of matter, leaders, paragraphs, locals, sketches, or any-
thing that came to hand. He was never at a loss, in any
department, including mechanical. ;

Whenever he desired, he could write with the sting of
an asp, and cut with the keenness of a scimiter; but as a
rule his writings were free of venom or malice, his idea being
to express opinions and discuss matters of the day in a clear
and candid way. His style was simple and easy; his sen-
tences were never involved or complicated, and while perhaps
not as classic as some other editors of the state, his language
was so plain that anyone could understand it.

III.

Cashman disliked Cleveland, and weeks elapsed after
his nomination in 1888 before the Post decided to support
him.

Cashman has always been one of the very best friends
I have had among the editors of the state, notwithstanding

our widely divergent views. He is a bitter partisan but we
are even on that score. It is but just to him, in this con-
272 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

nection to say, that while he was disappointed with the nomi-
nation of Cleveland, he gradually became a great admirer of
the “Old Man,” as Lamar called him. It will be remembered
Lamar had preferred Bayard to Cleveland, and did a lot of
“legging” for him at Chicago in 1884. It will be recalled,
after Col. Chas. E. Hooker had seconded Bayard’s nomina-
tion for President, Lamar sent Mrs. Hooker a telegram
reading: “Your husband has just made the greatest speech I
ever heard.”

Cashman edited the Post till appointed United States
Marshal for the Southern District of Mississippi, when he
turned over the paper to his sons, who put into it the fire
and energy of youth, which always tells. if well directed. They
added many news features, reduced editorial space, believing
with many publishers that the public cares more for news
stories than editorial comments; that a base ball story is
worth more than a column editorial; that a sensational local
item is preferable to an editor’s opinions.

With few exceptions, Capt. Cashman is the oldest editor
of the state, in years if not in service. He has done well as
a publisher, and has accumulated enough to live on comfort-
ably without the necessity of another day’s work.

IV.

Reference to Cleveland brings to mind a little political
story, that I hope I may be permitted to tell without being
charged with egotism or self-glorification, for one cannot
write history and obscure himself entirely.

The proceedings of the National Democratic Convention,
held at Chicago, 1884, will show that I introduced some
resolutions complimentary to Tilden and Hendricks, express-
ing regret that Mr. Tilden had declined to allow his name
to go before the Democratic Convention for a second nomi-
nation. The resolutions condemned the fraud of 1876, by
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 273

 

which Tilden and Hendricks were deprived of the offices to
which they had been elected.

The special committee consisting of one man from each
state, assembled in New York, charged with the duty of pre-
senting the resolutions to Tilden in person, a sub-committee
being authorized to call upon and also present the resolutions
to Mr. Hendricks.

The committee embraced within its membership the
names of many of the great Democratic leaders of the coun-
try, namely, Gov. Waller of Connecticut, Judge George Gray
of Delaware, Gen. John C. Black of Illinois, Senator Daniel
W. Voorhees of Indiana, Senator B. F. Jonas of Louisiana,
Senator Bacon of Georgia, Gov. Leon Abbett of New Jersey,
Senator Wade Hampton of South Carolina, Senator Barbour
of Virginia, Gov. R. B. Hubbard of Texas, and others, in-
cluding myself as chairman.

Informed that the special committee charged with the
duty of presenting to him the resolutions adopted by the
Chicago Convention, would reach New York on September 3,
1884, and would call upon him that day, Mr. Tilden sent his
private yacht, the Viking, down to New York, to be put at
the disposal of the committee. It was in charge of his private
secretary, George Smith, with W. M. Whitney, as Mr. Tilden’s
personal representative, who was to do the honors in the
absence of the host, too feeble to travel.

I met the members in a general way, being presented
to them by Senator Gorman, who had charge of Democratic
headquarters in New York, and who was the leading spirit
in the campaign of 1884.

The Viking left New York before the noon hour, and

after the members of the committee had had time to meet
each other, luncheon was served, with Whitney at the head

of the table.
274 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

V.

It was on this trip that I first met Joseph Pulitzer,
editor of the New York World, and being the only news-
paper men aboard we naturally gravitated toward each
other. I expressed surprise that none of the other New York
dailies were represented, when he remarked, “We will meet
an army of reporters when we dock at Yonkers, where we
will disembark for a drive to Greystone, Mr. Tilden’s suburban
residence.” .

He asked if I had a copy of the remarks I would make
on presenting the resolutions to Tilden, I told him I had two
type-written copies, one for Tilden and the other for the
press. He asked for the extra copy, saying he would send
proof to all the other New York papers; and he kept his word,
and every paper of the metropolis thought the item of suffi-
cient interest to give it prominence, generally on the front
page.

VI.

Arriving at Yonkers, Hon. Lester B. Faulkner announced
that Mr. Tildén would not be able to see the whole committee,
and suggested that a sub-committee be named to visit him,
which was done. Mr. Tilden’s private carriage was in readi-
ness at the dock to convey the sub-committee to Greyston.

We were met by the Sage of Grammercy Park at his
palatial home where Mr. Whitney did most of the talking,
Mr. Tilden’s voice being so low and weak that it could be
heard only a few feet away. I presented him the resolutions,
and made him a short speech, which he said he would re-
spond to later, which he did. Mr. Tilden’s hearing was good;.
but articulation so bad that I could only understand him
when I put my ear close to his mouth.

I asked him what he thought of Mr. Cleveland, and he
responded feebly, but with fire in his eyes, “Extraordinary
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 275

 

man; well grounded in the fundamentals of democracy and
science of government; will be elected and make a great
President.”

Tilden’s response to the resolutions was used with telling
effect in the presidential campaign of 1884, and doubtless had
much to do with the election of Cleveland, who only pulled
through by the skin of his teeth, carrying New York, which
was necessary for his success, by 1149 votes only.

It is known that Tilden had much to do with naming
Cleveland’s cabinet, having two of his chief supporters ap-
pointed from New York, Manning, Secretary of the Treasury,
and Whitney, Secretary of the Navy.

VII.

Up to the day Pulitzer bought the New York World,
which was much run down, the Herald was regarded as the
greatest paper in America, for the Elder Bennett had given
it a standing no other paper in this country had ever pos-
sessed. But by his wonderful genius and great ability,
Pulitzer soon put the World well to the front.

With the founder of the Herald dead, and the younger
Bennett practically an exile in Europe, after the castigation
May had given him for offending his sister, spending his
time frolicking around Paris and other gay resorts, Pulitzer
had no great difficulty in leading and outdistancing the
Herald in the journalistic race. The other New York papers
were not worth mentioning at that time.

Pulitzer was the newspaper wonder of his day, occupying
the top-most round in the newspaper world, having no real
competitor till Hearst, backed by his father’s millions, bought
the New York Journal, which he made the greatest sensational
paper of the time, that gave it immense circulation.
276 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

For a long time the Journal was Pulitzer’s only rival.
It had no politics, while the World was Democratic, and had
the advantage of large party support, being the only New
York paper that gave Cleveland unwavering assistance for
the Presidency.
VIII.

Another brilliant journalistic wizard appeared upon the
newspaper horizon in New York some years ago in the person
of Adolph S. Ochs, who grew too large for Cattanooga, Tenn.,
where he made the Daily Times one of the leading papers of
the South. New York had heard of the Southern editor and
invited him to visit that city and take a look at the New
York Times, which had almost reached the end of its row,
with circulation dwindling day by day.

Ochs went to New York, looked over the field, examined
the business and plant of the Times, and having faith in
himself, submitted to the owners a plan of reorganization,
with a view to purchasing, if terms were satisfactory, as they
were; and Ochs bought the Times at his own price and on
his own terms. Then commenced the race for the mastery
in the journalistic field of the great metropolis, and Ochs
won.

Years ago, after I became acquainted with Ochs, I
picked him as the winner of the championship in the news-
paper contest in America. And my forecast became true,
for Ochs won, making the Times not only the greatet paper
in New York, but of America, if not of the world; and is
today regarded as the newspaper Napoleon of this country.

Disregarding the sensational style of Pulitzer. and Hearst,
Ochs planned his paper along conservative, dignified lines,
printing “all the news that is fit to print,” with an eye to
reliability rather than sensational and doubtful matter. And
on that line Mr. Ochs won.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.

In Which Several Editors Are Referred to, But Edgar S.
Wilson and R. K. Jayne Occupy the Center of the
Picture.—Strategy of Lamar,

Related by Himself.

There is a fascination about newspaper work that is in-
describable, a charm that is irresistable; and that recalls a
story told by Opie Reed, who said that all who drank of the
waters of Caney Creek, returned to live upon its shores. So
with newspaper life. _

But there are exceptions to all rules, for we have had
in Mississippi some men who were good editors in their
time, and “stepped down and out” of editorial harness, for
one reason and another; but in all the number I have never
seen one who did not want to return to the tripod.

Some editors retired from newspaper life because of. the
small returns, as in the case of Judge Amos R. Johnston,
John H. Miller, Judge S. S. Calhoon, Marmaduke Shannon
and others.

B. F. Jones quit newspaper work to go into politics, and
discovered when too late he had made a mistake; John Cal-
hoon retired to engage in other business, after giving the
278 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

best years ofthis life to the editorial departments; W. A.
Henry gave up his newspaper work to devote his time wholly
to the law; Charles E. Wright sold his interest in the Vicks-
burg Herald, and sought to enter the field of literature, with
indifferent success; Edgar S. Wilson sold his paper to accept
a Federal and afterwards a State office; R. K. Jayne retired
to engage in the real estate and other business; Frank Burkitt,
after publishing the Chickasaw Messenger for many years,
sold out to an alien named Sternberger, from Kansas and
played business and politics the balance of his days. And
there are others, but the above are the most notable instances
I recall. Other editors and publishers retired after being
deprived of public office, but never wholly lost their interest
and affection for newspaper work.

II.

We have in Jackson two retired editors, Edgar S. Wilson
and R. K. Jayne, both having been prominent in Mississippi
journalism, Wilson going from the printer’s case to the
editor’s chair, while Jayne laid down the text books of the
school room to take upon himself the cares and responsibili-
ties of editor and publisher.

The former was well grounded in newspaper work, while
the latter, with a college education, knew nothing whatever
of the details of the business he had decided to embark
upon.

In habits, ideas, inclination, education and training, they
were far apart, both coming from the same county, the good
old Free State of Rankin.

Wilson worked on the papers of Fleet Cooper at Meridian,
Brandon and Brookhaven, and learned not only how to set
up and put a paper together, but to edit one as well, for
being a precocious youth, with a natural apititude for the
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 279

 

composition room and editorial department, he had no diffi-
culty in adjusting himself to newspaper work, and was well
equipped for the publishing business before he purchased
the Walthall Pioneer, an inland weekly which was dragging
out a bare existence, till he breathed the breath of life into
its emaciated form.

Il.

Wilson was a sturdy, energetic, self-reliant young man,
who succeeded because he believed in himself. He was never
idle, and when his office did not claim his personal attention,
he was out seeking subscribers or off soliciting advertise-
ments. He cultivated public.men, men who knew more than
he did, for he was seeking information all the time; but he
never wasted time on an ignoramus. He was a constant
reader, and remembered what he read. Stone, Lamar and
Walthall were his ideals; and he seemed to know Stone’s
messages, Lamar’s speeches and Walthall’s addresses by heart.

Wilson disposed of the Pioneer to good advantage; be-
sides having the benefit of the training that active newspaper
management afforded, it also enabled him to enlarge his
acquaintance and to make new friends in North Mississippi,
which stood him well in hand when he branched out in
politics.

He established the New Mississippian in 1882, and it
became one of the brightest papers in the state. It was
largely read and freely quoted by the Mississippi press, whose
friendship Wilson courted and used to advantage, for no man
understood the value of publicity more than he.

It was a Stone-Lamar-Walthall paper, first, last, and
all the time, and had their sympathy and support, while the
Clarion was a Barksdale-Lowry organ, and between the two
factions of Mississippi Democracy no love was lost.
280 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Barksdale had performed the unheard of feat of trans-
ferring his entire vote to Lowry, at the Democratic State
Convention in 1881, and nominating him.

Wilson was not friendly to Lowry’s administration—
smarting, it was said, under his selection over Stone—and
bitterly fought his renomination, personally and through the
columns of the New Mississippian.

IV.

In 1885 Lamar was appointed Secretary of the Interior
by President Cleveland, thus leaving a vacancy in the Senate,
which was filled by Governor Lowry appointing Walthall as
his successor. Among the early acts of Secretary Lamar was
the appointment of Edgar S. Wilson to a federal post in
Wyoming, which he held during Cleveland’s first term.

I was in Washington soon after this appointment, “cast-
ing an anchor to windward,” being one of many Democrats
seeking Federal perferment, and saw a good deal of Lamar,
George and Walthall. One day Lamar asked me, “What are
the papers and people saying about me at home?” I replied
that while all were pround of the honors shown him by the
President, that many regretted he had left the Senate.

The appointment of Wilson to a Federal post in the
west was referred to, and he asked what was thought of it.
I told him it had been rather severely criticised by friends of
Governor Lowry, who were disposed to regard it as a con-
demnation of Lowry, in view of the fact that he was a candi-
date for renomination, and Wilson had lead the opposition to
him.

“Why, I am surprised people should have such notions,”
Lamar replied, “I am for Lowry myself, and expect to see
him renominated. No man can control Wilson; he has a
head of his own, and I thought while honoring a young man
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 281

 

who had always been my supporter I would please the friends
of Governor Lowry also, by removing Wilson beyond the
sphere of Mississippi politics.” I was requested to let the
fact be known, or I should not repeat the incident here. I
told this story to Pat Harrison while a candidate for United
States Senate, and he is understood to have profited by
it.

After serving a full tenure of four years, Wilson re-
signed, Cleveland being defeated, returned home and estab-
lished the Commonwealth, after the death of John Martin,
and the suspension of the New Mississippian, to whom he
had sold the paper.

V.

The Commonwealth was in reality, the New Mississippian
under another name; same style and general appearance, simi-
lar views, thoughts and ideas, but somewhat modified and
softened by experience, broadened and expanded by travel,
enlarged and strenghtened by contact with the world.

The Mississippi Farmer, which was merged with the
Commonwealth, when the paper, under ownership of Edgar
S. Wilson and Ed. Martin, became more of a farmers’ organ
than a political journal. The consolidation did not prove
successful; the paper became top-heavy with subscriptions .
that were not profitable, and in 1891 the material was sold
to the writer.

Wilson gave much of his time to editing the Mississippi
Department in the New Orleans Picayune, making it an inter-
esting and attractive feature. In this department Wilson did
his best work, and gave to the public a pen-picture of Mis-
sissippi life for his jurisdiction was by no means confined to
Jackson but extended throughout the state.

Wilson was also State Land Commissioner and United
States Marshal for the Southern District of Mississippi, giving
282 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

satisfaction in both positions. While holding the latter office
he resigned his commission from the Picayune.

VI.

Wilson is now living quietly on his farm, devoting him-
self to its management and the reading of the best litera-
ture of the day. He is one of the few Mississippi editors
who is able to retire comfortably fixed in life. —

He used to tell a good story about Fleet Cooper, editor
of the Comet, at Meridian, and John W. Fewell, prominent
attorney. Cooper had written something that offended Fewell,
who was a one-legged Confederate soldier, of high mettle
and full of fight. Fewell sent Cooper word that the next
time they met he intended to ‘whip’ him. Cooper bided his
time, and seeing Fewell leaning on his crutch in front of
Myer’s Jewelry store, approached telling him he had received
his message and was ready. After a war of words, Fewell
raised his crutch; Cooper caught it and struck Fewell before
the lawyer realized what was going on.

Then, as Fewell was hopping around trying to steady
himself on one leg, swearing like a sailor, Cooper quietly
remarked, “Be quiet, Fewell; be good; and if you will promise
that you will not ‘whip’ me again, I will give you your
crutch, as I have no further use for it.” Then tossing Fewell
his crutch, Cooper walked away without further remarks.

VU.

A number of editors went out from Brandon, most of
them having gotten the inspiration from the Republican. The
writer was of the number, and those that came after him
were B. E. Carroll, P. E. Williams, Edgar S. Wilson, C. E.
Cunningham, R. K. Jayne, Doc. Norrell, Wallace McLaurin,
and perhaps others. The last three knew nothing whatever
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 283

 

of practical newspaper work; the others were good printers,

and had spent many years of their lives around printing
offices.

Ben Carroll, Kennon Jayne and the writer were born the
same year, and each began his newspaper career at Newton.

I printed the Ledger—now the Clarion-Ledger—at New-
ton four years, till 1875, when I moved it to Brookhaven, as
before stated in these memoirs. I sold my local business to
Judge J. W. Robb and son John, who established the Newton
Democrat, which had a brief existence, was moved to Morton,
where it had its obsequies.

Ben E. Carroll succeeded Robb at Newton with the
Bulletin, which ran less than one year. His paper was a
model of neatness, but was not appreciated. He moved west
and died long ago.

VII.

R. K. Jayne followed Carroll with the Newton Report,
making his paper worthy of the liberal patronage it received.
Jayne went to Newton to take charge of the schools as
superintendent, having been educated for the school room,
and known as “Professor,” and drifted into the newspaper
game quite accidently after the Bulletin had suspended pub-
lication.

The people of Newton were anxious for another paper,
and induced Prof. Jayne to begin the publication of the
Report. It voiced the true sentiments of its editor when it
“called a spade a spade.”’ It made some enemies, as all such
papers will, and some of them talked too much, and said
things they afterwards regretted, when they came to know
Jayne better, and to realize that he had fighting blood in
his veins and would scrap at the drop of the hat; for he
came from a family of proud, brave people, soldiers whose
284 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

blood crimsoned the fields of many battles during the Civil
War.

One citizen of Newton, Marine Watkins, who had a way
of talking freely, made some comments that reached Jayne’s
ears. Jayne called on Watkins, who had been reported as
making what he considered offensive remarks about his
sister’s dress, and asked him if the reports were true. “Yes;
I said something like that. What are you going to do about
it?” That was all that was said, for Jayne drew a whip and
proceeded to give the offender a lashing; and that ended the
matter, except I believe mutual friends did bring about some
kind of a reconcilement.

Jayne had no more trouble at Newton. He disposed of
his property, after printing the Report several years, moved
to Jackson and became the editor of the Comet, after the
death of F. T. Cooper, remaining with it till it suspended.

Jayne was also editor of the Clarion a short while after
Barksdale entered upon the duties of Congressman.

Since retiring from newspaper work Jayne has devoted
himself largely to the real estate business, which he still
conducts in connection with his law practice.

Bright, intellectual and highly educated, Jayne is re-
garded as a traveling encyclopedia, whose mind is well stored
with valuable knowledge and many go to him for informa-
tion that they know not where else to obtain.

While Professor Jayne has not prospered as well as many
of his associates, he is rich in friends, who admire his in-
tegrity, appreciate his bravery, and love him for his unblem-
ished record, virtues to be prized above great riches.

A good little story is told on Jayne, and another citizen
of Jackson. It seems Jayne had become offended at a per-
sonal remark made about him by the aforesaid party, and
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 285

 

sent him word that if he did not call and apologize he would
shoot him on sight. The party of the second part was relating
this to some of his friends one day, and was asked, “What did
you do?” “Do? h——l, I called and apologized, for I knew
the d—— crank had just enough sense to shoot me if I did
not.”
CHAPTER FORTY.

Which is Given Up to a Description of Tennessee Editors, in
Which Carmack and Mooney are the Stellar
Attractions—The Murder of Carmack.

Keithing’s Methods.

Memphis, being so near Mississippi, and often called a
Mississippi city, it will not be out of place to refer to some
of its many editors.

I knew of Colonel Galloway slightly, the old editor of
the Appeal, and had met Congressman Phelan of the Aval-
anche, which paper he owned, and was a sharp rival of the
Appeal.

Galloway was regarded as the best editor of Tennessee
during his day and made the Appeal a paper of force and
power. He had the distinction of being the dean of the
Tennessee editors, and is affectionately remembered by the
old timers.

Phelan, the owner of the Avalanche, was also an editor
of ability, but got the congressional bee in his bonnet, which
caused him to neglect his editorial duties, and as a result
his paper lost prestige and was finally absorbed by the Appeal,
the consolidated journal being the Appeal-Avalanche.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 287

 

i.

Colonel Army Collier and associates became owners of
the Appeal-Avalanche. Colonel Collier had big notions and
sought to make his paper the equal to those of large cities
and let it be said that he introduced into the Appeal-Avalanche
many new and progressive ideas.

The paper had two good editors, Conoly and Mathews.
For strength and good terse English Conoly had few super-
iors, while Matthews was one of the most finished writers of
his day; and though his editorials were smooth and fluent,
they lacked the sledge-hammer force of Conoly’s for it was
well known that Mathews sacrificed strength for beauty.

The stockholders of the Appeal-Avalanche were satisfied
with their editorial staff but were not pleased with the busi-
ness management, and were looking around for a practical
newspaper man for the front office. I do not know how they
were attracted to me, but I was invited to visit them at
Memphis, which I did several times. I was flattered not only
by the offer of manager of a great daily, but particularly by
the salary of $5,000 per year, with bonus stock in the com-
pany of $30,000 and privilege of continuing my paper in
Jackson.

I was almost in the humor to sign the five year contract,
drawn by Colonel Gant, stockholder and attorney for the
Appeal-Avalanche corporation, when my wife, who is a woman
of sound judgment and practical common sense, entered her
objection, and her brief was so cogent and logical that I
gave it serious consideration. She argued, “Your life is all
before you, with a bright future in prospect. You amount
to something here in Mississippi; you would be obscured and
your identity lost in Memphis,” quoting the old saying, “It
is better-to reign in a hamlet than to serve in a city.”

She won, as women always do who know how to get on
the soft side of their husbands. So I decided to remain
288 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

in Mississippi and fight out my journalistic career on the
soil of my own native state; and the result is known to the
readers of these memoirs, and needs no comment from me.

I had a similar experience with the New Orleans Times-
Democrat over thirty years ago, but will pass that, as per-
sonal references sometimes become more tiresome than enter-
taining.

Ill.

The Appeal-Avalanche, which was for many years the
leading paper of Tennessee, became unpopular with the busi-
ness men of Memphis and the public, and began losing its
prestige, though it had the Associated Press franchise and all
the equipment for publishing a great néwspaper.

A company was organized to begin the publication of the
Morning Commercial, with W. J. Crawford, Gilbert Raine,
Luke Wright, Colonel Malory, Mr. Keiting, and other moneyed
men at its head and though it was greatly hampered for lack
of wire service, being unable to secure membership in the
Associated Press, organized a leased wire service of its own,
and with special correspondents in Tennessee, Mississippi,
Arkansas and other nearby states, built up a good news
bureau that made it a formidable competitor with the Appeal-
Avalanche.

Keiting was the first editor in chief of the Commercial,
and, with liberal newspaper training, got out a good paper.
He had a style that was at least new to me. He had extra
proofs pulled of all galleys, and never pretended to write his
editorials till he saw what was going on. Then he got the
thought that he incorporated into his leaders, having within
them an element of news that interested the public more than
opinions.

IV.

I don’t recall how or why Keiting lost out, but he was
succeeded by one who was heralded as the second Grady of
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 289

the South, in the person of Ed. Carmack, who threw into
the columns of the Commercial more force and fire than any
Memphis paper had ever before known. Carmack was as bold
as Caesar, aS aggressive as Prentice, and wrote not only of the
misdoings of the Republicans, but did not hesitate to com-
ment upon the shortcomings of men in his own party.

His strong personality sparkled throughout its editorials,
which were so unlike anything the readers of the Memphis
papers had seen before, that the Commercial forged forward
with leaps and bounds, and was hailed as the coming paper
of the South.

The Appeal-Avalanche was finally bought by the Com-
mercial, together with all its franchises, and the name was
changed to the Commercial-Appeal.

Carmack was one of the first editors of the country to
advocate the free coinage of silver at a ratio of 16 to 1, not
only writing in favor of it, but filling speaking dates in
many states. One of his dates was at Jackson, when he had
a joint debate with W. H. Sims, Lieutenant Governor, and
one of the ablest men of Mississippi; Sims speaking against
and Carmack for free silver coinage. The debate took place
in the house of representatives, in the old state capitol; and
at its conclusion Sims said to me, “Carmack is the best posted
free silver advocate I have yet met on the stump and pre-
sents his case better than any of them. I had all I could do
to meet his arguments.”

After editing the Commercial for several years, Carmack
was induced to become a candidate for representative in
Congress from the Memphis district and was elected. He
served two terms and was elected to the United States Senate,
serving one term in the upper chamber with distinction.

V.

Defeated for a second term, Carmack moved to Nash-
ville and became editor of the Tennessean, He threw him-
290 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

self into the work with his accustomed vigor, and was un-
sparing in his criticism of the Patterson-Cooper faction, Ham
Patterson being Governor, and Cooper one of his personal
friends and sturdy supporters.

Carmack had roasted Cooper to a turn for some of his
questionable acts, and Cooper had warned him that if he
wrote anything more offensive about him he would shoot him
on sight.

Carmack took the dare, and Cooper, his son and others,
murdered him on the streets of Nashville, and Governor
Patterson, to his shame be it said, pardoned Cooper, and has
never been able to be elected to office since.

Carmack, I have an impression, was born in northeast
Mississippi, but I do know that he obtained part of his educa-
tion at the Junita high school in Chickasaw county, and was a
school mate of Hon. J. A. McArthur, for several years in the
Mississippi legislature from Chickasaw.

VI.

Carmack was succeeded by C. P. J. Mooney as editor of
the Commercial-Appeal, which position he now holds, being
recognized as one of the best editors in the land. He had
thorough newspaper training, having begun as a reporter, and
worked himself up to the post of managing editor, doing his
first work on the old Avalanche. He had been associated with
the Hearst and Munsey papers in New York and Chicago, and
knows the newspaper game from start to finish.

He does not devote as much attention to political ques-
tions as Carmack did for he is not such a dyed-in-the-wool
politician as Carmack was, believing more in developing the
resources of the country than in political discussions, still he
is uncompromising in allegiance to his party, and stands by
its nominees both in the editorial room and on the forum.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 291

 

His editorials are clear, strong and forceful and show a
thorough acquaintance with all public questions.

Vi.

Memphis has had and still has good evening papers. Early
among them was the Public Ledger; edited by J. Harvey
Matthews, which, while belonging to the old school, in matter
and make-up, was a real good paper.

Gen. G. M. P. Turner, who once published a paper at
Water Valley, moved to Memphis and began the publication
of the Scimitar, making of it a rather extraordinary paper,
for he was a bold, aggressive and industrious editor.

Gilbert Raine, one of the original stockholders in the
Commercial-Appeal, became the principal owner of the Scimi-
tar—the name changed to News-Scimitar,—and published it
for years, being its directing editor, till he retired to private
life, and is now living quietly on a farm near Memphis, where
he finds much pleasure in raising blooded live stock, registered
hogs. agricultural and horticultural products.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE.

Looking Backward to the Press Convention at Jackson, 1884.
Some of the Leading Attractions—A Sad Roll Call
Showing Enormous Death List.

Having written up some of the leading editors of Louisi-
ana, Alabama and Tennessee, such as I knew personally, now
“Let us return to our muttons,” as the French would say,
to a discussion of Mississippi editors, to old friends and
former associates, who have written their last leaders, laid
down their pens forever, and retired from life’s activities.

All editors have had their trials and tribulations, their
hours of pleasure and seasons of joy, for “while into each
life some rain must fall,” there is much of joy and happiness
in every editor’s life. Some have been selected to occupy high
office, and others have been named as their country’s repre-
sentatives abroad. But in my opinion, the best editor is the
one that serves his country best; that preaches observance of
the law, denounces vice and immorality, advocates thrift, en-
terprise and progress, the development of his country and
the education of the coming generation.

II.

Many of the old-timers have been mentioned in these
memoirs, but not all. Quite a number, who are with us no
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 293

 

longer, attended the notable Press Convention at Jackson,
May, 1884, viz: J. J. Shannon, president Meridian Mercury—
having joined forces with A. G. Horn,—A. J. Frantz, Brandon
Republican; S. B. Brown, Water Valley Progress; J. L. Power
and Oliver Clifton, of the Clarion; Dr. C. B. Galloway, N.
O. Christian Advocate; P. K. Mayes, Pascagoula Democrat-
Star; J. W. Lambert, Natchez Democrat; S: A. Jones, Aber-
deen Examiner; I. M. Partridge, charter member, associated
with the Meridian Mercury; B. T. Hobbs, Brookhaven Leader;
Mrs. A. S. Bosworth, Canton Citizen; T. H. Oury, Carrolton
Conservative; S. G. Barr, Corinth Sub-Soiler and Democrat;
S. M. Ross, Coffeeville Times: F. H. Culley, Fayette Chroni-
cle; J. W. Buchanan, Grenada Sentinel; J. F. Vance, Hazel-
hurst Cophiahan; F. A. Tyler, Holly Springs South; J. S.
Hoskins, Lexington Bulletin, (going from the Advertiser to
the Bulletin); J. D. Burke, Magnolia Gazette; J. W. Young-
blood, Oxford Falcon: S. D. Harper, Raymond Gazette; R. F.
Ford, Ripley Advertiser; Miss Lillian Norment, Starkville
Citizen; J. P. Povall, Booneville Pleader; W. L. Mitchell,
Hazelhurst Signal; J. K. Almon, West Point New Era; R. A.
Bonner, Sardis Star; N. P. Bonney, Summit Sentinel; J. H.
Martin, Utica Comet; C. A. Stoval, Shubuta Messenger; J.
M. Liddell, Valley Flag; W. A. Henry, Yazoo Sentinel; C.
F. Newman, Baldwin Signal; I. Forsythe, Brookhaven Demo-
crat; J. W. Garrett, Canton Picket; H. P. Beeman, Pass
Christian Beacon; Emmett L. Ross, honory life member; W.
H. Collingwood, Live-Stock Journal; D. P. Porter, of the
Times-Democrat.

Since the Jackson Convention, all of the above have
passed over the river.

Il.

Several editors who attended the above-mentioned meet-
ing are still alive, and a few are actively engaged in news-
294 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

paper work, while others have retired and embarked in other
business. L. T. Carlisle and wife are publishing the West
Point Leader; Mrs. B. T. Hobbs is editing the Brookhaven
Leader; Steve Dale is publishing the Progress at Columbia:
Jo Dale is still printing the Lawrence County Free Press; Dr.
W. L. Lee, disposed of his interest in the Ellisville Eagle, and
is practicing medicine in Ellisville, as I am informed; Edgar
S. Wilson sold out his newspaper years ago and resides near
Jackson; R. K. Jayne, long since retired from journalism,
still lives in the capital city; M. B. Richmond, formerly of
the Pascagoula Democrat-Star, was in attendance at the re-
union of Ratliff’s Battery, in Jackson, June 3, 1921. He lives
in Texas; W. J. Newson, of the Louisville Signal, has engaged
in other business: C. M. Liddle, of the old Moss Point Adver-
tiser, is living at Slidell, La., where he has banking and in-
surance connections; L. P. Smith, then publishing the Ripley
Sentinel, now prints the Democrat-Times at Greenville; A. R.
Hart, then publishing the Scooba Herald, is publishing the
Progress at Bay Springs; J. C. Roseboro, of the Tate County
Record, moved to Meridian, and then to Texas, and I do not
know if he is alive; J. G. Cashman, of the Vicksburg Post, is
alive but in wretched health as this is written; G. W. Rogers
and C. E. Wright, of the Vicksburg Herald, are old but
active.
IV.

J. H. Anderson of the Kosciusko Star, who once came to
Jackson to fight Oliver Clifton for something he had written
about him, quit the newspaper business, and as I recall, en-
tered the ministry.

P. L. Moore of the Winona Advance, left newspaper work
to accept a Federal position, and I have not kept up with
him; W. A. and W. H. Hurt, of the old Winona Argus, have

“moved round the compass;” one of them, Walter, now hav-
ing a position on the American at Hattiesburg; J. G. Mc-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 295

 

Guire, for years editor and proprietor of the Yazoo Herald,
sold his paper to N. A. Mott, and is now enjoying the life
of a Commercial Traveller; Will T. McDonald, retired from
the Ashland Register and entered actively upon the practice
of the law.

E. F. Noel, who represented the Lexington Advertiser,
became a state senator and was afterwards elected Governor,
which positions he creditably filled; T. P. Grasty of the
Planters Journal, left the state and became one of the own-
ers and editors of the Baltimore Sun; H. C. Williamson,
editor of the Watchman, at Vaiden, was elected to the legis-
lature, and retired from journalism.

Two other attendants at the Jackson convention, R. H.
and T. M. Henry, of the State Ledger, are still in the land of
the living, residing in Jackson, and getting along fairly
well. Tom left the newspaper field and drifted into politics,
and has never been defeated for a state office. I have never
changed my business, nor do I expect to entirely abandon
newspaper work, so long as I am able to discharge its
duties.

V.

It is a long look backward to that Press Convention held
in Jackson in 1884, quite a chasm to span in memory, and
yet I recall many of the main features and leading incidents
of the meeting.

The convention was held in the House of Representatives.
Vice-President Shannon, acting President, called the meeting
to order, and requested Dr. C. B. Galloway to invoke the
divine blessing. This was followed by a most cordial ad-
dress of welcome by Mayor McGill, with suitable response by
President Shannon.

A musical entertainment was given the first night at
the old Robinson Opera House, under the leadership of Miss
296 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Mamie Robinson, now Mrs. C. M. Williamson, which was
packed to the door. Some local artist had drawn a life size
crayon of F, T. Cooper, who had recently passed away, which
was prominently shown on the stage. The artist wrote under-
neath the picture, “Col. F. T. Cooper,” a wise precaution, for
otherwise no one would have known who the caricature in-
tended to represent.

VI.

L. T. Carlisle, one of the few editors alive today in attend-
ance at the Jackson Press Convention in 1884, who has
edited the Clay County Leader for over a third of a century,
is one of the best and most conscientious publishers in the
state, whose life has been as straight as a plumb line. He
has celebrated his eighty-fourth year, and has no thought of
retiring. He has always printed a newsy, and reliable paper,
which has been on the right side of every moral question,
and has a right to be proud of the record he has made in
favor of law and order, good government and civic righteous-
ness, living to benefit mankind and make the world better.

The name of L. T. Carlisle will long be remembered in
the journalistic history of the state, and his influence for
good will live to bear ripe fruit in the years to come, for
the example of such a man cannot be forgotten.

This reference to Mr. Carlisle recalls a little speech he
made when President of the Association, the convention being
held in Jackson several years ago.

The literary and musical people of the city were giving
the members of the press a grand concert at the Century
Theatre. That was in the early days of the Chaminade club,
which set the pace for things musical in the Capital City,
as it does yet.

The time had arrived for some member of the club to
sing a solo, and Mr. Carlisle, as master of ceremonies, felt
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 297

 

called upon to give the lady a grand send off, and coming
to the center of the stage, said, “I now have the pleasure of
introducing the celebrated soprano of the evening, Miss

, a leading member of Jackson’s famous musical
organization, the Shimmey-nade club.”

The applause that followed can be better imagined than
described, and Bro. Carlisle bowed acknowledgments, be-
lieving he had made the hit of the evening, as he had.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.

Three of My Old Associate Editors, Avery Jones, Bert Snead
and Homer McGee, Deserve Special Mention in
These Memoirs.—Some Personal Experiences

In an experience of fifty years as editor and publisher,
one must have met all kinds of people in the different depart-
ments of his paper—some that he likes to remember and
others he is willing to forget, according to the impressions
they have made and the records they have left behind them.

A large number of men and boys have worked for me
since I engaged in newspaper life—several thousand. What
a volume their names would make, with a brief sketch
of a few lines of each, what pleasant and disagreeable mem-
ories their names would bring up, for some of the men who
drew salaries from me were good and some were bad; some
loyal and some disloyal; some sober and many booze-fighters.
But of all the vast number on the payrolls from year to year,
the great majority were honorable, trustworthy and deserving,
the list covering every department of the office, from printer’s
devil to managing editor.

Il.

I recall some years ago when I was bathing in the surf
off Manhattan Beach, that one of “my boys” approached me
 
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN — 299

in his bathing suit, and addressing me as he did when in my
employ, said, “I do not believe you know me.” I was forced
to admit I did not, in his strange costume, but when I heard
his happy laugh and saw his bright smile and gratified ex-
pression, I recognized him. It was Bob Winkley, son of my
old foreman, Charles Winkley, who has relatives in Jackson.

When I was making an excursion with a lot of Mississippi
editors, traveling in two Pullmans through the far west, a
printer came aboard at Cheyenne, Wyoming, saying he knew
me, and asked the conductor to dead-head him on the press
train to Denver, which he declined to do, unless I agreed.
He gave his name, saying he had worked for me on state
printing, and wanted to go to Denver, where he was promised
work. I happened to remember him, and told the conductor
it was all right. He rode in one of the sleepers as my special
guest, taking lunch with me in the diner, and expressing the
gratitude he felt. I had made that lonely printer feel good
and was happy myself because of the act.

Printers are but human beings and as much entitled to
civil treatment as any class,—lawyers, doctors, ministers, edi-
tors, or others.

III.

I have before made mention of some of my “boys” who
went from the printer’s case to the editor’s chair, whose.
memories I revere, but have never before brought forward
three that are deserving of special notice, Avery Jones, Bert
Snead and Homer McGee.

Avery Jones had been connected with the State Ledger
and the Clarion-Ledger for several years, holding different
positions, foreman, local editor, telegraph editor, and editorial
writer, and in all dependable.
300 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

He had published papers at Utica and Monticello, and
was elected mayor of Utica before he was 21. He had no
ambition or desire to leave me, and spent his last days around
the office and often called when in no condition to write, so
deeply interested was he in his life-work.

He laid no claim to extraordinary talents, but knew his
limitations and confined himself to work that he could do.
He cared very little about politics, and rarely wrote a political
article unless requested to do so. He could do any kind of
work around a newspaper office.

He had little imagination, was absolutely devoid of sen-
sationalism, and confined himself to telling a story just as he
saw it, always putting it in the smallest possible space, never
romanced or speculated, and did not express opinions in the
local colums, the bane of many papers. He did not write to
“fill up,” as so many editors do, but gave the facts and al-
lowed the reader to draw his own conclusions.

Avery Jones worked on the Clarion-Ledger till forced to
leave on account of wretched health. He worked too long,
in fact, and went West in search of health, when it was too
late. Of frail body and delicate constitution, he took little
exercise, and close confinement, and the grind of a daily
paper sapped his life-blood.

In the West he tried to pay expenses by working on local
newspapers, for he had little means. He improved slowly,
and returned home to die, satisfied that the end was near.
And when it came, his principal pall-bearers were his old of-
fice associates, E. E. Frantz, A. B. Lowe, T. M. Hederman, B.
G. Beaullieu, R. M. Hederman, and the writer, all of whom
survive him.

Never have I known a more conscientious worker, a more
honorable man, a truer friend, than Avery Jones
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 301

 

IV.

Homer McGee, for years an associate editor of the Clar-
ion-Ledger, was one of the brightest young men I have ever
known. He had newspaper training in his native town of
Brookhaven, and in Texas, before he came to me. I had
known him from his childhood, and knew him to be a real
genius for newspaper work. He could write anything, from
a spring poem to a political leader. He was a classy young
man, with the face of a poet, the manner of a Chesterfield,
and voice as sweet as a girl; but he was by no means effemi-
nate; he was a real man and could do a man’s work.

He was a beautiful writer, every sentence complete, every
phrase perfect, his selection of words unsurpassed. His
language was smooth, graceful, flowing. As a sketch writer,
I have never known his superior in Mississippi journalism..
His style was rich and florid, his expressions chaste and
handsome.

He was most adaptable, and always agreeable, as ready
to write one thing as another, a perfect finish characterizing
all his writings.

He was sitting in the editorial office when the duel was
fought between Gen. Wirt Adams and John H. Martin, in
front of the old Cadwalader home on President street. Hear-
ing the successive firing he thought convicts were escaping
from the penitentiary, then located where the new capitol
stands, and hurrying downstairs to secure the story, was the
first newspaper man on the ground, and wrote the first ac-
count of the awful tragedy in which two men lost their lives
in a few seconds.

After residing with me some time, and giving the very
best satisfaction, Homer returned to Texas; from there he
went to St. Louis, where he worked on different papers, till
his health gave way, and then he returned to his father’s home,
Tyler, Texas, where he remained till time called him hence.
302 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

V.

Bert Snead came to Jackson from Kosciusko, where he
had a smattering of newspaper life, just enough to whet his
appetite for a more enlarged field, with broader opportuni-
ties. He worked on several state papers, the Clarion-Ledger
among them, and while he was no genius, as Homer McGee
was, he was strong and sturdy, with energy and ability to
apply himself, and developed into a good writer. He re-
mained in Jackson a few years and made a host of friends,
being of a most genial and social nature.

I was somewhat instrumental in securing for him a posi-
tion on the local staff of the New Orleans Times-Democrat.
While an admirer of Page M. Baker, he did not like him. He
said every writer on the paper was afraid of Baker, who
insisted on articles being written correctly and in perfect
form. Errors as to names, dates or events, Baker could not
tolerate, and no editor should. Bert said the “King,” as
Baker was called by the editorial and reportorial force, read
the Times-Democrat over carefully every morning before
leaving home, marking the most glaring errors, such as names,
words that were objectionable, and expressions that were bad;
and that evening when the force was assembling for work,
the “King,” with paper in hand, proceeded to preach a stormy
sermon, in which oaths took the place of logic.

When the Spanish-American war began, Bert enlisted,
was elected a lieutenant, and went with his regiment to
Miami, Florida, where he contracted typhoid fever and died.
His body was shown distinguished honors, and was returned
to New Orleans under special escort, where it lay in state,
newspapers of the city paying fitting tribute to their dead
companion, accompanying the body to its final resting place
at Kosciusko, the Times-Democrat paying all expenses.

Bert Snead was an exceptionally fine young man, whose
taking off, in the prime of his manhood, was greatly regretted
by all his friends.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 303

 

VI.

I received a letter from a subscriber saying, “I have read
your editorial memoirs in the Clarion-Ledger with interest
and shall file them away for future use. I see you have
occasionally referred to duels and fights of editors, with no
reference to yourself, as a scrapper. Have you managed ‘to
publish a paper fifty years without a fight?”

Not entirely. Like all editors who have sought to print
the news and comment upon the acts of public men and law-
less citizens, I have had my ups and downs. As the files of
my paper will show, I have criticised the deeds of the law-
less, the saloon-keepers, the blind-tiger gentry, the gamblers,
the denizens of the red light district, and others who have
no regard for the law. I have also had some near-scraps with
newspaper men and politicians, and while several times almost
reaching the breaking point, have had only one real fight since
entering the field of journalism, when I got a black eye from
my antagonist’s fist, and he got a crack over the head with
a chair, which sent him to grass.

I have been held up by politicians, gamblers, saloon-
men, blind-tigers, and crooks with demands for apologies
and retractions, which I did not make, and have never been
shot for declining to comply with their demands.

I refer to this not boastingly, but to show that an editor’s
life is not always cast in pleasant places, or his cot a bed of
roses, and that he has more troubles, often, than appear upon
the surface.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE.

The Democracy Disbands at Meridian in 1873 to “Roam at
Large Without Brands or Bridles.”—Editor Charlie
Smith Refused to Disband and Raised
a Rough House.

I acknowledge myself indebted to my old friend J. A.
Stevens, for many years editor of the Columbus Index, and
before referred to, for some of the incidents embraced in
these memoirs. He was a great admirer of the Worthingtons,
father and three sons, all able writers and uncompromising
Democrats.

The elder Worthington had received the unwelcomed
news of a great Whig victory in Georgia. He was as deaf
as a post, had just received the election returns, and was on
his way home, disgusted and mad as a wet hen. A neighbor
caught up with him and slapping him on the back, yelled out,
“Mr. Worthington, how is your family?’ Worthington, sup-
posing that his friend was asking about the election news,
quickly replied, “All gone to hell—all gone to hell!”

Il.

W. H. Worthington, the elder brother, and the leader
of the family, declined to join in the effort of the Democratic
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 305

 

leaders in 1869 to elect Judge Louis Dent, Governor on a
fusion ticket, including the Copiah county negro, Tom Sin-
clair, for Secretary of State, with other “speckled” nominees.
The Lieutenant-Governor, Auditor and Treasurer, were ex-
Union soldiers, while the nominees for Attorney General, and
Superintendent of Education, were true-blue Democrats.

The Democrats hoped to be able to elect Judge Dent for
several reasons. He was a Southern man, St. Louis being his
birthplace; he had married a Mississippi woman, Miss Baine
of Grenada, and President Grant had married his sister, Julia.
Dent was not a resident of Mississippi when pressed into
service, and had never been.

The Republicans nominated J. L. Alcorn for Governor, on
a mixed ticket, of carpet-baggers and scalawags, with James
Lynch, negro, for Secretary of State. President Grant de-
clined to support his brother-in-law, and threw the weight of
his influence to Alcorn, who was elected by a large majority,
receiving double the number of votes cast for Dent.

HT.

The Democrats, beaten, dismayed and discouraged after
failing to elect Louis Dent Governor in 1869, met in con-
vention four years afterwards at Meridian, Sept. 17, 1873, and
“disbanded” the Democratic party in Mississippi, by declining
to nominate a state ticket, declaring it ‘‘inexpedient” to do
so, but passing the word down the line to the effect that
Democrats should vote for Alcorn, who had left his seat in
the Senate to come home and make the race for Governor
against Ames, the carpet-bag candidate.

Gen. Robert Lowry, chairman of the Democratic State
Committee, called the convention to order, making a conserva-
tive address indicating the purpose of the meeting. Col. R.
O. Reynolds was elected chairman of the Convention.
306 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I was a boy delegate to the Meridian Convention, from
Newton county, my first venture in state politics, and follow-
ing the lead of Warren, Clarke, Scott and other delegates, I
opposed the disbandment resolution as prepared by Honest
Jeff Wilson of Pototoc county, and read to the convention
by Hon. S. S. Calhoon, then of Madison county, who moved its
adoption. He was supported by Gen. Robert Lowry, Col. R.
O. Reynolds, Gen. W. F. Tucker, H. M. Street, J. M. Stone and
other Democratic leaders.

The resolution read: :““Resolved, That it is the sense of
the Democratic party of the state of Mississippi, in Conven-
tion assembled, that it is inexpedient in the approaching state
election to nominate a state ticket.”

An earnest, persistent and stubborn fight was made
against the resolution; but, after quite an acrimonious debate,
it was adopted by a vote of 100 to 45, many of the delegates
announcing that under no circumstances would they vote for
Alcorn, who, in his canvass against Dent four years before
had been unsparing in his denunciation of the Democracy,

going out of his way to condemn Jefferson Davis.

IV.

Distinctly do I remember, though almost fifty years ago,
a colloquy that occurred between Charles A. Smith, editor
of the Shubuta Times and Chairman Reynolds.

“Charley,” as Smith was called by brother editors, and
who by the way, was one of the best writers in the state, a
straight-line, perpendicular Democrat, unyielding in principles
and bitterly opposed to anything that looked like compro-
mising with the Republicans, arose to speak.

Reynolds, hot-headed by nature and domineering in spirit,
was disposed not to recognize Smith. But he would not down,
and demanded the right to be heard.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 307

 

The chairman tried to stop him, by insisting he was out
of order, and beat the desk with his gavel to drown Smith’s
speech; but in vain, for the shrill tones of the voice of the
gentleman from Clarke, rang out above the pounding of the
chairman. He was denouncing the proposition to disband
the Democracy in favor of that arch-Republican Jas. L. Al-
corn, declaring that he and his people would not sanction the
“sell-out.”

That was too much for Reynolds and he insisted on the
sergeant-at-arms removing Smith from Bennett Hall, where
the convention was being held. That arbitrary order was but
the signal for opponents to disbandment to arise in protest,
many declaring Smith should not be ejected, and insisting he
had a right to speak.

In the excitement and hub-bub, when a row seemed im-
minent, dear old General Lowry arose, and in his own sweet
and gentle way, poured oil on the troubled water, by assuring
the antis there was no disposition to run rough shod over the
minority. He whisphered something in the ear of the chair-
man, and moved that “My friend Charley Smith be allowed
ten minutes to present his views.” In the meantime some of
the Clarke delegates had gotten hold of Smith and succeeded
in getting him out of the hall, for he was too mad and “full”
to make a coherent talk.

It was suspected that General Lowry had sent word to
some of his friends on the Clarke delegation to get “Charley”
out, as it was evident he was in no condition to speak intelli-
gibly. Any way, it was a good piece of strategy, and after
Smith retired, swearing like a sailor, the oiled proceedings
went through without more trouble.

V.

Smith’s mouth was closed for the time, but what he said
about the disbandment of the Democracy in the next issue of
308 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the Shubuta Times, was so strong that it could stand alone,
for he fairly took the hide off all the leaders, personating
them and denounced the disbandonment as the most outrage-
ous and cowardly abuse of power ever known in the history
of the Democratic party, calling upon the Democrats of the
state to resent and repudiate the action of the Meridian
Theatrical Convention.

As a young editor, who did not agree with the action of
the “100”, I had something hard to say about it myself, but
my editorial comments were mild in comparison with Smith’s
rib-roasters, which he continued for weeks, a number of edi-
tors following him.

I advised the readers of my paper to vote for Gen. B.
G. Humphreys for Governor, as General Lowry and others
had, at Meridian, “removed brands and bridles,” and allowed
Democrats to “roam at large.’ (Lowry’s own words).

Humphreys had been ejected from the executive office in
1868, by federal bayonets and the memory of that outrage
had not been forgotten, the result being that he received
several thousand votes for Governor the year of the disband-
ment.

VI.

The negroes, who had supported Alcorn four years before,
when the white Democrats were for Dent, turned against him,
and voted solidly for Ames, as they had great regard for a
“Yankee General,” who had helped free them, being reminded
of the fact that Alcorn had been a slave owner, and a Confed-
erate soldier. The result was that Ames was elected over
Alcorn five to one.

Ames remained in the gubernatorial office till forced
to vacate it by the Democratic legislature of 1876. Articles
of impeachment had been drawn against him, charging him
with high crimes and misdemeanors, but he was never ar-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 309

 

raigned before the State Senate, as he offered to resign and
leave the state if the impeachment proceedings were not
pressed. His proposition was accepted, and Ames stepped
down and out forever, Col. J. M. Stone succeeding him, as
has before been told in these memoirs.

But I see I have wandered off into political history,
which must blend more or less with editorial life, for no
agency was more potent in redeeming Mississippi, ridding
the state of the thralldom of Radicalism, than the editorial
pen; for in the saving of states, “the pen is mightier than
the sword.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

Bran, the Noted Editor of the Iconoclast, Lectures in
Jackson.—Physically Exhausted, Collapses on
Stage——Was Killed in Street Fight
in Waco, Texas.

A bold editor is always admired, right or wrong, if he be
decent; while no one has any respect for a timid, shrinking
editor who fails to do his duty to the public, afraid to speak
out on personal, local and political matters, lest he lose
patronage.

Many people admired Bran, of the Iconoclast, though they
deprecated his policies, and repudiated his radical editorial
utterances. He was an editorial genius, it might be said an
evil genius, for he accomplished no good and much of harm.
He did not construct, but destroyed, never built up but pulled
down. His influence was baleful, pernicious, destructive. He
possessed a language of his own, an attractive vocabulary,
original phrases, odd expressions, strange words, the coinage
of his own distorted brain and wild imagination. Abuse was
his chief stock in trade, and he employed it with wonderful
effect, as no other mortal could. He had a brilliant, poetic,
romantic mind, possessed extraordinary descriptive powers, and
could write sweet and beautiful sentiments when he so willed.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 311

 

II.

This reference to the Texas editor, recalls my first and
only meeting with him, back in the days of the old Spengler
House, with its noted corner saloon.

The Mississippi legislature was in session. Alcorn Glover,
a representative from Coahoma county, was one of its lead-
ing members. He had been a school mate of Bran, and
greatly admired him. He had arranged a date for him to
lecture at the old Robinson Opera House. Bran’s arrival had
been heralded in the city papers.

Alcorn had given me a pressing invitation to attend and
occupy a seat on the stage, saying that Bran was his close
friend and he was anxious that I should meet him. I did not
admire Bran, whom I regarded as a wild man, with anarchistic
tendencies, a dangerous editor who should be restrained, and
I tried to beg off. But to no avail. It was a big event for
Alcorn, and he worked it for all it was worth.

It was a beastly night; I had forgotten all about the
lecture, and as I was endeavoring to cross Capitol street from
Seutter’s corner, I ran into Alcorn and his distinguished guest.
There was no escape, and together we went to the Opera
House.

But Bran proved a drawing card, for the theatre was
filled with members of the legislature and citizens of Jackson,
with fifty or more “distinguished gentlemen” on the stage,
including Speaker J. H. Shavpe.

IIL.

Bran was introduced by Alcorn in a few appropriate sen-
tences, when followed the most remarkable lecture I ever
heard, its very oddity and originality attracting all hearers.
Never before had a Jackson audience been favored with such
312 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

an address. It was fluently delivered and was made up of
the oddest mixture of phrases ever coined.

The wording was unusual, the sentences smooth and
velvety, but were poorly comprehended by the audience, which
sat entranced as one would drink in the beauty of an opera,
not one word of which was understood.

It is said that when Prentiss spoke in country towns,
when most of the court houses were constructed of pine poles,
that Indians crowded around and hung upon the music of his
voice, not understanding one word he uttered, but enjoying to
the fullest the melody of his beautiful sentences.

So it was in smaller degree the night Bran lectured in
Jackson. He spoke fur an hour and a half, and as he was
finishing his beautiful peroration, he broke down and stag-
gered off the stage, collapsing completely as he reached the
wings. His legs giving way, and crumpling up, he fell as
limp as a rag, exclaiming in a weakened voice, “Whiskey,
whiskey, whiskey.” It was forthcoming and after drinking a
pint or more Bran was able to arise from the floor, saying
he was ready to go to his hotel. He was assisted down the
stairway, and when once in the open air, his recovery was
wonderful.

IV.

With several members of the legislature and others fol-
lowing, Bran was led to the Spengler House, where a banquet
had been prepared for him. There he seemed as cheerful and
chipper as ever, made several speeches in response to toasts
proposed, which were models of rhetoric and beauty, inter-
spersed with flashes of bright wit and rich humor.

The banquet over, all who were equal to the task, under-
took to sit up with Bran, but he put most of them under the
table in the wee sma’ hours.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 313

 

I remember having a little talk with him, after the fes-
tivities had spent themselves, in which I said, “Mr. Bran, I am
an older, not a better, editor than you. I have seen them
come and go in numbers, but never have I known an editor
who wrote in the vein you employ who was not killed sooner
or later.”

As I concluded he grunted an assent, answering, “Why,
I care nothing about that, am indifferent as to death or the
way I go, for I have tuberculosis, can only live a short time,
and had as well be shot as to die a lingering death.”

V.

I never saw Bran again, but within a few months my pre-
diction had come true. He became involved in a controversy
with Baylor College officials, near Waco, Texas, and made
some most damaging charges against the officers of the in-
stitution, the faculty and young lady students.

Friends of the college sought to redress the wrongs put
upon Baylor by Bran and the result was that several shooting
scrapes followed in which a half dozen men were killed, Bran
being finally shot to death in a street encounter, his antago-
nist also being killed by the Iconoclast editor.

I have known other journalistic freaks, besides Bran,
editors who distinguished themselves by their extreme views,
their rank radicalism, their ability to say outrageous things
about others, but of all that wild, flighty, insane class, I have
never known one to equal Bran in boldness and ability.

VI.
This reference to Bran brings vividly before my mind the

days of the disreputable old “Mascot,” of New Orleans, back
in the early eighties, edited chiefly by a Northern man named
314 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Levessee. It was worse, if possible, than the Sunday Sun of
Kansas City. It lived on scandal and thrived on sensation,
no home, business house, public or private citizen being
sacred in the eyes of the “Mascot,” or immune from its
attacks, which printed most outrageous articles about society
people of the Crescent City, its business men, public and
private institutions.

It was frequently charged that the “Mascot” was a black-
mailing sheet, which I never doubted, or heard denied.

I was sojourning in New Orleans when the Mascot began
and know that it stirred up the city considerably. It was
freely read and its weekly appearance was anxiously and
fearfully awaited, for no one knew just where the tomahawk
of the Mascot would fall, for it was no respector of persons,
class or creed.

VII.

I recall one day when a tobacconist named Van Benthusen,
who had been aired in the Mascot, went gunning for its
editor, looking for him in his office and on the streets, fir-
ing upon him with a double-barrel shot gun, on Camp street,
but the shots were too slow to catch the editor, though they
did find lodgment in the corporeal bodies of passers-by.

One day an irate citizen, who had been given too much
publicity in the Mascot, called at the office to demand satis-
faction. He could find only a deaf old engraver named
Zenick, the others having decamped upon approach of the
maddened man.

Seeing no one else around, and supposing Zenick was one
of the owners, the aggrieved party demanded retraction and
satisfaction. Zenick did not know what he was talking about,
if indeed he heard, and being busy, in his rough, German man-
ner, gruffly told his visitor to “Go to h——.” That was add-
 

 

 

 

 

Col. Henry Watterson
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 315

ing insult to injury, and the enranged man forthwith pulled
his gun and shot Zenick dead on the spot, a vicarious sufferer
for the acts of his editors. :

Stopping a few days at Biloxi, and meeting Levessee, |
ventured to ask him about the Mascot, and said there could
be one ending only to an editor who wrote as he did, and
the answer was much the same as Bran’s, “I care nothing
about life; have consumption, have only a short time to live,

and had as lief die with my boots on as on a cot in a sana-
tarium.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE.

How Long Will the Influence of a Good Man Live After He
is Gone?—Press Excursion on the Mississippi River
to St. Louis —A Pleasing Moot
Court Trial.

“How long will a man lie in the earth ere he rot?” asked
Hamlet of the grave-digger, who responded, “If he be not
rotten before he die, he will last you some eight year or
nine.”

That may be reckoned grave-digger philosophy; but of
what account the information, if it be true? And the state-
ment of the “knave” as Hamlet calls him, lacks confirmation.

Better the question, “How long will a man live after he
be dead?” for men do live after their bodies have been con-
signed to mother earth and their bones returned to dust—
their influence lives on. Antony says “The evil that men do
lives after them,” and he might have added the good lives
also, the “good being interred with their bones” only in the
minds of evil-thinking people, though we are commanded to
“Think no evil.”

How long will a man live, in the memory of his relatives,
friends and the public, after he has passed away, depends
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 317

 

much upon the character and standing of the man. Relatives
remember you longest, the public forgets you first, unless you
be some distinguished, world-renowned man like Alexander
the Great, Julius Caesar, the Prince of Peace, Shakespeare,
Frederick the Great, Peter the Great, Washington, Napoleon,
Spurgeon or Foch, whose names. and fame will never
diminish, for their mighty deeds, their powerful accomplish-
ments, their wonderful records, will keep their names alive as
the cycles of time roll round, and the centuries follow each
other into the impenetrable future.

Il.

Some men live long in memory; others longer in history,
while a smaller number will never be forgotten. But I come
to speak of editors, and not of soldiers, statesmen and law-
givers, and speculate as to how long they may live after they
have retired, or joined the great majority.

It is sad to think of the editors I have known, and how
few of the older members are remembered today, the list be-
coming smaller and smaller as the seasons come and go, the
equation of time pushing them farther and farther into the
back-ground, till they are almost lost in the cobwebs of the
past.

Someone has said that all men build their monuments by
their own acts and lives, and none less than editors, who are
constantly in the limelight. Some men have built monuments
that will last for all time, but few. And that recalls a visit
I made to the old Roman Forum some years ago. The Italian
guide was assidious in his attentions, pointing out objects and
places of greatest interest, dwelling at length upon and call-
ing particular attention to the old Rostra, where, he affirmed,
that Caesar, Cicero, Cataline, Antony, Brutus and other Roman
orators had addressed and thrilled admiring multitudes.
318 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Seeing no monument of Caesar, I asked the guide where
he was buried, when he replied the body of Great Julius was
cremated, and his ashes had found sepulture in front of the
Temple Antonius, long since destroyed. Asked if there was
no monument to mark the spot, the old guide drew himself
up haughtily and proudly replied, “Caesar built his own
monument, and will live in the love and esteem of his people
after monuments of marble and memorials of bronze have
perished and disappeared.”

But I am getting away from the subject and must round
to. Of all the great editors | have known, a half dozen or
so have built their own monuments—Horace Greely, James
Gordon Bennett, Geo. D. Prentice, Chas. A. Dana and Joseph
Pulitizer; but excelling all is Henry Watterson, the best
known editor in the United States, and now past eighty. He
has built the tallest and broadest journalistic monument in
the country, and has lived to see the capstone crown the
memorial ,and heard an admiring public pronounce the work
very good.

Il.

Let us now turn to lighter and more enjoyable scenes,
than those before described.

Mississippi editors have taken many delightful excursions.
both by rail and river. I recall one memorable excursion
made from Memphis to St. Louis during the summer of 1897.

The editors rendezvoused at Memphis the day of de-
parture, and were the guests of the official and unofficial
class at the Bluff City, where they were wined and dined.
Speeches were made by the mayor and local editors, and re-
sponded to by jabberwocks of the Press Association, who
were kept on tap for such occasions.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 319

 

At four o’clock the visiting editors were conveyed to
the landing and went aboard the City of Memphis, where
they were assigned state rooms, Memphis editors, reporters,
representatives of the city council and others remaining
aboard till the steamboat’s siren gave warning that the time
of departure had arrived.

Then the City of Memphis drew in her gang-planks, re-
leased her cables, swung out into mid-stream and commenced
her trip up the mighty Mississippi.

IV.

I cannot recall all the editors and newspaper people on
the excursion, but I do remember a number, though the trip
was made a quarter of a century ago: L. Pink Smith, Green-
ville Democrat, president, who had as his guests Mrs. H. C.
McCabe and Miss Nancy McCabe of Vicksburg; J. G. Mc-
Guire, secretary and wife, Yazoo Herald; P. K. Mayers, treas-
urer, and wife, Pascagoula Democrat-Star; Dr. B. F. Passmore
and Mrs. E. L. Passmore, Canton Times; Col. J. L. Power,
Clarion-Ledger; H. M. Quin, Centerville Jeffersonian; P. E.
Williams, Lexington Advertiser; J. M. Liddle, Valley Flag;
W. S. Hill, Winona Times: J. K. Vardaman and Douglass
Robinson, Greenwood Enterprise; Buchanan and daughter,
Greenville Times; Mrs. Halla Hammond Butt and Mrs. I. D.
Richardson, Clarksdale Challenge; the writer, Miss Marie
Henry and Miss Annie Hederman of the Clarion-Ledger; J.
R. Stowers, Oxford Eagle; H. T. Crosby, Greenville Times;
H. H. Crisler, Port Gibson Revielle; J. B. Ballard, Tupelo
Journal; Miss Singleton Garrett, Carthage Carthaginian; J. M.
McBeath, Meridian, Miss.; J. D. McKie and daughter, Biloxi
Review, and others.

It was a long summer’s evening, and as the City of

Memphis forced her way up the current of the turbid stream,
the press representatives had fine opportunity to view the
320 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

shores, woodland homes and settlements on both sides the
Mississippi, and behold the growing crops of corn and cotton.

After supper, the tables were folded up, chairs placed
against the walls of the brilliant lighted salon, the band struck
up lively airs, and all who desired, joined in the dance. But
the night was warm, and the dancers soon adjourned to the
open decks to catch a breath of fresh air. Some played cards,
others lounged and some talked, drank iced water and iced
other things, while old river men told wonderful stories of
the great Mississippi. A few slept and others dreamt
dreams of the future and built castles while they feasted on
the bright moon-kissed, rippling waters.

V.

The press people, tired with the exertions of the day, re-
tired to their cabins early, while a few old stagers, sporty men
and lively women, who had no connection whatever with the
press, sat up and gambled on the passenger deck till late
at night. The water cooler was near them, and thereby hangs
another tale.

The state rooms were hot and without ice water and many
were the visits made to the cooler during the night, by men
not too careful of their dress. The players were so busy that
they paid.no attention to the “spooks” who visited the water-
cooler, till a big, tall fellow, with black, flowing hair, and
sheet carelessly thrown across his shoulders, like a Roman
Senator, approached the cooler removed the top, and pro-
ceeded, a la Washington Irving’s headless horseman, to drink
the vessel dry. The women shrieked, the men swore, and
the apparation beat a hasty retreat to cover.

VI.

The event was talked all day, even into the night, when
a moot court was secretly planned by a dozen hilarious edi-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 321

 

tors, to locate and try the offending party. The writer was
kept entirely in the dark, and knew nothing of the conspiracy
that had been hatched up to try and convict him, by a packed
court, regardless of law or evidence, till the stalwart P. K.
Mayers, acting as high sheriff, placed him under arrest and
carried him into the court room, which was packed with press
people and other passengers, all anxious to see justice admin-
istered.

The judge was on the bench, as handsomely groomed as
a chancellor of old England, but his wig, contrary to ancient
custom, was black and flowing, and the face, though rouged,
rubbed, and powered for the occasion, looked familiar.

The prisoner was arraigned, and indictment read, wherein
he was charged with walking in his sleep, and dancing the
can-can on the quarter-deck, thinly clad, to the shocking
amazement of lady passengers.

The judge—impersonated by Jas. K. Vardaman, the real
offender—asked the prisoner if he had anything to say. He
replied he would like time to employ counsel. “That duty has
already been performed, Sir; the court has appointed as your
counsel the Hon. Shedrack Hill, and the Hon. James Madison
Liddell, while the interest of the state will be looked after by
the Hon. Benjamin Franklin Passmore and the Hon. Leviticus
Pinkham Smith.” :

“But,” replied the prisoner, “I deny the jurisdiction of
the court. We are on the high seas, and a land-lubber judge
has no right to try maritime cases. Besides, this is a base
conspiracy concocted to convict an innocent man, when this
court knows, if it knows anything at all, that the judge is
himself the guilty can-canner.”

“Silence in the court room,” shouted the judge. “Any
more such disreputable remarks will subject the prisoner to
the stockade, without benefit of trial or privilege of bail.”
322 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Counsel for the prisoner took charge of his case, and
invited the state to proceed, when evidence of the most
damaging character was introduced, Hilarie Quin being the
principal state witness, and he convicted the prisoner at
every breath, “though he had no hair on top of his head,
the place where the hair ought to grow.”’ There were other
witnesses, but they were not necessary. The court, the wit-
nesses and the jury had been packed in the most outrageous
and shocking manner.

Dr. Passmore opened for the state, followed by Jim Lid-
dell and Shed Hill, for the defendant, the main speech for
the state being delivered by Pink Smith and the jury re-
turned a verdict of guilty without leaving their seats.

The prisoner was duly sentenced, and commanded to
treat the whole press party and by-standers, and admonished
to sin no more. Then the company adjourned to the fore-
deck, where all “took sugar in theirn” the judge and prisoner
leading the procession, arm in arm, the best of friends, for
at the time factionalism had not been incorporated upon the
body politic, to estrange men and make political enemies of
former companions.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX.

I Receive a Much Appreciated Letter From Henry Watterson,
Commending My Memoirs.—Another Chapter on
the River Excursion.—Meeting With
Missouri Editors.

“Approbation from Sir Hubert, is praise indeed,” which
justifies the writer of Editorial Memoirs in printing the fol-
lowing, received from the greatest editorial writer in the
United States:

Galveston, Feb. 3, 1921.
R. H. Henry, Esq.,
Jackson, Miss.

My Dear Old Friend:
I thank you for copy of the Clarion-Ledger of January 30th, in
which you make kind reference to me.

Your Editorial Memoirs are truly refreshing; are well written
and most interesting. They carry me back a long ways. I wish I
could add a few words to them; but at four score and one, I am “all
in,” as the boys say, and am unequal to prolonged or connected com-
position.

Sincerely yours,

HENRY WATTERSON.
324 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I was gratified to receive the above from the distin-
guished Henry Watterson, in my opinion, the best writer and
ablest editor in the United States, who now, in the evening
of his life, is spending his winters by the warm waters of
the Gulf of Mexico. I take off my hat to “Marse Henry,”
and thank him for his kind recognition of my poor efforts.

Il.

Many amusing and interesting events occurred on the
Press Excursion from Memphis to St. Louis in 1897, that I
did not have space to refer to in my last paper.

Our good boat, the “City of Memphis,” had occasion to
stop at many places along the river, to discharge and receive
freight and passengers, put off and take on mail, and trans-
act other business incident to steamboat life.

Few of the editors had witnessed roustabouts in action,
rolling off barrels, moving sacks, bales, boxes and live stock,
and wrestling with freight on steep and slippery banks.

The work of the roustabouts was interesting, and their
old-time plantation songs, their witty remarks, their monkey-
“antics, followed by their musical whistling and fantastic danc-
ing, afforded entertainment for the night.

The big mate, with no respector of persons, and utter
indifference as to the character of spectators, swore not ex-
actly by note but in good time and tune and the oaths that
he ripped out as Tom, Bill or Jim soldiered on the job, were
shocking to hear, but entertaining, as mates manufacture
their own combination of oaths, and string them out in the
most generous and euphonious manner.

Steamboat landings, with people lining the banks to gaze
upon the passengers and witness the loading and unloading
of freight, furnish scenes of interest at all times, in day
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 325

 

light, sunshine or rainy weather, but the interest is increased
an hundred. fold at night, when sputtering, flickering torch
lights line the way for roustabouts to handle the cargo. The
weird, indistinct, spectre-like forms on shore assume the ap-
pearance of moving phantoms, as they crowd about to watch
the handling of freight, hear the singing of the negroes, the
stormy orders and frightful oaths of the mates, with cadence
and crescendo unknown to music writers.

It was a long stretch from Cairo to St. Louis, much
government work going on along the river north of Cairo, and
there were still evenings of pleasure in store for the editors
and lady-friends. Amusements of many kinds were resorted
to at night, for the interest ashore, the passing boats, from
floating palaces to coal barges, house boats and other water
craft, claimed the attention of the editors by day. They saw
many strange and interesting sights—people who lived upon
small and frail boats, which carried all their earthly posses-
sions, including dogs, pigs and the family milch-cow; traffic
boats which sold and bought produce, mountain whiskey being
as freely offered for sale as corn, meal, flower, peas, pota-
toes and other edible products.

IIT.

The river trip was made in summer, when the prevailing
costume of well-to-do young men, was a stiff straw hat, blue
sack coat and large white trousers. We had a number of
editors and near-editors dressed in that manner.

At one of the landings a dudish young fellow came on
board somewhere above Cairo, wearing a stiff straw hat, blue
serge coat and white trousers. After arranging for his pass-
age, he proceeded to make himself at home, and took a seat
on the upper deck. He was seen to gasp and froth at the
mouth, making loud but inarticulate sounds, and falling off
his chair. Someone yelled, “He has fainted; throw water in
326 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

his face.” The porter speedily carried out the orders, and the
young man was soon restored, but was seen no more that
day.

IV.

It is the habit of passengers to lounge around the deck
after dinner, tell stories, reel off personal yarns, smoke, chew,
or nap, for nothing conduces more to sleep than steamboat
dinners on warm days.

A young man of the editorial party, dressed with a stiff
straw, blue serge sack and white pants, sat down in the chair
the visitor had occupied before dinner, soon fell asleep, and
began snoring at a terrific rate. The porter saw the young
editor in the chair, heard his loud snoring, and supposing he
was the same man he had waited upon before, and conclud-
ing he had another fit, rushed to the cooler, got a pitcher of
water, and dashed it in his face, wetting him from head to
heels, almost drowning the poor fellow.

He awoke with a snort and an oath, and the profanity
that flew around that darkey’s head could only be compared
to bolts of lightning. It was awfully funny to on-lookers,
who laughed till their sides ached, but it cured that editor of
napping on deck, and the negro porter of throwing water
in passengers’ faces while they slept.

After another joyful night on the river, the City of Mem-
phis docked at St. Louis next morning about nine o’clock.
Several of the boys had been playing and drinking, gassing
and setting up very late, and were not in the best of shape
for pleasure. Busses were at the landing to convey the entire
party to the Southern Hotel, where accommodations had been
secured.

After partaking of much needed baths, rest and refresh-
ments, the press boys, recuperated and rejuvenated, were
ready for any “lark” that might be offered, and they were
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 327

 

many. Walter Marder had provided more entertainment for
the newspaper people than they had time to enjoy.

V.

Among other entertainments at St. Louis, we were given
a tallyho ride to Merrimac Highlands, where we dined with
the Missouri Press Association. It was a glorious trip, barring
the heat and the dust, but the novelty of a fifteen mile ride,
with refreshments on the way, and the fine treatment ex-
tended by the special committee and the Missouri editors,
more than offset the discomfitures of the day.

It was there I first met Walter Williams, who made the
welcome address on behalf of the Missouri Press Association.
The subject matter of his talk was extremely good, but his
fine, squeaky voice detracted greatly from his interesting
and thoughful address, which aptly proved the truthfulness
of the old saying that there is more in a speech than froth
and fustain.

The response to the address of welcome was delivered by
President Pink Smith, who really “outspoke himself,” and
made a well-matured, sensible talk, which pleased both the
Missouri and Mississippi editors.

At the same meeting I formed the acquaintance of E. W.
Stephens and Bob White, prominent Missouri editors with
whom I was destined to be thrown in close personal relation
at meetings of the National Editorial Association; and three
such newspaper princes as Walter Williams, Ed. Stephens and
Bob White, one rarely meets in his journalistic experience.

Vi.

We were in St. Louis only a short time after Maxwell,
the Englishman, had been hung for killing his traveling
 

328 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

companion, Prellar, at the Southern Hotel, cutting his body
up and packing it away in a trunk. He was followed to the
Auckland Islands, arrested, brought back, tried, convicted
and hung.

The number of the room where the murder was com-
mitted had become well-known, and no guest would occupy
it, who had heard of the tragedy. The editors were sitting
on the broad veranda, on the North side of the Southern,
cooling off after a day of tiresome sight-seeing. Hilerie
Quin was one of the big talkers and entertainers. I decided
to have some fun at his expense, and requesting Press Wil-
liams to go downstairs, look over the register, get the num-
ber of Quin’s room, and quietly hand it to me, telling him
after I had narrated the story of the tragedy to ask if anyone
knew the number of the room in which Maxwell killed Prellar.

He complied, and after I had detailed the particulars of
the murder, Williams asked, “Does anybody know the num-
ber of the room where the tragedy was enacted?” I re-
sponded, ‘Yes, it is well known, and no one will sleep in it.
The number is 437.”

Thereupon Quin jumped up much excited, and exclaimed,
“My God, that’s my room; I’ll have a change made at once”;
and he rushed downstairs, and demanded that the clerk give
him another room, upbraiding him for putting him in the
Maxwell-Prellar room.

The clerk assured him that he was laboring under a mis-
apprehension; that somebody had played a joke on him, as the
number of the room had been removed and another placed
thereon, and no person knew the substituted number. Hil-
lerie then returned to the party, and was welcomed with roars
of laughter. But he was equal to the occasion, took the joke
good-naturedly, and pleasantly said, ‘All right boys; the
joke’s on me; come downstairs and I'll set ’em up for the
crowd.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 329

 

VIL.

It was on this trip that P. K. Mayers sprained his back
while attempting to get out of a bath tub, and was confined
to his room the balance of our stay in St. Louis.. His devoted
wife and Dr. Passmore, good old scout that he was, remained
with P. K. and doctored his injury till we were ready to
leave, the boys calling every day to offer their condolence,
and to tease him about not knowing how to get out of a
bath tub, when he replied, happily, “Yes; I am accustomed
to more water when I take my bath down on the seacoast.”

Most of the editors returned home by boat, being round
trip guests of the City of Memphis.

While there were no serious casualties on the St. Louis
trip, which was one of the most enjoyable in the history of
the Mississippi Press Association, a sorrowful event followed
it. J. B. Ballard, editor of the Tupelo Journal, one of the
best newspaper men of the state, and one of the happiest, as
well as one of the most agreeable members of the excursion,
had occasion to visit Jackson, a few weeks after the return
of the press party, and it was said a black-eyed girl was the
attraction drawing him hither. He was caught in a hard rain
while here, contracted a severe cold, which developed into
pneumonia, and in a few days his lifeless form was laid to
rest. Truly, “In the midst of life we are in death.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

Have as My Guest on a Visit to Alcorn A. & M. College a
Northern Republican Editor, and Put Him on the
Tenter Hook Before Dinner is Served.

Bucked on Social Equality.

I had met John A. Atwood and wife, of the Graphic, of
Stillman Valley, Ill., at conventions of the National Editorial
Association, generally accompanied by my wife. They were
refined and genteel people who had lived all their lives in
the North and had no conceptions of the South. We became
fast friends. We visited them in summer and they visited us
in winter, sometimes extending their trips to New Orleans, as
our guests. Our association was altogether delightful, pleas-
ant in every way—a mingling of the North and the South, of
Republicans and Democrats.

The last time that Mr. and Mrs. Atwood came South, was
after the Roosevelt-Booker Washington dinner in 1903.

H.

As the Mississippi Commissioner to the World’s Fair at
St. Louis, it was made my duty to visit the different counties
of the state and deliver addresses in behalf of the great ex-
 

 

 

 

Page M. Baker
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 331

 

position. I had an appointment to make a speech before the
student body of the Alcorn A. & M. College, and invited At-
wood, then a visitor at my home to accompany me, telling
him he would see something that would open his eyes. That
being a northern man and a Republican, he naturally got his
ideas of the south, the negro and conditions in this section
from his local environment, from Republican papers and poli-
ticians who made it convenient to ride into office on the
negro’s back, by abusing the people of the South for refusing
to educate him, and by their persecuting, abusing and killing
of Sambo.

Atwood said he would be glad to go; and we made the
trip, via Vicksburg, arriving at Lorman in time for break-
“fast, where a team was to be provided to convey us to the
College, ten miles away. ‘ ;

4

The landlady was a red-hot Southern rebel, and when
she learned that Atwood was from the North, she regaled him
with horrible accounts of negro lynchings, saying “One was
hung here last week by a mob, and if you care to see his
grave I will point it out to you.” He began to turn pale
around the gills and replied he did not care to see it; and I]
saw from his unhappy face that he felt uneasy and out of
place. She roasted the negro college, saying “It only spoilt
good cooks and washer-women, and should be abolished.”

III.

After a pleasant ride we reached the college, which occu-
pies the site and buildings of the old Oakland College, es-
tablished in 1830.

The Alcorn A. & M. was founded under the administra-
tion of Gov. J. L. Alcorn, 1871. The property was purchased
by the state for $40,000 and appropriations annually to main-
tain it.
332 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Its first president was Hiram R. Revels, who was after-
wards elected to represent Mississippi in the United States
Senate, he being the first negro to occupy a seat in that
great deliberative body.

Under the present law the students and all members of
the faculty of the A. & M. College must be negroes; but the
board of trustees shall be made up exclusively of white

men.
IV.

It was a cool November morning when the writer and
his guest visited the college. We were met by the president,
W. H. Lanier, and politely invited into the old home of Dr.
Jeremiah Chamberlain, the first president of Oakland College,
and who remained as its executive head for twenty-one years,
till stabbed to death in front of his own house in 1851, by
a man named Briscoe, the spot being pointed out to visitors.
Atwood saw it and wondered what gruesome object he would
be called upon to behold next.

A bright, crackling fire was burning, which gave a glow
of warmth and welcome to us as we entered the large library.
Lanier had boys to dust us off, and provide fresh water. I
told him I had taken the liberty of bringing a Northern friend
along, one who knew nothing of the negro or the South, as
I was anxious to give him an insight into Southern life, and
show him a real negro college. He expressed himself as glad
to meet Mr. Atwood, and ordered coffee for his visitors, over
which we discussed many matters of Old Oakland, the great
men it had sent out into the world; its different presidents
since the killing of Dr. Chamberlain, its suspension during the
’ war, its struggle afterwards, and final sale to the state for a
negro college, and others up to the election of Lanier, who
had brought order out of chaos.

While we were talking and sipping our black coffee and
enjoying its aroma and the heat from the big open fire-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 333

 

place, the music from a brass band was heard, coming over
the hills, and Lanier informed us that the students were march-
ing up to escort us to the college. There to the southward,
approached an army of the blackest negro boys and girls this
side of Africa, six hundred strong. They were so black that
they almost paled the sky and obscured the morning sun. The
band of thirty or more pieces was in front, followed by mem-
bers of the faculty and students. We joined the procession
and marched on to the chapel, with the cloud of darkness.

V:

I had invited Atwood to make the first speech, which he
reluctantly agreed to do. He said he was no speaker and did
not know what to say. I suggested he announce that he was
from Illinois, the home of Lincoln, Grant and Logan. “Say
whatever you please about them, praise them to the skies, if
you care to; the war is over, sectional feeling is dead, and
no one will take umbrage at anything you may say.”

President Lanier made a suitable preliminary talk, stating
the purpose of the meeting was to awaken an interest in the
World’s Fair, and secure an industrial exhibit from the Alcorn
College.

He said one of the speakers, the State Commissioner, was
native and to the manner born, while the other was a visitor
from the far North, and he was satisfied the students would
be interested in what they had to say.

I introduced Atwood, telling who he was, where from, his
politics, etc, and though a Northern man, Yankee and Re-
publican, he was a gentleman and my friend, giving the key-
note for his talk; and though terribly embarrassed, he handled
the subject in a creditable manner. I led the applause, which
received liberal response, making the speaker feel good, and
glad he had been called out.
334 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

Prof, Lanier presented me as the State Commissioner, and
I made my usual World’s Fair speech, with some slight local

changes.

As I closed the president and members of the faculty
came forward to extend congratulations to the speakers, fol-
lowed by the student body. As a mark of respect to the dis-
tinguished visitor, who had so ably entertained them, I re-
quested the students to file by the stand and personally shake
hands with Mr. Atwood, which they were glad to do. He at
first considered it a great compliment, but as the rough-handed
boys passed by and gave him heroic shakes, he became rather
tired, if not suspicious, and when he got through his hands
looked wilted and he had the appearance of a man who had
done a hard day’s work. He afterwards told me it was the
hardest job in his life, and he believed those “colored people”
had taken all the skin off his hands.

VI.

After congratulations had been extended and some gen-
eral talk indulged in about the college, President Lanier ad-
dressing the white visitors said, “Well, gentlemen, we will
now go over and have dinner, and then look through the col-
lege generally, including the industrial departments.”

Atwood looked appealingly at me, and the distress he felt
was written in his face. He was right up against the most
trying ordeal of his life.

Taking me aside he feelingly asked, “Colonel, are we to
eat dinner with these colored people?” “No, not with colored
people but with these negroes,” I replied, and then I thought
he would faint.

“But,” he remonstrated, “it is early for dinner, and be-
sides I don’t want anything.” I replied, “Oh, come, now, you
cannot crawfish out that way. We are here as the guests of
the college and must conform to its rules.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 335

I had been there before and knew that the white trustees
and white visitors were always given meals by themselves,
but Atwood did not know it, and I had him on the tenter-
hook, and decided to rub his social equality notions into him
good and hard.

I told Lanier we were ready, and we returned to the
Chamberlain home, where the president lived. When we had
entered, Lanier said, in a very kind and courteous manner,
“Make yourselves at home, gentlemen; dinner will soon be
ready.”

VIL.

Atwood was suffering as though he had been bitten by
a rattler, and again appealed to me to forego the dinner, say-
ing he was feeling real bad and could not eat a bite, any-
way.

“Suppose it gets in the papers that we ate dinner with the
colored students of this college—how will it look in print?”
“Won’t hurt me in the least. I have been raised among
negroes and have associated with them all my life. I once
ate at a Press banquet where a negro editor named Mollison
had a chair close by, and it did me no harm.”

“But,” he persisted, “we can get out of this, and I don’t
care to see my name printed as having dined with colored
people, while on a visit South.” “Why, your President ate
dinner with Booker Washington, and you and other Republi-
can editors did not condemn, but upheld him for having the
courage to eat with the negro educator. You are no better
than your President.”

Seeing that he could not persuade me to give up dinner,
he subsided, for a time, but I did not. “Atwood,” I said, “you
are the guest of honor today, and in the South the invariable
custom is that the honor guest must lead the lady of the
house out to dinner. Mrs. Lanier is a comely, buxom woman,
336 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

rather attractive in person, and it will be your duty when
dinner is announced to escort her to the dining room. I’ll go
with Lanier.”

“Pll be d——ed if I do it,” he yelled, and he meant it.

I started to say, “You shock me with your conduct,” but
had not finished the sentence when Lanier’s appearance in
the doorway cut off further discussion as to the etiquet of
the occasion, politely saying, “Gentlemen, dinner is ready,
please walk out.”

VII.

Atwood’s eyes lost some of their fire and defiance when
he failed to meet Lanier’s wife, and assumed their natural
size, when he saw that covers had been laid for two only;
and he became really jolly and convivial when he saw Lanier
and wife superintending the serving of the meal, while negro
boys and girls waited upon the table, which had been set in
the president’s office. His good nature returned, likewise
his appetite and the rations he disposed of encouraged host
and friend to believe that his digestive organs were in thorough
repair.

After the dinner, we were shown around the college, con-
veyed through all departments, the operations of the institu-
tion being explained by the president and members of the
faculty, but the industrial departments proved the most in-
teresting, for it is a demonstrable fact that negro boys will
excell in industrial work when they fail in their literary
Studies. Here it may not be out of place to say that the
Alcorn A. and M. College furnished the World’s Fair the
largest industrial exhibit shown from Mississippi.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.

My Old Friend John G. McGuire Writes a Kind and Encourag-
ing Letter.—Editors Visit the World’s Fair.—Endless
Mix-Up in Registering Their Names.

All people like a word of encouragement and expressions
of endorsement. We are all alike from the lowest to the
highest,—all appreciate compliments, as the writer does the
following from one of the oldest members of the Mississippi
Press Association:

Yazoo City, Miss., Feb. 19, 1921.
Col. R. H. Henry,
Jackson, Miss.

My Dear Friend:

With much pleasure and delight I have been reading when
opportunity offered your “Memoirs of Some Editors” that you have
known during your many years in the editorial harness.

These publications bring back to me many happy days with the
editors of the Mississippi Press, with whom since the first day of
May, 1876, I have been intimately associated, having joined the Asso-
ciation at Columbus in July, 1882, and has missed but one annual
meeting since then—the one of 1914, when I was out of the State.

I am sure, my good friend, that other old members of the Asso-
ciation like myself are enjoying these reminiscences. In them you
338 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

are calling attention to a good part of the past history of the State,
and no profession or calling has done more to make that history one
of pride than the Press of the State.

Wishing you and yours many more years of happiness and pros-
perity and recalling with pleasure our many years of friendship, I
am,

Sincerely your friend,
J. G. McGUIRE.

No man stands higher in the Mississippi Press Association
than my especial and intimate friend John McGuire, and no
Mississippi editor’s opinion is more to be prized than his.
Beginning as a printer he has, by hard work and constant
application to newspaper duties, succeeded in reaching the
topmost round in his profession. In an evil hour, he decided
to sell his paper, the Yazoo Herald, when it had reached its
zenith of power and influence.

Though not now in active newspaper work, McGuire is
one of the owners of the Yazoo News, and is still a member
of the Mississippi Press Association, to which he has belonged
for over a third of a century. He is the recognized authority
on the constitution, which, let us hope, he will live many years
to construe and expound.

II.

The description I gave of an editorial trip to St. Louis
by boat, recalls a press excursion to the same city during early
days of the World’s Fair, by rail.

The Press Convention had been held that year, 1904, at
McComb City, presided over by President R. B. May, editor
of the Enterprise, a good local weekly, now printed by his
son.

After a two day’s session the editors adjourned, leaving
for St. Louis on a special train to become guests of the World’s
Fair.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 339

 

Arriving there about nightfall, they were met at the train
by the writer, who was State Commissioner to the World’s
Fair. I piloted the large party to the Inside Inn, immediate-
ly westward of “Beauvoir,” the Mississippi building, where
the editors made headquacters during their stay in St. Louis.

There was a general and confusing mix-up in registering
the 100 or more press representatives, for nothing brings out
a “full-house” like free transportation to an Exposition, and
promise of entertainment.

I had the list of the excursionists, and as host of the
occasion undertook to register the whole party, which I found
no easy job, as constant changes were being made to accom-
modate room-mates.

II.

To add to the confusion, a list of the delegates had been
mailed to Miss Kate Power, who was doing syndicate work
at the Exposition, and she had also registered the editors be-
fore arrival, which I knew nothing about. Just imagine the
confusion, worse confounded.

An editor, tired, sore and in bad humor, would give to
one of the many clerks his name and request key for himself
and wife. On going to the room assigned ‘he was apt to find
it occupied, and entrance denied.

Returning to the office, walking up halls covering a
thousand feet or more and down several flight of steps to
register his kick, he found others in the same condition and
as mad as March hares.

Some of the editorial party had been assigned to rooms
on Miss Power’s register, and many were given keys on my
register, and the crosses and counters were enough to run
clerks and bell boys crazy, not to mention the annoyance to
the editorial visitors. They had a lively time straightening
things out.
340 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Secretary John McGuire, who always has a suggestion
ready for every worry, ventured to advise the chief clerk that
the trouble could be overcome by destroying both registers,
and that he would enter the names a third time; whereupon
the clerk threw up his hands and exclaimed, “My God, we
have too many registers now, and a third would drive us
crazy.” Then some wag yelled out, “Shoot John,” and he
subsided.

IV.

The confusion at the building of the Tower of Babel is
said to have been great, but that was only a confusion of
tongues, whereas at the Inside Inn, on the notable occasion
referred to, it was a confusion of names and rooms. Speech
was not confused, far from it—for it was as intelligible as
ever heard, and some of it would not do to print. “The
Comedy of Errors,’ would have been tame compared to the
drama enacted that night at the Inside Inn.

The editors were shown every courtesy at the World’s
Fair, and spent several days most delightfully seeing the
sights. I had secured passes for them not only to the Ex-
position, “but to all the attractions on the Pike,” which they
liked better than the exhibits from the different states, being
easier to see.

The editors visited all the Mississippi exhibits, which
they greatly admired, especially “King Cotton,” in the Agri-
cultural Building, the 39 foot cotton statue that towered above
all other objects, and the “Pecan Horse” in Horticultural
Building, both being written up by many of the leading maga-
zines of the country, with pictures showing the grand propor-
tions of the exhibit.

V.

A good many amusing things occurred during the stay
of the Mississippi editors. Parades and procession were of
common occurrence, for it must be remembered that every
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 341

 

state and territory of the Union had representatives of some
kind at the Exposition, as did all the foreign countries.

There were soldiers there galore, and bands by the score;
and marching battalions were of daily occurrence, not only in
but outside the grounds, and to one unaccustomed to the
moving phalanx, with its martial music and military air, the
thought of war naturally occurred.

A great parade was announced during the editorial visit.
It was scheduled to start somewhere uptown, and the route
was given, through the center gate, via the main buildings,
and to end at the Louisiana Purchase monument.

Any body could march who desired to, on foot or horse-
back, and several of our party volunteered, some hiring horses
at seven dollars per, in order to take in the main show.

About three o’clock I chanced to go down to the Court
of Honor, a popular assembly place, and there I saw a Mis-
sissippian, who acted and talked as though he might have
looked upon the wine, or some other intoxicant, when red, and
it had about floored him. He had awoke to a realization of
the fact that he had agreed to march in the parade and had
not done so. He was standing in front of the statue of “St.
Louis,” his feet wide apart, his swollen eyes looking up in
the air, his hands deep in his pocket, hat far back on his
head, set at half mast, his mind wandering. As I approached
he looked around in a bewildering way, and though he knew
me quite well in normal condition, he did not recognize me,
and accosted me familiarly thus, with his thick tongue:

“Say, old sport, where’s the parade?” I replied, “It
passed over two hours ago, and has disbanded.” “Well, Ill
be d——d, I have been looking for it all day and couldn’t
find it.”

I have beheld a good many comical sights in my time,
but never have I seen anything on or off the stage that was
342 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

half as funny as that Mississippian who was “looking for the
parade.” VI

We had a large number of editors of the state on that
trip, many of whom have written their last article, whose
journals of time are complete, the deceased being marked with
an asterisk, thus*. Among the number present were: *Col.
J. L. Power of Clarion-Ledger, *P. K. Mayers, and wife,
Pascagoula Democrat-Star, *J. H. Duke, Scooba Herald, John
G. McGuire and wife, Yazoo Herald, L. T. Carlisle and wife,
West Point Leader, *B. T. Hobbs and wife, Brookhaven
Leader, Wm. Ward, Starkville Times, J. G. Cashman and wife,
Vicksburg Post, F. R. Birdsall and wife, Yazoo Sentinel, *R.
B. May, McComb City, Jos. E. Norwood and wife, Magnolia
Gazette, *W. S. Eskridge, Charleston Tallahatchian, A. C.
Anderson, Ripley Sentinel, Robert Lewis, Woodville Republi-
can, J. A. Richardson, Indianola Tocsin, *N. P. Bonney, Sum-
mit Sentinel, *J. W. Buchanan, Grenada Sentinel, *T. J.
Wood, Starkville News, *Geo. B. Brown and wife, Guntown
Hot Times, *J. D. McKie, Biloxi Review, *H. T. Crosby,
Greenville Times, *Mrs. S. C. Maer, Columbus Dispatch, *E.
C. Carroll, Vicksburg Herald, W. D. Caulfield, Gloster Record,
B. C. Knapp, Fayette Chronicle, Miss Singleton Garrett, Car-
thage Carthinian, Mrs. H. H. Butt, Clarksdale Challenge, G.
S. Ellis and wife, Dawn of Light, Walnut Grove, Mrs. J. L.
Gillespie, Greenwood Enterprise, Chas. G. Moreau and wife,
Bay St. Louis Echo, W. E. Chapman and wife, Indianola En-
terprise, J. R. Oliphant, Poplarville Free Press, P. K. Whitney,
Utica Herald, W. C. Hight, Louisville Journal, R. T. Quin, Mc-
Comb City Journal, Joe Dale, Lawrence County Free Press,
C. E. Cunningham, Newton Record, I. S. Murphy, Carrolton
Conservative.

The Mississippi editors remained in St. Louis for several
days, and if there was anything at the Exposition they did
not see it was not worth naming, the management having de-
tailed special men to show them everything.
CHAPTER-FORTY NINE

Some Editorial Cranks I Have Known.—A _ Double-Barrel
Daily.—Serious Accident at the Greenville Press
Convention.—Editor With Sack of Rat Traps.

I have known a good many freaks and cranks in the
editorial brotherhood, men who published papers according to
their own peculiar ideas—some who were real curiosities, and
they are not all dead yet. While it may not be a crime to
be a freak, or a sin to be a crank, it is often annoying, espec-
ially to the other fellow.

I used to meet a Jew editor on the Gulf Coast who was
a freak of the first magnitude, Louis Rosenthall, who pub-
lished the Biloxi Blizzard, and it was a hummer with its
euphonious name. It was devoid of news, politics or religion,
and still it existed, how, the Lord only knows.

I occasionally met this “Samuel of Pozen” on the coast
trains. He kept a mental diary of his work and would tell
of the business he had gotten in New Orleans. He had no
rates, and would take advertisements at any old price, as he
did not have the faintest conception of the value of advertis-
ing space. He had a free pass, and made frequent trips
to New Orleans.
344 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I met him one day loaded down with a sack full of rat
traps, which he had taken on an advertising account. I asked
him what he intended to do with them, and he grew as elo-
quent as Toodles and became as rich as Mulberry Sellers. He
said he would keep some for his own use and others he would
sell to merchants of coast towns. He really believed he had
made a good deal, and saw big money rolling into his office.
He argued the space cost him nothing, and whatever he got
from the sale of his rat traps was so much made—false reason-
ing that so many publishers fool themselves with. He had
evidently heard that Jay Gould made his first money selling
rat traps.

Il.

Speaking of the seacoast recalls the name of a very suc-
cessful publisher, Geo. W. Wilkes, founder and owner of the
Herald, printed by him for years at Biloxi. He was not an
editor, in the general meaning of the term, for he never wrote
for his paper, though he knew how to employ men who could
write. He came South from Indiana, and established a job
and book office at Biloxi, for he was an expert printer. The
Herald followed.

Gulfport was then in its swaddling clothes; but it grew
so rapidly, after the county site was established there, and
deep water secured, that Wilkes conceived the idea of moving
part of his outfit to Gulfport, and printing the paper there.

He sent linotype machines to Gulfport, with an assort-
ment of advertising type, keeping a full job plant at Biloxi,
where he did his book and job work. He also kept his busi-
ness office in Biloxi, but sent two of his sons to Gulfport to
look over the newspaper end of the business. Wilkes retained
a linotype in his Biloxi office, which was used to set up the
Biloxi news and editorials prepared there, the matter being

shipped to Gulfport on the street cars, ready to be dumped
into the forms.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 345

 

III.

It was a good conception, a rather remarkable undertak-
ing, considering the rivalry and bitter antagonism existing
between the two big coast towns. Wilkes had a difficult task
in reconciling the troubles. The people at Biloxi did not
want a paper printed at Gulfport and shipped over to them
in bulk every evening. The citizens of Gulfport kicked be-
cause the parent office was at Biloxi, much of the type being
set there, and declared that Biloxi was given preference in
local news because the Wilkes families lived there.

Various styles of headings were prepared in an effort to
please the people of both towns, one edition reading “Printed
at BILOXI and Gulfport,” while the other said “Printed at
GULFPORT and Biloxi.” The “Printed at BILOXI and Gulf-
port” was run on the first edition, which went to Biloxi, and
the second edition, with its “Printed at GULFPORT and
Biloxi,” was distributed at Gulfport and through the mails.

Meanwhile Wilkes, the father of the enterprise, died, a
few years ago, but the double-barrel sheet was continued by
his sons, who also tried various head designs in order to please
customers, substituting a logotype in the heading showing the
paper was printed at both towns, with “Mississippi Coast” in
the date line.

As directed by the senior Wilkes, the paper should bear
two distinct sections, all the Biloxi news and ads printed in
the Biloxi department, while the Gulfport business should be
bunched together on other pages.

The editorials are written by George P. Money, put in
type at Biloxi, and it is no extravagant praise to say that
they are among the best appearing in the state press.

IV.

Wilkes had a rather strong competitor in the person of
J. D. McKie of the Biloxi Review. He was a good writer, and
346 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

had the ability to discuss public questions, and did not hesi-
tate to express his opinions freely on any subject, and was
never backward in criticising editors with whom he disagreed.
He was so waspish and rasping at times that he narrowly
escaped several personal difficulties, for he could not brook
opposition, being of an intolerant nature.

McKie printed a good paper, and from a_ typographic
standpoint it was as near perfect as any publication in Mis-
sissippi.

McKie was a loyal friend, and a bitter antagonist. Many
editors did not like him for they did not know where he
would break out, as he did not have a happy disposition and
was likely to say very disagreeable things.

V.

I recall another freakish editor who undertook to revo-
lutionize the newspaper business by introducing new features—
Major G. C. Tucker of the old Columbus Index. He had
schemes that might have succeeded on large papers, but too
big for Mississippi journals.

He was an awfully bright fellow, was well educated, and
adopted journalism, as I have heard, as a matter of passtime,
for he was reputed to have a good bank account. He claimed
to have employed a number of editors, who wrote on such
subjects as he suggested, much after the plan of metropolitan
journals, and unknown in this state.

He said he employed men to write upon law, agriculture,
news, locals, live stock, science, literature, etc. He printed a
remarkably fine paper, one above the average, and beyond the
vision of Mississippi readers.

“Major” Tucker, as he preferred to be called, to dis-
tinguish himself from other titled members of his family,
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 347

 

came from aristocratic stock, but did not last many years as
a publisher, his ideas being entirely too large for the time
and state in which he lived. He afterwards went into the
ministry, becoming an Episcopal rector.

VI.

The Press Convention at Greenville in the spring of
1889—-memorable year—was one of the largest and best ever
held in the state. J. K. Almon, editor of the Durant Demo-
crat, was president and worked up an enormous attendance,
including a number of invited guests, Senator J. Z. George,
Gov. Robert Lowry, Congressman Thos. R. Stockdale, former
Secretary of State Henry C. Myers, and others who had been
invited to attend and address the editors.

The exercises of Literary Night, when members of the
press and citizens of the community united in getting up an
entertainment, were given in the theatre, and the house was
packed, for in those good old days a Press Convention at-
tracted very considerable attention, and fortunate was con-
sidered the town that secured the meeting of editors.

During the midst of the exercises the top-heavy gallery,
over one of the private boxes, was seen to give way, to part
from the wall of the building and fall out on the stage, carry-
ing down its human load. Many people rushed upon the stage
hoping to be able to check the falling of the gallery, but were
unable to hold it back.

Strange to say, no persons occupying the gallery was ser-
iously hurt, but a number sitting in the box underneath were
injured. I remember that among the occupants of the box
were Senator George, Governor Lowry, H. C. Myers, and
wife, Mrs. Will Henry, Mrs. Joe Jayne and others. Mrs.
Myers was seriously injured, and never entirely recovered;
Senator George was also badly hurt, but recovered in a few
weeks. Other occupants of the box were also injured, but
only slightly.
348 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

VII.

J. M. Liddle, editor of the Yazoo Valley Flag and other
papers, would attract attention in any company. He was
bright, bold and aggressive; and the people of Jackson will
ever be grateful to him for the service rendered them, when
he, and other courageous men of LeFlore county, came over
and assisted them in routing the McGill administration.

The killing of McWillie Mitchell by a negro butcher, on
Christmas Eve, 1887, in the presence of a negro policeman,
sealed the fate of the McGill administration, for then the
white Democrats arose in their majesty and might, and de-
clared that Jackson should be free of Republican rule.

The election followed in January, 1888, and Liddel and
his ‘‘Swamp Angels,” came over to see the job well done, and
to take a heroic part if necessary.

I remember a little incident that occurred at Niagara Falls
‘when Mississippi Editors were enjoying an excursion to the
North. The railroads were kind to the editors and placed a
special car at their disposal. Arriving at the Falls, the editors
and their wives and daughters got up and went out to see
the great cataract.

Two of the young ladies of the party, on returning to
the car, found their seats occupied by two rude and burly
westerners. They claimed their seats, but the intruders de-
clined to move, saying they had vacated them, and refused to
give them up. Some little colloquy followed, but the girls
were unable to induce the men to surrender the seats.

Liddle entered about that time, and ordered the men to
give up their seats, which they insolently declined to do. Jim
quietly reached behind, drew out an army Colts and pointing
it towards the men, simply remarked, “I’ll bet you give up
those seats in less than thirty seconds.” And they did, wait-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 349

 

ing not for the thirty seconds to expire but fled out of the
car like cravens, yelling, “Murder, murder, murder; conductor
protect us.”

The conductor ran in and excitedly inquired the cause
of the trouble when Jim, as placid as a summer breeze, re-
plied, “Oh nothing; I was just driving a couple of hogs out
of the car.” The conductor, his eyes on Jim’s pistol, smiled
and said, “Well, you have done a good job, and I thank you
for the service you have performed.”
CHAPTER FIFTY.

Drop in a Few Stories of Waggish Editors and Anecdotes of
Some Public Men to Brighten Memoirs, That They
May Be Readable Even by Those Not
Familiar With Editors of the State

There is a big difference between personal sketches and
. obituaries; but sketches of men, prominent or otherwise,
becomes tiresome and uninteresting unless relieved by ap-
propriate anecdotes, humorous references or side remarks.
With that idea in mind, I have endeavored to so brighten my
memoirs that they may be readable even by people unac-
quainted with the editors referred to.

The late Gen. Thos. J. Wharton, a man of decided ability
and extraordinary memory, and who was conversant with
every phase of Mississippi history, prepared a lecture on the
lives of leading public men of the state, whom he had known
in his younger day. It contained a vast amount of useful his-
tory, and was doubtless a correct portrayal of the lives of Gov-
ernors Poindexter, Runnels, McNutt, Tucker, Brown, Quitman,
McRea, McWillie, Foote and other distinguished public men,
including Jefferson Davis, A. K. McClung, W. L. Sharkey and
many more. But there was not one bright spot in the long
lecture, not an anecdote, story or place for a smile.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 351

 

It was a mournful production, and was denominated by
the well-remembered Marion Smith as “Wharton’s Obituary
Lecture.” It was a pay entertainment and did not prove a
success, and was abandoned after two or three engagements.
A few good stories, bright sketches or appropriate anecdotes
would have saved General Wharton’s lecture.

II. soe

We have had a good many waggish editors in this state—
men who wrote bright and witty paragraphs and scattered
sunshine with their fun. One I recall was named W. H.
Seitzler, who originated somewhere out in the eastern part
of the state. He had published a dozen or more papers, from
the Scooba Herald to the Gulfport News, the name being some-
what misleading, for Seitzler would kill a live news item any
time to print one of his witticisms, and like a number of
Mississippi editors, he considered editorial leaders as a waste
of time and space. He did not read them himself, and did
not believe they were read by others.

Seitzler and wife gave a reception to their friends at
Hickory, where he printed one of his first papers. The num-
ber in attendance exceeded expectation, and about half the
company was compelled to stand during the evening. His
sweet, modest, wife was terribly embarrassed, and remarked
apologetically, addressing her husband, “We have not enough
chairs,” who responded, “Oh yes, my dear we have enough
chairs, but foo much company.”

Seitzler started a number of papers, and had his own fun
while printing them. He made no money, but he enjoyed life,
and practised as fully as any man I have ever known the old
adage, “Never fet business interfere with pleasure.”

His writing was somewhat after the style of Joe Richard-
son of the Sunflower Tocsin, both believing in the fullest run
352 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

of fun; but there was a big difference, for Joe has stuck to
one paper, shown himself to be a good business man, and
has made money, being the owner of two or more Delta
farms, while Seitzler never made a dollar in his life and is
now living in extreme poverty.

Il.

Judge J. L. Morris, a lawyer with no burdersome practice,
decided to enter the newspaper field, and applied to J. J.
Shannon of the Meridian Gazette for a situation. Shannon
asked him, “What can you do?” The quick answer was “Any-
thing,” though he had never worked a day about a newspaper
office. He was asked if he could solicit advertisements, and
responded, “Have never done it, but certain I can; give me a
trial.” In those days newspapers could get all the railroad
transportation they desired, and had hotel accommodations to
burn.

Shannon saw that Morris was a good talker, and decided
to send him north on business; so he fitted him out with
passes and hotel due bills, explained to him advertising rates,
and told him to go ahead and get business—‘‘to out talk the
other fellow,” the one thing most needed in soliciting busi-
ness of any kind.

Morris got ready and as he was leaving asked Shannon
for some expense money. “Money, what do you want with
money? You have railroad passes and hotel due bills—what:
else do you want?” Morris explained he would need a drink
occasionally, some cigars, shoe shines, shaves, etc.

Shannon, who had the reputation of traveling cheaper
than any editor in the state, replied, “Why you are not going
off on a frolic, but to work; here’s a dollar and seventy-five
cents—all the money I have. That will be enough. Good-
bye.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 353

 

Morris, who was in need of work, knew there was no use
to argue the case with Shannon, so he started north with his
pocket change, and by discounting some advertising contracts
raised enough to get through, with nothing for luxuries or
a present for his wife.

IV.

After graduating from the Gazette office, Morris conceived
the idea of starting an evening paper at Meridian, in connec-
tion with the Dements, who lived all their lives in printing
offices. The new bantling was called The Sun, and it burst
forth in all its radiant brightness at four o’clock every even-
ing except Sunday. It did not care to trench upon the
perogatives of the New Orleans Item, then the only Sunday
evening paper in the United States, till the practical John
W. Fairfax, now Vice President of the Interstate Trust and
Banking Company, became its manager, when he killed the
Sunday Evening Item, and established instead a Sunday
morning edition, lifting it from a weakling to a first-class
paper.

Morris’ editorials were curiosities. Being a lawyer by
training and a well educated man, his mind soared above that
of the average editor; and he discussed science, history, art,
music, the drama, legal matters, everything except current
news. He had just discovered the Gulf Stream, and when he
ran short of subjects he would discuss the effect of the
warm ocean current of the North Atlantic upon climate,
human life and vegetation, its size, heat, velocity, etc.

V.

The Sun soon burnt itself out, and being minus a job,
Morris moved to Waynesboro, and became the chief barrister
of that municipality. He finally drifted into politics, for
which he always had a decided yearning, and was elected a
354 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

State Senator from Wayne, Green, Jones and Perry counties,
being a member of the legislature that reapportioned the state
into Congressional districts in 1900.

He was a ceaseless talker, and if his speeches on the
reapportionment bill had been printed, they would form a
book as large as a bound volume of the Congressional Record.
As a rule whenever the “Judge,” as he was known, arose to
speak, ninety percent of the senators had pressing business
elsewhere; but their absence did not affect him; if in fact he
noticed it. He had the presiding officer and the clerks to
talk to, for they could not escape.

The “Judge” haunted the newspaper offices, and fre-
quently contributed to them while occupying a seat as senator,
not overlooking measures in which he was interested. He
had a keen sense of the ridiculous, and greatly enjoyed my
report of Lou Moss’ famous speech on reapportionment of the
Congressional districts.

VI.

The new eighth district, then in course of construction,
objected strenuously to Warren, and insisted that she go to
the seventh district, which declined to receive her. It then
became apparent that we must take in Warren, and I prepared
the resolutions that formed the eighth district, handing it to
Representative Lou Moss, of Hinds, to introduce, telling him
to make a little speech saying we would accept Warren if
Sharkey and Issaquena were kept in the Delta district. To
his astonishment, the resolution was adopted, and Lou was
the hero of the hour, greeted as the representative who had
furnished the key to unlock the perplexing problem.

I returned to my office and wrote a glowing speech for
Lou Moss, not one word of which he spoke, interspersing it
with humor, eloquence and burlesque. Morris came in while I
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 355

 

was writing the Moss address, and insisted on hearing it, re-
marking, “I was in the house when your Jewish representative
spoke, and do not recognize the speech as his,” but, he added,
“if he does not get mad when he reads his talk, it will prove
the event of the session.”

VII.

The “Judge” was requested to be in the house of rep-
resentatives when the Clarion-Ledgers were delivered, see
that Moss had one, and call the member up and congratulate
him extravagantly upon his great victory and his eloquent
speech. The “Judge” did as requested, and Lou’s fame in-
creased, from hero to lion of the hour. The confusion was
so great that other business was out of the question, and the
Speaker adjourned the house that the “gentleman from Hinds
might receive the congratulations of his friends.”

Meeting Lou as he was leaving the house, surrounded by
his admiring friends, he came forward and thanked me for
the report, saying, “I did not know I speak him so good. Did
I say all your print?” “Exactly; the report is correct, taken
down word for word on the spot. A speaker loses all record
of time when on his feet, and cannot recall what he says.”
“But how you get him down so good?” “No trouble about
that, practice makes perfect; I am an old hand at the busi-
ness.”

Lou came down to the Clarion-Ledger office, bought
every paper left, and gave an order for five hundred extras,
which were run with a black line reading, “Compliments of
Representative Lou Moss.” He died really believing he made
the speech that saved the eighth district.

Morris was so taken with the address that he memorized
it and would recite it when business lagged in the senate, to
the gratification of brother senators. He also had it printed
356 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

in his local paper, and I half suspect he claimed its author-
ship.

VIII.

I have heretofore referred to L. T. Carlisle, the dis-
tinguished old editor of the West Point Leader, but so far
as I recall, have said nothing about his intelligent and accom-
plished wife, who has written numerous essays and poems for
the Press. Not only that, but she has for years written many
of the best articles for the Leader, most of the editorials ap-
pearing in that paper having been from her fluent pen.

She is a gracious woman, intelligent and entertaining,
either in conversation or with pen. She upheld the reputa-
tion of the Mississippi Press Convention at the joint session
of the Mississippi and Louisiana Press Associations in New
Orleans in May, 1903.

Her paper entitled “Why I am Opposed to Female Suf-
frage,” outranked anything read or spoken at that Twin-
Convention, a combined convention of the editors of both
states being held in one hall. A Mississippi editor presided
in the morning and a Louisiana editor at the afternoon ses-
sions, the participants from the two states alternating.

IX.

Parenthetically allow me to here remark, for the benefit
of readers who do not know the facts, that the last great
fight I made through the columns of the Clarion-Ledger,
when I was its sole owner and editor, was to assist in defeat-
ing ratification of the Anthony amendment by the last Mis-
sissippi legislature; and I was gratified at the result, remem-
bering how the 14th and 15th amendments were forced down
the throats of the people of the South, when, in fact, they
were never legally adopted.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 357

The suffragists made a strong fight to have the legis-
lature ratify the amendment, while the antis were equally
zealous in opposing ratification. We won in Mississippi,
Louisiana, Alabama and most other Southern States, but lost
in Tennessee and Connecticut—last states to act—which gave
the necessary three-fourths vote to carry the amendment.

But what does that amount to now? Nothing at all, for
whether we favored or opposed the enfranchisement of women,
the 19th amendment to the constitution has been adopted by
three-fourths of the states, and has been written into the
organic law of the land, where it will remain, for no consti-
tutional amendment was ever repealed, modified or changed.

Female suffrage is with us to stay, and the man or
woman who argues to the contrary is darting straws against
the wind. Let us make the most of the situation, and assist
the women voters in every way possible, cherishing the hope
that the ballot in their hands may not prove a calamity, but
a blessing. Let us trust that woman’s influence at the polls
may be for good, and at least help to lift Mississippi up from
the low political plane she now occupies. They cannot possibly
lower it; and the writer, anti-suffragette that he has always
been, looks to the women voters to aid in purifying the rank
political air that stifles the state.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE.

Editorial Trip to the Golden West.—Visit to the Home of
Mormonism.—Bathing in the Great Salt Lake.
Bryan Meets Editors at His Home
Town, Lincoln, Nebraska.

The writer of Memoirs has received the following letter
from Chas. G. Moreau, editor and owner of the Sea Coast
Echo, at Bay St. Louis, which he is gratified to print:

Bay St. Louis, Miss., March 12, 1921.

Col. R. H. Henry,
Jackson, Miss.

My Dear Sir and Friend:

I read your Editorial Memoirs with much interest. Your letter
descriptive of the boat trip to St. Louis was of especial interest to
me.

I have not seen all your letters, and desire to know if the
press trip to Denver and Salf Lake has been written up? That was
a wonderful trip and I shall never forget it.

Your reference to the Biloxi Blizzard, edited by Louis Rosenthall,
brings back the memory of other days. I knew “Rosy,” as he was
called by friends, and he was the peculiar genius you describe. Last
heard of him he was printing “The Wave” at Mandeville.
 

EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN _ 339

Anticipating the pleasure of reading your Editorial Memoirs in
book form, and with best wishes,
Your friend,
CHAS. G. MOREAU.

I am obliged to the publisher of the Sea Coast Echo for
the above. Chas. Moreau has succeeded far beyond most of
his editorial brothers. Beginning life some twenty-five years
ago with a small printing outfit at Bay St. Louis, with little
capital except his energy and only primary knowledge of the
printing business, he has gone rapidly forward, till today he
owns a strictly modern establishment, and is one of the prin-
cipal real estate men of his town, owning not only his printing
office, but bank building, stores, residences, etc., and is one
of the officers of the Merchant’s Bank of Bay St. Louis. Some
of his confreres say he has been “lucky.” Yes, the kind of
“luck” that comes from energy, thrift and industry, coupled
with a fair degree of business sense, sound judgment and
keeping everlastingly on the job. While there are greater
papers in the state than the Sea Coast Echo, few have made
more clear money for capital invested.

II.

The press trip to Denver and Salt Lake, to which Mr.
Moreau refers, has before been briefly noted in these memoirs.
It was a great excursion, consisting of two well-filled sleepers
of press people. John McGuire had charge of one sleeper
and I managed the other, while President P. E. Williams was
along as umpire, though he never made a speech on the whole
route, as nature had not endowed him with Bryonic gifts.

An annoying incident occurred at Chicago. A number
of girls lost their transportation, or left it in their rooms, and
did not discover its absence till we had gone to the depot to
take the train for Omaha. They came to me with their
troubles, as I had charge of the excursion. I was greatly
360 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

worried, but the conductor was kind and agreed to take the
party to Omaha, end of the Illinois Central division. I up-
braided the girls for their carelessness, and told them that
if they lost their transportation again that they could pre-
pare to walk home.

After blowing off and firing my last shot, Jim Duke and
John McGuire pretended to resent my remarks, saying, ‘“‘Per-
haps you have lost passes for yourself and daughters. You
had better see before you talk so much.” I put my hand on
my hip pocket, where I always carried my transportation, when
lo, and behold the passes were gone. Just imagine my feel-
ings and be charitable in your judgment. I felt just a little
bit cut up, and charged Duke and McGuire with stealing the
transportation, which they denied; but their statements did
not convince me they were telling the truth, nor am I con-
vinced to this day that they were.

IIT.

There was nothing of special interest on the trip out,
though the press party was entertained at Omaha and
Cheyenne. Judge A. G. Norrell, of Rankin county, holding
a federal judgeship, and committee of citizens met the press
train and welcomed the Mississippi editors to Salt Lake, as-
signing them to hotels and showing them the sights—the great
sights—of the home of Brigham Young. We were conducted
to the Mormon Tabernacle, where extra services were held in
honor of the visiting editors.

We were not permitted to go inside the Temple, which
is the Holy of Holies of Mormonism; were shown through
Brigham Young’s residences, the tithing house and other
place of interest, in that city of magnificent distances.

Though we were not allowed to enter the Temple, Presi-
dent P. E. Williams and the writer did go upon the steps of
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 361

 

that sacred building, and were knocking at the door for ad-
mittance when a Mormon guard appeared and gave us a severe
lecture, threatening to arrest us if we did not depart. We
were the only members of the press party having the temerity
to approach the Holy of Holies and place our feet upon the
steps of the Temple.

The Great Salt Lake, only a few miles from the
city, claimed our attention, where every member of the party
was complimented with an annual bath. Those who could
not swim were highly delighted with their baths, for anyone
can float on the waters of Salt Lake, on account of the large
percentage of salt contained in the water—twenty-five per
cent.

After spending several days at Salt Lake, we returned
by what is known as the canyon route via the Denver and
Rio Grande, with one stop only scheduled between Salt Lake
and Denver, Pike’s Peak.

IV.

Pike’s Peak proved a great treat, an extraordinary sight,
and wonderful curiosity to the visitors. They went up on
the cog-wheel railway as night was falling and did not re-
turn till after two o’clock next morning. The elevation is
almost three miles above sea level—above timber line, above
the storm clouds, above the falling rain, above the fleckless
snow, above the flashing lightning, above the roaring thunder,
above the sleeping world.

It is a grand sight, this looking down from the top of
the continent far off into three states, beholding barren,
rock-ribbed mountains, green swards at their base, and silvery
streams flowing over pebbly bottoms, rivulets threading their
course towards the sea. But at night nature’s gorgeous pano-
rama excells any spectacular conceived by the human brain,
362 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

or built by mortal hands. Here is the handiwork of divinity,
in all its spendid grandeur and majestic beauty—the forked
lightning playing below, the rolling clouds beneath, the rum-
bling thunder coming up from whitening mists where the
storm king reigns.

Vv

The visit to Denver and vicinity proved a round of con-
tinuous pleasures, a number of receptions and entertainments
being planned for the editors, which included visits to the
silver and gold mines deep down in the bowels of the earth.

But our trip was cut short by the sudden death of Lillian
Norment Weis, who had gone on the excursion hoping to find
health in the mountains of the West. She stood the trip
fairly well and enjoyed Salt Lake City with the rest of us,
but found the high altitude and rarified air of the mountains
too much for her weakened constitution and nervous system,
and passed away at Denver the second day after our arrival.

It was a sad blow to the members of the press party,
for all loved and sympathized with Lillian, who had been
attending press conventions from her girlhood.

The excursion was called off, the body embalmed and
suitably enshrouded, and the badge of the Mississippi Press
Association was placed upon. the breast of the silent sleeper
as she was encased in a metalic casket, which was not sealed
until all had looked upon the sad, sweet face the last time.

And as the sun was sinking in the West, the editorial
party of seventy-five marched through the streets of Denver,
following the body of Lillian to the train that was to bear
us home; and sadder cortege never followed the body of
a loved one.

I shall never forget the sad, tearful face of my youngest
daughter, Virginia, as the little one quietly moved along with
 

 

 

 

 

ing

-Ledger Buildi

arion

Cl
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 363

the mournful procession, escorting the body of Lillian home-
ward.

VI.

We left Denver Saturday evening, and saw by the time
card that we would reach Lincoln, Neb., at 11 o’clock next
morning, Sunday. I told several of the boys I had wired
Bryan that seventy Mississippi newspaper people would arrive
at Lincoln at 11, would spend twenty minutes in his home
town, and I wanted him to come down to the depot and meet
them. Duke, Ward, McGuire, Richardson, and others, replied,
“Well, you certainly have your nerve. Don’t you know that
Bryan is a strict churchman? He will doubtless be in church
when we pass Lincoln and will hardly leave service to meet
a lot of excursionists on Sunday.”

I answered, “Don’t worry. He’ll be at the depot to meet
us.” I received no answer to my message that day, and the
press boys were in thigh glee, and offering to bet two to one
that Bryan would not show up; and a number of hats were
wagered on the result. I was beseiged with offers to bet;
and though not a, betting man, I could not afford to decline
all comers. No one came to my relief, and I was compelled
to hold the bag alone.

The night wore away, followed by the day, and still no
answer from Bryan. I had begun consoling myself with the
thought that he was not at home but that did not satisfy my
nagging friends, who proposed to compromise, which I de-
clined.

VII.

At 11 o’clock sharp Sunday morning, the Burlington
pulled into the Union depot at Lincoln; but Bryan was not
to be seen around the platform. The joke seemed on me,
and the boys rode it for all it was worth. I had not given
up, and while looking up and down the track heard my eldest
364° EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

daughter, Marie, exclaim, “Here he is, papa.” She had located
Bryan coming from the depot, smiling like a big country
boy. I had won, but never collected a single bet.

I met Bryan with my daughters, both of whom he had seen
before when a guest at my home in Jackson, and presented
the whole party to him, saying I had bet he would be
on hand, though most of the editors had doubted he would
show up.

After some general talk, I told Bryan two Mississippi
delegates were aboard, Robt. Stowers and myself; we were
going as far as St. Louis and coming back to Kansas City
to attend the National Democratic Convention to nominate
him, asking if he had any special request to make. He said,
“No; Metcalf has the platform; stand by him and don’t allow
the eastern delegates, lead by Hill, to change it.” I assured
him the Mississippi delegation would stand hitched and carry
out his wishes, which it did.

Bryan was nominated without opposition, and defeated
the second time in 1900.

VII.

Bryan was nominated the third time in 1908, at Denver,
after the Parker fiasco in 1904, and was again defeated. He
was a delegate to the National Democratic Convention at
Baltimore in 1912, and proved the Warwick of the hour, for
it was through his influence that Woodrow Wilson was nomi-
nated for the Presidency.

Champ Clark, Speaker of the House of Representatives,
was the next prominent candidate for the presidential nomi-
nation, and for several ballots received a majority of the
votes cast, and would, doubtless, have received the necessary
two-thirds majority—absurd old rule that prevails in National
Democratic Conventions—if Bryan had not stampeded the
convention and brought about Wilson’s nomination.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 365

 

In consideration of Bryan’s great ability and services
rendered in securing him the nomination, President Wilson
appointed the “Old Commoner” as his Secretary of State,
which position he resigned after two years service on account
of disagreement with the President.

IX.

In this connection the telling of a good story at Bryan’s
expense will not be out of place:

Soon after his resignation from the cabinet in 1915, Bryan
came to Jackson to deliver a lecture. His pictures were in
evidence in the show windows, and bills announcing the place,
date and hour were freely circulated through the city.

Being too busy to go home for dinner, I decided to take
lunch with “Old Nick, the Spaghetti Man.” Nick had noticed
the pictures of Bryan and theard his name freely mentioned,
and his curiosity being aroused, he sought information from
me, asking, “Colonel, who is this man Bryan? I hear every-
body talk Bryan, Bryan—who is he?” I replied, ‘Nick, I am
surprised at your ignorance. I supposed every one knew
who Bryan is.” “I never heard of him before,” answered the
old Dago. “Why Bryan is one of the most distinguished men
of the country—has been three times the Democratic nominee
for President.” ‘Yaw, I never hear of him before,” reasoned
old Nick.

“Not only that, but for two years Bryan has been the
premier of the Wilson administration—the President’s Secre-
tary of State, at a salary of $12,000 per year; but because
of some disagreements between the President and himself
he has resigned.”

Nick quickly asked, “What, he quit? And he git one
thousand dollar a month?”
366 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

“Yes, he resigned from the cabinet.”

“He’s a dam fool,” excitely responded Nick, “I do it for
half that.”

I told the story in introducing Bryan at the Century
Theater, and it brought down the house, and Bryan was kind

enough to say it was one of the happiest introductions he ever
had.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO.

Mississippi Editors Entertain Governor Parrott of Iowa on
a Steamboat Excursion to New Orleans.—Story of
Famous Race Between the Lee and
the Natchez.

In writing history one never knows where his arrows may
go or whom they may hit. MacCaulay’s idea, or preference,
was to write of those known to be dead. That was the safer
plan, for the dead arise not up to contradict what is written
about them, or to deny statements they may not like.

In a previous chapter, reference was made to the idiosyn-
crasies of “Major” G. C. Tucker, for several years editor of
the Columbus Index, an odd genius who had extravagant
notions as to newspaper publishing, who believed in adopting
ideas that metropolitan journals would have hesitated to em-
ploy. He remained with the Index several years, but I never
knew what became of him, other than to hear he had drifted
into the ministry, whether up or down, I did not know; but
it was a long jump, anyway.

Now comes my good friend Jas. A. Stevens, who, like
Henry Watterson, is enjoying his four score years, in quiet
retirement, living over his journalistic days, free of business
cares and office annoyances, who writes:
368 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

“Have just clipped your notice of Major Gardiner C. Tucker,
and shall mail it to him. He is now an Episcopal rector in Mobile, and
has been in charge of a mission straight-out for thirty-eight years.
He and I were partners in the old Index, till I sold out to him. The
common verdict here is that everybody loves him. He will enjoy
your portraiture, for he will know it is true to nature. I have often
wondered how you remember so accurately the oddities of the
scores of editors you have known for the past fifty years; and how
minutely you describe them. Wonderful gift that few possess.”

Il.

An old editor has written me that he was greatly pleased
with my account of the editors’ steamboat excursion to St.
Louis, and has requested that I write up the editorial excur-
sion from Vicksburg to New Orleans; but as that was far
inferior to the St. Louis trip, I have been slow to do so.

The editorial excursion was made on the “Natchez,’’—the
Little Natchez as she was called—which was literally crowded
to the guards, the boat having state-room accommodation for
about fifty people, and our party far exceeded that number,
which necessitated the placing of mattresses on the floor in
the parlor and main cabin, or grand salon.

We were nicely entertained at Vicksburg, given drives
around the city and points of interest, including the National
Cemetery, the main show place of the city.

III.

We went aboard the Natchez in the afternoon, met young
Captain Leathers and wife, who was also a licensed captain,
and took turns with her husband in running the boat, and
report says she could also swear with him. We were surprised
at the smallness of the Natchez, being the second boat built
after the palatial steamer Natchez had been retired, and the
third in line of succession.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 369

 

We looked around in disappointment, and wondered
where we were to sleep, as we had almost enough women
aboard to fill the cabins. We were assured by Col. J. L.
Power and Secretary John G. McGuire, co-workers, that all
would be well. So we thought no more about places to lodge,
and became interested in the surrounding country, Grant’s
Cut Off being the chief theme of conversation.

The first meal was substantial, but not specially appetiz-
ing, a disappointment to many who had heard so much about
the excellence of steamboat fares. “Extras,” however, were
plentiful, and those who desired to refresh the inner man, had
no difficulty in doing so, provided they had the price—and
they managed to get it. That was before prohibition days,
when all steamboats carried a fully equipped bar, and we
had a number of editors aboard who were not opposed to
“practicing at the bar.”

We had one celebrity with us, Governor Parrott of the
Daily Reporter, of Waterloo, Iowa, who was the special guest
of the Press Association. He was a past president of the Iowa
Press Association, which was organized the same year the
Mississippi Press Association came into existence.

Iv.

The story of the great race between the old Natchez and
Lee, from New Orleans to St. Louis, was the principal topic
of conversation the first night. Captain Leathers’ father had
commanded the Natchez and Captain Cannon had charge of
the Lee. The race was run back in the early seventies, and
was the greatest steamboat contest the country had even
known. While we did not think in big numbers then, as now,
it was estimated that more than ten million dollars changed
hands on the result.

Thousands of people flocked to New Orleans from all
parts of the country, from the North, the East, the West and
370 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the South, to see the start, while hundreds assembled at Baton
Rouge, Natchez, Vicksburg, Greenville, Memphis and other
river towns to see the speeders go by, for stops were few and
far between.

Captain Leathers, who was quite a young man at the
time, gave a vivid account of the great race, and held his
auditors as though spell-bound while describing it. Naturally
biased in favor of his father’s boat, he gave what seemed a
perfectly impartial account of the race, saying the Natchez
would have won if his father had loosened up the “hog
chains’—to the great injury of the boat—at Captain Cannon
did, and had provided himself with barges loaded with wood,
which he could pick up at designated points and transfer
fuel to his boat without stopping; that being the plan pur-
sued by Captain Cannon, who had looked farther ahead than
Captain Leathers. The Lee won, beating the Natchez by
several hours.

V.

After hearing Captain Leathers’ recital of the great race,
Colonel Power announced in his stentorian voice, that could
be heard all over the deck, “It’s time to go to bed.” That
was the order, but where were the beds? The ladies were
assigned to the state-rooms and the men, or most of them,
were informed they must “bunk it” on the main cabin floor.

I recall the personnel of the quartet who were to repose
in the rear of the cabin—Governor Parrott, Colonel Power,
Jim Duke and myself; and it is the testimony of many, given
next morning, that no quartet on earth ever made such music
as was heard in that section that night. One lady described
it as basso, another as basso-profundo, a third as basso-
falsetto, and another as basso-buffo; while still another de-
clared it was all that and more—it was “base.”

We made only a “port of call” stop at Natchez to take
on an editor or two, and all had the opportunity to admire
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 371

 

“Natchez under the hill,” where Bienville and his mien landed
in 1716, and built Fort Rosalie on the bluffs two hundred feet
above.

The river town has quite an interesting history. It was
named for a tribe of Indians known as the Natchez, who
showed their appreciation of the honor conferred upon them
by murdering the inhabitants in 1729. The English secured
possession of the place and surrounding country after-
wards and brought order out of confusion. It passed to the
Spaniards in 1779 and to the United States in 1798 and be-
came the first capitol of Mississippi.

VI.

After passing the bluffs of Wilkinson county, and cross-
ing the Mississippi state line, at the 31st parallel, the country
became quite level on both sides the river, and there was
nothing of special interest on to Baton Rouge, where the
editorial party was given a magnificent reception.

Murphy Foster was Governor, and he and citizens of the
Louisiana capital gave the Mississippi visitors a royal enter-
tainment. A reception was tendered in the capitol building,
where T. Sambola Jones, later minister to Honduras, presided,
and made the welcome address, the main speech of the even-
ing being delivered by Governor Foster, which was responded
to by the writer.

A refreshing collation was extended the visitors in the
audience room of the Governor, when good cheer reigned
supreme, and no grape juice was in evidence, but champagne
flowed like water, and there were speeches in number.

Some of the local editors came aboard the Natchez at
Baton Rouge, and accompanied us to New Orleans, which we
reached early next morning, many of the sterner sex being
so exhausted from lack of sleep and otherwise, that they did
372 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

not know when the Natchez tied up at the head of Canal
street, missing entirely the visit to Chalmette, where Jackson
defeated Packenham on January 8, 1815, six months before
the Duke of Wellington had overthrown the great Napoleon
on the plains of Waterloo.

To Governor Parrott the visit to the Crescent City proved
a revelation. A few years later he was elected president of
the National Editorial Association in the metropolis of the
South, though detained at home by illness from which he never
recovered. And it seemed the irony of fate that he was never
to preside over the national organization that he loved so
much, passing away before the next annual meeting.

VII.

We docked at New Orleans early and were assigned com-
fortable hotel accommodation by the local committee; and
spent the morning pleasantly, looking at the show places.

After luncheon, a messenger came from the captain of
the Natchez, stating that one of the editors was asleep on deck
and could not be woke up.

Accompanied by two or three others, I returned to the
boat and saw sitting in an arm chair on the upper deck, Editor
Conner, fast asleep, his head slightly inclining forward, his
chair within five feet of the edge of the deck. He was
oblivious to all the world, and indifferent to the balance of
mankind. He looked like a heroic figure-head on the prow
of a ship.

We climbed up to the deck and approaching the lonely
sleeper, succeeded in arousing him; and as he awoke his first
question was, “Say boys, how much farther is it to New
Orleans?” He had slept through part of the night and more
than half of the day, “The world forgetting and by the world
forgot.”
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 373

 

VII.

It has often been said that the National Editorial Asso-
ciation, whose membership embraces editors from every state
in the Union, has done more to break down sectionalism, and
bring the North and the South closer together, than any other
agency, its influence in that direction having been wonder-
ful and great.

In that Association, Southern Democrats have supported
Northern Republicans for office, while Northern Republicans
have supported Southern Democrats, ignoring party lines and
sectional bias, looking only to the competency and standing of
the individual in the selection of officers, all efforts to drag
party feeling into the organization having failed.

Two cases in point: When Joe McCabe, Republican, of
Boston, was announced a candidate for president, Mississippi
and the other Southern States, gave him a solid support, and
he was elected. The year after, when my name was presented
for president, Massachusetts and all New England States, New
York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois,, Wiscon-
sin, and other Northern states, enlisted under the banner of
the Southern Democrat from Mississippi, who won hands.down.

Two years ago a Tennessee Democrat was elected presi-
dent of the National Editorial Association; last year a Minne-
sota Republican was given that honor, and so itt has gone since
the date of the organization at New Orleans, in 1884.

The members of the Association mix and mingle from the
different states, are drawn close together, for we have but
to see and know each other better to like each other more.

Many delightful acquaintances are formed on the N. E.
A. trips, which last for life, doing much to bring the people
of different sections nearer to each other, causing them to
realize they are but members of one great family, and that
no one section has a monopoly on all the virtue, intelligence
and greatness of the country.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE.

List of Near-Editors Greatly Reduced.—The Axe of P. K.
Mayers Falls.—“Potter the Printer” an Original
Character.—Good Joke on an Old
Jacksonian.

While I may not have incorporated in these memoirs the
names of all editors I have met—some only briefly—I have
referred to the greater number of those I have known and
with whom I have come in touch. It is quite a job recalling
the names of several hundred editors, covering over a period
of fifty years, for in newspaper life constant changes are
taking place. I have known some papers having more than
a dozen editors in as many years. Of course the influence
of such editors is only negligible, for editors are like crops,
they grow with time, and maturity is often far ahead.

We have had many persons in this state claiming to be
editors who had no right to the distinction, for they had no
idea as to editorial duties. I have heretofore classed them
as near-editors. They were generally lawyers, or business
men who sometimes had nominal interest in their local jour-
nals, but as a rule had no connection with the papers
whatever and simply wrote spasmodic editorials in order to
establish their identity with the press, that they might enjoy
all the privileges accorded it by the public.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 375
II.

I recall when two near-editors and their wives showed
up at a Press Convention on the Sea Coast, some years ago,
ready and willing to accept all the hospitalities extended the
press.

At that time P. K. Mayers was chairman of the com-
mittee on credentials, and looking over the list of applicants
for membership he discovered the names of the parties above
referred to. He was known as the custodian of the constitu-
tion, and believed in strict construction, and had the nerve
to do what he believed to be right.

The committee reported against the near-editors, and the
two men and their wives returned to their homes without
further participation in the Press Convention. The effect
was magical, and near-editors bothered us little afterwards.

II.

In these memoirs I have not attempted to write up
editors of campaign papers, with their ephemeral existence,
as they are never catalogued or classed by the government
as newspapers. They are personal organs, as a rule, started
in the interest of candidates, and are rarely continued beyond
election day.

But Mississippi has had one campaign paper which was
an exception to the rule, the only one which will live in
the memory of man—the Daily Comet, started in 1881, dur-
ing the Lowry-King campaign for Governor, to aid in the
election of the Democratic nominees. It was a bright, inter-
esting, aggressive and lively daily, and did good work for the
Democracy. It was edited by Oliver Clifton and J. B. Harris
with Collins Hemingway as contributing editor. Its editorials
were intended to be short, snappy and full of ginger, but
376 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

occasionally Collins would transgress the rules and write
labored leaders of two or three columns, for his terminal
facilities were bad, and his disposition to write long arguments
and heavy dissertations was irrepressible. It was a small
paper and the editors implored Collins to be brief, but he
did not know how. The paper had the endorsement of the
State Executive Committee, and did good work in the cause
of Democracy, for Gen. Lowry and the other nominees for
State office.
IV.

Thad Potter or ‘Potter, the Printer,’ as he liked to be
known, was an odd genius, the term “sui generis” properly
describing him.

Thad was an artistic and skillful printer, and decided he
would establish a paper at Vaiden, which he called the Record.
It was the model paper of the state, its typography being per-
fect, presswork unexcelled, and paper the best that could be
procured.

He was a most independent publisher, and refused to
print heavy, black advertisements, with suggestive pictures,
holding they marred the appearance of his paper and over-
shadowed other advertisements.

One day a patent medicine agent came along and sought
to buy space in Thad’s paper, exhibiting proofs of his black,
fantastic advertisements. The editor objected to them, telling
the agent he did not want his ads at any price; that they were
too black and too offensive in appearance. The agent not
only disagreed, but sought to argue Thad into his way of
thinking, quite a heated discussion following, which was cut
short by Potter reaching for his Winchester and telling the
agent to make tracks, that he was tired of him, and wanted
neither his business nor his company.

The patent medicine representative at firse believed Thad
was bluffing, and decided to call the bluff and give him a
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 377

lecture; but when he saw that mad editor raising the gun to
his shoulder, with accompanying oaths that made the office
quite sulphurious, the agent stood not upon the order of his
going, but moved with the speed of the wind, through the
main street heading for the railroad track, Potter being in
close pursuit, firing as he ran and shooting the heels of his
shoes off.

Attracted by the firing, the business men ran to the
doors and witnessed the greatest race of their lives, only
equaled by that of John Armstrong’s old dog “Clay,” which
ran from Vaiden to Kilmicheal in less than thirty minutes
when scared by the noise of a locomotive, according to John’s
statement.

V.

Imbued with the idea that Mississippi being essentially
an agricultural state, needed an agricultural journal, Major
E. G. Wall, a gallant Confederate soldier who left one leg on
the battlefields of Virginia, started a paper in Jackson called
the Field and Factory, which was changed to that of the
Farmers’ Vindicator, and ran several years.

 

Walter Acker, who married Flora, daughter of the late
Simeon R. Adams, the real founder of the Eastern Clarion,
having married into a newspaper family, felt the call to start
a paper at Paulding, the Messenger. It was a good country
paper, but too far interior to attract much attention. Mr.
Acker sold the Messenger and moved to Texas, and in a few
years was elected one of the criminal judges of that state.

W. L. Mitchell, the old editor of the Hazlehurst Signal,
was associated with a number of Mississippi papers, the Brook-
378 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

haven Ledger among them. While he made no great pretense
to journalism, and is doubtless remembered by few editors
today, he was a good printer and competent writer. He
remained with me several years, and always did his work
well.

One of the courtliest men I have ever known was Major
W. C. Capers of the Mississippi Central at Water Valley. He
came after or was associated with R. M. Brown, who estab-
lished the Central, but did not remain in the editor’s chair
long, the work being too confining.

VI.

A number of good editors came out of Panola county,
several of whom I knew. Leading the list came the princely
Freeman Randolph, whose name always recalled the Randolphs
of Virginia, aristocrats, statesmen and patriots. He was
editor of the Sardis Star, being succeeded by the fat, jolly,
genial R. A. Bonner, who made a specialty of state paragraphs,
overlooked by so many editors.

The Star had a number of other editors, prominent among
them James Hall, who was appointed a Chancellor by Governor
Stone. I don’t recall the names of all of them. For a while
Sardis had two papers, the Star and the News. W. H. Crocket
edited the News, which was an interesting journal. Neither
the Star nor the News lasted many years, being succeeded by
other papers, the Reporter being the only one that was able
to weather the storm.

Water Valley had another good paper, The Courier, edited
by F. W. Merrin, which made some reputation in North Mis-
sissippi; but editor and paper have long since passed from
the scenes of earthly activities.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 379
VII.

When it was announced that the Democratic host of
Jackson had decided to throw off the yoke of McGillism in
1886, the press of the state gave the movement hearty en-
dorsement.

In those days, as now, Jackkson had a number of men
who could always be depended upon to make speeches at
public gatherings, regardless of occasion or matter under
consideration, good old Bro. Henry Strauss being of the
number.

On the occasion of a political meeting in the west Jack-
son engine house, “Old Henry” was on hand, cocked and
primed for a speech. Brother Strauss waited patiently for an
opening, and when the first opportunity presented itself, he
leaped into the forensic arena, and was soon talking at the
rate of “2:40 on the shell road.”

The boys decided to have some fun with “Old Henry”
and cheered him to the echo; cheered every word and every
sentence, often breaking the thread of his discourse by con-
tinued cheering.

Finally it dawned upon Bro. Strauss that the cheering
might not be entirely sincere, and the idea entered his head
that possibly the boys were seeking to show their distrust of
his party loyalty by their loud cheers. He stopped deliber-
ately, and raising his index finger, and white with anger,
yelled out in a voice that could have been heard three squares,
“The man who doubts my Democracy doubts——,” and there
he got stuck, being unable to frame the concluding clause
of the sentence. But he did not dwell long, and stormed out,
livid with rage, “Whoever doubts my democracy doubts—a
LIE.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR.

An Unfortunate Incident at Hot Springs.—Negro Waiter
Strikes J. T. Senter in Face with a Tumbler.
Discharges Himself With Rapidity.

After many efforts, Hot Springs, Ark., succeeded in win-
ning the National Editorial Association for 1902.

Every state in the Union was represented at the Hot
Springs meeting, and every press representative was pleased
with the attractive city and delighted with the cordial recep-
tion tendered by the citizens.

The representatives of the press stopped at the big
Inman hotel, with accommodations for over twelve hundred
guests. We were extended every possible courtesy by the
management, who placed parlors and reception halls at our
disposal, for the holding of meetings, entertainments, com-
mittee work, etc.

The auditoriums and dining rooms are immense in size,
the halls are broad and porches wide, affording ample room
for promenading in good or bad weather. The six hundred
press people were never better entertained, finding the In-
man a perfect Eldorado, and with every modern convenience
that human ingenuity could devise.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 381

 

As a rule the state delegates ate together, but no effort
was made to separate the sections at the Inman. Political
and sectional questions were entirely eschewed in the dis-
cussions.

Il.

We were all happy, dwelling together in brotherly love,
forgetting for the time that we represented different sections
and opposite shades of political thought.

But hark—there was a sound; a crash, an oath. Half the
diners were on their feet in an instant, while a dozen or more
editors were hastily pursuing a negro waiter through the main
dining hall. The excitement was intense. “What’s the mat-
ter?’’ screamed many people, but there was no time to explain.
A negro waiter had thrown a glass tumbler in a Southern
editor’s face, cutting it terribly, and blood was flowing freely
over his white shirt front. The first thought was to catch
the negro and explain afterwards.

Several Mississippi editors joined by others, ran the waiter
to the end of the dining room, where he saved his life by
jumping to the ground fifteen or twenty feet below.

I was sitting at the Missouri table near the Mississippians,
when the trouble began. Jim Duke, Joe Richardson, Will
Ward, J. W. Buchanan, J. T. Senter, and other Mississippians
were eating supper at another table. I heard a crash, an oath,
loud words and rapid movement of diners.

J. T. Senter of the Columbus Commercial and Vicksburg
American was on his feet, his face covered with blood. A
negro waiter, taking offense at something Senter had said,
threw a tumbler in his face—and then there was some excite-
ment. The waiter, realizing that he had struck the wrong
man, had hit a Southern editor, dropped his dishes, turned
on his heels and ran for his life, Senter, his friends and others
pursuing.
382 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Il.

Excitement! Well, I should say there was. That word
poorly describes it. What was a scene of tranquility and
happiness a few moments before, was instantly turned into a
theatre of wild excitement, when the hot blood of the South
asserted itself, while many cold blooded Northern editors were
disposed to side with the negro waiter.

Sectional lines seemed about to be established again be-
cause of the negro, and many intemperate remarks were made,
calculated to bring about friction, and restore the old sec-
tional feelings that were supposed to have been buried with
the Spanish-American war. The old days of 1861 seemed
about to be revived again.

As the spokesman of the Southern delegates, I called
upon the manager of the Inman and said, “The Southern
editors demand the immediate discharge of the negro who
struck one of our members in the face with a glass tumbler;
and I am authorized further to say that if he is not dis-
charged at once every Southern editor in the house will leave
the hotel immediately.”

The manager replied, “That negro hit the ground run-
ning, and has discharged himself. He was drunk when he
struck the Mississippi editor, but had sense enough to know
that when the Mississippians started after him that his only
chance lay in flight; he is running yet, and will not be re-
employed should he return.”

Senter was a good newspaper man, had fine ideas and
remarkable initiative. He was a tireless worker, but finding
the duties of managing two papers too great, he sold the
American, and concentrated all his energies on the Columbus
Commercial. After a life of hard toil he passed away, leav-
ing his family a good property. His wife succeeded him as
editor, assisted by her boys, who have had control of the
Commercial since their mother’s death and have done well.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 383

 

IV.

I have been asked what I considered my greatest journal-
istic achievement, and in response would say, the reporting of
Bryan’s speech delivered under a circus tent in the old capitol
yard during Governor McLaurin’s administration.

It was this way:

Bryan had appointments to deliver speeches at Meridian,
New Orleans and Jackson, in the order given. As the time
was fixed at two o’clock at Jackson, I knew it would be im-
possible to secure a stenographic report in time for my paper,
then printed in the evening.

I “put on my thinking cap,” and tried to work out a
plan. I knew Bryan would have no copy, as he always spoke
extemporaneously, but made about the same speech day after
day when in a canvass. Then the thought occurred to me to
secure a stenographer, go over to Meridian and have his
speech taken down word for word. Miss Annie Hederman,
now Mrs. Will Rea, regarded as the best stenographer in
Jackson, kindly agreed to accompany me and make the
report.

Arriving at Meridian I introduced Miss Hederman to
Bryan and asked if he objected to her making a report of
his speech for my paper. He said, “No, indeed; I should feel
complimentted if she does, for two reasons, I am rather fond
of reading my own speeches, and I am always glad to accom-
modate the man who has been my friend for years.”

So Miss Hederman reported the speech. We returned to
Jackson that evening, when she wrote out the address in full
as Bryan was booked to speak in Jackson within two days.

I wrote a local introduction and conclusion, for my ex-
perience has been that people remember some of the first
and last parts of a speech, when they cannot recall what was
said in the body of an address.
384 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

V.

I gave the copy to my son Robert, who had charge in
my absence, asking him to have it set up, mail me proof for
Bryan to examine at New Orleans, as I was to go down with
a committee and escort him to Jackson. The proof was re-
ceived and shown to Bryan, who was let into the secret. He
said, “The speech is all right except the local introduction and
conclusion.” | replied, “They are all right, also; you are to
memorize the introduction and conclusion on the train before
we reach Jackson, and speak them as set down.”

He was agreeable, but said, “Suppose I forget them?”
I replied, “I’ll see you do not, for I’ll call your attention to
them as Governor McLaurin introduces you, as I am to pre-
side, and will be on the stand with you.”

We repaired to the big tent, after the reception com-
mittee had dined with Bryan at the Governor’s Mansion. The
tent was packed and jammed and enthusiasm knew no bounds.
Miss Hederman occupied a prominent place on the stand at
the reporter’s table, and all the carrier boys of the office had
been employed as special messengers to carry “copy” to the
office.

Miss Hederman began writing when Bryan commenced
speaking and continued till he finished, and the carrier boys
were running in the tent, trampling on toes, jostling the
people, knocking off women’s hats and making as much noise
as boys could produce. They were much in evidence and as
they secured their sheets of “copy” they rushed out of the
tent and flew down to the office, where Ed. Frantz received
and complimented them, taking charge of the “copy,” which
was nothing but scrolls, as the reader has already surmised.
But the boys did not know that, as they had not been let
into the secret.

Bryan spoke an hour and a half, and after he finished he
was steered into the old State Library, where he had a great
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 385

 

reception for half an hour. Meanwhile I phoned the office to
start the press and put the papers on the street as Bryan and
committee were seen emerging from the capitol. Instructions
were faithfully carried out, and within thirty minutes after
Bryan had finished speaking, scores of newsboys were on the
streets yelling, “Extra! Extra! Bryan’s speech in full!”

There it was with introduction and conclusion, just as
Bryan had delivered it. It was the talk of the town, people
generally believing we had taken the speech down as printed,
and pronouncing it the greatest piece of newspaper enterprise
of the day, several declaring, ‘‘The report is correct, for I re-
member distinctly the introductory remarks and the conclud-
ing words.”

Bryan said he had seen many newspaper feats before, but
that was the best he had ever known; and Bryan is an honor-
able man.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE.

Press Convention at Greenwood in 1894.—Negro Waiter
Spills Cup of Hot Coffee Down Governor Stone’s
Back While Speaking.—Editors Miss
a Good Dinner.

When the Press Convention was held at Greenwood, in
May, 1894, enterprising publishers of the two weekly papers,
Jas. K. Vardaman and Jas. L. Gillespie of the Enterprise, and
Bonner Richardson of the Delta Flag, led the van in planning
the entertainments and receptions.

Richardson, after a hard existence as a publisher, passed
away many years ago, but he is well remembered by the older
editors. He made no money, but won many frends by his
frank, honest manners, and had the respect of all who knew
him.

Gillespie bought out Vardaman’s interest in the Enter-
prise, which he afterwards sold, when deciding to enter
politics. Vardaman afterwards established the Commonwealth,
which he disposed of when elected Governor. It finally passed
into the hands of Gillespie, who converted it into a daily a
fews years ago, which has been a remarkable success.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 387

 

Seeing he had no aptitude for the political arena, Gillespie
long since abandoned it, giving all his time to newspaper
publishing, in which he has excelled.

II.

The citizens of Greenwood put forth extraordinary exer-
tions to entertain the Press Convention, and among other
attractions had invited a number of prominent Mississippians
to be present as their guests, among them Gov. J. M. Stone,
who was then serving his second term.

The editors were given receptions, entertainments, ex-
cursions, fish-fries, barbecues and banquets. The big event,
the one that brought out the cream de la cream of Greenwood
society, was the banquet given in Sam Stein’s new hall, where
covers had been placed for over two hundred people.

A number of speakers were booked for the evening,
among them Jas. K. Vardaman, John McGuire, W. A. Henry,
Governor Stone and others, the Governor being the big attrac-
tion.

Edgar S. Wilson, special correspondent of the New Orleans
Picayune, and intimate friend of Governor Stone, had secured
a copy of his speech, and mailed it to his paper with advance
write-up of the banquet, with instructions to print the speech
unless advised to the contrary by wire.

The Governor had gotten up a very creditable address,
and when his time came, after suitable introduction by the
toastmaster, he arose to speak.

Mr. Wilson remained in the banquet hall till the Governor
began his address, and feeling unwell retired to his hotel to
rest, satisfied that his friend was able to take care of himself
with his prepared address.
383 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

If.

The Governor was doing fine till a negro waiter passed
behind his chair and carelessly spilt a cup of hot, scalding
coffee down his back. Then the Governor forgot his memor-
ized speech, and attempted to extemporize; but he was too
hot in the collar to frame sentences, and after floundering
around for two or three minutes, he sat down and received
the usual applause.

Receiving no message from its correspondent, and sup-
posing the speech had been delivered by the Governor as
per advanced copy, the Picayune printed the address in full
the next morning, sending the secretary of the Press Associa-
tion one hundred copies to be delivered to the editors in
attendance.

The incident created no little amusement, and was en-
joyed by all except Governor Stone and E. S. Wilson, who
upbraided himself for not remaining in the hall till the
banquet was over.

It was at this banquet that Vardaman’s name was first
mentioned for Governor, as I have often heard him say, the
suggestion coming from my brother, W. A. Henry, in his short
talk.

IV.

Some years afterwards, in May, 1902, the Mississippi
Press Association held a second convention at Greenwood,
and was again splendidly entertained, extended every courtesy
and given a real good time.

The weather was intolerably hot, so hot, in fact, that the
conventions proper were cut short, the editors spending the
greater part of their time in the open air and on the river—
many in the river.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 389

 

The press people were given public and private recep-
tions, banquets and entertainments galore.

Well do I recall two receptions given at private homes—
one at Judge A. McC. Kimbrough’s and the other at the
residence of Jas. K. Vardaman, unbounded hospitality pre-
vailing at both, where the utmost good cheer reigned.

V.

Mrs. A. McC. Kimbrough, having been an honorary mem-
ber of the Press Association for several years, invited some
six or eight of its oldest representatives to a dining she pro-
posed to give the last day of the Convention, it being under-
stood that delegates would leave that afternoon on the 2:30
train.

I was one of the fortunate guests, and with others went
to Judge Kimbrough’s home, beautifully situated down the
Yazoo river.

We were met by the Judge and his entertaining wife, who
extended us a hearty welcome to their hospitable home.

Mrs. Kimbrough, a fluent conversationalist, charmed ‘the
editors by her flowing language and attractive personality.

VI.

The editorial visitors were well entertained an hour or
more, meantime the hands of the clock were crawling around
dangerously near the two o’clock mark. The lady of the
house disappeared for a few minutes, when, as the oldest
editor present, I remarked, “Boys, our hostess, in her voluble
loquacity, has forgotten all about dinner, and if served at
once we would not have time to eat it and catch the train;
so we must decide whether to remain and have dinner, or to
do without and make the train.”
390 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

With one accord they all said, “We must make the
train, dinner or no dinner, but how shall we get out?” I was
asked if I would break the news to our hostess, who had
forgotten all about the train, and dinner also, which I agreed
to do.

On her return to the parlor I arose and said, “Mrs. Kim-
brough, we have had a most delightful visit to your beautiful
home; have enjoyed ourselves in your charming society, and
thank you sincerely for the pleasure of this never to be for-
gotten visit; but the time for departure has arrived; we have
only a few minutes in which to catch the train, and we must
bid you good-day, and hurriedly take our leave.”

“But you have not had dinner; the servants are so slow.
Please stay, and I’ll have it served at once. I am so sorry this
has happened; it will-mortify me to death if you go without
dining with me.”

“We. regret, indeed, to say we must go. We know we
should have enjoyed the dinner, but not half so much as your
charming company, which will amply compensate for its loss.
We must say au revoir, but not good-bye.”

And we left after hasty hand.clasps, and as we got in
the surry in waiting, J. T. Senter said, “Well, Colonel, that
was a handsome. little speech you made; it was a splendid
lotion and well applied, and doubtless let our hostess down
easy, but I had rather have had the dinner than your pretty
little talk.”

“Amen to that sweet prayer,” exclaimed the other editors
as we sped to the train with aching hearts and empty

stomachs.
VII.

As remarked before in these memoirs, every person is
glad to hear a kind word spoken in his behalf. That is the
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 391

 

universal rule, though all may not admit it. There are a lot
of people who never admit anything, who assume to live above
the “common herd,” but the man who appears indifferent
to kind and complimentary expressions is “Fit for treasons,
stratagems and spoils.”

I recently received a kind and complimentary note from
H. H. Crisler, editor of the Port Gibson Reveille, and assure
him that I appreciate all he says about my editorial memoirs.

The letter appears below:

Port Gibson, Miss., April 5, 1921.
Col. R. H. Henry,
Jackson, Miss.

Dear Colonel:

I have been reading with genuine interest your editorial memoirs
appearing in the Clarion-Ledger. I get much valuable information
from them, not to be found elsewhere. I know they are correct,
because I have figured in some of the trips which have been so well
narrated by you; and as they are so accurately recorded, I know all
the others must be just as reliable.

I was especially interested in your description of the boat trip to
St. Louis, as I was one of the party, and one of the editors who
assisted in playing the trick upon you, when you were arraigned by
the moot court, which you took so good-naturedly, paying the penalty
imposed by the court with a smile—treats to all the editors present.

I eagerly await the coming of the Sunday Clarion-Ledger, on
account of these splendid articles, historical sketches which no other
man could write, except the veteran editor of fifty years experience
in Mississippi journalism.

Truly your friend,
H. H. CRISLER.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX.

Col. Thomas R. Stockdale Talks a Préss Banquet Down at
Meridian.—Editors Leave Him Talking.—Good
Joke Played on George S. Dodds by the
Editors at Dubuque, Iowa.

One of the most amusing incidents in my editorial life
occurred at Meridian at a Press banquet, over thirty years
ago, in 1888.

The citizens of Meridian had prepared a grand banquet
for the editors, and had invited a number of distinguished
Mississippians to attend and deliver postprandial speeches.

I have not the list before me, but remember among the
names on the banquet bill, Col. Robert McIntosh as toast-
master, Judge Thomas H. Woods, who was to respond to the
toast, “Our Guests;” General Walthall, to discuss “The State,
in which We Live;” Col. Thomas R. Stockdale, who was after-
wards elected to Congress from the old Fifth District, was
down for a speech on “The Nation,” or some other heavy
subject; Col. Shannon was to discuss “The Press;” Bert
Snead, of pleasant memory, also had a subject, as had a
number of others, including the writer.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 393

 

II.

The announcement had been made, as the Press Conven-
tion had finished its session, that editors would go directly
from the banquet to the depot, trains being scheduled to leave
between midnight and one o’clock.

The menu was elaborate, and the toastmaster decided to
have no speaking till the dinner was over. He arose about
10:30, and presented Judge Thos. H. Woods, who spoke fifteen
or twenty minutes, much of his address being devoted to
Jefferson Davis.

About eleven o’clock, Col. Stockdale was presented, and
like the starting of a great mogul engine he warmed up slowly,
but when thoroughly lubricated, and with a full head of steam
on, he made a run that will never be forgotten by those
present. He tore down the valleys and rushed over the hill-
tops at a terrific rate of speed, speaking at the top of his
voice.

A lady sitting by my side, and I see her beautiful lustrous
black eyes, now as then, for she has been my companion for
fifty years, remarked, “He cannot maintain that rate long.”
I responded, “You don’t know Stockdale. He is good for an
hour or more. I have heard him speak for four hours with-
out a break, and nothing interrupts or bothers him.” “Then,
what will become of you and other speakers?’ “Like the
unfinished stories in the weeklies, we will be ‘continued.’ ”

Stockdale rattled on; his thoughts coming faster than his
powers of speech there was considerable jamming of words
and blending of sentences, but that made no difference to
the orator—he knew what he was saying, and if his auditors
did not, that was their misfortune, not his fault.

He spoke for more than an hour without a bobble. Twelve
o’clock had passed, but Stockdale saw not the clock and
394 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

heard not it strike. His mind was on other things than the
flight of time. Editors began moving about, looking up their
belongings to catch the trains. They left the hall in droves,
jostling each other and turning over chairs, making so much
noise that the speaker could not be heard. But that did not
bother Stockdale in the least, except to cause him to pitch
his voice in a higher key, which he did involuntarily.

The exodus continued; so did “Tennyson’s brook,” and
Stockdale spoke right on, till not more than two dozen people
were left in the hall.

II.

I said in starting this chapter that an “amusing” incident
occurred at the Meridian convention; it was the most laughter-
producing, most extraordinary event I have ever witnessed at
a Press banquet.

The editors who had fled to the depot to catch their
trains, implored the conductors to delay departure a few
minutes till Col. Stockdale had finished. They complied, but
as there was no lowering of the Colonel’s voice, which could
be distinctly heard at the depot, and nothing to indicate he
was nearing a conclusion, the engineers were requested to
blow their whistles, and ring their bells as a warning that
editors who tarried longer in the banquet hall would be
left.

“What’s all that blowing about?” asked Stockdale. “Is
there a fire near us?” “Yes,” responded dear old Shannon,
who had been cheated out of his speech; “Yes, the fire’s here
in this hall.”

Then it dawned upon Stockdale slowly, that the noise
was intended as a suggestion that he had spoken long enough,
and in the most nonchalent manner he remarked, ‘Well, you
don’t have to knock me down to make me take a hint.” He
 

 

 

R. H. Henry and Bride, day of Marriage, November 22, 1871
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 395

 

then concluded with a beautiful peroration, and thanked his
audience for the patient attention given him.

I was rather fond of Stockdale. He was almost an
editor, and often wrote for the Summit papers, being an inti-
mate friend of the veteran editor Henry S. Bonney, who
founded the Summit Sentinel, and had owned several other
papers in his day.

He became a distinguished lawyer, but branching off into
politics was elected to Congress and afterwards appointed a
Judge of the Supreme Court by Gov. A. J. McLaurin.

IV.

It will be remembered by few people living today, that
the quiet village of Dry Grove, in Hinds county, once had a
paper, edited by Dr. W. K. Douglas, an eminent Episcopal
minister, who, for several years, conducted the Diocesan Record
at that place, where he taught a parish school indoctrinat-
ing his pupils into the tenets of the Episcopal church.

The Record closed its pages many years ago; the Dio-
cesan school has long been extinct; most of the students who
sought knowledge at the feet of Gamaliel, have passed away;
and dear old Dr. Douglas is sleeping in the beautiful cemetery
of Grace Church at St. Francisville, La., of which he was
rector at the time of his death.

V.

George S. Dodds, formerly of Hazelhurst, but now a
resident and leading lawyer of Gulfport, was for several years
a frequent attendant upon press conventions and press ex-
cursions. He was a handsome young fellow and good running
mate for Jim Duke, J. K. Almon and Joe Richardson.

Dodds accompanied the Mississippi editors on a trip to
the West as far as Sioux City, S. D., 1889, as the represen-
396 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

tative of his local paper. He was a fluent talker and was
always ready to speak. He was fond of life, had plenty of
money and loaned many of the editors the wherewithal to
complete the trip.

Dodds had made a dozen or more speeches before we
reached Dubuque, Iowa, where Passenger Agent Merry, who
had charge of the press excursion, had staked him out for a
big talk. A number of editors were growing jealous of
Dodds. Among the protestants was Forrest Runnels, of the
Meridian Star, who believed he could speak a word or two
himself. Will Ward also had similar lurking thoughts, while
Joe Richardson knew he could declaim better than Dodds
and offered to prove it. Buchanan made no pretense to
oratory, but saw no reason why Dodds should usurp the
functions of the press, whom he declared did not know the
difference between a shooting stick and a chase.

WI.

So the dissenters made up their minds to put up a job
on George and the time came. We were eating dinner at the
railroad dining room. Some of the boys had arranged to call
Dodds out for a speech near the end of the meal. One was
to mount the cab while the engineer was at dinner, apparent-
ly on a tour of inspection, but in reality to get his hands on
the bell cord and ring when the signal was given.

Another was to wait outside, and when Dodds had gotten
well under way to signal the men in the cab, and to yell out,
“All-aboard,” as the shrill tones of the whistle and the peals
of the bell signalled time of departure.

Not over a half dozen people knew of the scheme, and
when the words “All aboard,’ were yelled, everyone bolted
for the door, including Dodds, who was just in the middle of
a beautiful sentence when the signal was given. He never
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN _ 397

 

knew of the trick played upon him, but was heard to remark,
after getting inside the train, that his speech had been broken
in two by running a train of two cars in upon him. While
he never knew of the plot, he was a bit charry in loaning
his money after that incident, and I heard him tell Almon,
whose demands were large, to “go to ,’ that he did
not propose to stake him any further; but he never suspected
J. K. had anything to do with the trick that silenced the
speaker.

 
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN.

Called Upon to Make a Sunday Visit to an Editor Upon
Serious Business.—Instead of a Scrap, Go to Church
With Him.—Mississippi Editors to New Orleans.

I am reminded of the fact that in writing up the editors
of Newton—where I published my first paper, 50 years ago—
I have omitted the names of two, H. P. Andrews of the Free
Press, and J. J. Armistead of the Dispatch, hoth of whom
printed good weekly papers.

Andrews was a sedate, red-featured young man, of Irish
extraction, who wrote well but often imprudently. I never
knew where he hailed from, but remember that he was asso-
ciated with papers at Meridian and Newton, and was a friend
and pupil of Joel P. Walker, who had political ambitions that
were never gratified, one of which was to defeat Governor
Robert Lowry for re-nomination, with Put Darden, or any
other man.

Andrews wrote an editorial that reflected seriously upon
an editor on the opposite side of the political fence. In those
days editors did not submit to the severe criticism they toler-
ate now. The editorial was regarded as too severe to pass
over, and I was called on by the aggrieved party to go to
Newton and request Andrews to write a card withdrawing
his offensive language.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 399

 

II.

I made the trip, one Sunday morning. On arriving, |
learned that Andrews was at church, and sent him a note re-
questing that he meet me at his office. He did so, but when
I informed him of the object of my visit, he became so ner-
vous that he could not contain himself.

He asked me to postpone the matter till service was over,
as he desired to hear the sermon. I replied, “No; we can
settle it in five minutes.” “But suppose I decline to write a
card withdrawing the language objected to, what do you pro-
pose to do?” he asked. I replied, “We will consider that
when the time arrives.” “I don’t see anything in the article
that it is so personally offensive; it is purely political,” he
responded. “You might embody that thought in your card
withdrawing the objectional language.” “But I have not said
I will write such a card,” he replied.

“You may not write the card,” I said, “but you will sign
it.” He took up his pencil and made an attempt to write, but
was too nervous to compose sentences; his hand and brain
would not co-ordinate. I told him I would write the card,
which I did, making it as light as possible, but entirely satis-
factory, and he signed it.

While excited, Andrews never showed the white feather;
and I never doubted if he had had time to consider the case
he would have declined to sign the card. He was a Christian
gentleman. I belonged to the church, and afterwards, when
I had time to think the matter over, I was heartily ashamed
of that Sunday morning performance.

III.

When the “battle was over,” I accepted Andrew’s invita-
tion to go to church with him and heard a good Methodist
400 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

sermon from the sublime text, “Thou shalt come to thy grave
in full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season;”
and wondered if the words of the Temanite would apply to
me. We had dinner together, and I found him such a delight-
ful fellow that I was almost tempted to tear up his card, which
he understood was to be printed.

In the afternoon I rode out into the country to visit my
beloved old grand-mother, past four score years and ten, and
as I looked upon the withered face and bent form of that
dear old soul, who had assisted in rearing me, the words of
the preacher’s text came vividly and forcibly before me, mak-
ing such a strong impression upon my mind that they have
never vanished in all these lapse of years, and never will.

IV.

J. J. Armistead succeeded Andrews at Newton, and not-
withstanding his age, attended Press Conventions regularly,
and went on excursions of the editors, accompanied by his
comely daughter, who looked after him as though he might
have been a child; but whose name has escaped me.

He was a lovable old gentleman, always happy, wearing
a smile that would not come off. While he did not aspire to
leadership as an editor, he printed a fair local paper, which
was always clean and reliable. His daughter, who also wrote
for the Newton Dispatch, was painfully sensitive whenever
any reference to her father’s age was made. Learning of her
characteristics, her deep, unbounded love for her father, I
suggested to the press boys to call Mr. Armistead the “Old
Youth,” a title borrowed from Dr. S. Davis, of the Forest
Register, which the daughter greatly appreciated.

V.

Editors come and editors go. Many continue in the news-
paper grind till they grow old and helpless. A few retire with
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 401

 

a compentency, but they can be counted on one hand. Some
go into other business, and many fail entirely. Others leave
the state and a large number pass away and are soon for-
gotten, except by relatives and intimate friends. ,

I recall the names of several editors I have often met,
who I have not seen for years, but do not know if they are
still in the land of the living, or have crossed over the shadowy
vale never to return.

 

G. W. Dudley, former member of the legislature from
Webster county, was editor of the Walthall Warden, and after-
wards owner and manager of the Iuka Vidette. He was bril-
liant and humorous. He left the state some years ago, and I
do not know what became of him. He had many friends
among the editors of the state.

Col. H. S. Bonney established the Sentinel at Summit in
the early seventies, where he and his son, Nellie, printed it
for many years. Though younger than the Summit Times, the
Sentinel outlived it, purchasing that paper after it had passed
through several hands and suppressed it. Colonel Bonney
was a popular member of the press, especially with the older
editors, with whom he long associated. He got out a good
local paper, devoting his time to the editing of the Sentinel,
while his son Nellie, looked after the mechanical and business
departments.

Nellie outlived his father many years, and in his time
was the owner of several other papers—one at Corinth, another
in the Delta, a third at McComb City, and others that I do
not recall. He was an awfully clever fellow, genial and agree-
able. He had one peculiarity well known to the editors—
 

402 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

getting robbed on press excursions. Some of the press boys
wondered why Nellie was plucked so often, as he did not ap-
pear too prosperous, and no one would take him for a green-
horn. But his “face was his fortune,” and he always managed
to get along, with or without money! He passed away in a
sanitarium at Jackson a few years ago.

R. B. May was the founder, and many years editor and
publisher, of the McComb City Enterprise, better than the
average local paper. May, like most other weekly publishers,
conducted a job printing establishment, which took much of
his time away from his paper. He came from New Orleans,
where he had devoted his time exclusively to job work, but
he gradually dropped into country ways, and was fairly suc-
cessful as a publisher.

C. G. Lee either established the Magnolia Herald or
became its owner soon after it began publication, and though
he had little knowledge of newspaper work, he printed a real
good paper. He was a man of means, and having an ambition
to excell other country papers, spent his money freely with
that end in view.

VI.

Mississippi has furnished several editorial writers to the
New Orleans papers, among them William Walker, born in
Jackson, who married Miss Julia Jayne of Brandon. He wrote
editorials regularly for the Picayune, many from his home
in Brandon when sojourning there, and others in New Orleans.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 403

 

O. V. Shearer, of Vicksburg, held a position on the staff
of the Times-Democrat for several years, till he died of yellow
fever in 1878.

L. M. Garrett, of Carthage, wrote editorials for the same
paper, and Mat Gray, of Ellisville, is now on the editorial
staff of the Times-Picayune.

VII.

A. C. Durdin was editor of the old Lexington Advertiser;
S. A. Dalton succeeded S. A. Jones on the Aberdeen Exam-
iner, with whom he had long been associated; J. A. Hearne,
of the New Albany Democrat, was a regular attendant upon
the press meetings, for many years, and never had a word
to say to anyone; C. A. Brandt, of the Philadelphia Democrat,
and W. A. Diers of the Natchez Democrat, were irregular
attendants at Press Conventions, but are well remem-
bered; H. P. Beeman, if I remember correctly, was the founder
of the Pass Christian Beacon, which survives him; C. M.
Liddle, who established the Handsboro Advertiser, survives
his paper, and is now doing a banking and insurance business
at Slidell, La.; George B. Brown, of the Guntown Hot Times,
was a most popular member of the press; passed away some
years ago, and his wife was unable to continue the paper;
T. J. Wood, who was a lawyer by profession, edited the
Starkville News for several years, and printed a good local
paper; W. V. Watkins of the Collins Commercial, a command-
ing figure and successful publisher, also passed over the river
some years ago; Hindman Dorsey of the Vaiden and Hazle-
hurst Press, died while young.

VIII.

W. A. Battaile of the old Summit Times has faded out
of the memory of most of the Mississippi editors of the pres-
ent day. He was quite a news-gatherer, and printed a good
404 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

and interesting paper. I am under the impression he went
to Texas and died; but not certain.

E. P. Thompson, of the Aberdeen Weekly, was a likeable
man, though he did not mix up much with his editorial
brothers, and for that reason had little acquaintance with the
editors of the state. He was the father of Frederick Thomp-
son, the wonderfully successful publisher, and principal owner
of the Register and News-Item, of Mobile, Ala.

My good old friend, Rev. N. L. Clarke, published the Mis-
sissippi Baptist for several years at Newton, which was not
only a religious but secular paper, for Elder Clarke was a
fine preacher and also a good writer, and leaves behind a
record of great work for the Master.

Henry Crosby had been connected with several papers of
the State, his last being the Greenville Times, upon which
he made enough money to leave his family in good circum-
stances when he passed away. He was an excellent news-
paper man, and highly esteemed by his press brethren.

T. H. Oury, of the Carrollton Conservative, was a quiet,
retiring gentleman, who printed a fairly good weekly paper,
to which my attention was first directed by the articles of
Gen. J. Z. George, who interpreted important laws to the
people in plain, simple language that all could understand.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 405

 

C. A. Hamilton, editor of the Wesson Herald, was ene
of the clearest and best writers of the state. He was an
aristocrat in manner, and a bit haughty, but could write with
the best of them, and as a phrase-maker, had few superiors.

IX.

We have had a number of editors in Hinds county, out-
side Jackson, among them Dr. J. B. Gambrell, who publjished
the Baptist Record for several years at Clinton, where A. J.
McDade printed the Argus; John M. Martin edited the Comet
at Utica, where Dabney Parrish and Avery Jones made their
debut in journalism; P. K. Whitney also printed the Herald
‘at Utica; J. S. and R. Schwabb printed the Item at Edwards,
and E. H. Harris published a paper in the same town,
while Will T. Head printed the Headlight at Terry. A
at Bolton, name not recalled. After the Gazette passed out
of the hands of the Harpers, Raymond had too many editors
to count or remember; and Jackson has had them by scores,
many having been mentioned in these memoirs.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT.

John McCormick of the Shubuta Times, Whose Mind Turned
to Cotton Planters.—J. J. Haynie Makes an Editorial
Colonel at Sight—Laugh and the World
Laughs With You.

History of Mississippi editors that failed to include John
McCormick would be incomplete, for he was quite a character
in the journalistic field.

Like John W. Forney of Philadelphia, who published two
papers—both daily, as he was wont to boast—McCormick pub-
lished an equal number of journals, both weekly, the Paulding
Messenger and the Shubuta Times; and he was as proud of
them as was Lincoln’s steadfast supporter of his two dailies.

McCormick, realizing that he could not divide himself up
and make a success of two papers, sold the Messenger to
Walker Acker, and concentrated all his energies on the Times,
which became a success and was a good newspaper when its
editor, Charley Smith, remained at home and gave his time
to editorial writing; but he had the wanderlust, and being
supplied with annual passes spent much of his time in Mobile
with convivial friends, and sometimes allowed the Times to go
to press minus editorials.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 407

 

II.

Raised within the environments of Simeon R. Adams, Mc-
Cormick knew much of the methods of the great old pub-
lisher of the Eastern Clarion, and applied them to the pub-
lication of the Times.

McCormick’s strong forte was soliciting advertising. He
cared nothing whatever about circulation and had little regard
for editorials. He devoted most of his time to soliciting ad-
vertisements; and he got them by the columns.

It was in 1870 I became acquainted with McCormick. He
was a big, bold, aggressive Scotchman, not specially smart,
but industriously energetic; and had a glib tongue.

A new combination cotton and corn planter had been
invented. McCormick discovered the sales agent and partial
owner in Mobile. He solicited advertisements from him for
the new invention, and a deal was closed whereby McCormick
was to advertise the planters on a liberal scale and purchase
them on a fifty-fifty basis. He ran page advertisements tell-
ing of the wonderful merits of the labor-saving device.

He travelled up and down the M. & O. and A. & V. R. R.’s,
selling planters, as he said “like hot cakes.”

McCormick almost deserted his paper, so wild was he to
become rich selling corn and cotton planters. He was a
regular Mulberry Sellers.

Ill.

I rode with him one day between Meridian and Brandon,
and we “talked shop” so much that all the passengers sitting
near left their seats to escape the monotonous clatter. It was
a cold December day, nearing the Yule Tide season, and the
car was as hot as a dry-kiln. ,
408 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

McCormick’s head and jaws were all tied up, but the
strange headgear did not affect his tongue. As we were
nearing Brandon, I asked him what was the matter, and he
replied, with utmost indifference, “I have the mumps.” I
did not stay to argue the case with him, but left the car
hurriedly, and other passengers did likewise. In a few days
I had contracted a case of mumps, and scattered it around
quite generally, one of my old enemies, Ben Carroll, getting
it. He took it quite philosophically and remarked to a mutual
friend that he thought I had taken an unfair advantage to
get even with him. He suffered terribly; I never went to bed
a day, but did go round and offer to assist in nursing my
old enemy, which wiped out old scores, and we remained
friends till he ‘died, oh, many years ago.

IV.

We have had a number of “Colonels” on the Mississippi
press, and we have had many “devils” also, chief among them
J. J. Haynie, who conceived more mischief than any of the
quill-drivers. He had an active mind and a fertile imagina-
tion, and played all sorts of pranks upon brother editors.

A youthful editor named E. B. Hamilton, published the
Solar Ray, at Shuqualak. Haynie took charge of him at his
first Press Convention, over forty years ago, and dubbed and
introduced him as “Colonel” Hamilton. The “Colonel” did
not know that he was being made a dunce of by Haynie, or
was willing to humor the joke.

We had several handsome girls who attended the annual
meetings, John Roseborough’s beautiful sisters, Jennie and
Helen, of Senatobia among them. They were young and
ready for any fun that came along. They played with the
“Colonel” as a cat would play with a mouse, and the “Colonel”
was ever ready to dance attendance upon their pleasure. He
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 409

 

was their lion and they his queens, and he could be “Happy
with either, were the other dear charmer away.”

V.

Hamilton continued to visit the Press Conventions, to the
delight of the fun-makers as long as Haynie attended them,
and transportation was furnished by the railroads. But he
has not been with us for years, and I did not know what had
become of him till Haynie sent me a notice of his passing
away a few months ago.

Some one has said the “Whole Scotch nation has been
devoid of humor, and even incapable of relishing it;” but
Scotchmen do not make up the Mississippi press, nor has it
been burdened with Solomons.

Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you
weep alone.
VI.

Back in the eighties we had two editors, known as the
“Little Rosses,” as they were small of stature, who monopo-
lized the newspaper business at Coffeeville. They owned two
papers in that town. S. M. Ross edited the Coffeeville Times,
and S. B. Ross printed the True Issue at the same place.

I never hear of Coffeville that I am not reminded of
an incident a reputable editor used to relate. He had gone
up to Coffeeville to deliver a lecture before the high school,
on invitation of Capt. John L. Collins, and was quartered at
the hotel “down by the rattling railway.” A large and
voluble woman seemed to be in command and general control,
and was equal to every occasion.

The editor was given a “quiet” room in the rear of the
building, at his own request, to which he repaired after the
lecture. A gas engine with its spurts and gasps, its knocks
410 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

and noise, was continually thumping and bucking, with fre-
quent stops which sounded like the explosion of a cylinder
head. This same gas engine furnished power for the electric
light plant of the town and when it blinked the electric light
winked or went dead.

Ned was the negro boy of all work. He was porter, cook,
waiter and engineer. It was his duty to keep “Old Betsy”
going, as he dubbed the contrary gas engine. He was doing
his best to make her run, with poor success, and seemed
determined to fail, when the burly Madam of the house
appeared on the scene, and made her presence felt. “Ned,”
she said, “there is one thing that engine needs to make it
run, a real good cussing. When I go back in the house I
want you to curse it black and blue; curse it till you faint;
curse it for everything you can imagine. Damn it with all
the oaths you ever heard, and then invent others. Curse it
till you are white in the face, and I’ll bet the d—— thing
runs.”

Ned took the Madam’s advice, and after a while he got
the engine going, and then he cursed it for “hesitating,”
cursed it for being so slow, cursed it on general principles,
till the rear of the building become so sulphurious that the
editor aforesaid was compelled to apply ice water to his
superheated head, to cool and quiet his nerves so that he
might get a wink of sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE.

Congressman B. G. Humphreys Commends My Editorial
Memoirs.—Charles N. Dement Founded and Made
a Success of the Meridian Star.—Has
Weathered All Storms.

A compliment is appreciated according to the sincerity,
and ability of the party bestowing it. Many compliments are
as the idle wind, for it is the nature of people to indulge in
adulations. Then they often praise writings, sermons and
lectures that they do not understand. Such laudation, while
well meant, amounts to very little; but, when a man of the
Ben Humphrey’s type, senior and leading Representative from
Mississippi, takes the time, from his busy Congressional life,
to dictate a letter complimenting the writings of an editor,
and giving him valuable incidents to be incorporated in his
Editorial Memoirs, the act is a compliment that cannot be
too gratefully appreciated.

So much for preface to the following letter received some
days ago from Hon. B. G. Humphreys, member of Congress
from the Third Mississippi District:
412 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Washington, D. C., May 4, 1921.
Col. R. H. Henry,
Jackson, Miss.

My Dear Mr. Henry:—I am reading with much interest your
Editorial Memoirs, and greatly appreciate them, as they refer to
many editors I knew in my younger days. They are entertaining and
instructive, written in a clear, easy style, and should be appreciated
by the people of Mississippi, as they contain much valuable historical
matter that, doubtless, none other than yourself possess.

I note your request for “any additional facts regarding editors
of the state,” and your reference to Major Mason, editor of the Port
Gibson Reveille, tempts me to give the following, which I think will
interest you:

I believe no editor enjoyed a negro story more and few could tell
them as well as Major Mason, and yet he used to tell this story on
himself which indicated an utter lack of appreciation of one of the
best negro stories ever written:

Irwin Russell was born and reared in Port Gibson and one day
brought to Major Mason for publication in the Reveille a dialect
poem, “Christmas Night in the Quarters.” After reading it, Major
Mason returned the poem to Russell with the explanation that it was
too long for publication in the Reveille. This proved a very fortun-
ate thing for the young poet, because he sent it then to Scribner,
which was the name by which the present Century Magazine was at
that time known. They published the poem, illustrated it, and Irwin
Russell soon thereafter awoke to find himself famous.

Major Mason read and as keenly enjoyed and appreciated this
and all of Russell’s subsequent poems as any other of the readers,
but he frequently acknowledged to his friends, and related the inci-
dent as a good joke on himself, that he really returned the manu-
script to Russell because he failed to discover sufficient merit in it
to justify its publication in the Reveille. :

I heard Major Mason relate this story when I was a boy, and
I have always recalled it with amusement as well as inexplicable
wonderment.

With best wishes,
Very truly,
B. G. HUMPHREYS.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 413

 

II.

The owners of the old Meridian News tried several editors,
without success, and the paper was drifting with the tide when
Ed. Dial was induced to write its editorials. His articles were
chaste and beautiful, bright and humorous, and he infused
new life into the old sheet.

He always looked upon the bright side, and wrote cheer-
ful articles amidst oppressive gloom. He remained with the
paper a year-or two, but quit and returned to his law prac-
tice when he saw that he could not serve two masters.

Sid King afterwards became the editor of the Meridian
News, and though he knew nothing whatever of the routine
of editorial life, he printed a readable paper. He was not in
the class with Dial—and few editors of his day were—but giv-
ing much time to the exacting duties of the office, and writ-
ing a little of everything from paid notices to locals, from
padded telegrams to editorials, he managed to get out a good
paper for the times.

IIL.

But to Charles N. Dement is due the honor of establishing
the only Meridian paper that has been able to weather all
storms—the Evening Star.

I have known four generations of the Dement family and
all have been printers, none of them caring for the publi-
cation of a daily newspaper except Charles, and that distinc-
tion came to, or was thrust upon him unexpectedly over a
third of a century ago.

Forrest Runnells, a remarkably bright boy of Brandon,
and somewhat of a newspaper genius, had married one of
414 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

the Dement girls, and induced his father-in-law to undertake
the publication of an evening paper in Meridian. Piles of
old printing material were lying around the office, “junk,”
as it was called, enough to print one or more daily papers
without missing it, and it was decided to use the surplus
material in printing the Evening Star.

The Dement family was large, and all of the male mem-
bers being printers—brothers, sons and nephews—the expense
account of the Star was held down to the minimum, ana
though Charles Dement had had no experience in newspaper
publishing, he did know how to hold down expenses—the one
great secret of newspaper success.

The Star under the editorship and management of For-
rest Runnells, who thought only in 24 and 36 point for heads,
was quite sensational from the first number, an inovation
in Meridian journalism, and apparently just what the people
of that city wanted; for it soon outstripped its morning con-
temporary, both as to circulation and advertisements—a posi-
tion it has ever since maintained.

After making the Star self-sustaining, Dement sold the
plant to some Northern people, who have made a decided
success of the paper.

Dement moved West and died while attempting to estab-
lish himself among strangers.

IV.

The oldest publisher in Mississippi that I have known,
and I knew him very slightly, as he has always stuck as
closely to his office as a beaver to his dam, was J. C. Balance
of the Jeffersonian of Centerville.

He recently passed away at the advanced age of 92. He
published the Jeffersonian for many years, H. M. Quin being
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 415

 

its editor till he moved to Jackson and engaged actively in
Knights of Pythias work.

Mr. Balance was what is known to the craft as an old-
time publisher, and had given practically all his life to the
mechanical department of newspaper work, having been con-
nected with several journals of the state. He never made
much pretensions to editorship, but has printed a fairly good
local paper in which he was assisted by his daughter, who
succeeds him as publisher.

V.

N. W. Noah of the Kosciusko Star, who recently passed
away, brought his young and beautiful bride to the first
Greenwood Press Convention, in 1894. She was a bright,
cheerful, chatty little creature and was having a great bridal
tour. She met most of the editors and was the toast of the
Press Convention. She was stylishly dressed, and her
winning ways made her a universal favorite, and so fond was
she of the convention, its receptions, entertainments and
pleasures that she declared she would never miss one as long
as her husband was a member. A waggish editor who had
heard her say she intended to go to Press Conventions regu-
larly, offered to make her a bet that she would not attend the
next one, a year hence. She either did not see the point of
the joke, or bluffed it through, and accepted the bet, the
conditions being written down. The editor won, for before
the next convention assembled the Madam had “other. fish to
fry,” home duties to look after that prevented her attendance.

Noah printed a creditable paper for many years, but finally
sold his publishing business and entered politics, in which
he remained till he passed to the great beyond.

From time to time the Kosciusko Star has had a num-
ber of editors and publishers, most of whom gained distinc-
416 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

tion in the newspaper forum. The Star was moved from
Goodman to Kosciusko, by R. Walpole in the early seventies,
who sold it to H. P. Johnson when Walpole decided to buy
the Herald and move to Yazoo City. It then passed into the
hands of J. C. Clarke, a very capable man, going from him
to J. H. Anderson, who came to Jackson in 1884 to shoot
Oliver Clifton, or make him apologize for something said
about him, and got arrested for his pains.

VI.

Judge C. A. Stovall, a kind, genial and generous old
gentleman, succeeded John McCormick as owner and editor
of the Shubuta Messenger, which he conducted with dignity
and courtesy to all, friend or foe. The paper is still in the
hands of the Stovall family, owned by a son of the Judge,
who was long ago removed from the sphere of life.

The names Stovall and Povall have frequently been con-
fusingly and amusingly mixed at press meetings.

Judge Stovall edited the Shubuta Messenger, and Judge
J. P. Povall published the Booneville Pleader. Their papers
were of the same size and of about equal strength, both
creditable local weeklies. After Judge Povall’s death the
Pleader passed to Tom Bettesworth, who changed the name
to the Banner.

W. H. Cochran successfully published the Starkville Times
for several years. He was elected secretary of the Missis-
sippi Press Association and aspired to become clerk of the
Mississippi House of Representatives, to which he was elected.
CHAPTER SIXTY.

Some of the Editors Who Helped Fight Mississippi’s Battles
During the Dark Days of Reconstruction—There
Are Few of the Old Guard Left.

Most of the editors mentioned in these memoirs have
penned their last editorial, and live in memory only. But we
cannot forget them. We shall miss them in our annual meet-
ings, from our council boards, from our banquet halls and
social gatherings. We shall miss them in the reading of our
daily mail, for they speak to us no more from the columns of
the printed page. We shall miss their dear old faces, their
kindly words and generous greetings, for they “have solved
the mystery of the valley of silence, and the land that is
just beyond.”

Younger men must take their places, and may, perchance,
write their names high on history’s pages. They may be more
progressive than the old guard who fought many battles for
their country and democracy, especially during the dark days
of reconstruction. They may print larger and brighter papers
than their forbears, but never within a hundred years will
they supplant their predecessors in the affection, love and

respect of the people.
418 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

The war ended leaving the South prostrate and bleeding.
The land had been sacked, despoiled and laid waste, by invad-
ing armies. There was little left to sustain man and beast.
The country was as desolate as though swept by a parched
simoon. The Confederate soldier returned to find his home
in ruins, his family suffering from the necessities of life, to
be met by. a new and insolent citizenship. Former slaves had
been emancipated by Lincoln’s proclamation; followed later
by the enactment of the infamous Reconstruction acts and
the ratification of the odious fourteenth and fifteenth amend-
ments.

Mississippi was down and bleeding; and like other South-
ern States, was overrun by a horde of Northern emissaries to
oppress our people and incite the negro to acts of insolence
and intolerance towards his former masters, traceable largely
to the teachings of the Freedman’s Bureau. The bottom rail
was indeed and in truth on top.

II.

At the conclusion of the war a bold and untrammeled
press, with great writers weilding the editorial pen, fired the
heart of the people of Mississippi, and stirred them to action,
which finally culminated in the overthrow of the negro horde
and the retirement of his allies, the scalawag and the carpet-
bagger.

The press led the fight which resulted in a glorious vic-
tory for justice, right and decency, the restoration of demroc-
racy and the returning of the government to its rightful
owners.

Its work will live forever in the annals of the State, and
the honor it won, the laurels it achieved in the dark, troublous
days that tried men’s souls, can never be forgotten or eradi-
cated from the brilliant pages of Mississippi history.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 419

 

Then the great leaders of the Mississippi press were Major
E. Barksdale, of Jackson; Col. W. H. McCardle of Vicksburg
and Col. A. G. Horn, of Meridian. Whence comes such
another trio of forceful writers? They were unsurpassed in
their day and time. They had many able lieutenants to aid
them in their assaults upon the Reconstruction Acts, the Freed-
man’s Bureau, the 14th and 15th amendments; and were ably
assisted in their efforts to rout the carpet-baggers and alien
government by Democratic editors—by E. M. Yerger, A. J.
Frantz, W. H. Worthington, J. J. Shannon, Jas. S. McNeily,
Paul A. Botto, Kinloch Falkner, P. K. Mayers, T. B. Manlove,
Giles M. Hillyer, J. L. McCullum, J. L. Power, and other
members of the press.

Il.

The only editor alive today who attended the conven-
tion of the Mississippi Press Association, held at Vicks-
burg, November 6, 1866, is Capt. J. S. McNeily of the Vicks-
burg Herald; and he is in a low state of health, and may not
be alive when these memoirs are given to the public. In
fact, in November, 1920, he foreshadowed his own demise in
a note written to the editor of the Woodville Republican,
which he became the editor of the year following the Civil
War. The note written from Captain McNeily’s sick cham-
ber in Vicksburg, says:

“T have been sick for the past two weeks and may never recover,
though the doctors say I will. Your paper keeps me in touch with
intimates and associations which will outlast my life. In looking
through its columns I noted the announcement of the death of my
old comrade and neighbor, Alonza T. Rabb, of Cold Springs neigh-
borhood, from whence we both as boys went to the war sixty years ago.
Of all of Wilkinson county’s contribution he was one of the last
living. As I lie on the bed of illness and insomnia my thoughts
are directed along the paths which but few now march, to the rapidly
nearing end, with this poor tribute to one of Brandon’s favorites.
I am with love to the few survivors of Wilkinson county with whom

I always camp.”
420 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

IV.

Commenting upon the above in one of my letters in
the Clarion-Ledger, December 3, 1920, I said:

“When the above was penned Captain McNeily was a very
sick man, and as will be seen by the letter, had given up all
hope of recovery. Since then he has rallied sufficiently to
encourage his friends, and they believe that he may be able
to resume editorial work, and the writer cherishes the hope
that they are not mistaken, for he occupies an interesting
and unique position in journalism, being absolutely in a class
by himself. He has no imitators and will never have a suc-
cessor, possessing a personality that is altogether his own—
a style, while odd and peculiar, and at times a bit involved,
is entertaining and instructive,—filling a nich in journalism
that no other editor ever occupied.

“His letter, in which he pays a tribute to an old army
companion, is touching, pathetic and soulful, reading like the
last token of love and affection expressed by one old friend
for another who has crossed over the river, and is disturbed
not by the tramp of comrades, the sound of martial music,
the rattle of musketry, or the worries of life’s stern realities.

“Capt. McNeily is the oldest editor in Mississippi, both
in age and service, the only newspaper man alive today who
attended the first Press Convention, after the organization
of the Press Association in the spring of 1866. All his asso-
ciates in attendance upon that meeting, I. M. Patridge, James
M. Swords, T. B. Manlove, M. Shannon, Harry Moss, J. J.
Shannon, J. L. Power, A. J. Frantz, C. H. Wilson, T. T. Pitts,
John S. Holt, J. L. McCullum and J. C. Prewitt, having long
since passed away.

“Capt McNeily has survived all his old friends, and for
years has occupied a position of eminence that few editors
have attained.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 421

 

“May his life be further spared that his days of useful-
ness may be extended, is the wish and prayer of the writer.”

Captain McNeily has been very ill but has improved and
can write a little each day by the aid of an assistant, with
his accustomed force if not without difficulty.

For many years he has been one of the leading editorial
writers of the state, and is the only one of the old timers
left, and I but voice the sentiment of his editorial brethren
when I repeat, “May his life be spared for many days of
usefulness.”

V.

When journalism was in its flower J. P. Allen, who had
had some experience in journalism, came to this state from
Kentucky, and secured a position as an associate editor on
the Meridian Gazette, going from there to the Vicksburg
Herald, where he held a position on the editorial staff for
years. He was well grounded in newspaper work and made
considerable reputation as an editorial writer on the Herald,
remaining there till stricken by the yellow fever plague of
1878, virtually dying at his post of duty. His name is in-
scribed on the Press Monument at Holly Springs, erected to
commemorate the memory of the six editors who perished of
yellow fever in the great epidemic which swept over the state
in 1878.

Mott Ayres, who organized and consolidated all the papers
of Laurel into one corporation, the result being the Laurel
Daily Leader, was a rather remarkable editor. He was what
might be termed an all round newspaper man, publisher and
editor, and as such succeeded in giving Laurel the best
paper it ever had, and its number of defunct papers was
great.
422 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

Mr. Ayres came from Kentucky, where he had been a
successful publisher, and seeing a fine field in Laurel for a
bright, newsy daily, began the work of consolidating the
newspaper interests into one strong paper, such as he made
of the Leader. He had only resided in Mississippi two or
three years, but in that short time succeeded in making the
Leader one of the best dailes of the state, and winning a host
of good friends.

The members of the press who had so kindly remembered
the good work done by Mr. Ayres to entertain them while
guests of Laurel at the Press Convention in 1917, were
shocked and surprised to read of his sudden death four weeks
after the adjournment of the Convention. It was a sad
blow and one universally regretted.

VI.

N. A. Mott, editor of the Yazoo Herald, came from a
western state years ago, and liking the South so well, settled
in Mississippi, where he was connected with several news-
paper enterprises and job printing plants. He had represented
his county in the legislature and was the author of several
important measures. He purchased the Herald some years
ago from John G. McGuire, changing it from a weekly to a
semi-weekly, and was doing well when the Great Master
called him home last July.

_ C. F. Newman had long been connected with the press as
editor of the Baldwyn Signal, and though he seldom attended
the annual meetings, he was known to many of the older edi-
tors and printed a real interesting local journal. He also
passed away during the past year.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 423

 

Percy Maer succeeded his mother as publisher of the
Columbus Dispatch, which has always had a high standing
among the press people, and well did he maintain its standard.
He loved newspaper work, believed in improvements in all
departments, and keeping abreast with the times.

VII.

One of the greatest worries the average country editor
has to undergo, is his inability to remember the names of
his subscribers when they call to settle their bills. People
are naturally sensitive, country subscribers especially, and feel
sore when they are not recognized. They expect the pub-
lisher not only to remember their faces, but to be able to
call their names as well, which is utterly impossible, for no
newspaper manager on earth can remember the names of a
thousand or so subscribers.

Publishers resort to all kinds of devices to get the names
of people who drop in to pay their bills, but no perfect plan
has as yet been discovered, and will never materialize till
memory systems are improved.

I was discusing this question one day with a lot of
editors who were giving their experience. As I recall, W.
D. Caulfield of the Gloster Record, W. S. May of the Brandon
News, William Ward of the Starkville Times, W. C. Hight
of the Louisville Journal, B. C. Knapp of the Fayette Chroni-
cle, Joe Norwood of the Magnolia Gazette, Joe Richardson
of the Sunflower Tocsin, R. R. Ford of the Ripley Advertiser
and others, were present.

All the memory tests ever heard of were related, but
they failed to prove satisfactory. One editor said we should
study the methods of the politician; another suggested that
we secure the plans of conductors, while another declared
that we should take lessons from hotel clerks, who seemed to
424 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

be able to call the names of regular patrons before they
registered.

One gave it as his opinion that politicians were specially
endowed by nature with receptive minds that enabled them
to call the names of people they met. I dissented expressing
the idea that ability to call names was a developed faculty,
and nothing more, except that many tricks were also employed
by politicians and others to obtain the names of people they
did not know.

VU.

I related two instances to show I was correct in my con-
clusions, saying: “Early in January, 1880, when the Missis-
sippi legislature was assembling, J. Z. George was a candidate
for United States Senator. The senators and representatives
were meeting in the old capitol. I was standing beside George,
who was mixing with the members as they came up. One
handsome and dignified gentleman was seen advancing through
the arched gateway, George did not know him, and nudging
me, asked, “Who is that man coming this way?” I replied,
“That is Milton R. Jones, member of the house from Claiborne
county, who has a rather good opinion of himself, and you
had better know him when you offer to speak to him.”

That was enough. George was on his feet at once, and
rushing towards Jones, held out his hand and exclaimed, “How
are you friend Jones; how’s old Claiborne?” That clinched
Jones’ vote, and made him a George partisan the rest of his
life.

I was standing in the Union depot one evening awaiting
a train, talking to Governor McLaurin, who had the reputa-
tion of knowing everybody. He spied a gentleman eating
his lunch at the counter, and asked me if I knew him. “Yes;
that is C. L. Harris, superintendent of Gen Faulkner’s rail-
road, which runs from Middleton, Tenn., to Ripley, Miss.”
 

EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 425

“Are you certain?” he asked. “Absolutely; I know him well.”
The Governor lost no time in reaching Harris, when he held
out both hands and in a loud voice said, “Harris, I am glad
to meet you again; how is the railroad progressing?”

That fixed Harris for life, who had never met Governor
McLaurin before, but felt so complimented that the Governor
had gone out of his way to speak to him, that he became
his most loyal supporter the balance of his days.

I know of many other instances similar to the above,
tricks that politicians play upon the unsuspecting voters, to
make them believe they are recognized, but this will
suffice to show that politicians do not know all the people
whom they address by name. I have tried the trick myself,
but could never play it successfully.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE.

And the Last of the Series, Wherein I Deliver a Preachment
to Young Editors, Telling Them How They May
Win Success.—A Final Word to Old
and New Friends.

This is the beginning of the end of my editorial memoirs,
and I need not say that I close the series regretfully, and
with feelings akin to pain, for I have found genuine pleasure,
as well as agreeable and profitable employment, in writing
of my old editorial associates, and in talking to my
friends weekly. It has enabled me to turn back the wheels
of time, and live my life over again; to recall the faces and
the forms of those I knew and loved in my younger days and
in memory see and converse with friends of yore, when hope
was highest and ambition greatest.

But a spirit of sadness comes over me as I close the book
and take a look backwards, covering a period of more than
fifty years, from youth to mature age. I had many good
friends among the “old guard” in this state, and of the num-
ber, less than a half dozen are alive today. Not one editor is
living today whom I knew when I gave my first paper to the
public.
 

 

R. H. Henry and Wife on their soth Marriage Anniversary,
November 22, 1921
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 427

 

My old editorial companions and associates have gone to
their rewards. Sad thought, yet true; but their memory is
still green in my heart and will so remain while life shall
last. Others took their places, in the ordinary course of
nature, many of them kind, genial and companionable, and
with whom I have been on the cloest terms of friendship,
and whose love and respect I greatly esteem. But do they
completely fill the void made by those who are gone? That
is a question | shall not undertake to answer.

II.

In writing these memoirs I have striven to be fair and
just to all, to friends and foes alike, to truthfully describe
and accurately portray the characters of editors I have met,
to present them as I saw and knew them, without malice
and free of bitterness. How well I have succeeded, I leave
the reader to judge, and the public to pronounce.

If I have given joy and happiness to you and others, dear
reader, I am more than repaid for my labor. of love. But if
anything I have written has wounded or offended a single
person, then deeply do I regret the fact, for it is always more
agreeable to please than to offend.

I realize that some errors have been made in these
memoirs, for they have been written largely from memory, but
I have done the best I could under the circumstances, and
with the material on hand, so, if there are not what they
should be, I ask the reader to overlook immaterial short-
comings and take the will for the deed, for it is no little
task to bridge a chasm extending over fifty years.

III.

In this connection it will not be out of place to print the
following resolution adopted at the Press Convention held
at Greenwood May 19, 1921:
428 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

“Resolved: That the members of the Mississippi Press Associa-
tion have read with much interest the ‘Memoirs of Some Editors I
Have Known Since the Days of the Civil War,’ written by Col. R.
H. Henry, the able, distinguished and veteran editor of the Clarion-
Ledger, and for 50 years a member of this Association. Believing
that these memoirs are of historical value, this Association hopes that
Col. Henry will have the same printed and bound in book form
that they may be preserved in a permanent volume, and a copy of
same be placed in the archives of the Mississippi Press Associa-
tion.”

I am grateful to the Press Convention for the above
kind expression of my poor efforts, for too often “A prophet
is not without honor, save in his own country and in his
own house.” Resolutions as a rule are of a perfunctory nature
and amount to very little, but when editors of the state, in
their annual convention, go on record as endorsing and com-
mending the work of one of their associates, the compliment
is no idle honor, and must be appreciated.

IV.

As a boy I doubtless had visions and dreams, big ideas of
the future. While working as an apprentice on the Brandon
Republican, I read the papers coming to that office. I was
familiar with the lives of James Gordon Bennett, Horace
Greely, George D. Prentice, Chas. A. Dana and M. M. Pomeroy,
better known as “Brick.” Henry Watterson had not then
made his impress upon the journalistic field, but soon became
distinguished as one of the great editors of the country.

I had read about Simeon R. Adams—then dead—and of
many Mississippi editors of the sixties. The history of the
Eastern Clarion absorbed me, and the life of Adams com-
pletely gripped me. He was the most discussed newspaper
man of Mississippi. He took over the Clarion when it was
a struggling weakling, published at the interior town of
Paulding, and made it the greatest paper in the state, the
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 429

 

most generally read, most freely quoted, and most liberally
patronized.

It had gone from Paulding to Meridian, where I remem-
ber it printed Gen. Robert E. Lee’s address to his troops,
written from his headquarters in Virginia, and dated April
10, 1865, telling them that “After four years arduous services,
marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of
Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelm-
ing numbers and resources.” He informed his soldiers that
“By the terms of the agreement, officers and men can return
to their homes and remain there till exchanged,” concluding
by wishing them an affectionate farewell.

V.

At the close of the Civil War, the Clarion was moved
to Jackson, and at once became the leader of the Democratic
host, with Barksdale as its editor.

I read the Clarion and Pomeroy’s La Crosse Democrat
more regularly than I read my Bible, regarding them as the
sheet-anchors of Democratic hope, the pillar of cloud by
day and pillar of fire by night, to lead the Southern
people onward after the demoralizing and devastating war.

I often made the boys in the Brandon Republican office
laugh when I would announce to them that it was my inten-
tion to some day buy the Clarion, and that I would then
give them real good jobs, a promise afterwards made good.
The one ambition of my life was to own the Clarion, the
“Thunderer,” as it was called.

It was a long, difficult and hard fight, but in less than
twenty-five years I had won the goal of my ambition, thanks to
the encouragement of my wife, my tireless energy, hopeful
disposition, aggressive nature, economic habits, fearlessness in
expression and absolute faith in myself.
430 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

How well I have succeeded as editor and publisher, |
leave the public to decide. This is not said in a boastful
spirit, but by way of encouragement to other struggling lads,
who may achieve success if willing to make the sacrifice
necessary to win, for I have always held that man is the
arbiter of his own fortune. There is little or nothing in what
we call “luck,” but much in real “pluck,” which, if intelli-
gently applied, will win the battle of life. Pluck, coupled with
faith in one’s-self to succeed, will work wonders; and I com-
mend them to young men as the key-note to success.

VI.

A personal reference must be excused, for it is pertinent
to the subject, is worth relating, and is commended to young
men, regardless of occupation.

When Cleveland had been inaugurated President in 1885,
I went to Washington, with other Democrats, seeking federal
appointments. I called upon Senators George and Walthall,
and the Mississippi Representatives, all of whom gave me their
endorsement. I also visited Colonel Lamar, who had been

appointed Secretary of Interior. He received me kindly and
courteously.

I told him I was hard pressed, had strong opposition in
the newspaper field, and would like a federal appointment
to supplement my income. He looked me straight in the
face, and I felt that his big steel grey eyes would penetrate
me through.

“Well, I'll help you get a place,” he said, “but it won’t
pay you to break up and move to Washington. You cannot
hold a federal office and run your paper. Few men can do
more than one thing at a time; and the men who succeed best
give all their time to one business. You have within you the
elements of a good newspaper man. You are young, ener-
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 431

 

getic, aggressive, and bold in expression, and I look upon you
as the coming publisher of Mississippi, provided you devote
your time to your newspaper.”

That talk almost staggered me. It was so frank, kind
and complimentary that I had nothing more to say. Lamar
broke the silence; “My boy, I know you aspire to be State
Printer of Mississippi and intend to help you get it. You
can win, for one concern cannot hold on forever. I'll have
you appointed a National Bank Examiner; you can try it a
while and if you do not like it you can resign and enter upon
an active canvass for State Printer.”

I thanked Lamar, qualified for the place, secured the
necessary papers, made one round through Texas, Arizona and
New Mexico, examining banks after a fashion, returned home
and realizing that the position did not suit me and I did not
suit it, resigned.

Lamar was right, and he proved to be a true prophet
as well, for I was elected State Printer and held the place
for several years, till I sold my bindery, book and job offices,
for the purpose of devoting my time exclusively to the pub-
lication of a daily newspaper; and then my success in jour-
nalism was assured.

Lamar declared that he was a “One-Ideaded-Man,” could
only do one thing at a time, and to young and struggling
editors, I give the advice he tendered me, which I took with
beneficial results. It was the best advice ever given me, and
I commend it to young editors.

Vil.

Many young publishers, ambitious boys just starting out
on their journalistic legs, with their lives all before them,
and hope swelling in their breasts have requested me to
impart to them the secret of success in newspaper work, as
432 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

I understood it. They have complimented me with the sug-
gestion, “You have succeeded better than other Mississippi
editors and publishers—tell us the plans you adopted and
followed.”

Many things are necessary to win success in any calling—
hard work, indefatigable energy, love of ones business, a firm
resolve to succeed, never be discouraged, never admit the
possibility of failure, and have implicit faith in ones-self, and
do one thing only.

Do one thing only; do it well and with all your might,
and success must crown your efforts as certainly as the night
follows the day.

Print clean, moral, reliable, fearless papers. Say whatever
you please, if you consider it right, for the public admires a
bold editor.

Have opinions of your own, and the courage to express
them. Don’t print a shallow, timid, colorless journal, afraid
of its own shadow. Declare yourself on all questions, politi-
cal, secular and otherwise. Don’t be a neutral, or moral
coward. Don’t attempt to float in a dead eddy, but swim with
the live current.

Don’t above all things play the toady to people in or
out of position, to gain favor or secure patronage; for of all
people on earth, the toady is the most disgusting and con-
temptible; his syncophantic fawning is always seen through
and understood, and if he gains favor at all it is at the
sacrifice of self-respect.

No one can have any respect for a toady.

Stand by your party friends, and criticise your political
enemies; but be just, generous and truthful in your dealings
with men and measures.
EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 433

 

Praise your friends, political or social, believing them to
be right, and fudge a little in their behalf if necessary. Con-
demn your political enemies, giving them Old Harry when-
ever they deserve it. You can have nothing to expect from
factional opponents; therefore waste no time upon them. You
know where they stand; they are always against you.

Criticise those with whom you disagree, in a dignified
and manly way, when the occasion justifies; but do not slander
er abuse them, unless you would aid in their schemes and
ambitions.

Throw a brick occasionally if you do break a glass. Speak
right out in meeting, to let your opponents know you are on
the quarter deck, and ready for action.

Have a definite policy and adhere to it. Let no man
shape your editorial views or change your business methods.
Manage your paper yourself and allow no one to run over
your styles, plans and ideas.

Don’t allow the front office to control your editorial
opinions. Don't permit business firms, through threats of
withdrawal of patronage, to intimidate you, or force you to
advocate a policy contrary to your views.

Beware of corporations, with their baleful influence. Sell
them space, but not editorials. Treat them justly and fairly,
but never become their advocates for money. The paper that
once becomes the champion of corporate interests never gets
its head out of the noose, and wields no influence, for the
public is not fooled, and never forgives the paper whose cor-
poration editorials place it under suspicion—a suspicion it can
never dispel or relieve.

VIII.

Another word more, young editors: Give all your atten-
tion to the business of your papers, for no mistress is more
jealous than that of newspaper publishing. It demands all
your time. If you would succeed as editor and publisher, you
434 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN

 

have no time to loaf around street corners, no time for tennis
courts or golf links, no time to fish, frolic or hunt, at the
expense of your business.

If you would succeed, you must be industrious, strictly
on the job all the time. Be careful in your business methods,
prudent and econominal in the conduct of your paper. Collect
your bills rigidly and pay your debts regularly.

Be truthful, honest and sincere, giving unto every man
that which is his due. Win success by being worthy to wear
it, and all will be well. And finally—

So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan which moves

To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death—

Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
INDEX.

 

Acker, Walter, Paulding Messenger, 119.
fo “Moved to and, became j judge in
Texas, 377.
Adams, Gen. Wirt, shoots and kills John
Martin, 136.
Martin's offensive publication, 136.
Adams, Simeon R., the real founder of the
Clarion, 118.
Greatest publisher of State, 119.
Adams, W. J., Enterprise Courier, 119.
Died of yellow fever 1878, 120.
Advice to young editors, 432.
To succeed must give their time to
business, 433.
Be fair, just, truthful and honor-

able, 434.

Allen, J. P., Vicksburg Herald, 421.

Almon, J. K., editor Durant Democrat, 347,

Ames, articles of impeachment drawn
against him, 308.

Forced to resign Governor’s chair, 309.

Amusing incident at Greenwood Press Con-
vention, 338.

Anderson, J. H., comes to Jackson to shoot

Oliver Clifton, 294.
Andrews, H. P., Newton Press, 398.
Withdraws offensive remark about
brother editor, 399.
Anthony Amendment, defeated in Missis-
sippi, 356.
Adopted in United States, 357.
matter settled for all time to come, 357.
Appeal Avalance, author offered its mana-
agement, 287.
Argus, published at Hillsboro, 4.
Author becomes inoculated with news-
paper virus, 4.
Armistead, J. J., Newton Dispatch, 400.
Armsrtong, John, editor of ‘‘Vicksburger’’
and other papers, 176.

Atwood, John A., Yankee-Republican, 330.
Visits Alcorn A. & M. College, 331.
Delighted with surroundings but re-

fused to eat with negroes, 334-36.

Author arrives at Brnadon; first person
met, 27.
Delighted with town and people, 40.
Lived there three years and found a
wife, 45-61.
Married November 22, 1871, 61.

Ayers, Mott., Laurel Leader, 421.
Backward, turn backward, 67.

Bailey, Dr. J. T., old editor Baptist Record,
225.

Balance, J. C., oldest publisher of State,414.
Baleful effects of reconstruction acts, 20.

Ballard, J. B., Tupelo Journal, died on re-
turning from Press Excursion, 329.

Banks, Col. R. W., Columbus Index, 210.
One of the best writers of Mississippi,
211.
Spent his last days on Gulf Coast, 212.

Barksdale, E., of the Clarion, 90.

Cuts author’s acquaintance, 91.

Greatest editor of State, 93.

Never tried to placate an offense, 92.

Lead fight against Ames in 1876, 93.

Opposed George for U. S. Senate, 95.

Has fight with H. D. Money, 96.

A leader of men, 94.

His manner of rebuking people, 95.

Had Lowry nominated for Governor
1881, 92.

Defeats Col. C. E. Hooker for Congress
in 1882, 93.

Insulted Marion Smith and T. C.
Catchings and others, 92.

Would submit to no procrustean rule,
257.

Rebukes E. P. Thompson, 95.

Barksdale, Harris, associate editor of
Clarion, 245.

Barr, S.G., known as ‘‘Umbrella Bar," 203.
Battalie, W. A., editor Summit Times, 403.

Beautiful girls of Brandon, 45.
Strange fatality seemed to hang over
them, 45.
IN DE X — Continued

 

Bellenger, Frank L., original editor Jack-

son Daily News, 205.
Became prominent in journalism, 206-

207.

Berryhill, S. Newton, poet editor of Missis-
sippi, 254.

Beeman, H. P., Pass Christian Beacon, 403.

“Black and Tan” Convention of 1868, 32.

Blackwell, J. B., first editor Forest Register,
17.

Bleeding South under negro domination, 32 °

Bonner, R. A., Sardis Star, 378.
Bonney, H. S., editor Summit Sentinel, 401.
Bonney, N. P., associate; editor several
papers, 401.
Bosworth, T. F., Canton Citizen, 180.
Succeeded by his wife and two sons,
239-40.

Botto, Paul A., editor Natchez Democrat,
137.
Bold, untrammeled press, fired the people,
418.
Book is finished, the work complete, 426.
Bran of the Iconoclast, 310.
Lectures in Jackson and collapses on
stage, 312.
Brandon, Eastern terminus old Southern
Railroad, 4.
Town of culture and refinement, 39.
Fine people, good institutions, 39.
Editors going out from the place, 282.

Brandon Republican, extraordinary paper,
33.
“Breaking the Home-Ties,” 24.
Dramatic scene witnessed in Forest
over 50 years ago, 25.
Youth goes out to seek his fortune, 26.
Breckenridge, J. C., Democrat.
Nominee for President, 1860, sup-
ported by the South, 5.

Brookhaven Press Convention—Beautiful
girls remembered, 98.

Brown, R. M., editor Mississippi Central,

156-157.

Brown, S. B., succeeds his brother as edi-
tor, 157.

Brown, A. D., manager old Shelton House,
27.

Brown, Little Sudie, now Mrs. E. E.
Frantz, 27.

Brown, L. P., describes a fight
Between E. Barksdale and E. M.
Yerger, 129.

Bryan meets editorial party at Lincoln, 363.
Nominated for third time at Denver,
364.
Old Nick’s story on Bryan, 365.
Buchanan, J. W., Grenada Sentinel, pro-
pounds awkward question, 165.
Odd mixture of strange contradic-

tions, 196.
Bureau, Freedman’s, « menace to the
South, 17.
Doing much to put the negro up to
devilment, 20.

Burke, J. D., editor several papers, 140.
Untimely end, passing of a good man.
141.
Burkitt, Frank, Chickasaw Messenger, 113,
Editor and legislator, 114.
Valuable balance wheel, 116.
Burns, Matt., special deputy for Col. J. 8.
Hamilton, 135.
Bustamante, G.D., never a real editor, 204.
Butt, Mrs. Halla Hammond,
Clarksdale Challenge, 239.
One of the first suffragets of the State,
238.
Calhoon, C. T., of the Yazoo Sentinel, 267.
Calhoon, John, Holly Springs Reporter,
marries sweetheart of boyhood
dreams, 210.
Calhoon, Judge S. S., addresses press ban-
quet at Yazoo City, 242.
Presents disbandment resolutions at
Meridian 1873, 304.
Campbell, T. W., established Commercial
at Vicksburg, 178.

Candid Criticism—on author's lecture, 242.

Capers, Major W. C., Mississippi Central,
378.

Carlton, Eugene, stalwart Democrat of
Newton County, 48.

Carmack, Edward, Memphis Commercial,
289.

Carlisle, L. T., Clay County Leader, 296-97.
Mrs. L. T. Carlisle, 356.

Carlisle, G. W. & T. B. Lampton, State
Treasurers by appointment Gov.
Longino, 144.

Carroll, Ben E., Newton, a rude awakening,

kicked out of bed, 38.
Established Newton Bulletin, 283.

Cashman, J. G., established Evening Post
at Vicksburg, 271-72.
IN DE X — Continued

 

Chalmers, Gen. J. R., of Vicksburg Com-
mercial, 266.

Chambers, J. A., foreman Hillsboro Argus,
4,

Chandler, Green’s son, fires upon Mayers,
80.
Kills news boy at Bay St. Louis, 80.

Civil War began 1861 following secession of
South Carolina, Mississippi and
other Southern States, 5.

Civil Revolution, 308.
Clark, J. C., editor Kosciusko Star, 416.
Clark, Rev. N. L., published Mississippi

Baptist, 404.
Clarion-Ledger, founded by R. H. Henry,
57.

Owned and edited by him 50 years, 426.

Clarion-Ledger boys, three of the best, 299.
Avery Jones, associate editor, 300.
Homer McGee, assistant editor, 301.
Bert Snead, local editor, 302.

Clifton, Oliver, succeeds Barksdale as edi-
tor Clarion, 245.

Cochran, W. H., Starkville Times, 416.

Collins, J. L., wrote for Coffeeville papers,
409.

Compton, Dr. W. M., editor of the Leader,
the Alcron organ, 89.

Confederate States organized, 5.

Consolidation of Clarion and State Ledger
in 1888, 205.

Constitutional Convention, 20-32.

Five of its members killed, 32.

Cooper, F. T., publisher of many papers, 65.
Editor of distinction, 66.
Good story on Fewell 282.

Crisler, H. H., writes author appreciative
letter, 391.

Crocket, W. H., Sardis, News, 378.
Crosby, Henry, Greenville Times, 404.

Crosby, George, editor Brookhaven Echo,
91.

Crosby, Oscar T., writer, soldier, investiga-
tor, 91.

Culley, F. H., Fayette Chronicle, 247.

Daily Comet, started in 1881, 375.
Edited by Oliver Clifton and J. B.
Harris, 375.

Dale, Rev. W.S., Monticello Advocate, 154.
Killed in cyclone, April 22, 1882, 155.

Davis, Jefferson, President of Confederate
States, 5.
Attends Press Convention at Pasca-
goula, 147.
Davis, Dr. Stephens, buys Forest Register,
21,

Puns on names of newly weds, 22.

Known as ‘Old Youth,” 23-240.
Defeat of McGill's administration, 348.

Follows the killing of white boy, 348.

“Swap Angels” led by J. M. Liddel

assist in good work, 348.

Dement, Chas. N., starts Meridian Star,
413.

Dement, Jas. P., publisher Forest Register,
17.

Democracy disbands at Meridian 1873, 304.

Some exciting scenes, 307-308.
Deserters, many joined Sherman’s army

on return to Vicksburg, 13.
Dinner that did not take place, 389.
Residence of Judge A. McKimbrough,
Greenwood, 390.
Dodds, Geo. S., press boys play great joke
on him at Dubuque, Iowa, 395.
Douglas, S. A., Democratic nominee for
President, 5.
Supported by the North, 5.
Doxy Hindman, 403.
Douglas, Dr. W. K., Diocesan Record, 395.
Do one thing at a time, 432.
Dromgoole, Dr. J. P., experience with his
bitters, 72.

And thereby hangs a tale, 73.

Dudley, G. W., legislator and editor several
papers, 401.
Duke, J. H., Scooba Herald, 265.

Gets $20,000.00 from Hearst, 266.
Durdin, A. C., of Lexington Advertiser, 403.
Eastern Clarion, established at Paulding,

1837, 4.
Eccentricity not always genius, 200.

Editors of Personality;

James Gordon Bennett, New York
Herald, 181.

George D. Prentice and Henry Wat-
terson, Courier-Jounral, 182.

Samuel Bowles, Springfield Republican,
182.

Chas. A Dana, New York Sun, 182.

Horace Greely, New York Tribune, 182.

Joe Medill, Chicago Tribune, 182.

Joseph Pulitzer, New York World, 182.
INDEX —

Continued

 

Editors of Personality—Continued:

Geo. W. Childs, Public Ledger, 182.

W. R. Singerly, Philadelphia Record,
182.

Henry W. Grady, and Clark Howell»
Atlanta Constitution, 183.

Edward McCarmack of the Memphis
Commercial, 183.

E. A. Burke of the old Times-Demo-
erat, 183.

E. Barksdale of the Clarion, 183.

W. H. McCardle, Vicksburg Herald,
183.

Arthur Brisbane, 182.

Editors retiring from newspaper work;

Edgar S. Wilson, edited several papers
including the New Mississippian and
Commonwealth, 279-282.

R. K. Jayne, published the Report at
Newton and the Comet of Jackson,
283-284.

John H. Miller, retired capitalist, living
at Biloxi, 277.

Editorial Curiosity;

Editor of the Biloxi Blizzard and his
rat traps, 343.

Editorial Excursion to West, 358.

Visit Chicago, Salt Lake and Denver,
361.

Death Lillian Norment Weis, 362.

Editorial ‘‘ups and downs,” 303.

Eggleston, B. B., chairman Convention,
1868, 32.
Eight Congressional District, 354.
Finishing touch added by Lou Moss,
355.
Entertainment to editors, 295.
Under leadership of Miss Mamie Rob-
inson, now Mrs. C. M. Williamson,
296.
Falconer, Kinloch, Holly Springs press, 131.
Elected Secretary of State, 132.
Fant, Dr. A. E., West Point Citizen, 240.
Fairfax, J. W., publisher old Item, 353.
Ferris, editor Hillsboro Argus, 4.
First editor author knew, 4-6.
Fifty Years an editor, 430.
Forest, getting under way when war be-
gan, 15.
Forest Register, 16.
Author enters office to learn printing
business, 17.

Forsythe, Miss Piney Woods, one of first
women publishers, 237.

Forsythe, Ijaah, Brookhaven Democrat,
killed in street fight, 238.

Forsyth, Col. John, Mobile Register, 263.
Tells good story on advertiser, 264.
Frantz, Col. A. J., editor Brandon Repub-
lican, 23.
Offers author position on his paper, 23.
Called ‘‘Brick Pomeroy” of South, 35.
Treated his boys every Wednesday
night, 37.
Goes to Jackson to fight Whippell, 41.
Shot by Gardner, badly wounded, 38.
Curses out a desporado named Pryor,
42,
Frantz and Simeon R. Adams compared. 34.
Frantz good editor and Adams fine
business man, 34.
Frantz, Mrs. Virginia, dear, sweet, Christian
woman, 29.
Wrote much for her husband's paper,
30.
True poet and religious teacher, 29.
Preaches a sermon worth preserving,
49.
Frantz” E. E. for twenty years on Clarion-
Ledger staff, 10-44,
Galloway Bishop, Chas. B., 166.
Able editor and distinguished minister,
168.
“Ethics of Journalism,” theme of his
great speech, 170.
Gambrell. Dr. J. B., grand old Baptist min-
ister, 218.
Distinguished editor and fine pulpit
orator, 219.
Gambrell, Roderick, killed in street duel by
Col. J. S. Hamilton, 135.
Garrett, L. M., editor Carthagenian, 164-
403.
Editorial writer on Times-Democrat,
164.
Garrett, Miss Singleton, succeeds her
father on Carthagenian, 164.

Garrett, J. W., editor Kosciusko Leader,
164.

Garrett, Singleton, editor Canton Mail, 164.

Generous resolution of Press Convention,
428.

George, Senator J. Z., hurt at Press Con-
vention, 347-430.

Glanville, J. A., editor Forest Register, 18.
Wrote serials ‘‘Klu Klux Klan” and
“A Dam Flea.” 18,
INDEX—

Continued

 

Grafton, Thomas, editor Natchez Demo-
erat, 137.
Graham, T. B., Captain Forest Rifles, 5.
Grant, Gen U. S., captures Vicksburg, July
4, 1863, 13.
Grasty, T. P., of Planters Journal, 233.
Great Editorial Trio;
E. Barksdale,
W. H. McCardle,
A. G. Horn,
Whence comes such another? 419.
Greatest Journalistic achievement, 383.
Reporting Bryan’s speech during Gov.
McLaurin’s administration, 384.
Greely, Horace, indorsed by Democrats for
President, 1872, 55.
Badly defeated, 55.
Hack-Driver frozen between Buck Horn
Tavern and Hillsboro, 10.
What a great story for Frantz, Sullens
and Jaap, 10.
The Clarion-Ledger’s premier report-
ers, 10.
Halstead, Murat, Cincinnati Commercial,
74.
Hamilton, C. A., Wesson Herald, 405.
Hamilton, E. B., Shuqualak Solar Ray, 408.
Haynie makes a Colonel at sight, 409.
Hamilton, J. S., tried and acquitted for
killing Gambrell, 135.
Hardys, J. D. and Capt. Jack, 11
Killed Yankee’s by scores, to even up
with Sherman, 12.
Harper, A. Y., editor Southern States, 145.
Cowhides W. H. Krenan, 149.
Harper, Geo. W., editor Raymond Gazette,
99.
Harper, S. D., succeeds his father, 247.
Harper, Andrew long on Chronicles, 35.
Daffy on commas, 35.
Harris, Rev. H. J. and Sons, 179.
Newspaper family of repute, 179.
Haynie, J. J., premier advertising solicitor,
250-53.

Hederman, T. M., twenty-five years on
Clarion-Ledger, 201.

Hederman, R. M., with Clarion-Ledger
many years, 202.

Hederman, Annie, Miss. reported Bryan’s
speech, 384.

Henry, Patrick, moved to Forest after war,
15.

Parting advice to his son, 26.

Henry, R. H., fifty years an editor, 430.
Henry, T. M., associate editor Clarion-
Ledger, 295.
Goes into politics, 295.
Henry, W. A., Yazoo Sentinel, 226 to 228.
Henry ae Robert, Thomas and Miller,

Leave ‘‘Home Nest” to engage in
different pursuits, 202.
Herndon, Geo. P., a brilliant editor, 184.
Hillsboro, propsperous town until burnt by
Sherman, 11.
Where author was reared and saw his
first type, 12.
Hiller, Giles M., 128.
Hinds County Papers, 405;

Baptist Record, by Dr. J. B. Gam-
brell,

The Argus, printed in Clinton by A. J.
McDade,

Utica Comet, by J. M. Martin,
Utica Herald, by P. K. Whitney.

Edwards’ Item, by J. 8S. & R. 8S.
Schwab,

Headlight at Terry, by W. P. Head,

Diocesean Record, by Dr. W. K.
Douglas of Dry Grove,

Avery Jones and Dabney Parish suc-
ceeded Martin on the Comet at
Utica,

Young Walton, editor at Bolton,

Raymond Gazette passes into too
many hands to count.

Hobbs, B. T., established Brookhaven
Leader, 222 to 226.
Hoth, Be Lena, Brookhaven, Leader,

Holland. a J. L., of Holly Springs South,

Press Monument at his grave, 110.
Horn, A. G., leading editor East Missis-
sippi, 55.
Hoskins, J. S., Lexington Advertiser, 234.
Howry, J. M., editorial writer, 218.
How to make a gas engine run, 410.
Recipe by a portly old woman, 410.
How to succeed as a publisher, 432.
Humphreys, B. G., commends editorial
memoirs, 412.
Hunt, i author of ‘‘Happy,’’85-86-

Hunter, Dr. A., Crystal Springs Monitor,
240.

Hurt, Dr. W. A., prohibition editor and
worker, 235.
Influence of a good man,
Figg ine will it live after his death?

Watterson leads editorial list, 318.
IN DE X — Continued

 

Jaap, C. J. Jr., good Clarion-Ledger re-
porter, 10.

Jackson Press Convention, 1884; so many
gone, 293.

Jackson Daily News,

Established on consolidation of Clarion
and Ledger, 205.

By Frank L. Bellenger, Walter John-
son, Robert Davidson, Milton
Dunkley, 205.

Jayne, R. K., Newton Report, 278, 283.

Johnson, H. P., Kosciusko Star, 234-35.

Johnston, Gen. Joseph E., one of South’s

greatest commanders, 7.

Driven Eastward by Sherman, 11.

Johnson, Walter, Daily-News, 11.

Only manager,206.

Jonas, S. A., editor Aberdeen Examiner,

150.

One of the old guard of the press, 151.

Jones, B. F., Winona Democrat and other

papers, 120.
Married French widow of New Or-
leans, 121.
Who bequeathed him “‘all the family
portraits,’ 123.
Jones, Avery, many years on my paper,
299.

Kernan, W. H., brilliant but eratic genius,
149.

Kimball, Raymond & Company, of the
Pilot, 89.

“Ku Klux Klan,”

The lawless respected it, negroes
feared it, 49-58.

Had much to do with restoring order,
50.

Boone to the South, 50.

Lamar, L. Q. C., Mississippi's greatest
statesman since Jefferson Davis, 127.
Interview with him in Washington, 440.
A one-ideaed man, believedin doing

one thing at a time, 431.

Famous canvass with J. L. Alcorn, 127.

Lambert, Jas. W., publisher Natchez Dem-

ocrat, 138.
Last word to the public by the author, 434.
Lawrence, O. L., commends editorial
memoirs, 235.
Legislature 1876, composed of State’s great
men, 93.
Lincoln, Abraham, Republican nominee for
President, 55.
Elected over all opponents, 5.

Leading Democrats favor disbandment, at
Meridian 1873, 304.
Lee, C. G., Magnolia Herald, 402.
Lee, Dr. W. L., Ellisville Eagle, 240.
Lewis, J. S., editor Woodville Republican,
258.
Looker-on at Winona, 199.
Gives his opinion of Mississippi edi-
tors, 200.
Longino, A. H., 155.
Tells story on a Jew friend, 156.
Loring, W. W., a Major General, 7.

Love, D. L., West Point Citizen, 140.
Killed by an outraged father, 142.
Lowe, A. B., oldest employe of Clarion-

Ledger, 200, 201.
Lowry, Gen. Robt., nominated and elected
Governor for two terms, 92.
Prominent figure in political history,92.
Frequent contributor to Brandon Re-
publican, 35.
Canvasses Mississippi with J. L. Al-
corn, 127.
Liddle, J. M., bested by Walter McLaurin,
246.
Protects press girls, 348.
Madison, J. S., editor and legislator, 229 to
233.
His sonorous snoring, unsurpassed, 231.

Maer, Mrs. S. C., Columbus Dispatch, 423.

Maer, P. W., succeeds his mother on paper,
238.

Magee, Jas. L., editor Brookhaven Citizen
and “Rip Saw”, 140.
“Cut’? the author hereof, 141.

Martin, John H., editor New Mississippian,
136.
Kills Gen. Wirt Adams, 136.
Brilliant young editor, 137.
Mason, J. S., Port Gibson Reville, 258.
Mattison, J. D., becomes owner of Holly
Springs South, 217.
May, R. B., founder McComb City Enter-
prise, 402.
Mayers, Judge A. G., wrote Stackhouse
famous Buffalo speech, 100.
Mayers, P. K., Pascagoula Democrat-Star,
Ts
An attractive personality, 78.
Successful publisher for many years, 81.
Kills Orr at Pass Christian, 79.
Fired upon by Young Chandler, 80.
IN DE X — Continued

 

McCardle, W. H., Vicksburg Herald, 51.
Bold, aggressive, able and patriotic, 52.
Could write with a pen of fire, 54.
Was arrested by Gen. Ord for criticiz-

ing him, 52.

Imprisoned, released, never tried, 52.

Always went armed for the enemy, 52.

Lovable man, assisted in writing His-

tory Mississippi, 54.

McCullum, J. L., professional editorial

writer, 111.
McCormick, John, editor Shubuta Times,
406-8.

McCool, J. F., of Kosciusko, 149.

Throws Kernan out of hotel in St.

Louis, 150.

McDonald, Robert, foreman Brandon Re-
publican, 28.

McGuire, John G., writes author kind
letter, 337.

McGee, F. C., Enterprise Courier, 254.

McGee, Homer, a real genius, 301.

McKie, J. D., Biloxi Review, 345.

McLaurin, Walter, turns table on J. Me

Liddel, 246.
McLean, John, did not believe in leaders,
74.

MeNeily, J. S., Vicksburg Herald, 419.

One of best editorial writers of State,
420.

Mead, J. L., of Westville News, 132.

Meridian Press Convention, 84.

Some of the celebrities met there, 84,
Meridian News,

Had numerous editors, 413.

E. H. Dial and Sid King the best, 413.
Merrin, F. W., Water Valley Courier, 378,
Middleton, Louis A., Columbus Sentinel,

142.

Good story on his negro porter, 260.

Killed by D. L. Love, 143.

Millsaps, R. W., and beautiful wife, 98, 99.

Mitchell, W. L., Hazelhurst Signal, 377.

Mollison, W. E., only negro to eat with

Mississippi editors, 243.
Money, H. D., editor and congressman, 88.
Mooney, C. P. J., editor Commercial Ap-
peal, 290.

Morgan, A. T., marries a negro woman, 43.
Morehead, Frank C., Planters Journal, 233.

Moreau, Chas. G., successful publisher Sea
Coast Echo, 358.

Morris, J. L., becomes newspaper solicitor,
352.

Afterwards an editor and legislator,
353.

Moss, Harry, wag and wit of press, 212.

Moss, Lou, humourous speech on Eighth
District, 354.

Mott, N. A., Yazoo Herald, 422.

Murray, Patton B., editor Oxford Falcon,
218.
Nagle, Dr. I. E., Planters Journal, 233.

Negroes gave great trouble as voters,
Qualified to vote under reconstruction
measure, 20. .
Voted before the adoption of 14th and
15th amendments, 20.
Ran rough shod over whites at polls,
21. 5
Elected majority of delegates to con-
vention 1868, 32.
Newman, C. F., Baldwyn Signal, 422.

New Orleans, Editors, 259.
Page M. Baker, editor-in-chief Times-
Democrat, 259.
Major Hearsey of the Daily States, 259.
Major E. A. Burke, Times-Democrat,
259.
Harrison Parker, The Daily Delta, 259.
Ned Burbank, editorial writer Pica-
yune, 260.
Col. Robinson, editor Picayune, 260.
Ballard, of the New Orleans Item, 260.
Norman Walker of the Times-Pica-
yune, 260.
Dominick O’Mally of the City Item,
260.
Ashton Phelps, leader writer Times-
Picayune, 260.
John W. Fairfax of old City Item, 260-
353.
Newton County in the throes of radicalism,
48.
Race disturbance, 49.
Carpet baggers and negroes defeated,
50.
Newton Ledger, established in 1871 by R.
H. Henry, 50.
Born during exciting political scenes,
58.
Lays down its platform of principles,
59.
Night in memory, 62.
Shannon and Cooper principal actors,
63.
8. B. Watts, T. H. Woods, T. W.
Brame, and others, spectators, 62.
“Thank God he is Dead”, 64.
INDEX—

Continued

 

Noah, N. W., Kosciusko Star, 415.
Pretty wife at Greenwood Conven-
tion, 415.
Noel, E. P., former editor becomes gover-
nor, 295.
No royal road to editor’s chair, 214.

Northern man’s visit to Alcorn A. & M.
College, 330.
Norment, J. N., publisher of twenty-three
papers, 154.
Norment, James and Lillian, 154.
Succeed their father on Starkville
Citizen, 154.
Lillian dies on press excursion, 362.
Notable street duel between Adams and
Martin, 136.
Ochs, ssotee S., of the New York Times,

Oury, T. H., Carrollton Conservation, 404.
Old Guard, few left, 417.
Pascagoula Press Convention, 147.

Visited by Jefferson Davis, 147.

“The boys” elect the president, 161.
Passmore, Dr. B. F., Canton Times, 268.
Patton, W. Lee, editor Summit Times, 139.
Patridge, I. M., charter member Press Asso-

ciation, 293.
Pemberton, Gen.,J. C.
In command at the siege of Vicksburg,
14.

Personal Experiences, 303.
Personality in Journalism necessary for
success, 181.
Examples given, 182, 183.
Porter, D. P., Times-Democrat,
“Potter the Printer,” an odd genius, 376.
Potter and the drummer, 377.
Povall, J. P., Booneville Leader, 416.
Power, J. L., of the Clarion-Ledger, 124.
Humanitarian of State, 124.
Friend of orphan and widow, 125.
Power, Miss Kate, doing syndicate work
at World’s Fair, 339.
Power, Willie S., local editor Clarion, 245.
Preachment to young editors, 431.
Press Excursion, 319.
From Memphis to St. Louis, 319.
Pleasing trip with amusing details, 320.
A laughable incident, 326.
Press Convention,
Visits World's Fair at St. Louis, 339.
Tat eanaple mix-ups in registering,

Visitor gets lost from parade, 341.
‘“‘Where’s the Parade,” 341.

Press Excursions,
From Vicksburg to New Orleans,
368-72.
Gov. Parrot guest of honor, 369.
To the far West, 360.
Lillian Norment Weis dies at Den-
ver, 362.
Press Monument, 184.
To commemorate memory of six editors
Who died of yellow fever 1878, 187.
Committee having work in charge, 187.
Dedicatory Exercises, 188.
Pulitzer, Joseph, New York World, 275.
Randolph, Freeman, editor Sardis Star, 378.

Reconstruction Acts, dark days of South,
20.
Resumption of boat trip to St. Louis, 324.
Richardson, Bonner, of the Delta Flag, 386.
Roach, A. M., editor Yazoo Herald, 267.
Ross, Emmet, L., Canton Mail, 105.
Author of poem ‘‘Sock that Baby
Wore,” 106.
Ross, S. M. & S. B., Coffeeville, 409.
Rosenthal], Louis, and his rat traps, 343.
Reynolds, R. O. Chairman Meridian
Convention, 305.
Runnels, Forrest, Meridian Star, 414.
Scanlan, T. M., arrested for being a Klu
Klux, 50.
Sent to jail for refusing to divulge
secrets, 50.
School Mates of author,
Only half dozen alive, 9.

Selby, Seth, godly man of Newton, 58.

Senter, J. S., Columbus Commercial and
Vicksburg American, 270.
Unfortunate incident at Hot Springs,
381.
Shands, G. D., editor Senatobia papers, 88.
Lieutenant Governor eight years, 88.
Shannon, J. J., succeeded Simeon R.
Adams as owner Clarion, 64.
Unsurpassed as publisher, 64.
Universally popular with the press, 64.
Especially attractive to young editors,
64.
Sharp, Gen. J. H., Columbus Indepednent,
160.
Soldier legislator, editor, 162.
Sherman, Gen. W. T., pursues Gen. John-
ston, 11.
Shearer, O. V., Vicksburg Press, 403.
Signaigo, J. Augustine, Grenada Sentinel,
152.
INDEX—

Continued

 

Simmons, Judge J.F., Sardis Reporter, 219.
Seitzler, W. H., old editor, 351.
Smith, Chas. A., editor Shubuta Times, 306.
Raises rough house at Meridian Con-
vention, 307.
Smith, Gen. J. A., becomes temporary edi-
tor Brandon Republican, 163.
Distinguished Soldier, 163.
Southern Confederacy organized February
18, 1861, 5.
Snead, Bert, true to the end, 302.
Spartan Mother, would not desert to the
enemy, 14.
Stackhouse, S. H., and his wonderful Buf-
falo speech, 100, 102, 103.
Stevens, James A., the Bulwer of the press,
87.
Now residing at Burnet, Texas, 87.
Commends editorial memoirs, 208.
Stockdale, Col. Thos. R.,
Talks press banquet to death, 393.
Stone, Gov. J. M., becomes Governor after
Ames’ impeachment, 216.
Attends Press Banquet at Greenwood,

387.
Negro spills cup hot coffee down his
back, 388.

Stovall, C. A., Shubuta Messenger, 416.
Stowers, Robert, Oxford Eagle, 143.
Compelled to resign from State Treas-
ury, 144.
Because of acts of subordinate, 144.
Sullens, Frederick, on Clarion-Ledger for
years, 10.
Sullivan, James, Vicksburg, 134.
Swann, forced to flee from Newton County,
48.
Tennessee Editors, 286.
Col. Galloway of the Appeal, 286.
Congressman Phelan, the Avalanche,
286.
Col. Amory Collier, Appeal-Avalanche,
287.

Conoly and Mathews, of the Appeal-
Avalanche, 287.

Keiting of the Commercial, 288.

Harvey J. Mathews, Public Ledger,
291.

ov P. Turner, Memphis Scimitar,

Ed. Carmack, editor Commercial, 289.
Assassinated in Nashville by Coopers

and allies, 290.

Mooney, C. P. J., editor Commercial
Appeal, 290.

Gilbert Raine, retired, 291.

Thompson, E. A., of Oxford Eagle, 217.
Killed in street duel at Oxford, 218.

Thompson, Mrs. E. A., succeeds her hus-
band as editor, 239.
Lady of strong mentality, a good ed-
itor and successful publisher, 239.

Thompson, E. P., Aberdeen Weekly, 404.

Thompson, Victor, of the Oxford ‘‘Richo-
chet’’, 218.
Throw a Brick occasionally, 433.
Tilden, Samuel J., presented compliment-
ary resolutions 1884, 273
Author and others visited him at
Graystone on Hudson, 274.

Townsend, S. W., publisher Intelligencer,
McComb City, 255.

Trick of politicians,
How they get names of people they do
not know, 424.
Two cases,George and McLaurin, 424.

Tucker, G. C., Columbus Index, 346.
Retires from journalism and enters
ministry, 347-67.

Tyler, Col. F. A., editor Holly Springs South,
216.

Vance, a . F., of the Hazelhurst Copiahan,

Vardaman, J. K., editor several papers, 319.
Judge of Moot court on Press excur-
sion, 321.
Afterwards Governor and United
States Senator, 386.

Vicksburg fell to Grant, July 4, 1863, after
seige of forty-five days, 13.

*‘Vicksburger, The”, journalistic innova-
tion, 175.

Vicksburgers wanted new paper, 269.
Writer called to consult with them, 269
Proposition turned down, 270.

VonGodasky, Gen., challenges an editor, 88.
Resulting in great fun, 88.

Walpole, Richard, owner of numerous

papers, 110.
Wall, E. G., of the Farmers Vindicator, 377.
Watterson, Henry, gives his experience ag
editor, 68.
Compliments L. Q. C. Lamar, 69.
Presides over National Convention,
1876, 71.
Writes letter to author, 323.
Walworth, Douglass, editor Natchez Demo-
crat, 138.
IN DE X — Continued

 

Watson, J. W. C., editor and jurist, 216.
Ward, William, poet editor Macon Beacon,
130.
Wharton’s obituary lecture, 350.
Too serious to be entertaining, 351.
Williams, Capt. Jack, of Grenada Sentinel,
195.

Williams, P. E., printer in Brandon Repub-
lican, 46.
One of the few left, 46.

Williams, John Sharp, Representative and
United States Senator, makes frank
criticism, 240.

Wilkes, G. W., founder Biloxi-Gulfport
Herald, 344.

Wilson, Edgar S., of the New Mississippian,
278.
Lamar gives him a western post, 280.

Wilson, Honest Jeff., author disbandment
resolution, 306.

Wimberly, A. T., met under peculiar cir-
cumstances, 191-193.

Woods, Dr. John D., brilliant editor Scooba
Spectator, 51.

Wood, T. J., editor Starkville Citizen, 403.
Woods, Thomas H., ‘‘the bravest of the

brave’’, 62.
Worthington, W. H., Columbus Democrat,
92.

Wright, Chas. E., editor of ‘‘Vicksburger’’
and Herald of Vicksburg, 176.
Wright, Chas. E., Jr., of Vicksburg Herald,

179.
Yankee Colonel, generous act of a gracious
géntleman, 12.
Yerger, Edward M., prominent journalist,
128.
Bitter antagonist of Major Barksdale,
130.

Youngblood, J. W., Oxford Falcon and
other papers, 188.
Good writer and great joker, an ex-
ample, 189.

Zenick of the ‘‘Mascot.”
Killed in New Orleans, 314.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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