LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 STEWART S. HOWE 
 
 JOURNALISM CLASS OF 1928 
 
 STEWART S. HOWE FOUNDATION 
 
 917.731 
 H42r 
 cop. 3 
 
 I.H.S.
 
 Recollections . . .
 
 OF LIFE & DOINGS IIT CHICAGO 
 
 FROM THE HAYMARKET RIOT 
 TO THE END OF WORLD WAR I 
 
 ^^ tJ^n 0/d ^Im.el 
 
 Normandie House * Publisher 
 
 BLESSING BOOK STORES, INC. * DISTRIBUTORS 
 Chicago, Illinois, 1^4^
 
 This book was written in the Fall of 1943. Due to existing 
 conditions, it became necessary to delay publication until the 
 Spring of 1945. 
 
 Copyright, 1945, by Charles H. Hermann
 
 n^,^ ^ Contents 
 
 Author's Preface 
 Chapter One 
 Chapter Two 
 Chapter Three 
 Chapter Four 
 Chapter Five 
 Chapter Six 
 Chapter Seven 
 Chapter Eight 
 Chapter Nine 
 Chapter Ten 
 Chapter Eleven 
 Chapter Twelve 
 Chapter Thirteen 
 Chapter Fourteen 
 Chapter Fifteen 
 Chapter Sixteen 
 Chapter Seventeen 
 Chapter Eighteen 
 Chapter Nineteen 
 Chapter Twenty 
 Chapter Twenty-one 
 Chapter Twenty-two 
 Chapter Twenty-three 
 Chapter Twenty-four 
 Chapter Twenty-five 
 Chapter Twenty-six 
 Chapter Twenty-seven 
 Chapter Twenty-eight 
 Chapter Twenty-nine 
 Chapter Thirty 
 The Passing of Pioneers 
 
 Index 
 
 •Vv s.'-'' 
 
 11 
 
 14 
 
 23 
 
 30 
 
 39 
 
 44 
 
 51 
 
 57 
 
 68 
 
 80 
 
 88 
 
 92 
 
 99 
 
 105 
 
 112 
 
 120 
 
 123 
 
 128 
 
 153 
 
 157 
 
 164 
 
 173 
 
 187 
 
 191 
 
 212 
 
 220 
 
 233 
 
 238 
 
 246 
 
 250 
 
 258 
 
 269 
 
 272
 
 List of Illustrations 
 
 Facing 
 Page 
 
 Chapin and Gore Butterfly Ball (22) 32 
 
 Battery "D" Building (30) 33 
 
 John L. Sullivan (35) 48 
 
 Central Music Hall Building (41) 49 
 
 H. M. Kinsley's (57) 64 
 
 Michigan Avenue in 1887 (66) 65 
 
 The Old Grand Pacific Hotel (66) 80 
 
 Reproduction from Curier and Ives (68) 81 
 
 William A. Pinkerton and Robert A. Pinkerton (95) 96 
 
 Lydia Thompson (115) 97 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. William H. Crane and Mr. Walter Williams 
 
 (148) 112 
 
 Menu Cover for Jackson Day Banquet (156) 113 
 
 John Irwin (186) 180 
 
 Mayor Carter H. Harrison (216) 181 
 
 Chicago's National League Club, 1880 (220) 196 
 
 Cincinnati Baseball Club, 1869 (228) 197 
 
 Champion Boston Nine, 1874 (228) 228 
 
 Frank Chance and James Callahan (231) 229 
 
 Everleigh Club (241) 244 
 
 Pinkerton' s National Minstrels (258) 245 
 
 Pinkerton Cablegram (267) 268 
 
 Six Old Chicagoans at Lunch, Chicago Athletic Club 
 
 (268) 269 
 
 Figure in parenthesis indicates page where story can be found.
 
 Author's Preface 
 
 An amateur author in attempting a hook of this nature 
 must invariably he confronted at the outset with consider- 
 able apprehension. To find a plausible alibi for undertaking 
 such a task without sufficient training was one of my first 
 misgiinngs. Intimate and well-meaning associates, as well 
 as members of my family, knowing of my keen interest in 
 the life and doings of Chicago for over fifty-five eventful 
 years, are partly responsible for ray embarking upon this 
 venture. Having been recently subjected to another rather 
 serious heart attack which kept me out of active circula- 
 tion, I concluded that it might provide an amusing pastime 
 to do some reminiscing on paper. At that time it loomed 
 beyond my innagination that these incipient writing efforts 
 would ever be considered worthy to appear in print. I 
 believe, however, that no harm can result from my attempt 
 to relate a few incidents which might be deemed of inter- 
 est especially to old-timers of Chicago, and it affords me 
 untold satisfaction to have at last transmitted some of my 
 valued recollections into permanent record form. 
 
 Before going on, there is one amusing little incident that 
 needs to be told. An old fellow Chicagoan, who is a friend 
 and neighbor of m^ine, when he surmised that I was wasting 
 my seemingly valueless time in jotting down these recol- 
 lections, remarked, ''Charley, you were born in 1871, and 
 this being the end of 1943, it brings you to the age when 
 men decide that it's about time they write their auto- 
 
 11
 
 biographies. But must I again he obliged to read another 
 old man's book?" Now I would like to serve notice on my 
 friend (whom I'll not mention by name, but whose initials 
 are F. H. B.) that a perusal of this volum,e will surely 
 prove him "all wet" in his premature conclusion. 
 
 Much has happened in Chicago and to Chicagoans in the 
 last twenty-five years that is not recorded here. Moreover, 
 it reasons that only men and women credited with worth- 
 while accomplishments are entitled to write their auto- 
 biographies. I don't presume to rate one, and it is doubtful 
 if it would prove of much interest if I wrote one. It is only 
 because it fell my lot to live and move in a certain environ- 
 ment, which I believe to be singular, that I feel justified 
 in waxing reminiscent. It is the recollections recorded in 
 this book and not my life that matters. In selecting subjects 
 on which to discourse, I have taken primarily those in 
 which I was somewhat personally involved, and that fact 
 imposes the necessity for many of the incidents to be 
 related in first person. I sincerely trust that my readers 
 will bear with me for this seemingly presumptuous breach. 
 
 There have been a number of worthy and interesting 
 books published about Chicago by capable professional 
 authors. Those which come particularly to mind are 
 Stormy Years by the Hon. Carter H. Harrison, Giants Gone 
 by Ernest Poole, and Old Chicago Houses by John Drury. 
 These authors have painstakingly expended much time 
 and effort in research work which naturally lends an air 
 of historical value and authenticity to their works. In this 
 narrative, however, I am relying strictly on my memory. 
 For dates and memory refreshers I have referred occa- 
 sionally to an old file and scrapbook which was my stand- 
 by. Only in the strictest necessity have I repeated what has 
 
 12
 
 previously appeared in print. My objective, therefore, is to 
 disclose some inside information in connection with politi- 
 cal campaigns and a few high city officials. Matters of less 
 importance relative to earlier life and events in Chicago 
 are introduced with the hope that such reminders may 
 stimulate the meraory of Chicagoans of days gone by. 
 
 Charles H. Hermann 
 
 13
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 1 
 
 JL-Zame Fortune ofttimes plays strange and alluring 
 games as she guides the destinies of men along the path- 
 ways and corridors of life. This collection of incidents 
 should reveal the subtle hand she played in one such game 
 with the lives of two men who were among the elect of the 
 early citizenry of the great middlewestern metropolis 
 sprawled along the west shore of Lake Michigan. Fortune 
 smiled benevolently upon James Jefferson Gore and 
 Gardner Spring Chapin, the two main characters in this 
 little drama. The setting — Chicago in the middle nineteenth 
 and early twentieth centuries. 
 
 James Jefferson Gore, the originator of the firm, was 
 born in Georgia and was endowed with the characteristics 
 of the land from which he hailed in the rough-and-tumble 
 times when the Vigilantes approached closest to a sem- 
 blance of lawful authority. He shifted manfully for him- 
 self in that part of our country where every man was as 
 good as another and sometimes better. At the age of nine- 
 teen, he was a fearless, free-handed youth who drove a 
 team all the way from Texas to California. Because of his 
 love of adventure, he cast his lot with the men of '49 and 
 contributed his share toward winning that great territory 
 beyond the Divide. 
 
 In those adventure-laden and exciting pioneer days of 
 the six-shooter, the steady eye and hand, Jim Gore was 
 learning the w^ays of the world. In this school he received 
 the education in which the three cardinal principles were 
 
 14
 
 honesty, loyalty to friends, and square dealing. It was in 
 the early fifties, while he was engaged in the hazardous 
 work of hauling freight overland to Nevada, that he met 
 Gardner Spring Chapin who came from Massachusetts 
 and was making money in San Francisco as a broker in 
 mining stocks. One day, after a return trip across the 
 mountains and plains during which the chief incident 
 had been a fight with Indians and outlaws who had en- 
 deavored to lift the dust and bullion they thought Gore's 
 wagon contained, that Jim, tired, sick, and in need of money, 
 asked Chapin for a loan of two hundred dollars. Chapin 
 handed Gore the money, telling him to repay it whenever 
 he felt able, or to forget it if that suited him better. 
 
 Gore started for Nevada and did not see Chapin again 
 for two years. In the meantime, Chapin had decided to 
 pull up stakes, and with a comfortable sum of money, made 
 for the States. Chapin settled at Faribault, Minnesota, 
 where he opened a dry goods store. The business was not 
 prosperous, so he moved on, and settled in Chicago. With 
 the small sum of money which he still had, he established 
 a grocery store on West Madison Street. He had forgotten 
 about Jim Gore and the two hundred dollars: 
 
 Gore returned to San Francisco, enthusiastic and happy. 
 He had made money and his first thought was of the man 
 who had been his friend in time of need, but there was no 
 trace of Chapin. That he had gone to the States was all 
 Gore could learn. With ample money, Gore concluded that 
 he would take a trip to the States himself. He had no par- 
 ticular point in view, but learning that Chapin had talked 
 of going to Chicago, Jim Gore decided to visit that city. 
 
 Arrived there, his first business was to locate Chapin. 
 Modern methods of finding people were not then in vogue 
 
 15
 
 and Gore spent several days in inquiry. At last he heard 
 that a man named Chapin had a little grocery on West 
 Madison Street, in the prairie country. He found the place 
 — a small, shabby store. Looking through the open door, 
 he saw Chapin sitting on a box. Striding forward, he 
 slapped his benefactor on the back and asked, "Do you 
 remember me?" 
 
 Chapin did, and the two men sat down and talked over 
 old times. Gore said, "Do you remember the two hundred 
 dollars you let me have out in Frisco?" 
 
 "Well, now that you remind me, I believe that I did lend 
 you some money, but I had forgotten all about it." 
 
 "But I haven't had any lapse of memory," responded 
 Gore, "and I have the dust right here in my clothes for 
 you. By the looks of this shebang, I reckon you need it, too." 
 
 The payment of the old loan, the discussion of their 
 affairs, and the talk of old times led Gore to decide that 
 Chicago was the place in which he would settle and make 
 his home for life. He suggested that he and Chapin go into 
 business together. It was agreed and they opened a whole- 
 sale and retail grocery store on State and Monroe Streets. 
 Gore did not like the grocery business and tried to induce 
 Chapin to abandon it for the liquor trade. Finally they 
 compromised by adding a liquor department to the gro- 
 cery store. This had a separate entrance on Monroe Street 
 and the business transacted was wholesale only — which 
 in those days meant a jug trade. 
 
 It was in 1865 that the grocery and liquor store was 
 opened for business at State and Monroe Streets. It was a 
 woman, a dozen eggs, and Jim Gore's dislike for petty 
 details that caused the closing of the grocery department. 
 Gore was in the grocery department one day when a 
 
 16
 
 female customer called and accosted him, "I bought a 
 dozen of eggs here yesterday. I was told they were fresh. 
 They are not and I am bringing back those that I have 
 not broken." 
 
 "Madam," began Gore pleasantly, "we bought those eggs 
 for fresh eggs." 
 
 "I don't care what you bought them for," she snapped. 
 "What I want is fresh eggs." 
 
 Gore, turning to a clerk, said, "Bob, give this lady a 
 dozen fresh eggs." 
 
 This was the beginning of the end of the grocery busi- 
 ness. Soon after, the stock was sold and the partners gave 
 their undivided attention to the liquor enterprise. The 
 house of Chapin & Gore began to thrive. Chapin's con- 
 servatism and Gore's daring combined to enlarge it to 
 proportions of which neither partner had dreamed. The 
 business of the firm had gone ahead so rapidly that when 
 the conflagration of 1871 destroyed their place their loss 
 was in excess of seventy-five thousand dollars. All they 
 saved was a hundred barrels of whiskey which they rolled 
 into Lake Michigan at the foot of Monroe Street. 
 
 Chapin & Gore rapidly resumed business — at 152 
 Twenty-second Street. Then, on the thirteenth of May, 
 1872, the partners opened what was to be the most famous 
 liquor establishment in the country at 73 and 75 Monroe 
 Street, on the site of the present Majestic Building. It was 
 on that opening date that James Swift Carter entered the 
 firm as a junior partner. 
 
 The business expanded. In promoting brands and their 
 merchandise, the leading concerns of those days did so by 
 establishing branch houses with retail departments which 
 were called sample rooms. Chapin & Gore established 
 
 17
 
 many such rooms. They retained the one at 152 Twenty- 
 second Street and started five more sample rooms in 
 Chicago, two in Indianapolis, two in Kansas City, and one 
 in Paris, France. 
 
 In those early days, distillers and wholesalers did not 
 resort to advertising to promote their brands. The pub- 
 lisher of the "Chicago Times" made several efforts to 
 obtain advertising from Chapin & Gore. One day in 1875 
 Jim Gore told that publisher that he believed only in the 
 walking advertisement, meaning by that, the satisfied con- 
 sumer. However, he finally told the publisher, "I'll tell 
 you what I'll do. If you will sell us the entire first page of 
 your paper for one edition, I'll take it." 
 
 The publisher replied, "You wouldn't pay that price." 
 
 "What is that price?" 
 
 The publisher named a big figure. Jim Gore said, "I'll 
 take it," with the result that the "Times" of September 4, 
 1875, carried on its title page a full-page advertisement of 
 Chapin & Gore's merchandise. That has probably never 
 been duplicated before or since by a leading newspaper of 
 the standing and importance of the "Chicago Times." With 
 his usual gameness Jim had called their bluff. 
 
 In the rear and one upper floor of the building which 
 was erected immediately after the fire to house their exten- 
 sive merchandising business was established a famous 
 restaurant. Its reputation extended throughout the world 
 and among its frequenters were the most noted men of the 
 day — statesmen, soldiers, actors, men of letters, captains 
 of industry, artists, judges, lawyers, and hon vivants. 
 
 An Englishman, writing home to a friend, described 
 Chapin & Gore's as a place "as well known in America 
 as the Houses of Parliament in London"; and truly, it was 
 
 18
 
 a veritable parliament — a parliament of good fellowship 
 and good cheer. 
 
 Into this cafe no woman ever entered. It was a man's 
 place for men. And such men! Billy Florence made merry 
 in the old rooms; Carter Harrison, martyr mayor of Chi- 
 cago, was often the life of the company; Governor "Dick" 
 Oglesby and "Long John" Wentworth sat at table; John T. 
 Hoffman, Governor of New York, made a special visit with 
 a party of friends to view the art exhibit and collection 
 of oddities; the late Joseph Jefferson toasted the good 
 fellows gathered about; "Uncle Dick" Hooley and J. H. 
 McVicker, both of theatrical memory, and "Uncle Phil" 
 Hoyne, United States Commissioner, came there to dine. 
 The Pinkertons were among those who added to the zest 
 of story telling. General Nelson A. Miles and Colonel 
 William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) exchanged tales of the 
 wild west days; and George M. Pullman found time to 
 contribute his jest. Harry Murdock, who perished in the 
 Brooklyn Theatre fire, left his impress on the place in the 
 form of his five crayon portraits of "Dick" Hooley, William 
 H. Crane, Simon Quinlan, James O'Neill, and Harry 
 Murdock. (Now in possession of The Chicago Historical 
 Society. ) 
 
 General Philip Sheridan was a daily and most welcome 
 visitor in the days when he commanded the Division of the 
 Missouri; the late Philip D. Armour was also an habitue. 
 S. K. Martin, of memory now, then a lumber king, was of 
 the fellowship; so were Colonel James Sexton and Edwin 
 Walker and Charles Kern, old time Sheriff and County 
 Treasurer; and that famous Commander of old Battery 
 "D," Major Tobey. Then there was "Old Hutch" and 
 Pardridge, of Board of Trade fame. There was A. H. Sellers 
 
 19
 
 and his brother, Morris Sellers; and Colonel J. B. Sanborn, 
 later an heroic general in World War I. There were the 
 Parmelee brothers, John W. Gates, and the Studebakers; 
 State's Attorney Grinnell, C. K. G. Billings and his father, 
 A. M. Billings, the West Side banker; A. S. Trude, Jack 
 Haverley, Dr. Florence Ziegfeld (father of "Flo," of Follies 
 fame ) . The Moore Brothers, whose law offices were across 
 the street, came every day until they moved to New York 
 and became titans in high finance. I remember Mr. Barber, 
 of Barberton, Ohio, who joined with them in creating their 
 first trust, "The Diamond Match Company." It was only 
 natural that the prominence of such an establishment 
 should also attract the sporting element. It did, and the 
 nationally known bookmakers, gamblers, and turfmen 
 could be found among its patrons. 
 
 While mentioning those two famous fmanciers. Judge 
 Moore and J. H. Moore, the name of an esteemed Chicago 
 old-timer should also be brought into that picture, William 
 R. Mygatt, the son of a wealthy up-state New Yorker, 
 Judge Mygatt. The Moore brothers hailed from that same 
 vicinity and came from there to Chicago in the seventies. 
 They were both lawyers, each destined to cut his niche in 
 the history of American high finance. William R. Mygatt 
 and the Moore brothers were boyhood friends. Mygatt was 
 also a lawyer and became connected at an early date with 
 the Moore Brothers law firm in Chicago, an association 
 and friendship which lasted until both Judge Moore and 
 J. H. Moore died. William R. Mygatt retired and moved to 
 Santa Barbara, California, where he died at the age of 
 eighty. He was a fine man, highly regarded, and a promi- 
 nent figure in the life and doings of Chicago during his 
 time. About two years before his death, I received a letter 
 
 20
 
 from him that should be of interest because of the national 
 financial eminence of the Moore brothers. He was prompted 
 in writing that letter because he read an account of the 
 tearing down of that old landmark, the American Express 
 Company building on Monroe Street, in which also were 
 located the law offices of the Moore Brothers. An excerpt 
 from Bill Mygatt's letter follows: 
 
 June 8ih, 1930 
 Dear Charlie: 
 
 The enclosed clipping will interest you. If you and I could 
 have stood across the street, we could have "reminisced" till 
 daylight. 
 
 Judge Small, attorney for the American Express Company 
 and the West Side Street Railway moved in soon after that 
 building was finished in 1872, and afterwards took in with him 
 Judge and J. H. Moore. There is where the "Diamond Match" 
 bubble busted in 1894 and in that same place the Moore 
 Brothers made their wonderful recoupment, with P. D. Armour 
 back of them, by a consolidation of the three big biscuit com- 
 panies into the "National Biscuit" in 1898; and later on, where 
 the many steel industries were grouped by the Moore Brothers, 
 and Dan Reid and W. B. Leeds and turned over to the U. S. 
 Steel Corporation with the assistance of George F. Baker and 
 J. P. Morgan. 
 
 On the third floor of that old American Express Company 
 
 building, dear old Ed. Hill, then as you know. Treasurer of 
 
 American Express Company, and I so often would peer out of 
 
 the windows at the old house of C. & G. across the street. Those 
 
 were grand old days. __ , , , j -j i • 7 
 
 Your old pal and sidekick, 
 
 Bill 
 
 I have mentioned quite a few of the old guard — enough so 
 as to paint a partial picture of the scene into which I 
 entered on June 1, 1889. I saw these Chicago pioneers 
 often — became well acquainted with many of them — 
 
 21
 
 acquaintances that lasted well past the "Gay Nineties" and 
 into the beginning of the twentieth century. 
 
 In 1872 an eminent artist who was familiar with the 
 prominent Chicagoans who frequented that famous estab- 
 lishment, conceived the idea of creating a mythical paint- 
 ing, namely : Chapin & Gore Butterfly Ball. In the picture 
 he congregated Chicago's leaders of that period. That paint- 
 ing was about 7 feet by 4 feet in size, large enough to make 
 most of the subjects recognizable. Among those famous 
 Chicagoans pictured in the Butterfly Ball were Philip D. 
 Armour, United States Commissioner, Philip Hoyne, 
 Marshall Field, Potter Palmer, General Philip Sheridan, 
 General John A. Logan, "Long John" Wentworth, George 
 M. Pullman, William A. Pinkerton, Lyman J. Gage, Levi 
 Z. Leiter, Colonel James Sexton, Carter H. Harrison the 
 first, former Governor Richard Oglesby, and many others. 
 Theodore Thomas is pictured leading the orchestra. In 
 front, at the extreme right is Wilbur F. Storey, the Chicago 
 Time's editor, depicted dancing with Lydia Thompson of 
 the "Black Crook" Company, the burlesque "Queen" who 
 had horsewhipped him. Directly in the rear of that pair is 
 James Gore doing a dance, as is Gardner Chapin towards 
 the left of that picture. 
 
 When in 1919 that old firm retired from business, that 
 painting together with a number of others was given to 
 the Chicago Historical Society. A few days before it was 
 to be delivered to that institution, it was stolen. The theft 
 may have been committed by an aesthetic thief — a klep- 
 tomaniac who found it impossible to resist the artistic 
 urge, or by an "old timer" familiar with Chicago traditions, 
 who wanted that painting for its associations. 
 
 22
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 A 
 
 .s A MATTER of perspective, an autobiographical word 
 at this point should not be amiss, and then on with the 
 story. 
 
 I was born one month before the great Chicago fire 
 in 1871. My parents were born in Austria and migrated to 
 America, landing in New York in time to get a taste of the 
 1873 panic. They then went west to Wisconsin when I was 
 four years of age. I was orphaned in my teen age. At thir- 
 teen I went to work as a printer's "devil." By the middle 
 eighties I was hearing stories of opportunities existing in 
 the big and still growing city — Chicago. I left the "Badger" 
 state to go to the "Sucker" state, arriving in Chicago short- 
 ly after the Haymarket riot, and took up residence with 
 an old Irish family named Touhy on Jackson Street, east 
 of Halsted Street. I shared a room with one of the Touhy 
 sons who was an athlete — a fairly good "catch-as-catch- 
 can" wrestler. He and I "doped" out the idea of putting on a 
 wrestling match in a Halsted Street hall to raise some 
 money. We had posters printed and distributed them for 
 display in barber shops, saloons, and stores, but on the 
 date set for the match we were notified by the police, just 
 as the box office window was opened for business, that the 
 bout would be stopped. The officer cheerfully explained 
 that the police were not exercised about that wrestling 
 match developing into so brutal a contest that mayhem 
 might be committed. He informed us that the closing order 
 was issued because we had overlooked an important detail 
 
 23
 
 of complying with a police regulation by failing to apply 
 in advance for a permit to stage such an event. That put 
 an end to my sports promotion. 
 
 I finally landed a job as a compositor in a printing plant, 
 but later, feeling that my abilities were more in the line 
 of salesmanship, I hoped to obtain such a connection with 
 some old-established merchandising concern. Chapin & 
 Gore was a thriving corporation; they hired me as a $12- 
 a-week clerk. In those momentous early days of my asso- 
 ciation with the firm I heard many fantastic and exciting 
 tales about how it came to be established, and they so 
 fascinated me that they remain to this day, a half century 
 later, indelibly imprinted upon my memory. As I figured 
 when I accepted a salary which was less than I had been 
 earning, the job held more than a fair prospect for advance- 
 ment and was a continuous source of interest for me. 
 
 Having gone no further than the sixth grade in public 
 school, I concluded that some additional education was nec- 
 essary, so I attended a Chicago night college for two years. 
 As I worked each day from seven o'clock in the morning 
 until six o'clock in the evening, that night school "stuff" 
 made it a bit tough. The only college yell that I remember 
 is the one I yelled at my alarm clock early each morning. 
 
 In connection with my mention of the Haymarket riot, 
 it was a strange coincidence that one of the first men with 
 whom I became well acquainted was a mild, soft-spoken 
 gentleman named Van Zandt. He was employed by the 
 Kirk Soap Company as head of their perfume department, 
 and father of the Nina Van Zandt who fell in love with 
 August Spies one of the several anarchists who were con- 
 victed for their guilt in connection with the Haymarket 
 riot. She insisted on visiting him daily in his cell, and 
 
 24
 
 through her actions during and after that famous trial, the 
 young woman became nationally known from the front 
 page stories throughout the country. 
 
 Through my employment with Chapin & Gore, I became 
 well acquainted with State's Attorney Grinnell, who prose- 
 cuted those anarchists. The anarchists' trial was probably 
 the most sensational in the history of the country. Its result 
 was of great importance to the nation, and particularly to 
 Chicago. Those bewhiskered, long-haired radicals, with 
 their "gift of gab" were spreading their dangerous, foreign 
 doctrines from soap boxes on the city's lake front and in 
 many other sections. If I remember correctly, eight of them 
 were convicted, five to be hanged, and three to life impris- 
 onment. One of the five who were to be hanged cheated 
 \he gallows. He had an accomplice smuggle a small bomb 
 into his cell. This he placed in his mouth, lit the fuse, and 
 when that bomb went off, most of his head went with it. 
 His name was Lingg. The next morning some clever head- 
 line writer named him "No Hang Lingg." The others were 
 hanged. When John P. Altgeld was elected governor, he 
 saw fit to pardon the three who were sentenced to prison. 
 They and their kind crawled into holes and were scared 
 out of their racket for years. However, the governor's act 
 was an unpopular one and it was generally known that his 
 leanings were to the "left"; but the convictions of those 
 anarchists had the effect of discouraging radicals who have 
 no liking for the good old American way of life. 
 
 There was another nationally sensational trial when 
 Millionaire Snell was murdered. As I understood it at that 
 time, Snell's fortune was largely founded through his con- 
 trol of toll-roads, of which there were quite a number in 
 those days. It was known that he kept large amounts of 
 
 25
 
 cash in a safe in his home. He was often alone in his spa- 
 cious, fine home on the West Side. Dne morning he was 
 found murdered and his safe robbed. Being a prominent 
 man of wealth, the police had a sensational murder case to 
 solve. It was never really solved. A young man with a 
 previously good record who, by the way, lived in the vic- 
 tim's neighborhood and whose name was Willie Tascott, 
 disappeared forever. Many suspected that the real criminal 
 may have put Tascott out of the way so that crime could 
 be fastened on him. Tascott was never again seen nor heard 
 of and no one was convicted for that murder which was 
 committed on February 8, 1888. 
 
 One day a friend of mine introduced me to a young man, 
 a Mr. Snell. After our visit which took place only a few 
 months after the Snell murder, I wanted to make sure I 
 had understood his name rightly. My friend informed me 
 that the son had invited him to go out to the Snell home 
 with him the next day and my friend asked me to go along. 
 We went there and were taken through the Snell mansion 
 where we were shown the room in which the murder was 
 committed, where the body was found, and the safe that 
 was robbed. On account of the great amount of publicity 
 that crime received due to the prominent figure involved, 
 the disappearance of Willie Tascott, and the great problem 
 that the police had put up to them to solve, naturally, 
 going over those premises was quite exciting to us young 
 fellows. 
 
 In 1889 I moved to an abode on North Clark Street, 
 north of Division Street, directly opposite where Dr. Cronin 
 had had his office. I never knew nor even saw Dr. Cronin 
 because he was murdered shortly before I moved there. 
 His murder was a sensational one, momentous nationally 
 
 26
 
 and internationally. I will not go into details of that murder 
 nor its motive, but I later became acquainted with one of 
 the principal figures involved in that crime, namely, "Big" 
 Dan Coughlin, who had previously been a member of the 
 Chicago detective force. Dan Coughlin was one of those 
 who was convicted of that crime, but finally "beat the 
 rap" after serving several years in prison. A man named 
 McGuire took Dan Coughlin in with him as half partner in 
 a saloon on Clark Street, just north of Madison Street. It 
 was a prosperous venture, but after a few years Dan 
 Coughlin got himself involved in another criminal affair 
 in connection with a railroad matter and he skipped out, 
 supposedly to South America. As far as is known he was 
 never again heard from. 
 
 I was always interested in athletic events, and made a 
 close acquaintance with the champion English wrestler, 
 Tom Connors, who wrestled William Mulldoon and many 
 of the best of that time. Through Tom Connors I met many 
 topnotch athletes of that day, including Dan O'Leary, the 
 greatest "heel and toe" walker of them all. Also, Evan 
 Lewis, the original "Strangler" Lewis. He was a powerful 
 man and a rough customer. When he wrestled that famous 
 Jap, Matsedo Sorikitchi, in the Central Music Hall on 
 State and Randolph Streets, he picked up the Jap and 
 threw him out into the audience, breaking his leg and sev- 
 eral ribs. It looked rough then, but it's surely a pleasure 
 to write about it at this time. Whenever Evan Lewis 
 applied his strangle hold, the opponent had to give up or 
 suffer certain fracture. 
 
 Tom Connors kidded me into thinking that I had the 
 makings of an athlete. In wrestling, I failed to graduate 
 from the "maiden" class and was always a cinch bet for 
 
 27
 
 "place." Fred Sugden, Wisconsin State champion long-dis- 
 tance runner, induced me to come back to Racine to enter 
 a three-mile race to be staged there in 1888. There were 
 only four starters — Sugden, Fagan, Cartwright, and myself. 
 Sugden won that race by over a city block. I ran a poor 
 third, beating only Cartwright, a colored fellow. Then I 
 played for a short time on a mediocre basketball team. 
 The opening of the basket was too small and the space 
 around it too large for me to ever score. The captain 
 advised me that I was a great help to the opposing team. 
 I agreed with him and thereby finished my short athletic 
 career. However, I never lost interest in athletic events 
 and attended such whenever I had the price of admission. 
 However I did finally win an exciting athletic contest. 
 In 1889 I resided on North Clark Street, between Division 
 and Goethe Streets, occupying a front room in a good old 
 house that was minus a bathroom. Close by was a base- 
 ment barber shop, equipped with three barber chairs and 
 three small bathrooms that we patronized. In each of those 
 little rooms was a built-in tub, a three-legged stool, and 
 one lamp hanging from the ceiling by a cord. There was a 
 small window eighteen inches wide and twelve inches high 
 next to the ceiling for ventilation. It so happened that 
 the window was level with a walk on the outside. When you 
 entered the bathroom you locked the door from the inside, 
 but the constant moisture from the baths rusted the lock 
 so that it was difficult to open. One evening I had just 
 finished taking my bath and had put on my underwear. 
 The good Lord must have had me by the hand, because for 
 some unknown reason, I sat on that three-legged stool and 
 put on my shoes before getting into my pants. I had finished 
 lacing my shoes when it sounded like a man had fallen into 
 
 28
 
 that bathroom through the window. Well, it was a well- 
 fed, full-grown rat — the largest I have ever seen. That 
 six-foot fall stunned it for a moment, but as I sprang to my 
 feet, the rat, seeing that it was cornered, came at me. With 
 one kick (and it was a good thing that my "bombsight" 
 was perfect), I caught the rat squarely in the middle and 
 bounced it up against the wall. Like myself, the rat must 
 have realized that we two were in a pit and that it had to 
 be a fight to the finish, so it came at me again with full 
 speed. Again I let him have it, and I repeat that it was good 
 I was "shooting" 'em straight, for when it came at me the 
 third time it was a bit groggy. Then I jumped on it and 
 finished the job. 
 
 The commotion in the bathroom caused one of the bar- 
 bers to cut the man he was shaving. When I unlocked the 
 door, all the barbers and customers, with their sheets still 
 tied around their necks, were gathered around that door. 
 They saw me come out with only my underwear and shoes 
 on. Considering my appearance, in addition to all of the 
 noise they had heard, it's no wonder that they had con- 
 cluded that I had gone "bugs." When they got a flash at 
 that big dead rat, they all cheered me lustily and I was a 
 hero. I have often wondered what the decision would have 
 been had that rat fallen in through that window three 
 minutes sooner than it did. 
 
 29
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 JLhis relator was always an ardent fan and an enthu- 
 siastic customer at many athletic events. In those days 
 prize fights were prohibited. When a fight was arranged, it 
 was whispered around and had to be pulled off secretly, 
 sometimes in the "woods" of northern Indiana. Only 
 those in on the "know" would be told how to get there. 
 Of course, that applied to finish fights such as Jack 
 McAuliff vs. Billy Myer, and Ryan vs. Doyle, but six- 
 round boxing exhibitions were permitted and many such 
 were staged at the old Battery "D" on Michigan Avenue 
 at the foot of Monroe Street. That great police official, 
 Inspector John D. Shea, had the last say when it came to 
 issuing permits for boxing exhibition matches. The Inspec- 
 tor was a fearless, fighting police official, and a pronounced 
 prize fight fan. Whenever a tough gangster or crook was 
 arrested, the Inspector's orders were to bring him into his 
 private office alone. Shea would then lock the door. If the 
 offender would claim he was innocent and if the Inspector 
 doubted the word of such gangster or crook, he would say 
 to him, "You are a liar and I want the truth from you. You 
 are not giving it to me. Get up out of that chair!" It made 
 no difference to Shea how tough they were, he would go 
 at his man with his bare fists then and there. The offender 
 nearly always came through with the truth and changed 
 his plea to guilty. 
 
 In those days important boxing exhibitions were put on 
 by that nationally known promoter of athletic events, 
 
 30
 
 "Parson" Davies, Seats were always reserved for Inspector 
 Shea and his friends in the first row, and the show would 
 never be started until the Inspector arrived. He was osten- 
 sibly present at such events to see to it that no "brutal 
 prize fighting" was being pulled off and that the law was 
 being observed. The Inspector never stopped a bout so 
 long as, in his opinion, the contestants were fighting hard 
 and the battle was on the square and in real earnest. But, 
 if he suspected that the fighters were "stalling" and not 
 doing their best, the Inspector would be up on his feet, 
 his hand raised, and the fight would be stopped on the pre- 
 tense that prize fighting must be prohibited according to 
 the law. 
 
 In 1888 a great match was arranged by "Parson" Davies 
 between "Denver" Ed Smith and one of the greatest boxers 
 of all time, Peter Jackson, for whom no match could be 
 arranged for the World Championship because John L. 
 Sullivan said he drew the color line. It was staged in Bat- 
 tery "D" and the house was packed. Young lads even 
 climbed on the rafters above the audience. I didn't have 
 the price of admission, and anyway the house was sold out. 
 That's the only time that I ever crashed a gate. I knew 
 "Parson" Davies was a friend of Tom Connors. The 
 "Parson" was outside at the entrance. I walked up to him 
 and said I had a message for Tom Connors, that he was 
 inside, and that I must see him. The "Parson" looked at 
 me suspiciously, thought for a while, and then gave me a 
 hard push through the gate and said for me to hurry out. 
 Well, I forgot to "hurry out" until the fight was over. I even 
 found a good seat and everybody had to wait until Inspector 
 Shea arrived. He was on time and as he walked down the 
 aisle, the great crowd gave him a hand. It was a good fight, 
 
 31
 
 but, although "Denver" Ed Smith was a top-notch heavy- 
 weight fighter, he was no match for the great Peter Jack- 
 son. A few years later "Parson" Davies and I became good 
 friends. I was with him, Tom Hanton, and Smiley Corbett 
 one day at the old Schiller Cafe in the basement of the 
 Schiller Building. "Parson" Davies ordered a quart of 
 champagne. When the "Parson" wasn't looking, I paid the 
 bartender for that bottle. When the "Parson" placed a five 
 dollar bill on the counter it was pushed back to him by the 
 bartender with the remark that I had already paid for that 
 bottle. Then, the "Parson" looked at me and asked, "Why 
 did you do that?" I then explained how in 1888 at Battery 
 "D" he had been "soft" enough to let me put it over on him 
 and crash the gate to the Jackson-Smith fight. Tom, Smiley, 
 and I gave the "Parson" the laugh. The "Parson" then said, 
 "Let me see; that was seven years ago. How about the 
 amount of interest due on that debt?" I was then obliged to 
 buy another quart. 
 
 Jim Corbett was a great boxer. There were two men 
 who were believed to be equally great fighters. One was 
 Peter Jackson whom Corbett did not beat in that memo- 
 rable fight of the late eighties which was fought to a draw. 
 The other one was Joe Choinski. His fight with Jim Cor- 
 bett will long be remembered. In the first place, Choinski 
 was many pounds lighter. In the second place, the fight 
 was interrupted by the police. It was continued elsewhere 
 the next day, but Choinski's seconds forgot his skin-tight 
 gloves, and Corbett refused to fight with bare knuckles. 
 In order for the fight to proceed, Choinski gamely gave 
 Corbett the advantage to save his hands from injury, 
 allowed him to wear skin-tight gloves while Choinski 
 fought with bare knuckles. It was a long, grueling battle 
 
 32
 
 V ~-% "^15S' 
 
 I 
 
 
 y^^^ 
 
 ifr. 
 
 ^ 
 
 
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 that Corbett finally won. It might have ended differently 
 had the contender not fought under such heavy handicaps. 
 
 Joe Choinski was also a fine character. I first saw him in 
 Chicago in 1891. He dressed like a dude, and looked noth- 
 ing like a fighter on account of his clothes and hat which 
 was adorned with a conspicuous band. For that reason, 
 roughnecks often made slurring remarks at Choinski. I 
 was passing the corner of Monroe and Dearborn Streets 
 one afternoon just as three alleged toughs made some such 
 remarks about Joe. He heard what they said and stopped 
 and requested an apology. Instead, they came at him. He 
 hit one and down he went; then another, and down he 
 went. The third threw up his hands and said, "I don't want 
 any of it." 
 
 I said, "Joe, what's the trouble?" 
 
 He replied, "I've been insulted." 
 
 Those three were really big, tough guys. While the two 
 were getting up, the third asked me, "Who is that bloke?" 
 I told him and all three were profuse in apologizing. 
 
 Joe Choinski told them, "I'll not accept your apology. 
 Had I been some ordinary gentleman you would have made 
 a sucker out of me. Just behave as you should is all I ask 
 of you." I know of two other similar occurrences — one on 
 Michigan Avenue and the other while Joe was riding a 
 bicycle in Lincoln Park. A truck driver didn't like Joe's 
 regalia and started abusing him. Joe pulled him off his 
 dirt truck and taught him a lesson. Joe Choinski was 
 always a perfect gentleman and never looked for trouble. 
 He told me that he felt he was doing a good service in 
 teaching ruffians how to behave. 
 
 John L. Sullivan was the greatest natural heavyweight 
 fighter of all time. He was not really as heavy as heavy- 
 
 33
 
 weight fighters usually are. He could fight under 180 
 pounds and was lighter than that when he won the cham- 
 pionship from Paddy Ryan in Mississippi on February 7, 
 1882. I have photographs of that fight which took place on 
 the grounds surrounding the Barnes Hotel. My old friend, 
 Orson Wells (the man for whom the present Orson Welles, 
 motion picture actor, director, and radio star was named), 
 some years ago asked me for one of the pictures, stating 
 that while he was a telegraph operator in New Orleans he 
 had had a ticket to that fight. It was impossible for him to 
 get away to go so he gave his ticket to a good friend and 
 also loaned him an overcoat. There were only about five 
 hundred spectators there and the friend with Ort's coat 
 was in full view in that small crowd. For that reason he 
 wanted that photo. 
 
 Sullivan's size and weight handicapped him from obtain- 
 ing backing against the big fighters of that time. Mike 
 McDonald, who was a wealthy gambling-house owner and 
 boss politician of those days, told me the story of how the 
 "Boston Strong Boy," John L. Sullivan, came to him in 
 Chicago and asked that McDonald back him in a fight with 
 Capt. Dalton. Dalton was a big man who had been licking 
 all comers and was a natural for a try for the champion- 
 ship. McDonald looked Sullivan over and said, "Boy, you 
 don't weigh enough. Dalton would make a sucker out of 
 you." 
 
 Sullivan tried to assure McDonald that he was under- 
 rating him and then asked, "There are some tough, rough- 
 and-tumble fighters in Chicago, especially out around the 
 stockyards, aren't there?" 
 
 To which McDonald replied, "I'll say there are!" 
 
 "Well," said Sullivan, "to prove to you what I can do, go 
 
 34
 
 get three of the toughest you can find and I'll agree to go 
 into a room with them and I'll lick all three with bare 
 knuckles, one at a time, within one hour." Mike McDonald 
 told me that it sounded like an interesting sporting proposi- 
 tion and arranged it. Sullivan did a good, workman-like 
 job of it in rather easy fashion. After that proof McDonald 
 furnished Sullivan with the backing for a fight with Dalton 
 who also proved easy pickings for Sullivan and made him 
 the real contender for the world's championship crown. 
 Sullivan defeated the champion, Paddy Ryan, easily. Those 
 fights were all fought under London prize ring rules with 
 bare knuckles. Sullivan held the championship for ten 
 years. He could easily beat any man in the world who 
 would stand up and really fight. 
 
 Then he became careless — he drank heavily, and 
 wouldn't even train for a fight. The only man who made 
 him train for a fight was Billy Mulldoon. It was for the 
 Jake Kilrain fight. Even then, he was not trained properly. 
 He vomited at the beginning of that fight, but he won it. 
 Then came along the fancy boxers like Peter Jackson and 
 Jim Corbett with their efficient footwork. At that, in their 
 fight on September 6, 1892, at New Orleans, Corbett found 
 it difficult to hit Sullivan hard enough to knock him out. 
 It took ten rounds and Sullivan was tired out chasing 
 Corbett around that ring. That fight was fought under the 
 Marquis of Queensbury Rules. A great idol had fallen and 
 Jim Corbett's victory was not at all a popular one. 
 
 That fight was staged in conjunction with two others in 
 New Orleans. Billy Myer, the "Streator Cyclone," a light- 
 weight, was defeated by Jack McAuliff; and the greatest 
 featherweight fighter of them all, colored George Dixon 
 who had held the crown for a long time knocked out Jack 
 
 35
 
 Skelly in eight rounds. Billy Myers retired from the ring 
 and went to work for Al Hankins at the race track as 
 superintendent of construction and the bar privileges. 
 
 In 1891, before he lost the championship, John L. 
 Sullivan turned to the stage. I saw him as a co-star in 
 "Honest Hearts and Willing Hands" at the Haymarket 
 Theatre. He was a crude actor, had only a few lines which 
 he spoke awkwardly, and acted the same way until the 
 last act when he boxed three rounds which he did as grace- 
 fully as Fred Astaire dances. 
 
 During the World's Fair of 1893 Dominick O'Malley 
 came to Chicago from New Orleans. He had the reputa- 
 tion of being a successful prize fight promoter, and he 
 figured that he could "cut in" on some of the easy money 
 that was being "poured" around by the great crowds 
 attending the World's Fair. He decided to stage a big prize 
 fight show, but the Chicago authorities refused to issue 
 a permit to him. That didn't stop O'Malley, for he went 
 just outside the city limits to Robey, Indiana, where he 
 found some "hick" village officials ready and very willing 
 to grab off some "dough" and the permit was readily 
 handed to him. Then he proceeded with the construction 
 of a wooden, temporary stadium that would seat over fif- 
 teen thousand customers. He arranged to pull off three 
 fights that evening. The first was between two feather- 
 weights, Jimmy Barry, a Chicago boy, and Solly Smith, 
 of San Francisco, both tops in their class. The second bout 
 was between two good welterweights, and the main event 
 was between two light-heavyweights, Alex Gregane and 
 Dan Creedon. Charley Bush, of Bush & Johnson, from 
 New Orleans, had O'Malley reserve two supposedly good 
 seats for me. When my friend, Harry O'Brien, and I arrived 
 
 36
 
 at the stadium we discovered that our seats were way up 
 high and far from any exit. That stadium was built as 
 cheaply as possible and without any fire protection and 
 every seat was sold. At that time Robey had a small popu- 
 lation, but it was made up of some real tough fellows. 
 O'Malley had hired about forty Pinkerton detectives which 
 turned out to be fortunate. When those tough fight fans 
 in Robey and from other nearby territory discovered that 
 they could not get in to see those fights, some real trouble 
 started. They began crashing the gates. Many were slugged 
 by the Pinkertons. O'Malley himself knocked out a few 
 with a chair. Then the mob got real sore and started to set 
 fire to that wooden stadium. Before that riot was quelled, 
 more than fifty revolver shots were fired. Harry O'Brien 
 and I were very uneasy, to say the least. I told Harry that, 
 if worst came to worst, we were sitting up so high that we 
 wouldn't have far to go to get to Heaven, but he didn't see 
 the joke. The riot was stopped and the fire was extin- 
 guished, but there were many cracked heads in Robey. 
 
 Sitting in a box close to the ring was a rather short 
 gentleman, slightly thick set, with a drooping gray mous- 
 tache. He was dressed immaculately in a white linen suit. 
 A crowd had gathered around his box, because he was a 
 famed national character, Mr. George Francis Train. As 
 one of the principal guests, he had participated in the 
 celebration that took place when the U. S. A. was given its 
 first transcontinental railroad in 1869, when that golden 
 spike was driven that joined the Central Pacific and Union 
 Pacific Railroads. He was closer to the trouble in the sta- 
 dium than we were, but close to an exit. When the fights 
 were finished, Harry O'Brien and I made our way to his 
 box. When the crowd had thinned out, Harry, some other 
 
 37
 
 young fellows, and I carried that dignified gentleman out 
 on our shoulders. We all went with him to the Palmer 
 House, where he was stopping. He sat with us in the lobby 
 and held us spellbound for over an hour telling us stories. 
 
 During the late nineties Tom Hanton held the permit to 
 put on fights one night each week at Jacob Litt's Clark 
 Street Theatre. One night the main event was between 
 "Kid" McCoy and a mediocre heavyweight fighter named 
 McCormick. At the opening of the first round McCoy 
 wasn't looking and McCormick landed an unexpected 
 "haymaker" right on the button, strictly an accident but 
 "Kid" McCoy went down like a log and was counted out. 
 McCoy's feelings were hurt. He tried every way to get a 
 return match, but McCormick would not fight him again. 
 Then, McCoy waited quite awhile and had the story cir- 
 culated that he was through fighting. He sent a "stool pig- 
 eon" around to see McCormick to tell him that McCoy was 
 drinking heavily and was on his way to the "dogs." 
 McCormick fell for the story and they were matched to 
 fight again. That second fight was just plain murder. The 
 "Kid" could have licked McCormick in the first round, but 
 he wanted to punish him, so he stretched the fight out for 
 four rounds — and what punishment! 
 
 "Kid" McCoy whose real name was Norman Selby was 
 a very clever and foxy fighter. William A. Pinkerton told 
 me that before the "Kid" became a professional prize 
 fighter he had a rather "shady" record. That fact was 
 authenticated later when he was sentenced to prison for 
 life. After serving several years he was paroled to and 
 was employed by the Henry Ford plant at Detroit. He 
 behaved very well while on parole and was employed at 
 the Ford plant until he died. 
 
 38
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 Nc 
 
 loRTH Clark Street in those days was a good busi- 
 ness thoroughfare. LaSalle Avenue to the west was a high 
 class residential street. From North Clark Street east to 
 the lake and from Erie Street to North Avenue constituted 
 one of Chicago's finest residential districts. In it were many 
 of the city's fine mansions, where dwelled a large percent- 
 age of Chicago's elite, the wealthy and prominent leaders 
 of society. Then some of the wealthy residents east and 
 west of North Clark Street moved farther north, many 
 moved to the suburbs north of the city and thereby Clark 
 Street merchants were deprived of some of the "cream" 
 of their trade. Eventually some of the old established com- 
 mercial firms were forced out of business. The fine old 
 historic Ogden mansion was taken over by the exclusive 
 Union Club until it had to make way for the Newberry 
 Library in 1890. The Union Club then built its pretentious 
 new club house one block south on Dearborn Avenue. 
 
 On the southeast corner of North Clark and Division 
 Streets were located the offices and headquarters of Chi- 
 cago's arch corrupter, Charles T. Yerkes, and his street car 
 companies. On the northwest corner was the saloon and 
 political headquarters of Tom Burke. When gambling ran 
 rampant in Chicago, Tom Burke conducted a wide-open 
 gambling house on the floor above his saloon, where he 
 provided roulette, craps, or anything the customers desired. 
 Tom Burke was a political power in that ward and his was 
 a popular spot for politicians. Fred Busse, later Mayor of 
 
 39
 
 Chicago, was a constant frequenter of Tom Burke's place. 
 There Fred met his many friends and political associates. 
 It was the headquarters from where they carried on their 
 political activities. 
 
 Some surprisingly large buildings were constructed 
 during the eighties. Such outstanding structures as the 
 "Rookery," Tacoma, Chicago Opera House, O wings, Audi- 
 torium, Home Insurance, and Montauk Block, but the 
 amazing era of the skyscrapers was ushered in with the 
 completion of the huge Masonic Temple on the northeast 
 corner of Randolph and State Streets. From then on many 
 of the old buildings were torn down to be replaced by the 
 tall buildings which eventually dominated and completely 
 changed the sky-line of the entire Loop district. Old-timers 
 will recall the erection of the new Ashland Building on 
 the northeast corner of Randolph and Clark Streets in the 
 early nineties. To make room for that skyscraper, the old 
 Ashland Block was moved to a new location east on Ran- 
 dolph Street to Michigan Avenue, then south on Michigan 
 Avenue, to the southeast corner of Twelfth and Michigan 
 Avenue, where the old six-story building was "parked" 
 and where it still stands. 
 
 Alexander Dowie had been conducting his Cult on the 
 South Side, on Stony Island Avenue. Shortly after the old 
 Ashland Block was moved to its present location, "Healer" 
 Dowie rented and occupied that entire building for many 
 years. We remember that for propaganda purposes, Dowie 
 set aside one room which he filled with the crutches that 
 had been discarded by the afflicted whom he allegedly 
 had healed. His following multiplied, and after Dowie had 
 succeeded in assessing the members of his Cult sufficiently, 
 he was able to purchase much vacant land north of Chi- 
 
 40
 
 cago, where he estabhshed Zion City, to which he moved 
 with his flock and was then able to operate on a large scale. 
 The be-whiskered, silver tongued Alexander Dowie was 
 a shrewd and aggressive leader. We know nothing about 
 how good a "healer" he was, but it was generally under- 
 stood that, as long as he lasted, he himself was well 
 "heeled." 
 
 The construction of the Masonic Temple Building was 
 started in 1890. It was twenty-two stories high and at that 
 time was the largest building in the world. That famous 
 skyscraper has recently been torn down. It was often sold 
 surreptitiously to "hicks" by confidence men. The pro- 
 cedure was to take the sucker into the building, the crook 
 claiming to own it. He would take the "innocent" all 
 through the building, order the elevator operator to take 
 them to the twenty-second floor. When the crook figured 
 the sucker was sufficiently impressed about ownership, 
 he told a plausible story why he had to sell that building 
 and quite often the poor "hick" would buy the Masonic 
 Building at a low figure and make a down payment of all 
 he had in his pocket. 
 
 Directly across the street from the Masonic Temple stood 
 the Central Music Hall, where aside from concerts, lec- 
 tures, and social events, there also were held political 
 meetings, billiard tournaments, and athletic events. 
 
 It may prove to be of interest to recall a billiard match — 
 the last important billiard match we witnessed at the 
 Central Music Hall. It was a championship match between 
 "Wizard" Jake Schaefer, the first, and that outstanding 
 genius, "Napoleon" Ives. That match took place in about 
 the middle "Nineties." Ives was deemed to be so invincible 
 that he became known as the "Napoleon" of billiards. 
 
 41
 
 He met and defeated all the experts of his time, except 
 one — "Wizard" Jake Schaefer, the first. He was matched 
 to play the "Wizard" for the world's championship and a 
 large side bet. It was a great match and was won by Jake 
 Schaefer. The day after that match, friends went to con- 
 gratulate Jake on his victory. As a side line, he conducted 
 a popular place on Clark Street just north of the old Grand 
 Pacific Hotel. He intimated how much he valued the glory 
 of winning that match, but said that the depression of the 
 nineties had often run his place of business into the "red" 
 and the winning of that match had resulted in putting him 
 on his feet financially. Soon thereafter he closed that place 
 and opened up a billiard room on the second floor of a 
 building on Clark Street just south of Monroe Street. 
 There he continued and competed until his demise. With 
 his passing, the billiard world lost a wizard of the cue and 
 Chicago lost a noted citizen. His son, the present Jake 
 Schaefer, is a "chip off the old block." He, too, is an out- 
 standing billiard player, with a great record of accomplish- 
 ments, but neither he nor any other has ever reached the 
 heights in that game to which his famous father climbed. 
 
 The "Wizard's" greatness as a billiardist was seen in the 
 match play at "straight rail" on May 29, 30, and 31, in 
 1890. That famous match was staged in San Francisco and 
 his opponent was McCleery. To handicap Jake Schaefer, 
 McCleery insisted that they play on a 4V^ x 9 table. The 
 "Wizard" conceded those odds to the advantage of his op- 
 ponent. The play was to be 1000 points for each of the three 
 nights for a side bet of $200. On the opening night Jake 
 took the first shot and failed to serve. McCleery did like- 
 wise. Schaefer, in the second inning, served four points. 
 McCleery followed with thirteen, taking four points from 
 
 42
 
 Schaefer's serve. Schaefer then missed again and McCleery 
 served two points, making his total fifteen while Schaefer 
 had none. Then Schaefer gathered the balls on his fourth 
 try on the rail and counted 1000 points which ended the 
 first night's play and repeated on the second and third 
 nights, making the final score 3000 to 15. After McCleery 
 made his fifteen points at the start of the first night's play, 
 from then on he was just a spectator; or to use an up-to- 
 date expression, McCleery, as an opponent, must have 
 appeared to be on a "sit-down strike." 
 
 In Jake Schaefer's day, that popular pastime, billiards, 
 was considered a major sport, participated in by men from 
 all walks of life. Interest in it diminished with the advent 
 of golf, but billiards still retains its share of adherents and 
 is going strong. Chicago's great master, "Wizard" Jake 
 Schaefer, was to the day of his passing away the idol of a 
 multitude of billiard fans. 
 
 43
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 o. 
 
 New Year's Eve of 1890, I was dumb enough to 
 permit myself to take part in something that I'm not proud 
 of. On that eve, Tom Connors, the English champion 
 wrestler, called on me at Chapin & Gore's. He introduced 
 me to his friend, who was twice my age. They invited me 
 to go with them that evening to a little village just north 
 of the North Chicago Rolling Mills to witness a wrestling 
 match between Tom Connors and a clever amateur wrestler 
 named Dempsey who worked in the rolling mill and lived 
 in that village. 
 
 "Of course, this is to be just an exhibition affair?" I 
 asked. "No amateur could have a chance with you, Tom." 
 
 Connors' friend smiled and said, "It's a real match, but 
 they will wrestle and divide the gate receipts equally after 
 I take out sixty dollars to pay the expense for the rent of 
 the hall, ring, and mat. I don't think that there will be 
 more than three hundred spectators. I live in that village 
 and this young Dempsey has beat everybody and is a bit 
 cocky. We'll have some fun with him. Tom will let him win 
 one fall out of three." 
 
 "That sounds interesting. I'll go along." 
 
 On our way out they unfolded their scheme which was 
 that I should be introduced as Tom Connors and the real 
 Connors was to be introduced as Billy Wilson, my pupil. 
 I did not consent. While Tom Connors was a great wrestler 
 and had met the best, he was a small man who could 
 wrestle at 165 pounds. He was smaller than I. They pointed 
 
 44
 
 out that fact to me and cJso that nobody was to be cheated, 
 as they were to split the gate receipts and no side bets. 
 "Anyway," said Tom Connors' friend, "I may decide to tell 
 them who Connors is when we arrive in the big bar next 
 to the hall." Well, when we arrived, that "bird" started 
 introducing me as Tom Connors and those rolling mill 
 workers seemed to swallow it, but I was not at all comfort- 
 able. 
 
 The dressing rooms for the wrestlers were up one flight 
 of stairs. The customers started filling up the chairs. Then 
 Tom Connors' friend came up to the dressing room and 
 handed Connors $116 as his half of the receipts. Dempsey 
 received the same amount, A local man ref ereed the match. 
 I was in Connors' corner. Dempsey was a big, fine, strong 
 lad, but Connors had to "stall" to keep from throwing him 
 in any minute of the fifteen minutes that he made the fall 
 last. Then, there was to be ten minutes between falls, so 
 Connors and I went upstairs to the dressing room. No 
 sooner than we arrived, when up came Connors' friend and 
 said, "Boys, there's trouble brewing. I didn't take into 
 account side bets that might be made. Dempsey and his 
 friends have made many and someone has discovered the 
 deception. Tom, get your clothes on and you two get out 
 of this window onto that roof, jump for your lives to the 
 ground below and make for the railroad track one block 
 east and turn south. Here is a gun. I'll get by with it by 
 claiming that you fellows also deceived me, but will advise 
 them to wait until you come down for the second fall when 
 they can all question you." 
 
 Tom Connors pulled his clothes on over his wrestling 
 togs. I never saw a man dress so quickly. We made the 
 leap to the ground and we heard loud talking inside, so we 
 
 45
 
 beat the hundred-yard record in getting to the railroad 
 track and we kept on going. I said to Tom Connors, "You 
 are a great athlete, so you had better carry this big re- 
 volver; you may need it. I won't because I can outrun you." 
 We looked back after we had gone about a mile. It was 
 raining and we saw no one coming. We decided that they 
 were waiting for us to come down for the next bout, so we 
 slowed down to a walk, but kept on going down that rail- 
 road track until we came to a cross street on Chicago's 
 north side. 
 
 "Tom," I said, "I don't want to know where you met 
 that new friend of yours nor who he is. I just want to make 
 sure that I'll never meet a 'bonehead' like him again. But 
 I'm surprised that you would fall for such a dirty job, and 
 that both of you should 'suck' me in as you did." 
 
 By that time the whistles were tooting in the New Year. 
 We were two hours getting to where we were then, but out 
 of danger of those tough rolling mill workers getting their 
 hands on us. We were wet through from the rain. For some 
 time Connors didn't reply and then he said, "I've got that 
 $116. You sure are entitled to part of it." 
 
 "This is the beginning of a New Year, Tom," I replied. 
 "You can start it with that kind of money if you want to. 
 I need money, but here is one instance where I prefer a 
 clear conscience. You keep it all. I feel lucky to get away 
 with no bones broken." 
 
 After a little thought the great English wrestler said, 
 "All right, Charley, all I want to say is that we are lucky 
 to have gotten away. It was a silly proposition for me to 
 fall for. If you insist on it, I'll keep all of the $116, and will 
 attempt to ease my conscience with the thought that in 
 this world there are many ways of making money and this 
 
 46
 
 just happens to be one of them. I hope you'll believe me 
 when I tell you that I don't like this any better than you 
 do." Shortly after that incident, Tom Connors went back 
 to England and I never saw him again. 
 
 To prove that the old adage "We live and learn" does 
 not apply to everyone, I will relate here an incident that 
 occurred over four years after the one recorded above. 
 It won for me a well deserved Bronx cheer. In 1893 I moved 
 to LaSalle Avenue, just north of Locust Street. Mr. Adolph 
 Henrotin lived there. He was a member of a fine old 
 pioneer family. His brother, Charles, was Belgian Consul 
 and his other brother, Dr. Henrotin, the eminent surgeon, 
 lived a few doors north of us on the site now occupied by 
 the Henrotin Hospital. Victor Lawson, the publisher, lived 
 for many years in that block; Mr. Adolph Henrotin, aside 
 from his commercial activities, was also the managing head 
 of that historic panorama where the "Battle of Gettysburg" 
 was for many years exhibited and was considered one of 
 the interesting and historic features in Chicago. 
 
 On LaSalle Avenue also lived Mr. and Mrs. Otho F. 
 Geeting. They had a nine-year-old daughter named Hazel, 
 who was "topped off" with a gorgeous head of red hair. 
 She was a stylish little miss, pretty and smart. I became a 
 close friend of the Geetings, but stuck my neck out when 
 I called little Hazel a "brick top," because she claimed that 
 her hair was not red and insisted that it was auburn. I 
 always called her attention to any white horse that hap- 
 pened to come in sight. Then, to cap the climax, I asked 
 her parents why, when there were so many names to select 
 from, they should have decided to name her after a nut. 
 
 Early in the morning on July 4, 1895, I was on the front 
 porch celebrating by shooting off cannon crackers and fire 
 
 47
 
 crackers. The little red-head, then past eleven years of age, 
 came up on the porch, ostensibly to assist in that celebra- 
 tion, but I am sure her real motive was to teach me how 
 to shoot off crackers. Then something happened that inter- 
 rupted my pleasure in connection with that celebration. 
 
 An apparent pickpocket came running at full speed 
 down the street. A light rain had come on and he was 
 followed by a woman with an unopened umbrella holler- 
 ing, "Stop, thief!" To impress the little miss, I quickly 
 decided to do something courageous and started at my 
 best clip after that thief. The details of my escapade were 
 fully chronicled in the newspapers. The following is an 
 article that appeared in the Chicago Record-Herald: 
 
 HE CHASED A ROBBER 
 
 CAPTURED HIS MAN GALLANTLY 
 
 When a man has troubles of his own, he shouldn't sigh for 
 honors as a policeman. That is the essence of Charles H. 
 Hermann's Fourth of July vow never to again mix up in other 
 folks' family differences. 
 
 Mr. Hermann captured a supposed sneak thief in North Clark 
 Street early yesterday morning at the solicitation of a woman 
 who proved to be his wife. Later developments showed that 
 the man was Simply trying to break home ties long enough to 
 buy a drink. Mr. Hermann had a busy time last night explain- 
 ing how he happened unwittingly to enlist in the temperance 
 cause. 
 
 When not at home at 299 LaSalle Avenue, Mr. Hermann puts 
 in his time promoting the business of Chapin & Gore. His 
 experience yesterday demonstrated that he is a rare combina- 
 tion of patriotism, fleet-footedness, and gallantry. Eight o'clock 
 found him in before- breakfast negligee on his front door stoop 
 directing the fire cracker operations of a ten year old hopeful. 
 Ten minutes later a man whose dress gave evidence that he 
 had left somewhere in a hurry dashed North at a 100 yard 
 
 48
 
 J. T,. SiilliTan. 
 
 JOHN L. SULLIVAN 
 World's Heavyweight Champion from 1SS2 to i^g:
 
 CENTRAL MUSIC HALL BUILDING 
 Located on the southeast corner of State and Randolph Streets
 
 clip. Immediately afterwards a woman, bareheaded and brand- 
 ishing an umbrella in the foggy morning air, rushed on the 
 scene. 
 
 "That man has stolen my pocketbook," she said excitedly. 
 "The dickens he has," said Mr. Hermann who had done a mile 
 under five minutes. "I see his finish." 
 
 HE PURSUES THE CRIMINAL 
 
 Then he tore down LaSalle Avenue towards Clark Street in 
 the direction the man in a hurry had taken. As Mr. Hermann 
 turned into Clark Street he caught a glimpse of "his man" 
 jogging along at a steady pace a little above Oak Street. In 
 blissful ignorance of his pursuer, he wasn't whistling, "They're 
 After Me," and Mr. Hermann inwardly concluded that his cap- 
 ture was a matter of minutes. 
 
 Taking a reef in his unsupported trousers, he "hit up" his 
 gait to a four minute clip until the distance between pursuer 
 and pursued was shortened into yards. At Maple Street Mr. 
 Hermann caught up. With a lunge from behind he landed with 
 his 175 pounds squarely on the "robber's" neck. The men 
 rolled to the curb with Mr. Hermann to the good. 
 
 "How about that lady's pocketbook?" demanded Mr. Her- 
 mann. 
 
 "That lady's my wife," gurgled the man underneath between 
 mouthfuls of asphalt mud. "Will you oblige me by climbing 
 off?" 
 
 TURNED THE PRISONER LOOSE 
 
 Mr. Hermann mumbled words to the effect that "that was a 
 good thing" and released the prisoner. The man didn't stop 
 for apologies, but went on his way. Mr. Hermann started home. 
 He met the woman in the case and explanations were asked. 
 
 "Villain, he never was my husband," was the woman's retort 
 when Mr. Hermann had told his story. Then, convinced he was 
 himself the victim of a confidence game, Mr. Hermann retraced 
 his steps, assuring the lady he would "get him yet." 
 
 The man had slackened up for repairs at Elm Street, and 
 
 49
 
 when Mr. Hermann executed a flank movement from across 
 the street there was no resistance offered to the second capture. 
 
 "For pity sake," ejaculated the mud-bespattered one, "can't 
 a man leave home to get a drink without being hounded by his 
 wife and an officious meddler?" 
 
 Mr. Hermann said, "Come on" and grabbed the man by 
 the arm. 
 
 A crowd had gathered in the meantime, and just after some- 
 one had sent for the police, the woman at the bottom of the 
 trouble hove into view again. She approached coyly. Then, 
 edging her way into the crowd, she reached for the "robber's" 
 sleeve, clutched it firmly and said, "George, now you come 
 home with me." 
 
 "George" winked at Mr. Hermann and "came." No names 
 were asked. Mr. Hermann went back to LaSalle Avenue by 
 way of Franklin Street. 
 
 That newspaper publicity brought me plenty of ridicule. 
 A few days after it appeared in print, I was invited to a 
 dinner at Mangler's. It was given in the big private dining 
 room on the second floor. When I entered the room I was 
 completely surprised to find so many pals seated at that 
 long table. Among them were Drury Underwood, Captain 
 Adrian Anson, "Big" Bill Lange, Bill Corbett, Battalion 
 Chief James Horan, Tom Hanton, Inspector John D. Shea, 
 Leigh Reilly, Dr. Frank Reilly, Albert Goodrich, Charley 
 Almy, Billy McKay, Frank Finnegan, Col. Henry Barrett 
 Chamberlin, and several others. Inspector Shea was the 
 toastmaster. I was the "butt" of all the joking. Then at 
 the proper moment, Inspector Shea arose, and after a 
 speech that had me squirming in my chair, presented me 
 with a large tin star. It was a big night, but never again 
 did I do any police work. 
 
 50
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 6 
 
 O, 
 
 LD-TIMERS will remember that much night life went 
 on south of Van Buren Street, mostly for the faster boys 
 and girls. Before South State Street deteriorated, Bat- 
 chelder's was a large and popular bar and restaurant. 
 Across from that place was the old Park Theatre where 
 that popular Irish Comedian, Kelly, "The Rolling Mill 
 Man," did his stuff. For originality, Kelly had no equal. 
 He wrote his own songs, and his original and spontaneous 
 jokes kept the house convulsed. I remember a benefit given 
 for that popular actor, one-armed John McQuade, who 
 made the song Comrades famous. Kelly was an hour late 
 getting to the Columbia Theatre, but when he finally 
 showed up and came out to do his turn, he kept the house 
 in a constant uproar. His whole act consisted of how and 
 why he was late. The audience would not let him go, and 
 he entertained the crowd for over a half hour with his 
 plainly impromptu gags explaining his tardiness. It was a 
 great act— only Kelly could have put it over. He wrote 
 many songs, including the one about the Newhall House, 
 Milwaukee's disastrous hotel fire where so many lives were 
 lost. P. T. Barnum's famous midget. General Tom Thumb 
 and his little wife were saved, and Mrs. Tom Thumb, after 
 she was carried down the ladder, requested the brave fire- 
 man to go back for her diamonds. Kelly was a great pal 
 of Malachy Hogan, who was a prize fight referee and quite 
 a character in Chicago and who also ran a saloon at the 
 northwest corner of North State and Illinois Streets. Kelly 
 
 51
 
 wrote a song about him. It was a treat to hear Kelly sing— 
 "When Hogan paid his rent." 
 
 On State Street at about Congress Street stood the 
 saloon and restaurant where Alderman Billy Whalen was 
 shot and killed in 1890. Whalen was prominent in First 
 Ward Democratic politics and his being shot was sensa- 
 tional front page news. We went to the place early the 
 next day and found a notice on the door that the place 
 was closed by order of the police, but it was soon reopened 
 by Matt Hogan who ran it successfully until 1895. 
 
 Batchelder's, Hogan's, and The Social all served good 
 food, but while Hogan's occupied two floors, his place was 
 much the smallest and charged much higher prices. In 
 fact, Matt Hogan had no printed menu. You ordered what 
 you wanted and Hogan would make out the check for 
 such amount as he thought you would stand for. His trade 
 came largely from gamblers and sports. They all knew 
 Matt, and of course, there were many "squawks," but 
 suave old Matt Hogan would square them in some way. 
 
 I remember being in his place about noon one day 
 shortly after Captain Brown had shot some policemen 
 and was himself killed by police at Hawthorne. Racing 
 was stopped and that threw many of his customers em- 
 ployed in bookmaking and connected with race tracks out 
 of work. But they kept right on eating and drinking at 
 Matt Hogan's, but it was mostly all "on the cuff." 
 
 A tall man with whiskers came in and sat down to have 
 his lunch. He was a stranger, evidently a cattle man. He 
 ordered a drink, a cut of roast beef, potatoes, pie, coffee, 
 and a cigar. His check should not have been over $1.30. 
 The waiter handed him a check for $3.95. When he com- 
 plained vociferously, the waiter suggested that he see 
 
 52
 
 Mr. Hogan. Matt Hogan quieted him down first, then went 
 over his check and found that all items listed had been 
 served to him. 
 
 "Well," said Hogan, "that's the price and you'll have to 
 pay it because all of those fellows over there are eating 
 'on the cuff.' They pay only with 'tabs,' and somebody just 
 has to pass some cash over this counter to keep those front 
 doors open." 
 
 The big cattle man looked at Matt and said, "This is 
 robbery!" 
 
 "Pay your check and tell that to the copper," Matt re- 
 plied. 
 
 As the customer went out. Matt turned to me and said, 
 "That guy is unreasonable." 
 
 I said, "Matt, I would like a piece of pie, but I can't 
 afford it, so I'll have some whiskey and a good cigar." 
 
 He handed me the bottle and I saw him go to the cigar 
 case and take out a "Hermitage." It was a cigar that sold 
 everywhere for a nickel. I laid down a half dollar, he took 
 it, rang it up on the register, and said, "That's just right." 
 
 I had my drink, lit the cigar, and said, "Matt, that's 
 really a good cigar for twenty-five cents." 
 
 "You're a damn good judge," he replied. "I sure like 
 satisfied customers." 
 
 Hogan was of the Adolphe Menjou type in appearance. 
 His hair and moustache were iron gray, and as he was a 
 good dresser, he impressed one as being a dignified gentle- 
 man. Matt was anything but dignified. He felt at home in 
 any company and was a most entertaining companion, but 
 was no respecter of persons. 
 
 Matt Hogan's life was unique. During the Civil War, at 
 the age of fourteen, he joined the Navy. He was a "powder 
 
 53
 
 monkey" on Admiral Farragut's ship. Later he became a 
 prominent figure, though somewhat notorious, in the night 
 hfe of New Orleans. As far as is known, he lived mostly 
 by his wits and frequently tangled with the law. Police 
 Chief Gaster of New Orleans told us a story about Matt 
 that was characteristic of him. One day a truck from a 
 furniture store drove up to the station and unloaded a 
 bed, dresser, rocker, easy chair, and rug for Mr. M. A. 
 Hogan. The chief ordered the furniture taken into the 
 station, and sent for Matt. 
 
 Matt explained to the chief, "That stuff is to furnish 
 my cell. Inasmuch as I spend so much of my time here, I 
 insist upon my stay being comfortable." 
 
 We asked the chief whether Matt really was a guest of 
 his that often. He replied that Matt had been brought in 
 on numerous occasions for disputes, fights, gambling, etc., 
 but that they could never pin much on him nor hold him 
 long. His sending that furniture was partly for the purpose 
 of getting a laugh. 
 
 As a result of his wide acquaintance with the sporting 
 fraternity, politicians, men-about-town, and the spenders, 
 he secured the appointment as western representative for 
 Dry Monopole Champagne at a good salary and a large 
 expense account. With the advent of prohibition, Matt 
 lost his position as wine agent and was left at an advanced 
 age without means. Ex-Mayor John P. Hopkins, who was 
 very fond of Matt, gave him a comfortable income for 
 life. He spent his last few years in a sort of "hang-out" at 
 George Ballard's restaurant and bar in the basement at 
 the northwest corner of Wabash Avenue and Adams Street, 
 living in the past with some of his old sporting cronies. 
 
 One day in the early 1920's he told Ballard, "George, as 
 
 54
 
 near as I can figure, I'm seventy-five years old. I've run 
 my stack pretty high and the old ticker is not hitting on 
 all four. I have stowed away in a safety box, to which I 
 will arrange for you to have access, over one thousand 
 dollars. If I should kick in, I want you to attend to the 
 details of my being planted. Use that money to defray the 
 expense and with what is left over buy wieners for the 
 boys here. Some of them don't look like they have been 
 eating regularly." A few weeks after Matt made this, his 
 verbal last will and testament, Matt Hogan passed away. 
 He came to Chicago from New Orleans in the eighties, and 
 had been an interesting old sport and a prominent figure 
 in the night life of Chicago for nearly forty years. 
 
 Hogan was a sucker for that gambling game, Faro, and 
 it cost him plenty. One day his landlord served notice that 
 his rent was in arrears to the amount of $800, and unless 
 it was paid promptly, he would be dispossessed. After 
 much effort, Matt finally succeeded in borrowing that 
 amount. On his way to make payment, he stopped off at 
 a gambling room, bucked Faro, and lost the $800. 
 
 The Social, a large restaurant established by Smith & 
 Perry, was located in the same vicinity as Batchelder's 
 and Hogan's, and was well run for that type of place. The 
 only entertainment was a piano played by "Lame" Johnny, 
 a rough looking fellow, who was skillful at tickling the 
 ivories. Inasmuch as Smith & Perry were also prominent 
 bookmakers on all race tracks, their place was patronized 
 principally by the sporting element. Charley Smith was 
 a good sport, a square shooter whose word was always as 
 good as his bond, and who was respected by everyone 
 who knew him. He made books on all tracks in the United 
 States and Canada, and was financially well fixed. 
 
 55
 
 In the depression of 1893, Charley Smith banked with 
 the Union Trust Company, then located on the second 
 floor of the northeast corner of Dearborn and Madison 
 Streets. The bank at that time was a small one, but Charley 
 had over one hundred thousand dollars on deposit there. 
 In 1894 there was a run on that bank, as on many others. 
 There was a line of depositors at the Union Trust Company 
 a half block long up Dearborn Street, waiting to withdraw 
 their money. I was passing by opposite the bank and saw 
 Charley Smith in the doorway of the Inter-Ocean build- 
 ing entrance. 
 
 "Are you going to get into that line?" I asked him. 
 
 He hesitated a little and then said that if he withdrew 
 his money it would probably bust the bank, "However," 
 he said, "don't for a moment think that I'm not scared, 
 but I have decided to take a chance. If they pull through, 
 I'll be helping those poor depositors as well as the bank." 
 
 I was told by Fred Rawson, later the bank's president, 
 and Fred Wilk, the bank's executive vice president, that 
 Charley Smith's action in that matter may have saved the 
 bank from serious trouble. 
 
 56
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 7 
 
 Q 
 
 NE DAY "Uncle" Phil Hoyne, United States Commis- 
 sioner, an old friend of Jim Gore, came in and told Mr. 
 Gore that he and some of their mutual friends had found 
 a small place on Washington Street, near Marshall Field 
 & Company, that served the best food in Chicago. "The 
 only trouble with the place," he said, "is that they have 
 no champagne. The man who owns the place has no money 
 and no credit. Jim, we want Chapin & Gore to extend 
 credit to him so he can buy a couple of cases." 
 
 Gore replied, "Send him in here and we'll take care of 
 him for you." 
 
 The next day Mr. Kinsley came in and assured Mr. Gore 
 that credit would be most welcome and greatly appreci- 
 ated. Mr. Gore took him to the order window and in- 
 structed the clerk to take the order for what Mr. Kinsley 
 needed and to open a charge account with him. 
 
 H. M. Kinsley had come to Chicago from Canada. After 
 the great Chicago fire of 1871, he opened this small place 
 without sufficient capital and was struggling along as best 
 he could. With Chapin & Gore extending credit to him 
 and with the boosting he got from "Uncle" Phil Hoyne 
 and his friends, it wasn't long before he prospered and 
 outgrew his small place. He always paid his bills with 
 Chapin & Gore promptly and his account developed into 
 an important one. Mr. Gore took a great liking to Mr. 
 Kinsley, who came in one day and told Mr. Gore that he 
 must have much larger quarters. He had an option on a 
 
 57
 
 lot on Adams Street, next door to the Honore Building, 
 and was planning to build if he could borrow the neces- 
 sary money. Mr. Gore listened to his plans and finally said, 
 "Get the figures on the proposition and see me again 
 about it." 
 
 In a few days Mr. Kinsley returned and reported to 
 Mr. Gore that he could construct the building and furnish 
 it for forty thousand dollars. Chapin & Gore lent him that 
 amount. Mr. Kinsley went ahead with his plans, but in- 
 stead of the amount he asked for, the expenses exceeded 
 double that amount. However, Chapin & Gore went through 
 with that deal. The place was opened and was a wonderful 
 catering establishment, but from its opening day, it lost 
 money. Mr. Kinsley worried and worked hard, but when 
 his loan reached one hundred and twenty-five thousand 
 dollars, he lost heart. With tears rolling down his cheeks, 
 he told Mr. Gore, "I can't take any more of your money. 
 Come and take the place." 
 
 Mr. Gore looked at him and said, "Kinsley, we didn't 
 go into that proposition to lose— we went into it to win! 
 You won't win without a fight. I've got confidence in you 
 and I'll stick with you if you show me you have guts 
 enough to fight it out. Damn you, Kinsley, I'll tell you 
 when to quit! Go back there, work, and fight. Come to us 
 for more goods and more money when you need it. We've 
 got to win!" 
 
 Mr. Kinsley wiped away his tears and said, "Mr. Gore, 
 I haven't lost confidence in that proposition. I just didn't 
 have the heart to pull you in any deeper. With the assur- 
 ance you now give me, I'm sure we'll win out. All I ask 
 is that you have someone from your office take charge of 
 the books so you'll know what's going on." That was done, 
 
 58
 
 and before the concern started making money, Kinsley's 
 owed Chapin & Gore over one hundred and seventy-five 
 thousand dollars. It turned out to be the biggest catering 
 success ever known in Chicago. Chapin & Gore was paid 
 all that was lent to Kinsley. 
 
 Kinsley became a rich man and by 1890 he built and 
 opened the famous Holland House in New York, and New 
 Yorkers were served with the best food ever known to 
 them. His service, too, was unexcelled. Mr, Kinsley him- 
 self could sit at a table with eleven friends and serve a 
 fine dinner of many courses and cook it all himself right 
 there at that table in chafing dishes while his guests looked 
 on. One of Mr. Kinsley's daughters married Mr, Charles 
 Hutchinson, Chicago's great banker and one of its leading 
 citizens. Another daughter married Mr. Gustave Bauman 
 who became Mr. Kinsley's partner and continued the busi- 
 ness in Chicago and New York after Mr. Kinsley's death. 
 The last time I saw Mr. Kinsley was in our office in 1892. 
 
 The career of Charles Rector was somewhat similar, 
 Charles Rector was superintendent of a dining car running 
 between Chicago and New York. He lost that job and came 
 to Mr. Gore for help. Mr. Gore obtained a job for him with 
 the Boston Oyster House under Willoughby & Hill's cloth- 
 ing store on Clark and Madison. Rector worked there for 
 a while, but he wanted a place of his own. He saw an 
 empty basement on the southeast corner of Clark and 
 Monroe Streets, took an option to rent it at a low price 
 even though he had no money. He came to Mr. Gore with 
 the proposition and said he was sure he could make a go 
 of it, but it would take ten thousand dollars to fix the 
 place up and furnish it properly. "The Boston Oyster 
 House is in a basement and does a big business," he 
 
 59
 
 argued. "This place is one block from there and it appeals 
 to me as the right spot. I wish I could interest you in lend- 
 ing me that amount." 
 
 Mr. Gore liked Charley Rector, but Rector had never 
 been in business for himself and that basement was low 
 and under an old building. At first, the request didn't 
 appeal to Mr. Gore, but he felt that Rector knew the 
 restaurant business, and he had an attractive personality. 
 Furthermore, the prospects for profit in specializing in fish, 
 oysters, lobsters, and other sea food were good, so he 
 finally agreed to have Chapin & Gore lend Charley Rector 
 the ten thousand dollars. As usual, the work and furnish- 
 ings cost much more than Rector had figured, but Chapin 
 & Gore increased the loan to cover the extra cost. After he 
 opened the business, he lost steadily. He finally owed 
 Chapin & Gore forty thousand dollars, and concluded that 
 he was on a "dead horse" and would have to quit. Again 
 Mr. Gore refused to let his man quit. Soon his affairs 
 prospered and Rector's became the choice lunch and after- 
 theatre spot of Chicago. The restaurant made big profits 
 and Rector paid off Chapin & Gore in full and at the same 
 time remained a valuable customer. 
 
 Like Mr. Kinsley, he opened a large place in New York 
 which proved a great success. Rector became a very rich 
 man out of the profits he made in that basement and his 
 New York place, but he made two serious mistakes. One 
 was the building of the Rector Building on the site of his 
 basement place, and the other was the building of Rector's 
 Hotel in New York. These two projects about broke him. 
 
 He came to Chicago before he built the Rector Hotel 
 and had lunch with me at Kuntz-Remmler's restaurant on 
 Wabash Avenue. John Kuntz sat with us when Rector 
 
 60
 
 enthusiastically told us of his proposed New York project. 
 He asked my advice, and I told him, "I think you are 
 making a terrible mistake at your age"— he was nearly 
 seventy years old then— "to go into such a deal, especially 
 when you are being offered a rental of seventy thousand 
 dollars per year for ninety-nine years for the lot that you 
 own where you intend to build the hotel. You have plenty 
 of assets, besides, and own a big yacht. You have worked 
 hard enough and with that kind of 'dough,' you would use 
 better judgment to rent the real estate and enjoy your- 
 self. Let someone else have the hotel business." 
 
 John Kuntz, who also knew Charley Rector from way 
 back when, put in and said, "Charley, you'll never get 
 better advice than that. I hope you'll change your mind." 
 
 Charley Rector laughed, and said, "I like to be active," 
 and unfortunately, went ahead with that hotel project to 
 his sorrow. 
 
 H. M. Kinsley and Charles Rector were both completely 
 financed by Chapin & Gore. Both became nationally famous 
 in their line. Both went to New York, and with their first 
 New York places, each in his line was an outstanding suc- 
 cess for many years. Their next moves into larger invest- 
 ments and undertakings proved to be failures. Mr. Kinsley, 
 having passed on years before, of course, was not respon- 
 sible for the mistake his son-in-law made when he built 
 the now famous Hotel Biltmore. Mr. Bauman was an able 
 executive, but this unfortunate project cost him his life. 
 However, while that project proved to be unfortunate for 
 him, the Biltmore later became a great success under the 
 able management of Jack Bowman, who got his start in 
 the hotel business when Mr. Bauman gave him a job in 
 the storeroom of the Holland House. From that minor 
 
 61
 
 position, he was advanced steadily until he became Mr. 
 Bauman's chief assistant. Later, Jack Bowman became 
 the chief executive of the Biltmore chain of hotels in this 
 country and one in Havana, Cuba. Eventually, he became 
 one of the leading hotel executives in America. Kinsley's 
 and Rector's were great assets to Chicago. These able 
 caterers were always loyal Chicagoans, and they will long 
 be remembered for the great establishments they created 
 in that city. 
 
 Going into the details of the histories of the above two 
 famous catering establishments seems justified only be- 
 cause of the thought that it might be of interest to many 
 old-timers. However, there was no intent to create the 
 impression that Chicago otherwise was short of first class 
 restaurants. There were plenty of interesting places where 
 fine food was properly served. There were also the chop 
 houses that specialized in serving excellent steaks that 
 were sufficiently aged to make them tender. One such was 
 Billy Boyle's Chop House, located in Gambler's Alley. 
 Billy Boyle's was patronized by leading politicians and 
 well-to-do gamblers. When gambling was closed down, 
 Billy Boyle was forced out of business. His money drawer 
 was full of I.O.U.'s that could never be collected. There 
 were also good Italian, French, and German and other 
 restaurants that enjoyed a large patronage because of their 
 knowing how to cook and serve special dishes upon which 
 they attained notable reputations. 
 
 Now, it should be of interest to drop down to "mass 
 production" in the eating line. There was an old landmark 
 in the way of a very large restaurant that catered to all 
 who were hungry at twenty-five cents per meal and no 
 limit on how much was eaten. That was Burky & Milan's 
 
 62
 
 place, located on Clark Street near Kohl and Middleton's 
 Museum and that old gambling place, "House of David." 
 Burky & Milan's had a large seating capacity— all long 
 tables and you sat down where there was a vacant seat. 
 The meat course with trimmings and pie and coffee was 
 served separately, but the rest of the food, such as potato 
 salad, cottage cheese, onions, radishes, beets, pickles, and 
 jams, were on the table in large bowls. These were passed 
 back and forth by the customers after they had plunged 
 their own forks into the bowls to serve themselves. There 
 being no limit, many came back for more several times. 
 The patron could take his hat off or leave it on, just as 
 he chose. Burky & Milan's was well known by the country 
 folks as well as the city dwellers, and thousands were 
 fed daily. 
 
 In later years I became well acquainted with Mr. Milan. 
 He ran that place in a business-like way and very profit- 
 ably. But that was possible when food supplies, utensils, 
 and labor were at low costs and because of their large 
 volume of business. Under the conditions existing during 
 recent years, Burky & Milan's could not get by without 
 charging about three times what they did for the meals 
 they served. It was then possible for them to get such a 
 large volume of business because it was in times when 
 drug stores sold drugs instead of doughnuts and concoc- 
 tions that patrons took inwardly through straws instead 
 of syringes. Also, about that time came the beginning of 
 the chain lunch rooms, with the "come and get it" systems 
 and arm chairs. 
 
 On the southeast corner of the alley on Clark Street, 
 between Madison and Washington Streets, was Lansing 
 and McGarigle's "round bar" and low priced restaurant. 
 
 63
 
 Many ate there at all hours of the day and night, and as 
 the bar was large, a great crew of bartenders was required 
 to dispense the many gallons of lager consumed. The pro- 
 prietors dabbled in politics and their place was a meeting 
 spot for political henchmen. It was well patronized by out- 
 of-town people, for the "roiuid bar" was centrally located 
 and considered an unusual place. 
 
 It was directly in front of Lansing and McGarigle's 
 "round bar" one night in 1892 that a gun duel to the death 
 was fought between Doc Haggerty and "Bad" Jimmy Con- 
 nerton. At the first exchange of shots, Doc Haggerty, a 
 fearless battler, was severely wounded. He was placed in 
 a hack, but before the driver could start his horse, Con- 
 nerton opened the door of the hack. Both Connerton and 
 Haggerty started shooting, but Haggerty's gun failed to 
 go off when he pulled the trigger and Connerton kept on 
 firing and killed Haggerty. 
 
 Old-timers will recall another such affray which took 
 place in the late eighties in the saloon conducted by 
 "Appetite" Bill Langdon, which was located on Dearborn 
 Street, North of Madison Street. It was the culmination 
 of a feud between two well known characters of that time, 
 namely, Jerry Dunn a gambler and Elliott, a prominent 
 heavyweight prize fighter. Upon their meeting in that 
 place they immediately went at it. At first chairs were 
 used as weapons, but finally Dunn whipped out his gun, 
 shot and killed Elliott. 
 
 Many remember when, a year before the 1893 World's 
 Fair, John R. Thompson arrived in Chicago from down 
 state and opened his first lunch room on Madison Street, 
 
 64
 
 CUFFS 
 EST MADE 
 
 H. M. KINSLEY'S 
 
 Chicago's Famous Restaurant and Catering Establishment. 
 
 Located on Adams Street, east of Dearborn Street
 
 just east of LaSalle Street. He was an astute and aggres- 
 sive restaurateur. George Ade, who was then a reporter 
 on the Daily News, patronized Thompson's and wrote some 
 catchy pamphlets for Thompson gratis, which patrons 
 picked up from the counter when paying their checks. 
 Thompson's grew rapidly and soon developed into a large 
 chain lunchroom business. Then along came other chain 
 lunchrooms and put Burky & Milan's "nose out of joint." 
 In those days bakery eating places were popular. Coyne's 
 on Madison Street, did a profitable business until Mr. 
 Coyne neglected his business to serve as postmaster. The 
 most popular of the bakery eating places was Henrici's, 
 on Randolph Street, frequented by many who breakfasted 
 there because of the fine coffee and delicious pastries they 
 served. Henrici's grew into a fuUfledged restaurant, and 
 after gaining wide popularity, was absorbed by the Thomp- 
 son Corporation. 
 
 However, the first of the eminently successful bakery 
 lunchrooms was started by Herman H. Kohlsaat. From his 
 place on Clark Street between Monroe and Adams Streets 
 that business grew into the first chain of lunch rooms. The 
 H. H. Kohlsaat Co. also built and operated a large bakery 
 plant on Wabash Avenue. Attaining wealth and prominence 
 in politics, he later entered the field of journalism as co- 
 publisher of the Inter-Ocean on the northwest corner of 
 Madison and Dearborn Streets, and subsequently acquired 
 the Times-Herald, and later its successor, the Record- 
 Herald. 
 
 During the years that Mr. Kohlsaat applied himself to 
 the loftier tasks of publishing and guiding the destiny of 
 the nation through his political influence, Fred Barnheisel, 
 who had been employed as a $10-a-week cigar counter 
 
 65
 
 clerk, grew into such importance in the H. H. Kohlsaat 
 Co. that he eventually controlled the business. 
 
 Herman H. Kohlsaat was one of President McKinley's 
 close friends and advisers. As a Chicagoan, he was a lead- 
 ing citizen and exerted a great influence in the city's 
 affairs, but he would have been better off financially had 
 he stuck to and been able to retain his extensive and 
 profitable lunchroom and bakery business. 
 
 Up until 1893, there were certain favorite places, such 
 as the Old Grand Pacific Hotel, Hotel Richelieu, Palmer 
 House, Sherman House, Tremont House, Hotel Welling- 
 ton, Auditorium and Annex, Chapin & Gore's, Kinsley's, 
 Rector's, and numerous other good restaurants, where the 
 prominent men of affairs were in the habit of congregating. 
 The habit was due for a change shortly after the World's 
 Fair. Exclusive clubs were organized. The Chicago Athletic 
 Association proved to be the biggest factor in bringing 
 about that changed condition. That magnificent club was 
 completed in 1892, but due to the misfortune of the fire 
 which gutted much of the interior, its completion was de- 
 layed until 1893. The cream of Chicago's citizens com- 
 prised its membership. It provided its members with 
 magnificent dining facilities and excellent service, a fine 
 billiard and pool room, bowling alleys, an exceptional 
 swimming pool built of marble, a huge well equipped 
 gymnasium, a handball court, running track, and well 
 qualified instructors in each department. It was without 
 question the last word as an athletic and social club in 
 the country. On its second floor in the grill, billiard de- 
 partment or lounge, on any afternoon or evening one could 
 see many of the city's professional men and leading men 
 of affairs in all lines, enjoying the companionships made 
 
 66
 
 possible by that organization. Its membership was eventu- 
 ally filled and there was at one time a waiting list of well 
 over three thousand. That afforded the membership com- 
 mittee the opportunity of taking its pick, which gave the 
 assurance of a continued high class membership. 
 
 67
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 8 
 
 C 
 
 'HiCAGOANS of the Seventies, eighties, nineties, and 
 early nineteen hundreds get a laugh out of certain objects 
 that seemed necessities then but have completely disap- 
 peared since. For instance, who would have thought of a 
 drug store as such without a large glass ornamental recep- 
 tacle filled with colored liquid and a light behind it in the 
 window; or a cigar store without a life-size wooden Indian 
 in front; or a barber shop without a large stand against 
 the wall with shelves filled with individual fancy shaving 
 cups owned by the shop's customers and bearing the names 
 of the owners? In those days a man wasn't a man unless 
 he was blessed with a beard, or at least a moustache. Men 
 with such facial adornments were looked up to by their 
 juniors because they signified seniority, and therefore, 
 commanded respect. The first objective of a young doctor 
 was to raise a beard for that same reason. A full beard 
 might prove useful to hide defects such as an Andy Gump 
 chin, a too prominent wart, and so on, but such things 
 which then seemed important are now looked back upon 
 as inconsequential. 
 
 The coming of the automobile seems to be the one great 
 invention that completely revolutionized our mode of life. 
 It spread out our cities; it made us go farther and faster. 
 It is questionable whether mankind has been correspond- 
 ingly compensated in the way of pleasure for the addi- 
 tional effort so expended. At any rate, there is one pleasure 
 in life of which the automobile seems to have deprived 
 
 68
 
 sport lovers, and that is harness racing ... a grand and 
 exciting sport. 
 
 In the days before the advent and development of the 
 "gasoline buggy," it was the ambition of innumerable men 
 to avail themselves of the great pleasure of owning and 
 driving fine horses in contests of speed. That was the in- 
 centive for the breeding of trotters and pacers. In order to 
 further lower speed records, someone went so far as to 
 suggest the kite-shaped track. Where is there an old-timer 
 who looks back upon those days without regrets that har- 
 ness racing is now only a memory? There were many 
 racing circuits. Harness racing was always the chief at- 
 traction at County and State Fairs. Professional drivers 
 like Bud Dobble, Matt Maloney, and many others were 
 then the public idols, as were the great horses they drove. 
 Even boys in their teens knew those drivers and horses 
 by name and could tell you their time for a mile. Many 
 old-timers recall those champions— Goldsmith Maid; Nancy 
 Hanks; Dexter; Rarrus; William H. Vanderbilt's Maude S.; 
 Jerome I. Case's Jay Eye Cee; and C. K. G. Billings' sev- 
 eral famous record holders. 
 
 Jay Eye Cee, after being retired from racing, lived on 
 to a ripe old age, and during his remaining years was 
 considered an attraction at Racine, Wisconsin. Sightseers 
 were always welcomed to the Jerome I. Case stables. 
 
 The winters of snow racing are a thing of the misty past. 
 On the north side it was on Sheridan road north of Lincoln 
 Park; on the west side it was on Humboldt Boulevard to 
 Garfield Park; and on the south side it was Grand Boule- 
 vard from Billy Gillam's place south to Washington Park. 
 There Chicago's leading citizens, Marshall Field, P. D. 
 Armour, George W. Pullman, C. K. G. Billings and his 
 
 69
 
 father, A. M. Billings, George Dryden, John R. Thompson, 
 Wm. M. Wright, and hosts of others drove their own 
 horses in those memorable contests before automobiles 
 dispelled the snow on those thoroughfares. For non-own- 
 ers and the public it was a treat to stand on the sidelines 
 and look on. After those contests champagne flowed freely 
 at Billy Gillam's place on 35th and Grand Boulevard. 
 
 Interest in harness racing was the cause of the organiz- 
 ing of driving clubs. James Carter, James Gore, and Gard- 
 ner Chapin were prime movers in organizing the Chicago 
 Driving Club, with j£imes Carter as its secretary. Wm. M. 
 Wright, father of Warren Wright, owner of the now famous 
 Calumet Farms at Lexington, Kentucky, was among those 
 prominent Chicagoans who helped support the last race 
 track devoted exclusively to harness racing at Liberty- 
 ville, Illinois. 
 
 Wm, M. Wright bred only harness racers at Calumet 
 Farms. When that great plant was taken over by Warren 
 Wright, he "saw the handwriting on the wall" and con- 
 verted Calumet Farms into a breeding ground for running 
 horses exclusively. Of the many top notch horses bred 
 there to date, the most notable is Whirlaway (named by 
 Mrs. Warren Wright.) Little "Big Tail," as he is affec- 
 tionately called by the racing public, is not only a profit- 
 able money winner, but will doubtless be long remembered 
 in racing history as one of the greatest race horses of all 
 time. That is a conservative statement to make when we 
 realize the unusual handicaps under which Whirlaway 
 has attained distinction. Few know what achievements that 
 unusual horse might have attained had it not been for 
 World War II. He was shipped to the Santa Anita track to 
 compete for the Hundred Grand and a number of other 
 
 70
 
 events scheduled at that track, but that race meeting 
 was called off. With the coming of the war, Whirlaway lost 
 a whole season's racing and was subjected to long train 
 trips with little opportunity for competition while he was 
 at the very peak of his racing career. Another fact that 
 makes Whirlaway a stand-out is that he was able to ac- 
 complish what he did without suffering any injury until 
 practically his last race before he was retired. Whirlaway's 
 great record will keep future thoroughbreds busy shoot- 
 ing at it for years to come. Calumet Farms was developed 
 by Warren Wright into a great institution— one that has 
 added much to the racing game. It was natural that he 
 should interest himself in the breeding of top-notch race 
 horses, that ambition having been inherited from his 
 father. 
 
 The "Sport of Kings" will remain on a high plane so 
 long as it interests a substantial percentage of breeders 
 and owners who exert their efforts primarily towards pro- 
 ducing and racing well-bred and well-trained horses. With 
 such, the betting ring is of secondary interest, even though 
 their horses are always entered with the hope of winning. 
 
 To old-timers it is a pleasure to look back to the days 
 of the old Washington Park race track which started in 
 the early eighties. The first president of that famous or- 
 ganization was General Phil Sheridan. Later, Henry 
 Wheeler, head of the South Side City Street Railway Com- 
 pany, was president. Mr. Wheeler was succeeded at his 
 death by his son-in-law, Lawrence Young, who remained 
 its president until Washington Park was closed. James 
 Howard was always its secretary, and he was an able, 
 strict executive. They all looked alike to Jim Howard. He 
 was a small, thin man with a long beard, weighed about 
 
 71
 
 one hundred and forty pounds and could swear in any 
 language so expertly as to make a sailor blush. However, 
 Jim Howard knew his job and he with the aid of the 
 Pinkertons knew what was going on everywhere at that 
 track. It made no difference to him how large or who they 
 were— they had better deal straight or else; and very few 
 took a chance on having Jim Howard catch them doing 
 what they shouldn't. 
 
 Washington Park ran only twenty-five days of racing 
 per year and such racing! The great American Derby was 
 at that time America's outstanding racing event. The most 
 famous thoroughbreds of the country were always located 
 in the Washington Park stables for that annual twenty- 
 five day meet. American Derby day was Chicago's great 
 event of the year. The parade of beautiful horse-drawn 
 vehicles down Michigan Avenue to the track, which then 
 packed the infield at the track, was a sight to behold. That 
 track always held the record for attendance. When the 
 gamblers and crooked politicians crashed into the racing 
 game, they soon brought its doom. In 1904 Washington 
 Park closed its gates and Chicago lost a great institution 
 and attraction. 
 
 Jim Howard loved horses and thoroughly hated auto- 
 mobiles. He issued orders that nobody would be allowed 
 to enter Washington Park in an automobile and that order 
 was obeyed. In that connection fate brought about a 
 singular coincidence. While Jim How^ard was crossing the 
 street at the corner of LaSalle and Adams Streets, a reck- 
 less driver of a "tin Lizzie" struck him and killed him— 
 the last way Jim would have chosen for his end. 
 
 From the day that Washington Park was started to the 
 day its gates were closed, Chapin & Gore controlled all 
 
 72
 
 catering privileges at that track, and they therefore had 
 many dealings with Jim Howard. He always dealt forth- 
 rightly with the cards face up on the table; and expected 
 the same kind of deal. He was a fine character and a true 
 friend. His death and the manner in which it happened was 
 a shock to all who knew him. 
 
 It surprised no one when racing was stopped in Chi- 
 cago. It just couldn't be allowed to continue in the way 
 that all the tracks except Washington Park were being 
 conducted. Ed Corrigan was a bull-headed, fighting indi- 
 vidual with whom few could get along peacefully. John 
 Condon and his crowd were in the game strictly for what 
 they could get out of it. The likes of them could never be 
 satisfied with reasonable racing dates. Then, another track 
 was built at Robey, Indiana, also conducted by that same 
 type of men. Later, another track was built north of the 
 Illinois state line. They conducted racing so late in the 
 season that it was known as the winter track. They ac- 
 tually raced there when it snowed. That meant almost 
 continuous, uninteresting and low caliber racing in Chi- 
 cago. It fell to the lot of Mayor Carter H. Harrison, Jr., to 
 put a stop to it. 
 
 In recent years a few public spirited, high class busi- 
 ness men got together for the purpose of reviving the 
 "Sport of Kings" in Chicago. They organized a non-profit 
 corporation, financed it themselves, and built Arlington, 
 one of the finest racing plants in America. This corpora- 
 tion conducted Arlington for quite a number of years in 
 a most creditable manner. All officials in charge of its 
 operation were men of experience and of unquestioned 
 integrity, and they did a good job of it. Arlington recently 
 passed into other hands. That its excellent reputation as 
 
 73
 
 a first class race course will be maintained is the hope of 
 all Chicago racing fans. 
 
 Another race track, Garfield Park, was close in and 
 could be reached via West Madison Street cars. It was 
 conducted by politicians and gamblers. Being within the 
 Chicago city limits, the residents of that district were 
 continually "up in arms" and were after the City Council 
 to close that track. Their arguments were that it consti- 
 tuted a nuisance, that the tract of land should be sub- 
 divided, and the streets run through. However, those in 
 control of Garfield Park seemed also to have sufficient con- 
 trol in the Council to keep that track open until 1891 when 
 it was closed by Chicago police. Captain Brown, a "two 
 gun" horse owner— and no fooling, he was tough!— climbed 
 on his stable and told the officers to come and try to get him. 
 They tried and he killed two of them before they shot and 
 killed him. That was the last of Garfield Park race track. 
 It was soon thereafter that Ed Corrigan built Hawthorne, 
 and Condon's "Harlem" track was built soon after that, 
 both outside of Chicago city limits. 
 
 Chapin & Gore was headquarters for the racing frater- 
 nity, and to a large extent, acted as banker to them. Horse 
 owners and bookmakers would come in to their cashier 
 and deposit in many cases large sums of money for which 
 they received neatly engraved deposit certificates, which 
 were honored like legal tender at race tracks in Chicago, 
 Saratoga, New Orleans, and elsewhere. Bookmakers would 
 come in each day after the races in Chicago and hand in 
 their tin boxes containing their bankroll and proceeds of 
 the day. They would be put into our vault. It was estimated 
 that those boxes contained an average aggregate of half a 
 million dollars. When Joe Ullman ran what was known 
 
 74
 
 as the "foreign book" at Hawthorne, his cashier, James 
 Brady, would come in each evening to check the money. 
 That alone was frequently over three hundred thousand 
 dollars. That foreign book was an immense operation, 
 equal to twenty regular books. In that foreign book bets 
 could be laid on horses running at every track in the coun- 
 try on that day. Results were announced that came by 
 wire immediately after each race was run and the winning 
 tickets were cashed. Our office was closed each day at six 
 o'clock. The bookmakers took advantage of that by going 
 into our office to sit down at one of the desks to check the 
 money contained in their tin boxes, which they then locked 
 and handed to one of us to be put into our vault. They 
 called for their boxes the next day. One time while I was 
 looking at heaps of bills stacked before James Brady, I 
 asked him, "Jimmy, how much is there?" 
 
 He replied, "Two hundred and fifty thousand, almost." 
 
 I nearly fainted. I said to him, "You have quite some 
 responsibility carrying such a large amount to and from 
 the track. Does it always check out correctly?" 
 
 "I count it over carefully," he replied, "and if I find that 
 it's short, it's short; but if it's over, it checks. That's always 
 OK with my boss," and Jim winked at me. 
 
 Chapin & Gore's vault was just an ordinary one with 
 a large safe inside of it. Many knew of all those huge sums 
 of money stacked in that vault each evening. There never 
 was a robbery or loss of any kind in all those many years. 
 One often wonders how long it would be in these days 
 before that vault would be blown open and robbed. Yet 
 Chicago, in those early days, had the reputation of being a 
 tough town. When that old building was to be torn down 
 in 1904 to make way for the present structure, and Chapin 
 
 75
 
 & Gore was moving into their new building on Adams 
 Street, our cashier discovered in that old vault an un- 
 claimed tin box, locked, with no name on it. When it was 
 broken open, there was the owner's name and eight thou- 
 sand dollars that had been left in that vault for over ten 
 years. The owner, a bookmaker who had forgotten about 
 it, was found in New Orleans; needless to say, his getting 
 that money was a "windfall" for him. 
 
 During the nineties and into the first few years of the 
 new century, the firm knew a majority of the leading 
 owners, trainers, and bookmakers. There were many sub- 
 stantial men among those interested in horse racing. Pool 
 rooms, where bets could be placed on races, came along 
 about 1890 or a little before. Perhaps it was "Silver" Bill 
 Riley who operated the first of such rooms. That devel- 
 oped into handbooking that spread over the city and did 
 much harm to legitimate racing and bookmaking at the 
 race tracks, because it was no longer necessary to go out 
 to the race tracks to play the horses. Big Jim O'Leary 
 became an important figure in handbooking and pool 
 rooms. He was of the O'Leary family that owned the cow 
 that was blamed for the Chicago fire. Those who knew 
 him well found him to be a smart operator. In his youth, 
 Jim didn't waste any time going to school, but he was just 
 naturally good at figures and an extremely alert business 
 man, and was reputed to be a millionaire at the time of 
 his death. 
 
 One day I dropped into Kuntz-Remmler's restaursint 
 for lunch. Jim O'Leary was sitting alone at a table and he 
 called to me to join him. He complained that he had an 
 appointment to have lunch with Billy Beverly and Leo 
 Mayer and they were then twenty minutes late. We ordered 
 
 76
 
 lunch and then Beverly and Mayer came in. Beverly apol- 
 ogized, saying he had been delayed by a dentist. 
 
 Mayer said, "Take care of your teeth by brushing them 
 well night and morning." 
 
 Big Jim O'Leary asked, "What do you mean, brushing 
 your teeth? I never brushed my teeth in my life." That 
 incident occurred early in O'Leary 's career. Jim, however, 
 through various associations soon graduated from such 
 primitive ways of life and living. 
 
 "Dutch" Rollo, then a prominent horse owner and trainer 
 ( 1892 ) , came in one day bringing with him a little runt of 
 a kid about twelve years old. His face needed washing, his 
 sweater was ragged, and he had patches on the seat of his 
 worn-out pants, but that kid stood off to one side, smoking 
 a large Perfecto cigar. I asked Rollo who the kid was, and 
 was informed that the boy was an orphan and that he was 
 using him as a stable boy and that he was a good one. He 
 slept in the stable and all he wanted was food and big 
 cigars. The kid was Tod Sloan, who later became the 
 world's premier jockey. After his success in America, he 
 went to England, rode for Prince Edward. His earnings 
 were greater than any jockey up to his time and from the 
 unkempt, ill-clad kid we saw, he developed into a "best 
 dresser." When I was at the Hotel Cecil in London in 1900, 
 Tod Sloan arrived there with his servants and demanded 
 the best suite, for which he paid $100 per day. The last 
 time I saw him was in 1922 at the Hotel Alexandria in Los 
 Angeles. He was broke. 
 
 The first "future" book, laying winter odds on entries in 
 those two great races, Washington Park's "American 
 Derby"; and Churchill Down's "Kentucky Derby" was 
 made in Chicago by O'Neil and Eckert. 
 
 77
 
 The famous Racing Form, a publication that made mil- 
 hons of dollars for its later publishers was started by a 
 printing concern in Chicago, Bentley and Murray. In the 
 late eighties that firm printed a cardboard sheet 12" x 18" 
 which it distributed to its subscribers among saloons, cigar 
 stores, and barber shops, giving only the baseball scores. 
 They added the race results at the Chicago tracks, showing 
 the first three horses as they finished each race. About 
 1894, Clint Reilly turned it into a limited form sheet. Later 
 it was developed by new owners into the present Racing 
 Form, and from a local proposition into a national publica- 
 tion of wide and very profitable circulation. 
 
 "Lucky" Baldwin was in Chicago during the 1894 Wash- 
 ington Park racing meet, and as he was a daily visitor at 
 Chapin & Gore's, I became well acquainted with him. I 
 noticed that other horsemen and bookmakers seemed to 
 steer clear of him. One day I was conversing with Billy 
 Beverly and John O'Neil, both prominent bookmakers at 
 Washington Park when "Lucky" Baldwin came up and 
 asked O'Neil to step to one side with him. They talked only 
 a few minutes when O'Neil returned, leaving "Lucky" 
 Baldwin standing alone, apparently looking downcast. 
 Billy Beverly asked John what the "old bird" wanted. 
 John replied that it was a "touch" and he didn't fall for it 
 because he'd never pay it back. 
 
 When O'Neil and Beverly left, "Lucky" Baldwin came 
 up to tell me his troubles. He told me that he had merely 
 tried to borrow enough to buy some feed for his horses 
 which were stabled at Washington Park. He went on to say 
 that he was land poor; although he owned thousands of 
 acres of fine land near Los Angeles, he had no ready cash. 
 Well, I didn't lend it to him, but he must have got it some 
 
 78
 
 place, for within a week he won the great American Derby 
 with his horse, Rey El Santa Anita, a "long shot." 
 
 That put "Lucky" Baldwin back on his feet. He went 
 from Chicago to Los Angeles, and cashed in on some of 
 his land holdings. He built a race track in Arcadia just 
 about where the great Santa Anita race course is now 
 situated. When "Lucky" died, he left a fabulously rich 
 estate, way up in the many millions. The greatly enhanced 
 value of the land was not due so much to his judgment, 
 but came about by the tremendous growth of Los Angeles 
 and Southern California. Baldwin paid very little for all 
 that land that he left in his estate. In those early days there 
 were large ranches obtained by government grants. I was 
 told that "Lucky" Baldwin won one such big ranch in one 
 night at game of poker— the story was told by the daughter 
 of the man from whom he won it. A throw of the dice was 
 also the deciding factor of "Lucky" Baldwin's obtaining 
 title to that land on Market Street in San Francisco on 
 which he built his famous Baldwin Hotel. 
 
 79
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 o< 
 
 XTOBER 9 is a memorable date in Chicago's history 
 because that was the third and final devastating day of that 
 horrible calamity visited upon the city in 1871. The Chicago 
 Fire was started on Saturday, October 7, 1871. A sort of 
 "preview blaze" destroyed practically all the buildings 
 within the area bounded by Adams, Clinton, Van Buren 
 Streets, and the River. The property loss caused by that 
 fire was estimated at $400,000. The fire was extinguished, 
 but only after a hard fight. Then on Sunday, October 8, the 
 fire department was faced with fighting the worst confla- 
 gration in all history. On the northeast corner of DeKoven 
 and Jefferson Streets was a one-story frame building 
 occupied by the O'Leary family. In the rear was a cowshed 
 where the fire started which was to lay Chicago low. The 
 legend of the cow kicking over a kerosene lamp has never 
 been proved and was declared to be untrue. It was a touchy 
 subject with the late Jim O'Leary. We have never known 
 him to refer to that incident and those who knew him well 
 also avoided making any reference to it. 
 
 Up to and into the late eighties that terrible disaster 
 was still considered to be recent enough to make it fre- 
 quently the topic of conversation, especially by those who 
 saw and suffered from the horrors of that conflagration. 
 That is how many of us young fellows gathered some of 
 the facts and details of the horrible hardships, enormous 
 losses of life and property that Chicagoans of that day were 
 forced to endure. The population of Chicago at the time 
 
 80
 
 of that fire was about 335,000 and about 100,000 of the 
 city's inhabitants were rendered homeless. The number of 
 lives lost was never definitely known. In addition to the 
 great number of adults who perished, it was stated that 
 more than two thousand children were missing. It is diffi- 
 cult for anyone to even imagine how terrible must have 
 been those street scenes. The struggle of humanity must 
 have been more fearful even than the horrors of the fire. 
 The property loss was estimated at $300,000,000. The wreck 
 of Chicago was as complete as the wreck of Pompeii. More 
 than 30,000 houses and buildings were burned. 
 
 It was lucky for Chicago that it contained the type of 
 men who built that city. Those were the men who, faced 
 with this crushing disaster, financial ruin, and bankruptcy, 
 started with faith and undaunted courage to rebuild from 
 ashes a city destined to become a great metropolis second 
 only to New York City. They were the type of men who 
 didn't believe that real accomplishments come easy. They 
 had the "guts" to tackle problems that would seem to be 
 impossible tasks to such as are now looking forward to 
 having our promising politicians, do-gooders, and dreamers 
 provide them with security from the cradle to the grave. 
 The folks in those times accomplished so much because 
 they didn't aim to be security parasites. They believed in 
 doing things, seeking opportunity, and that by working and 
 trading energy for it was the only logical and respectable 
 way to obtain such security. That was the kind of spirit 
 with which those men who rebuilt Chicago were imbued. 
 
 It was a stupendous task that faced the Chicago Relief 
 and Aid Society. Nearly 75,000 people needed immediate 
 aid. There was a shortage of food, clothing, and shelter. 
 To add to the suffering of those people would be the cold 
 
 81
 
 winter weather that was close at hand. The country re- 
 sponded by contributing Hberally of badly needed supplies 
 and financial aid with which to purchase such supplies. 
 The larger contributors were: 
 
 Boston $400,000 
 
 Philadelphia . 
 
 $260,000 
 
 Pittsburgh ... 300,000 
 
 Baltimore . . . 
 
 200,000 
 
 Cincinnati ... 225,000 
 
 Indianapolis . 
 
 40,000 
 
 St. Louis 200,000 
 
 Detroit 
 
 30,000 
 
 Buffalo 100,000 
 
 Newark, N. J. 
 
 30,000 
 
 San Francisco. 108,000 
 
 A. T. Steward, 
 
 
 Rochester 70,000 
 
 N. Y 
 
 50,000 
 
 There were about forty smaller cities that also contrib- 
 uted $10,000 or more each and some miscellaneous con- 
 tributions. Chicago was grateful for such aid from outside, 
 because it helped to save many lives and Chicago did not 
 forget. 
 
 In April, 1906, the great "City by the Golden Gate," San 
 Francisco, was visited by a somewhat similar catastrophe, 
 and the Chicago City Council demanded quick action. It 
 passed on a request to the mayor to appoint a Citizens' 
 Relief Committee. Mayor Edward F. Dunne complied with- 
 out delay by appointing a committee of nine. That Citizens' 
 Relief Committee was composed of Fred A. Busse, Fred 
 W. Upham, Frederick T. Haskell, William A. Bond, C. H. 
 HermEinn, John M. Smyth, A. J. Graham, John Z. Vogel- 
 sang, and Graham H. Taylor. The committee was sum- 
 moned by telephone and met with Mayor Dunne within a 
 few hours at the City Council chambers. An organization 
 was formed that same afternoon. William A. Bond was 
 made chairman and C. H. Hermann, secretary of the Citi- 
 zens' Relief Committee. Plans for a city-wide campaign to 
 obtain subscriptions for the purpose of extending aid to 
 
 82
 
 San Francisco were perfected that same day. Because so 
 many thousands of homeless people needed aid at once, 
 our committee was careful not to lose a single hour in get- 
 ting such aid to the stricken city over two thousand miles 
 away. 
 
 It was decided to mail over forty thousand letters appeal- 
 ing for help as quickly as possible. The committee meeting 
 was adjourned about four o'clock in the afternoon of that 
 first day. Mr. William A. Bond, an esteemed, successful 
 business man, civic minded, sincere, and aggressive enough 
 to give his best to any task he would undertake, requested 
 that I stay for a further talk. He said that those appeal 
 letters ought to go out that night and that we ought to know 
 some way of getting them printed and in the mail before 
 we went to our respective homes. He asked me if I could 
 think of anyone who could do that job for us that quickly. 
 I gave it as my opinion that both the printing and mailing 
 of such a quantity of letters after four o'clock in the after- 
 noon looked impossible. Then I thought of a friend who 
 owned the Chicago Addressing Company, a large institu- 
 tion that employed about forty stenographers. Mr. Bond 
 insisted that I call him over the phone at once, and after 
 explaining what was wanted of him, he replied that he 
 would cooperate to his full capacity, but didn't believe such 
 a big job could be done in so short a time. I requested that 
 he wait for Mr. Bond and me, stating that we would be in 
 his office within thirty minutes. Mr. Bond suggested that 
 we each take a hand in writing an appeal letter we thought 
 would be effective so that we could adopt one for copy. 
 Within twenty minutes, by combining the best features of 
 both, we were on our way to the Chicago Addressing Com- 
 pany with the copy of the appeal which would be mailed to 
 
 83
 
 over forty thousand Chicagoans. The owner and manager 
 of the Chicago Addressing Company turned over his entire 
 force to the job of addressing the envelopes. We induced a 
 small Clark Street print shop to stay open until those let- 
 ters were printed. We stayed up nearly all night, but those 
 forty thousand appealing letters, though a rather crude job 
 of printing, were in the mail that night before we left for 
 our homes which was after four o'clock in the morning. 
 I marveled at the "we must" spirit of Mr. Bond. 
 
 The response to that appeal was wonderful. All those 
 letters were personally opened by our committee at our 
 meetings in the City Council chambers. Those thousands of 
 letters contained contributions ranging from a few pennies 
 to checks for considerable amounts. They came from wash- 
 women, business and professional men, school children, 
 men and women from all walks of life. Those letters ex- 
 pressed a unanimity of sincere sympathy for the suffering 
 people of San Francisco. Contributions from the school 
 children amounted to over $15,000. 
 
 The Chicago Commercial Association (now the Chicago 
 Association of Commerce) succeeded in raising nearly four 
 hundred thousand dollars for that urgent relief cause. Some 
 of the other agencies that collected considerable amounts 
 were: Red Cross Association, "Chicago American" Fund, 
 Mayor's Fund, Chicago Real Estate Board, Chicago 
 Chinese, Retail Druggists, Salvation Army, California 
 Fruit Growers, City of Hammond, Indiana, and several 
 churches. The total amount of money raised by that cam- 
 paign was about one million dollars. In addition, train- 
 loads of supplies such as blankets, clothing, shoes, tents, 
 were quickly forwarded to San Francisco. The first train- 
 load of such needed supplies consisted of twenty-one loaded 
 
 84
 
 freight cars shipped over the Burlington Road by way of 
 Denver. It broke all freight speed records, averaging forty- 
 two miles per hour from Chicago to Denver. More train- 
 loads followed. 
 
 The response from Chicagoans to extend aid to the suf- 
 ferers of San Francisco was most gratifying. The credit for 
 the success of that drive belongs to all Chicago. There was 
 hearty cooperation from all agencies— the City Council, the 
 city administration, police department, fire department, 
 all newspapers, and of course, the people. The mayor pro- 
 claimed Saturday, April 28, 1906, "San Francisco Day," 
 making it a half-holiday to assist that drive by further 
 emphasizing the seriousness of that horrible calamity and 
 to impress everyone with the necessity for quick and ample 
 aid to the suffering people of that stricken sister city. 
 
 At this writing, seventy-two years have passed since 
 that Chicago conflagration; naturally there can be only a 
 few if any left who witnessed that horror or endured its 
 dangers and terrifying hardships. During the first fifteen 
 or twenty years after the Chicago fire, there was still a 
 considerable percentage of the city's population that went 
 through that ordeal and many hair-raising incidents were 
 being related by some of them. Here is one that may prove 
 interesting because what seemed certain death to the in- 
 dividual involved, fortunately, ended in his landing safely, 
 if a bit ingloriously. 
 
 One day in the late eighties I went into a small tailor 
 shop to have my pants pressed. The tailor was alone and 
 not busy so I was a welcome customer. He appeared to be 
 about thirty-five years of age (that seemed old to me then), 
 congenial, and quite talkative. While he was working at 
 pressing my hand-me-down trousers, I ventured to inquire 
 
 85
 
 how long he had been in Chicago. He informed me that he 
 arrived in the city on Sunday morning, October 8, 1871, 
 and proceeded to tell me about his tough break. 
 
 He went to board with a private family that lived in an 
 old, two-story frame house, and was given a rear room 
 with one window that opened on a narrow rear porch. He 
 and the others in that household noticed the flames of the 
 fire from the cow shed about 9 : 30 that evening, but weren't 
 particularly exercised about it, but he said that there was 
 a terrible wind blowing in the direction of their house. 
 Chicago had had no rain for about six weeks and all those 
 frame houses, fences, stables, outhouses, and sidewalks 
 were dried out. Their house was directly in the path of that 
 fire and so close to it that, before he knew it, the fire had 
 reached them— it had already burned the outhouse directly 
 in the rear. The wind blew the burning structure off its 
 foundation and up against their house which was now 
 aflame. 
 
 He got out on that rear porch and had only seconds to 
 decide whether to burn to death or jump and break one or 
 both legs. He realized that he would have to jump far 
 enough to clear the flames that were already igniting the 
 porch. He jumped clean over the flames, but didn't wind 
 up that way, for he landed squarely in the middle of the 
 "mooring" where the "Chic Sale" edifice had stood so long 
 before the fire and wind had uprooted it. He allowed that 
 he found himself stuck in way above his waist, and when 
 he managed to crawl out of there he wasn't injured except 
 for some minor burns. 
 
 I was deeply interested in his story of escape from what 
 seemed to be certain death. Then I gave it as my opinion 
 that he landed in the right spot which broke his fall and 
 
 86
 
 no bones, and that he showed heroism for which he evi- 
 dently was properly decorated. Then I made the fatal re- 
 mark that he sure used his head when he decided to jump 
 instead of to dive. His geniality had disappeared, he gave 
 me a serious look, handed me my pants, and said, "That'll 
 be thirty-five cents." He failed to bid me goodby as I 
 walked out of his place and I have always suspected that 
 I said too much and completely failed to show due respect 
 to a man over twice my age. Later I felt guilty for not hav- 
 ing expressed proper sympathy for his having been placed 
 in such a hazardous position, and congratulations upon his 
 miraculous escape. 
 
 87
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 10 
 
 T 
 
 A HERE WAS GREAT CAUSE for enthusiasm and optimism 
 when Chicago was selected as the site for the great World's 
 Fair, the "Columbian Exposition" of 1893. Burnham and 
 Root were made the chief architects for that stupendous 
 undertaking which had to be completed in two years. Lead- 
 ing architects declared it an impossible task, but Burnham 
 and Root said it must be done. The way they went at it 
 proved to Chicagoans and to the world that they meant to 
 live up to the spirit of the city's slogan, "I Will." Those of 
 us who wandered out to Jackson Park in the fall of 1891 
 to have a look and saw nothing but plowed-up ground and 
 many deep mud holes to be filled, must have all felt that 
 it looked discouraging. Then Mr. Root was taken ill and 
 died, and Daniel Burnham was obliged to shoulder the 
 entire responsibility alone. 
 
 It was the organizing ability, courage, resourcefulness, 
 and indomitable will of Daniel Burnham that turned 
 that wonderful dream into a reality. Chicago owes much to 
 that great man— Daniel Burnham. 
 
 In addition to that great firm of Burnham and Root, 
 Chicago boasted of a considerable number of "greats" 
 among its pioneer architects— men who originated new 
 types of construction which were adopted universally. We 
 all remember such famous names as Jenney and Mundie, 
 Sullivan, Hunt, Adler, Richardson, and Holabird, who 
 were among the first to give a pain in the neck to those 
 who looked up to count the stories of our high buildings. 
 
 88
 
 Those of us who resided in Chicago since about the middle 
 eighties saw such a transformation in construction as was 
 never seen in any other city in the world. 
 
 Many remember when the ten-story Montauk Block was 
 built on Monroe Street, between Clark and Dearborn 
 Streets. We marveled at the "Home Insurance," "The 
 Rookery," and even the Chicago Opera House building, 
 but we hadn't seen anything yet. The Auditorium was a 
 Sullivan job and a marvelous structure of that time. We 
 young fellows climbed around a little on the inside when 
 those massive walls were up in 1888. Caisson foundations 
 down to rock bottom had not yet been adopted. Conse- 
 quently, a number of great buildings like the Auditorium, 
 Pullman Building, Masonic Temple (since torn down), 
 Monadnock, and some others were placed on what was 
 called "floating foundations." Steel construction was first 
 conceived, tested, and applied by Chicago architects in 
 Chicago. 
 
 When Daniel Burnham went to New York and gave them 
 the Flatiron Building, they marveled at it. Chicago, through 
 the ingenuity, vision, and courage of its great architects 
 and builders, set the pace for "Father Knickerbocker," 
 and showed Gotham and all other cities how it could be 
 done. 
 
 Yes, there was much enthusiasm and optimism in Chi- 
 cago over what the World's Fair of 1893 would do for the 
 city. When the construction ball started rolling, many new 
 and large hotels were built; the city spread southward and 
 increased in population; many desirables and some unde- 
 sirables came there to have a hand in the doings of that 
 great international affair. John A. Roche's term as mayor 
 had ended and DeWitt C. Cregier was elected in April, 
 
 89
 
 1889. He let the bars down a little and the town was a bit 
 more "open." 
 
 The Democrats selected Chicago as the site for their 
 1892 National Convention. A wooden wigwam, which 
 seated over fifteen thousand, was especially built for that 
 convention on Michigan Avenue at the foot of Madison 
 Street, and would have been OK if it hadn't rained on the 
 night of the nominations. I stood directly in front of the 
 speakers' stand from early in the evening until after five 
 o'clock the next morning. Bourke Cockran talked for hours 
 for David Bennett Hill, trying to tire out the delegates to 
 keep them from voting for Grover Cleveland. It rained 
 through the roof on Cockran, but didn't seem to shut him 
 up, so we decided that if he could stand it, we could. When 
 Cockran's wind was all wasted, Grover Cleveland was 
 nominated. 
 
 Two nights before the nominations, Tammany Hall's 
 delegation— all for D. B. Hill— raised plenty of Hell. They 
 were ensconced in the Palmer House. Then, quite a num- 
 ber of them came over to Chapin & Gore's. Colonel Jack 
 Chinn was from Kentucky and he was against Hill. He 
 made his choice known to the Tammany crowd and picked 
 a quarrel with them. Those Tammany fellows were really 
 as tough as Colonel Jack Chinn thought he was. They dis- 
 regarded the Colonel's gun and knife, and, to put it mildly, 
 they handled Jack Chinn rather roughly. 
 
 In anticipation of the World's Fair, there was naturally 
 exciting activity in 1892. Many big new hotels were built, 
 some were enlarged, and innumerable catering establish- 
 ments were opened and others remodeled. Modern places 
 of entertainment were promoted and later proved disap- 
 pointing to those who were over-optimistic. "Coming 
 
 90
 
 events cast their shadows before"— in other parts of the 
 country there were already signs of economic troubles that 
 were to culminate in the depression of 1893— probably the 
 worst in the history of the country— to that date. 
 
 91
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 11 
 
 F 
 
 ROM 1889 TO 1893 I had already made the acquaintance 
 of many men prominent in public life at that time. Carter 
 H. Harrison, Sr., a close friend of James Gore and whom I 
 saw frequently, then owned and published the Chicago 
 Times. When he was first elected mayor in 1879, Mr. Gore 
 presented him with a beautiful gold star containing a large 
 diamond in the center of it. He wore that throughout his 
 five terms as the city's chief executive. On his passing, it 
 was handed down to his son, Carter H., Jr., who wore that 
 star at every one of his five inaugurations and still owns 
 and treasures it. 
 
 I came to know all types of politicians of that day— Bill 
 Skakel, Michael Cassius McDonald, Carter H. Harrison, 
 Sr., Washington Hesing, Fred Busse, Joe Mackin, John P. 
 Altgeld, John Powers, Judge Edward F. Dunne, F. S. 
 Peabody, Billy Lorimer, James Pease, A. S. Trude, Jake 
 Kern, Billy Lyman, Joseph S. Martin, John F. O'Malley, 
 "Hot Stove" James Quinn, and many others, representing 
 a diversified field. 
 
 Before the 1892 presidential election, Joseph S. Martin 
 came to me with a request. I had known him well for over 
 three years. He had been a "butcher" on a passenger train 
 way back in the late sixties, and then turned to gambling. 
 He owned a gambling establishment on Madison Street, 
 near State Street. He was a man of his word, a "square 
 shooter," and had many friends in all walks of life, enjoy- 
 ing high respect from all who knew him. He was intelli- 
 
 92
 
 gent, dependable, and loyal, even to those who did not 
 live within the law. He had made considerable money in 
 running one of the few absolutely square gambling houses. 
 Being fairly wealthy, he gave up gambling and decided to 
 enter politics. 
 
 "Charley," he said, "you're not a politician, but you 
 meet and know a lot of people. I have all the money I'll 
 need. I have received the nomination for office as a mem- 
 ber of the State Board of Equalization. It will mean much 
 to me to be elected. Do all you can to help me. On account 
 of my past connections, I'll need help, but if I am elected, 
 I'll do my full duty in that job." 
 
 The Democratic ticket— Grover Cleveland was elected 
 president; John P. Altgeld, governor; and Joe Martin to 
 the state board. Joe Martin filled that office honestly and 
 soon became the closest friend and adviser to Governor 
 Altgeld. When the governor died, Joe was sincerely 
 shocked. He told me that it was Altgeld that changed his 
 entire slant on life. 
 
 Joe Martin became a power in politics, and he and Bob 
 Burke were responsible for Carter H. Harrison, Jr.'s, first 
 election as mayor of Chicago. Mr. Harrison appointed Joe 
 to his first cabinet as City Collector, which office he filled 
 creditably. 
 
 Here's another story about Joe Martin that should prove 
 interesting. On the west side there was a tough gang led 
 by Eddie and Paddy Guerin. Inspector John D. Shea told 
 me that he went over to arrest one of them and they ganged 
 up on him and got him down. Shea was a powerful man, 
 resourceful and fearless. He was on top of Eddie Guerin, 
 the others were ready to put their boots into Shea, but 
 Shea put his gun to Guerin's head and warned the rest 
 
 93
 
 that he would blow Guerin's head off if any of them so 
 much as touched him. They let Shea up unharmed. 
 
 Well, Eddie and Paddy were friends of Joe Martin. Eddie 
 Guerin went to London and Paris. Eddie Guerin shot a 
 man in the Paris railway station, was convicted, and sent to 
 Devil's Island for life. 
 
 I was attending the Paris Exposition in 1900 and was 
 surprised to see Joe Martin at the Grand Hotel. He told 
 me that he had letters from Washington to President Loubet 
 of France, and asked me to go with him to call on the 
 President, which naturally, I was pleased to have the 
 chance to do. 
 
 We drove over to the Palace, and were admitted. The 
 President's secretary said that he was just going for his 
 daily drive and that the President would be pleased to see 
 us, but suggested that we return next day for the requested 
 conference. Presently the President came in, met us with 
 a bow and smile, and left for his drive. 
 
 The next day I could not go with Joe, as I was leaving 
 for Reims, so Joe went alone. I did not ask him what his 
 business was with the President of France, and he didn't 
 tell me until several years later, when he informed me that 
 he went to see the President to get permission to visit 
 Eddie Guerin at Devil's Island. The President granted Joe 
 that permission and he went to Devil's Island, arranged for 
 the boat, and did some other fixing that made it possible 
 for Eddie Guerin to be the first man to ever escape from 
 Devil's Island. As an innocent bystander, I came close to 
 playing a small part in that bit of French drama. 
 
 Joseph S. Martin was an honest public official. He worked 
 alone for several years against odds and at his personal 
 expense to have a monument erected to his friend and 
 
 94
 
 idol, Grover Altgeld, in Lincoln Park because he believed 
 in Altgeld's honesty and loyalty to his duty. Then Joe 
 traveled to France at his own expense to help an old friend 
 who was an underworld character. He was possessed of a 
 strange philosophy, which no doubt was the result of his 
 early environment. He disliked policemen. He often argued 
 with me that it would be a better world without them. 
 Yet his closest friend was William A. Pinkerton, the world's 
 premier detective. 
 
 One day while I was visiting with Bill Pinkerton in his 
 office, he gave a hearty laugh and told me how he had "put 
 one over" on our mutual friend. 
 
 "Information came into our office that a wanted crook 
 was in hiding near Chicago," he related. "We were inter- 
 ested in apprehending him, but could not locate his hiding 
 place. I remembered that he was known to Joe Martin and 
 that very likely he would call on Joe for a 'touch,' so I 
 telephoned Joe that I'd like to have a talk with that fellow, 
 and asked if he would be good enough to bring him to my 
 office." 
 
 Unsuspectingly, Joe answered, "Yes, Bill, I know where 
 he is, and if you wish to talk with him, I'll have him at your 
 office this afternoon." 
 
 Bill Pinkerton continued, "Joe brought him in and we 
 put the cuffs on him. I told Joe he was the best 'fly cop' in 
 our office. Of course, Joe was furious, but I'll square that 
 with him." 
 
 "Bill," I said, "I don't think Joe will ever forgive you 
 for that act, and for Joe's sake, I'm sorry you pulled that 
 one. 
 
 Joe Martin was terribly hurt, but eventually Bill squared 
 himself with Joe. No man living except Bill Pinkerton 
 
 95
 
 could have got away with the trick. I still don't know what 
 Bill did to get Joe's forgiveness. 
 
 I never knew Eddie Guerin, but I knew his brother 
 Paddy well, and will later relate a story about Paddy 
 Guerin; also, more about William A. Pinkerton. 
 
 Joe Martin was noted for his loyalty to his friends, and 
 he was just the opposite against anyone he didn't like. 
 He did not like Johnny Dowling, the well-known gambler, 
 so he shot it out with him one day on Dearborn Street. 
 Joe was a staunch friend, a fearless man, and an unfor- 
 giving enemy. I was not surprised that Joe fell that day 
 for the joke Bill Pinkerton put over on him because Bill 
 was one of Joe's intimate friends. Joe was also a very close 
 and long-time pal of Mike McDonald. 
 
 Michael Cassius McDonald's life dates back to Civil War 
 days. He was of Chicago in those pioneer days when his 
 type of man was prominent in the life of a western pioneer 
 town and Mike McDonald was one of the leaders. He was 
 a gambling-house keeper and a power in mercenary poli- 
 tics up to the early nineties. Then he gave up all of that 
 sort of activity and went into legitimate pursuits. Much 
 has been written about Mike McDonald, but seldom have 
 writers touched on his private life. I knew Mike since 
 1890, and I found him a companionable, interesting man, 
 a good friend, and a better man than his reputation indi- 
 cated. I know where he took losses of enormous amounts 
 of money because he helped alleged friends. In his home 
 life he was a devoted husband, but again, he was a sucker, 
 being given the worst kind of deal by both of his wives. 
 
 The first was Mary Noonan. For a time the McDonalds 
 lived on an upper floor of Mike McDonald's gambling 
 house, "The Store," located on the northwest corner of 
 
 96
 
 WILLIAM A. PINKERTON AND ROBERT A. PINKEKTON 
 World's Premier Detectives sojourning at Hot Springs, Arkansas
 
 LYDIA THOMPSON 
 
 Burlesque "Queen" who attained notoriety by horsewhipping the 
 
 Chicago Times Editor, Wilbur F. Storey, while playing at a Chicago 
 
 Theatre with her "British Blondes" in "Black Crook"
 
 Clark and Monroe Streets. Then they moved into a man- 
 sion on Ashland Avenue, but it wasn't long before Mrs. 
 McDonald deserted Mike and eloped with a minstrel, Billy 
 Arlington. She went back to Mike, and they appeared to 
 have become reconciled. Mike had a private altar installed 
 in his Ashland Avenue home where they worshipped. Mrs. 
 McDonald again deserted Mike, and ran away with the 
 Reverend Joseph Moysant. Mike McDonald renounced 
 the Catholic faith and obtained a divorce. 
 
 A second time Mike proved himself to be a poor picker 
 of wives. He was nearly sixty when he married twenty- 
 four-year-old Dora Feldman Barclay, the ex-wife of Sam 
 Barclay, a professional baseball player. For their home 
 Mike purchased that mansion of Charles Head Smith on 
 Drexel Boulevard and 45th Street. There they lived what 
 seemed to be a happy married life. 
 
 Mike McDonald owned the property just north of the 
 Grand Opera House on Clark Street. Having talked to him 
 in regard to buying that property, he called me on the tele- 
 phone one morning informing me that he had been laid 
 up with a cold, but would stop at my office that morning 
 relative to the deal. He came and requested our telephone 
 operator to call his home for him. He took the call in my 
 office, and I overheard him say, "Hello dear. Yes, I am 
 feeling OK. No, my cold isn't bad; don't worry, dear. I'll 
 be home about four o'clock. Goodby, darling." Mike turned 
 to me and said that he had several matters to take care of 
 that day, and that he would get together with me about 
 that property matter in a couple of days. He left my office 
 at eleven. At noon an "extra" was out. The headlines read: 
 "Mrs. Mike McDonald Shot and Killed Webster Guerin." 
 Evidently, she started for downtown within a few minutes 
 
 97
 
 after Mike McDonald's talk with her over the telephone 
 from my office. The man she killed was a commercial artist 
 in his twenties, a young lad who had tossed her overboard 
 whom she wanted back and killed him when he turned 
 her down. That was a sensational story. It was hard for me 
 to believe it after the conversation I had listened to be- 
 tween Mike McDonald and the murderess less than four 
 hours before. 
 
 That broke Mike McDonald completely. He was taken to 
 a hospital on the west side. Dr. Leonard St. John attended 
 him. Bill Pinkerton, Joe Martin, and I visited him there 
 several times. He was game and put on a good front, but 
 that was too severe a blow even for Mike McDonald. One 
 day Joe came into my office and informed me that Mike 
 had made a new will and had made Bill Pinkerton, Charles 
 Winship, and me his executors. 
 
 "Joe," I said, "you've got to help me out of this. I'd do 
 anything I could for Mike McDonald, but this means a 
 murder trial and I cannot afford to be mixed up with Mike 
 McDonald's family. You must go to the hospital and con- 
 vince him that he appoint someone else in my place." 
 
 A couple of days later Joe Martin came in with a smile 
 on his face. He had induced Mike to replace me with 
 another friend of his whose name was Schimmel. I was 
 greatly relieved. Joe handled that delicate matter very 
 diplomatically. Within thirty days, Michael Cassius McDon- 
 ald passed away, and Chicago lost another pioneer char- 
 acter whose name was linked prominently, if somewhat 
 discreditably, with the early life and history of the city. 
 But it must be said that, while Mike McDonald conducted 
 gambling and his political activities were often shady, he 
 abhorred vice and the more repulsive forms of criminality. 
 
 98
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 12 
 
 JLhe first ward has always been considered the richest 
 in this country, containing, as it did and still does, many 
 of Chicago's great business enterprises— its main railroad 
 stations, immense skyscrapers, large hotels, principal thea- 
 ters, leading newspapers, art institute, opera house, city 
 and federal government buildings, great department stores, 
 and the large banks. 
 
 As is usually the case in great metropolitan areas, it is 
 only natural that it should attract some of the underworld, 
 both male and female, especially in view of the fact that 
 the better element, excepting those residing in clubs and 
 hotels, established their homes away from such a busy 
 business district. Certain thoroughfares, running along or 
 close to railroad right of ways are the cause of those 
 blighted sections that depreciate adjacent property values 
 to such an extent that they are given over to "flop houses," 
 and in many cases to houses of ill repute. That condition 
 also brings in a too liberal percentage of alleged residents 
 who believe in the "share the other fellow's wealth" idea; 
 the kind who hold up their pants with a half suspender, 
 with each end fastened with a nail instead of a button. 
 They have no need for the services of a barber. They carry 
 all of their real estate with them, mostly under their finger 
 nails. They know where to get the largest glass of beer 
 for a nickel and they dine at the same place. Why that 
 busy "emporium" should have been named the "working 
 man's exchange" is difficult to explain, because the major- 
 
 99
 
 ity of its patrons were usually men of leisure except on 
 election days. 
 
 It was largely that type of electorate that, in the 1892 
 election, deposited the "crying parcel" right on Chicago's 
 front door step in the shape of a city father. It needed 
 "changing," but for over forty years they purposely neg- 
 lected to "change" it. That was the beginning of "Bath- 
 house" John Coughlin. 
 
 I knew the "Bath" when he was a rubber, or masseur, 
 in a Turkish bath. Much has been written about him on 
 the theory of making him an exciting and interesting 
 character. The reporters did it for the fun of it, and they 
 knew he loved it. As a matter of fact, he traveled in the 
 "ruck" and was anything but a leader in the City Council. 
 The real leaders were the "Grey Wolf" coterie, Johnny 
 Powers, Ed Cullerton, Billy O'Brien, and several others. 
 
 Martin B. Madden and James R. Mann were important 
 factors. Like the shrewd Arthur Dixon, those two outstand- 
 ing aldermen usually kept themselves in the background, 
 but they were influential in putting through legislation. 
 Both were able men. Also, in Congress, Mann put over a 
 now famous law that goes by his name. He intended it as 
 a deterrent to White Slave business, but then the United 
 States Supreme Court worked a meaning into it that he 
 originally hadn't thought of, and for the publicity it gave 
 him, he adopted it as his own. The Mann Act has since 
 been subjected to much criticism, because it was made use 
 of by blackmailers. 
 
 As an alderman, "The Bath" usually followed the advice 
 given to him by that "able seaman," rotund Senator Billy 
 Mason— "Let the big stuff alone and confine yourself to 
 petty larceny pickings. There is enough of that— just as 
 
 100
 
 much in the long run financially and less danger of getting 
 into trouble." "The Bath's" big income came from his in- 
 surance business which he finally succeeded in building 
 up into quite an enterprise. Also, getting permits for pro- 
 jection of bay windows over sidewalks, electric signs, and 
 other sorts of ordinance violations for businessmen in his 
 ward was very remunerative. He cut in somewhat on the 
 "take" in the red light district and the "rake-off" on gam- 
 bling and hand books. "The Bath" was a big, healthy Irish- 
 man who gloried in any kind of publicity, would do any- 
 thing to stay in the limelight, and was "duck soup" for 
 Newman, a LaSalle Street tailor, who specialized in crea- 
 tions for vaudeville actors. He kept "The Bath" well 
 stocked. He dressed up in unique apparel that gave him 
 publicity, and how "The Bath" ate that up! He furnished 
 material for the newspaper boys who enjoyed poking fun 
 at him. A Tribune reporter wrote poetry to hand to "The 
 Bath" to use as his own. 
 
 I was attending a show at the Grand Opera House one 
 evening. During intermission I met John Coughlin in front 
 of the theatre. He called me over and handed me a piece 
 of paper with a verse written on it in his own handwriting. 
 He didn't know that I had been tipped off by Drury Under- 
 wood, a newspaper writer, that a pal of his was slipping 
 that stuff to "The Bath." 
 
 I read the verse and told Coughlin, "That's great stuff! 
 You're a genius. How do you do it?" 
 
 To which he replied, "It just came to me while I was 
 waiting for the curtain to go up." 
 
 Mike Kenna was elected to the City Council in 1907, and 
 "The Bath" and "Hinky Dink," as Mike was called, made 
 quite a team. Mike Kenna furnished the brain and "The 
 
 101
 
 Bath" was the front, but few ever took Coughlin seriously. 
 Mike Kenna was smooth as an eel, sharp as a tack, and 
 very loyal; a man of few words, but he always knew what 
 he was talking about. There was no bunk about "Hinky 
 Dink." If he gave you his word, you could bet on it. The 
 last time I saw Mike Kenna was in 1920. Prohibition had 
 put his place out of business and he was running a cigar 
 store on Clark Street near Jackson Boulevard. He tele- 
 phoned to me, asking if I could come to his office in that 
 store. I told him I would be there. We had a visit and then 
 he asked me to act as treasurer for the fall campaign. I told 
 Mike that I would like to do it for him, but was leaving for 
 California. I expressed my regrets as he did his. 
 
 Prior to that I had had another honor handed to me by 
 the other half of that team. "The Bath" met me in the 
 City Hall and called me to one side, and said, "Charley, 
 you live on LaSalle Avenue near Locust Street. I want 
 you to bring a little lady from her home on Chestnut Street 
 near State to the Chicago Opera House on the opening 
 night of Dear Midnight of Love, and to take her home after 
 the show. Will you do it as a favor to me?" That little lady 
 was May DeSousa. I knew her father, who was a detec- 
 tive on the force, and I had heard May sing at the "Arra- 
 pahoe" Irish picnic. I escorted the pretty seventeen-year- 
 old girl to the theatre on that evening which was a momen- 
 tous occasion in the life of "The Bath." The theatre was 
 crowded and little May DeSousa played her part very well. 
 
 While "Hinky Dink" was the smart strategist of that 
 team, he was a quiet man who took life and his job very 
 seriously. Mike Kenna spoke sparingly. He was a deep 
 thinker and could say a lot in very few words. When he 
 did say anything it was always to the point, but "The Bath" 
 
 102
 
 possessed an uneducated, but natural intelligence and an 
 Irish wit that often helped him when debating to stop some 
 of his college bred opponents on the floor of the City 
 Council. 
 
 The above characteristics are well brought out by a story 
 Mayor Harrison enjoyed telling and which he later in- 
 cluded in his autobiography, Stormy Years. After his fourth 
 election in 1903, when he realized that Graeme Stewart 
 gave him the hardest political battle of his career, the two 
 first ward aldermen visited his office to congratulate him. 
 The Mayor asked, "With the Republicans thoroughly 
 united and the Hopkins-Sullivan crowd solidly against 
 me, why was it that I won?" 
 
 "Mr. Mayor," "The Bath" replied, "you won because of 
 the public satisfaction with the well known honesty that 
 has caricatured your every administration." 
 
 Shortly after Coughlin's Dear Midnight of Love song 
 was rendered in the Chicago Opera House to a full house 
 by May DeSousa, Mike Kenna had occasion to come to the 
 Mayor's office. During that visit the Mayor referred to that 
 song and some other of "The Bath's" poetry and jokingly 
 asked "Hinky Dink" whether his colleague was crazy or 
 just full of "dope." Kenna came back at him with, 
 
 "No, John isn't 'dotty' and he ain't full of 'dope.' To tell 
 you the God's truth, Mr. Mayor, they ain't found a name 
 for it yet." 
 
 This explains why the richest ward in the country was 
 always represented in the City Council by aldermen of that 
 caliber. No able man of good repute, be he a lawyer, 
 banker, or business man would ever have had the slightest 
 chance of being elected in that ward. Chicago in those 
 early days was not yet entirely out of its frontier stage, 
 
 103
 
 and a great percent of its floating population consisted of 
 westerners— cattle men, miners, and men who roughed it. 
 The city was not yet ripe to be cleaned up. Mayor Carter 
 H. Harrison, Sr., realized that fact and made Chicago a 
 mecca for the middle west. When his son was first elected 
 mayor in 1897, he was forced, against his intentions, to 
 overlook some of the existing conditions in that ward, 
 because he needed the help of those two aldermen to defeat 
 crooked ordinances continually being introduced in the 
 City Council, at the instance of such bribers as Yerkes, 
 passage of which would have been costly to Chicago. 
 
 104
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 13 
 
 D, 
 
 'aniel Burnham and his great staff performed the 
 unexpected miracle of turning that stupendous dream into 
 a reality. On May 1, President Cleveland came to Chicago 
 to dedicate the Columbian Exposition. There was much 
 excitement in Chicago on that occasion. Carter H. Harri- 
 son, Sr., was our newly elected mayor. As our World's Fair 
 mayor, he proved to be a great asset both to the World's 
 Fair and to Chicago. No man could have done a better job 
 than he did. He was equal to every situation that was to be 
 met. For that dedication day he arranged "big doings," 
 including a large and impressive parade led by carriages 
 containing President Cleveland and some of his cabinet, 
 and many other celebrities. In that parade were the First 
 Regiment Army and all other state militia, including the 
 colored troops. Of course, all city officials and aldermen 
 rode in carriages. The Cook County Democrats were 
 dressed for the occasion in Prince Alberts and top hats. 
 We common people were out in large numbers, standing 
 on the side lines. 
 
 The parade was coming down Monroe Street and would 
 pass by Chapin & Gore's. I was standing in front of our 
 office on the walk talking with Colonel Jack Chinn. Just 
 as we heard a band playing, someone tapped me on the 
 shoulder. I turned around and saw that it was Potter 
 Palmer. He didn't address me by name (probably because 
 he did not remember it), but he knew that I belonged with 
 Chapin & Gore's. He asked, "Could we sit in the win- 
 
 105
 
 dows above?" His request was complied with. So Potter 
 Palmer, Colonel Jack Chinn, and I sat comfortably through- 
 out the procession. We saw everything there was to see 
 without any obstructions, but I have always remembered 
 a remark made by Jack Chinn. When the carriages passed 
 containing "The Bath" John Coughlin and the Democratic 
 "bigwigs," they were followed on foot by the militia, the 
 First Regiment soldiers, and then the colored. The Colonel 
 looked at Potter Palmer to whom I had just introduced 
 him, then he turned to me, and said, "There it is, Charley, 
 there it is. Some people have all the money, some people 
 have all the offices, and we poor white folks and 'niggers' 
 must march." Mr. Palmer looked over and smiled. That 
 was all I could do. Jack didn't realize that he had been 
 rubbing shoulders with Potter Palmer, one of the richest 
 men in Chicago. 
 
 The opening day of the Columbian Exposition was a big 
 day. There were still some details to finish, but everyone 
 was amazed at its grandeur. In artistic achievement, mag- 
 nitude, and entertainment attractions, nothing like it has 
 ever been seen in this world. We attended the Paris Expo- 
 sition in 1900; the St. Louis Exposition in 1904; the San 
 Francisco Exposition in 1915; and the second World's Fair 
 in Chicago in 1933-4. Each had the benefit of scientific 
 advancements, improved methods of transportation, in- 
 creased population to appeal to, and even the plans and 
 innovations originated by Chicago's first World's Fair to 
 copy and guide them. None was nearly so great, so spec- 
 tacular, or so interesting as the Columbian Exposition in 
 Chicago in 1893. 
 
 One of the features just outside of the World's Fair 
 grounds was William F. Cody's ("Buffalo Bill") Wild West 
 
 106
 
 Show. It was a spectacular performance and was a big 
 financial success. "Buffalo Bill" was a close personal friend 
 of Jim Gore, and a frequent visitor at our office whenever 
 he was in Chicago. He had presented Jim Gore with a val- 
 uable, large, old buffalo head mounted, and two unusually 
 big elk heads. They were hung in a conspicuous place, with 
 the buffalo head in the center between large portraits of 
 "Buffalo Bill" and General Custer. One day Robert ("Pony 
 Bob") Haslem— so named because he rode the pony ex- 
 press—called on me and said that Bill Cody wished to know 
 if he could come to Chapin & Gore's that night after his 
 show to have a look at that group of heads and the two 
 paintings. They came, and we three stood there, "Buffalo 
 Bill's" eyes glued for quite a time on those paintings. Then 
 he took his hat off, and with his head majestically thrown 
 back said nothing for quite a while. I thought I noticed a 
 bit of moisture in the man's eyes. Then he remarked, "It's 
 a great honor to have my picture alongside of General 
 Custer's. I can't think of any I would rather see there than 
 that of General Custer." 
 
 In the early nineties Chicago was often frequented by 
 well known characters from the great wild and woolly 
 West. The life story of the immortal "Buffalo Bill" is, of 
 course, known to all. There were others, not so outstanding 
 as General Custer's great scout. 
 
 We have in mind one whom we saw almost daily during 
 the World's Fair— that fearless law enforcement officer, 
 "Bat" Masterson. His daring exploits placed his name 
 prominently into the history of those by-gone wild west 
 days when bad men's cases had to be decided on the spot 
 and "from the hip." "Bat" Masterson was a medium-size 
 man, slow and soft spoken. As sheriff for many years in 
 
 107
 
 the bad lands of our early West, he was by necessity quick 
 on the draw. 
 
 Among those from the then pioneer west was a rather 
 unusual character known as "Colonel" Ritter. He was a 
 small man, but possessed of a quarrelsome nature. We saw 
 him in Chicago frequently in the early Nineties, at which 
 time he was nearly sixty years old. He wa's then tamed by 
 age and by the changed conditions in the section from 
 which he hailed. The "Colonel" was always attired in a 
 well-worn Prince Albert, flowing black bow tie, and a 
 dark slouch hat. He was reputed to have slain a number 
 of men— all in the same manner. He always resorted to a 
 knife. His quarrels were invariably with big men who out- 
 weighed him by fifty or sixty pounds. When his disputes 
 arrived at the serious stage, his procedure was to clinch 
 with his more powerful opponent. The two would fall to 
 the floor with Ritter always beneath his antagonist. Then 
 the "Colonel" would shriek at the top of his high pitched 
 voice, "Take him off! Take him off! He is killing me!" 
 When the big man was taken off he was dead, for the 
 "Colonel" had already plunged his knife into his victim. 
 Ritter was never known to have been convicted. He 
 always claimed self defense. 
 
 In such a great undertaking as the Columbian Exposi- 
 tion it was only natural that some who overplayed their 
 hand because of over-optimism should have been subjected 
 to financial disappointment. On the other hand, many 
 reaped great financial benefits. 
 
 The Chicago World's Fair of 1893 was in every sense an 
 international exposition. Many foreign countries, the im- 
 portant and the remote, from every quarter of the globe 
 were liberally represented there in its attendance and by 
 
 108
 
 lavish and interesting exhibits. Spain at that period was 
 still a great empire, and due to its rightful claim to the 
 famous discoverer of the new world, Spain naturally was 
 greatly interested in participating in the celebration of that 
 all-important event. The Duke de Veragua and the Infanta 
 Eulalie came to that World's Fair as the direct representa- 
 tives of the ruler of Spain. The Duke, a descendant of 
 Christopher Columbus, and the Infanta were tops among 
 the royalty of their country. They were received as such 
 and were accorded every honor due them. In this connec- 
 tion, old-timers will remember that the Infanta, on one 
 important occasion became a bit "snooty." Her action in 
 that instance was entirely out of order. She and the Duke 
 were being royally entertained. Mrs. Potter Palmer was 
 president of the Lady Managers of the Columbian World's 
 Fair and in that important assignment she did an excel- 
 lent job. Mrs. Palmer was noted for her beauty and charm 
 and was Chicago's "Gold Coast" social leader. An impor- 
 tant banquet was arranged for the Duke and the Infanta. 
 It was in connection with that affair that the Infanta 
 snubbed Mrs. Palmer by referring to her as being merely 
 an inn-keeper's wife. 
 
 The attendance at the World's Columbian Exposition 
 broke all previous World's Fair records. It attracted peo- 
 ple from every walk of life. Chicago became the host to 
 many foreign notables, but it was truly a World's Fair for 
 the rich and the poor, as well as for the nobility. As is 
 usually the case in connection with the guests at such great 
 events as a World's Fair, some few also came to Chicago 
 with one shirt and a two dollar bill, and it seemed as 
 though they failed to change either. However, all were 
 welcome and the World's Columbian Exposition was, from 
 
 109
 
 the standpoint of attendance and in every way, a success 
 unsurpassed before or since. 
 
 On the whole, the World's Fair was a great triumph, and 
 Chicago's gain was an undreamed amount of everlasting 
 glory. We young fellows attended many days and nearly 
 every night. The "White City," as it was popularly called, 
 ran for six months and we regretted to think that the 
 closing days were approaching. That last day and night of 
 the "White City" was an occasion never to be forgotten. 
 Chicago's great Mayor Carter H. Harrison, Sr., after com- 
 pleting a very busy and eventful last day at the Fair, left 
 for his home. No attempt was or could be made to control 
 the pandemonium of the vast crowd who seemed to regret 
 the end of their beloved "White City." We stayed to the 
 last and did not learn of the great tragedy that had befallen 
 the city earlier in the evening until we arrived downtown. 
 
 The large headlines of the extra papers reported that 
 Chicago's gifted Mayor Carter H. Harrison, Sr., had been 
 assassinated in the doorway of his Ashland Avenue home. 
 Chicago was stricken with grief. The dastardly assassina- 
 tion of our mayor removed a great pioneer and an out- 
 standing personality. He understood Chicago and what was 
 best for it at the time, even if the reformers didn't always 
 agree with him. He did much to help promote and build 
 up the city he loved. The mayor was inevitably mentioned 
 in the same breath with the great Columbian Exposition, 
 and that the life of both should have been ended on the 
 same day was truly a sad coincidence. 
 
 The depression of 1893, the worst in the country's his- 
 tory, demoralized business everywhere, but due to the 
 1893 World's Fair it by-passed Chicago until 1894. The 
 flood of money that poured into the city's coffers by our 
 
 110
 
 out-of-town visitors, served as a big stimulant to business. 
 On the other hand, the World's Fair was the cause of 
 spreading out Chicago and much over-building in many 
 lines in preparations that were necessarily made in order 
 to feed, house, and entertain those expected outside visi- 
 tors. Naturally, the reaction was severe. It caused many 
 failures and to add to our troubles, the city was subjected 
 to the troublesome and costly Debs-Pullman railroad 
 strike. Hopkins, as mayor, couldn't or didn't help much, 
 and Altgeld, Illinois' socialistic governor, greatly impeded 
 the possibility of a sane solution of that serious labor dis- 
 turbance. Both sides were entitled to consideration. If those 
 two executives hadn't played politics, and had the gover- 
 nor put aside his plainly biased leanings, the differences 
 might have been adjusted and the strike settled, but that 
 was not the case. Finally, President Cleveland was obliged 
 to step in and resort to the army, and martial law was 
 declared. The strike was ended by that federal action. 
 
 By then, the depression had hit Chicago with full force. 
 Free soup was fed to the hungry on the principal corners 
 of the downtown district and the saloons did a large free 
 lunch business. It should be noted that the saloons played 
 a philanthropic role during those hard times. 
 
 Ill
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 14 
 
 D, 
 
 'uRiNG THE World's Fair year many amusement 
 enterprises aside from the "White City" were undertaken 
 to provide additional interests for the City's guests. 
 America was a great theatrical production. It was staged 
 in the Auditorium and ran all summer. "Buffalo Bill's" 
 Wild West Show was the greatest performance of its kind 
 ever attempted before or since. Washington Park put on a 
 great race meeting, climaxed by the American Derby with 
 an added purse of fifty thousand dollars. Up to that date, 
 it was the largest purse ever offered for one race in Amer- 
 ica. Boundless was the horse that won that American 
 Derby, at a good, long price. 
 
 One entertainer rose out of the Columbian Exposition to 
 real success— Flo Ziegfeld. Dr. Florence Ziegfeld, one of 
 the Chicago pioneers, was a famous music teacher who 
 established the Chicago Musical College in a four-story 
 building on Michigan Avenue. Dr. Ziegfeld was a highly 
 respected gentleman with high ideals. His famous son, Flo, 
 became identified with that institution in a business capac- 
 ity, but young Flo never seemed to know the value of 
 money. He bought whatever he desired, regardless of cost. 
 He always demanded the best, even if paying for it embar- 
 rassed him. 
 
 With the coming of the great World's Columbian Exposi- 
 tion, Dr. Ziegfeld conceived the idea of establishing a 
 huge music hall where food and refreshments would be 
 served in conjunction with high class music to World's 
 
 112
 
 mmmmmm 
 
 mmimiim&mm^^ 
 
 
 MR. AND MRS. W ILLIAM H. CRANE AND WALTER WILLIAMS 
 
 Photograph presented to the author in April ig24. On its reverse side 
 
 Mrs. Crane wrote: "Three old bodies, but your friends. 
 
 Ages: 79, 77, -4. Total 251) years"
 
 •A, . ' 
 
 /A 
 
 
 ACK50N DAY r 
 
 l\\TI\RY 6 1697 / 
 
 '^VW:i 
 
 lAr^ 
 
 '/// TRFMONT HOUSE. 
 
 / CHICAGO. 
 
 MENU COVER FOR JACKSON DAY BANQUET 
 Showing Jackson and Bryan, also Tremont House. "The Commoner" auto- 
 graphed a menu for each of the four members of the reception committee
 
 Fair visitors. Accordingly he leased the old First Regiment 
 Armory on Michigan Avenue and 16th Street. The interior 
 of that big building was completely rebuilt and artistically 
 decorated, and ample kitchen, bar, and storeroom facilities 
 were provided. About one month before the World's Fair 
 opening date, a fire occurred in the nearly completed 
 music hall and wrecked the building and Dr. Ziegfeld's 
 project, but that didn't stop him. He quickly leased the 
 huge "Battery D" building on Michigan Avenue at the foot 
 of Monroe Street. By working day and night, he completely 
 rebuilt the interior of "Battery D," luxuriously decorating 
 it and providing all necessary facilities, including a large 
 stage. The "Trocadero" was opened on time, but unfortu- 
 nately, the World's Fair visitors failed to appreciate classi- 
 cal music, so Dr. Ziegfeld lost interest in it as it was surely 
 doomed to be a failure. He then turned it over to his son, 
 Flo, who proved to be a real showman. He replaced classi- 
 cal music with attractions which he built up in the P. T. 
 Barnum manner. Sandow was one of them. Then he 
 brought over the great Anna Held. One day I was walking 
 by the corner of Washington and Clark Streets and saw a 
 large crowd around a carriage. I saw in it the beautiful 
 Anna Held holding a lion cub in her lap. It was a real pub- 
 licity stunt. The "Trocadero" Music Hall soon became a 
 big success financially. That was Flo's start as a showman. 
 He married Anna Held and went to New York to rise to 
 great heights in the theatrical world, Anna Held was a 
 star attraction for many years before she died. Later on 
 Flo married that fine lady and popular actress, Billie 
 Burke. Evidently Flo was an ideal husband. 
 
 Flo Ziegfeld, as was stated before, had an utter disregard 
 for expense. He always wanted the best regardless of cost 
 
 113
 
 or where the money was to come from, and that is why his 
 productions were so outstanding. Every detail was closely 
 watched by him, and if he discovered even a slight defect 
 in costumes or any stage effects, he did not hesitate to dis- 
 card such props. His greatest accomplishments were at- 
 tained in connection with his Follies. He knew how to 
 select the exact personnel for his different productions, 
 for he had an eye for talent, and was often able to build 
 stars out of artists who had not reached stardom until 
 they encountered his touch. 
 
 Recently his life and accomplishments were portrayed 
 in an outstanding movie production that gave old-timers 
 a thrill. His is a great name in the theatrical history of his 
 day. He gave existing and coming producers something 
 high at which to shoot. Because of his disregard for ex- 
 pense, Flo had his ups and downs financially. 
 
 This great figure of the theatre was truly a Chicago prod- 
 uct, and he really tried to come back to his home town and 
 exploit his talents from Chicago instead of from Broadway. 
 In that attempt, I was the innocent bystander who took it 
 on the chin and you will see how easy it is to take an 
 "angel" for a ride. 
 
 On the northeast comer of Wabash Avenue and Peck 
 Court once stood Mrs. Stewart's boarding house, which 
 for years was the abode of the elite of the dramatic pro- 
 fession. James H. Stoddard, James E. Dodson, Alice Fisher, 
 Marie Burroughs, Louis F. Masson, Ida Vernon, Joseph 
 Franko, Caroline Hill, Herbert Kelsey, Maurice Barry- 
 more, Georgia Drew Barrymore, and a host of others wrote 
 their names in that register every time they came to Chi- 
 cago. It was the common verdict of all these people that 
 there never was such another comfortable actor's board- 
 
 114
 
 ing house as Mrs. Stewart conducted. It was from there 
 that Lydia Thompson and another member of her British 
 Blondes Company, PauHne Markham, emerged from a car- 
 riage, armed with horsewhips, waylaid and severely horse- 
 whipped Wilbur F. Storey, then recognized as one of the 
 great, original, and most fearless of editors. Lydia Thomp- 
 son's blondes wore tights, and Mr. Storey, through his then 
 powerful Chicago Times attacked the British Blondes and 
 their costumes as being immoral, but that was in a differ- 
 ent age. Today Lydia Thompson's blondes might be so 
 attired and take a stroll through the Loop district without 
 creating any great furore. 
 
 It was on the site of Mrs. Stewart's theatrical boarding 
 house that Brooks' Casino was built in 1904 to house the 
 famous Brooks' Orchestra Concerts. The overhead was 
 too big and the project failed. That large building was 
 sold at auction and was bought by Frank Upman, a promi- 
 nent hotel man, who had operated the Briggs House and 
 later, in partnership with Charley Milligan, operated the 
 Victoria Hotel. Coming to my office directly from that 
 auction sale, Frank told me of the purchase he had made 
 and asked my advice as to what he ought to do with the 
 building. He stated that he had subscribed for some of 
 the bonds issued by Brooks, that were then worthless, and 
 that he had bought the building and leasehold at auction 
 because the price was so low. His excuse for buying so 
 large a building for which he could find no use gave me 
 a good laugh, the last and only laugh that I was to have 
 from Upman's purchase. I assumed that I could be of no 
 help in that matter and suggested that he ask some theatre 
 magnate for advice instead of a fellow like me who had 
 no experience in any amusement enterprise. I suggested 
 
 115
 
 further that he call on Will J, Davis, of the Illinois Theatre, 
 who for many years had operated the Columbia Theatre, 
 and was the dean of theatre men in Chicago. Whereupon, 
 he asked me to get him on the telephone for him. Davis 
 asked us to come over to his office immediately. When 
 Davis learned of the Brooks Casino deal, he was greatly 
 interested because he had had a long talk with Flo Ziegfeld, 
 whose first two Follies had proved successful. Ziegfeld 
 wanted to make the Ziegfeld Follies a Chicago production, 
 and had requested Davis to obtain a theatre for him in 
 Chicago. Davis then decided to take the architect, Ben 
 Marshall, of Marshall and Fox, to Brooks' Casino that 
 same day to ascertain the cost of reconstructing the in- 
 terior, altering the stage to adequate proportions, decorat- 
 ing, and enlarging the seating capacity. If the project 
 looked feasible, he would call Flo by telephone, giving him 
 all details. If it interested him he would call us for another 
 conference. It all proved very feasible, and Flo wanted a 
 fourth interest in the theatre project, with the understand- 
 ing that all plans must be sent to him for his OK, and 
 that he would have sole charge of everything back of the 
 curtain. He stated further that he wanted to produce the 
 Ziegfeld Follies of 1908 at that theatre, and therefore, we 
 must let all contracts for reconstruction without delay. He 
 planned to come to Chicago within thirty days and put up 
 part of the money for his fourth interest. Davis wanted 
 the same. Frank Upman agreed and offered me a fourth. 
 With Flo Ziegfeld and Will Davis in it for one-half of the 
 deal, it looked good to me and I accepted. Much telephon- 
 ing from New York to Chicago took place between Ziegfeld 
 and Davis. Contracts were let and the work progressed 
 satisfactorily. Flo was delayed getting to Chicago with his 
 
 116
 
 money as promised, but Davis assured us Ziegfeld would 
 make good. 
 
 At that period Klaw and Erlanger were the whole thing 
 in the theatrical business. They controlled many of the 
 leading theatres and the booking for most of the others. 
 Flo had suffered financial reverses, and needed help to 
 produce his first Ziegfeld Follies: Klaw and Erlanger fi- 
 nanced him. That fact was unknown to us, but when the 
 Chicago papers published glowing accounts of our new 
 project, the Garden Theatre, Klaw and Erlanger, who until 
 then had not known of Flo Ziegfeld's plans, called him to 
 their office. They informed him that another theatre in 
 Chicago would mean competition to the ones they con- 
 trolled there and advised him that, unless he got out of 
 that deal, they would insist on his paying up what he 
 owed them, Davis promptly received a telegram advising 
 him of Klaw and Erlanger's threat and requesting that 
 "Flo's ball be taken out." That not only left us with a 
 headache, but a large theatre on our hands. Eventually, 
 we took a loss of ninety percent. 
 
 I will not attempt to relate all of that sad story here 
 except that Upman and I were left "holding the bag"— 
 mostly I. Flo Ziegfeld was sincere about producing his 
 Follies in Chicago. If it had not been for his financial 
 troubles at that time, Chicago would have been the home 
 of the famous Ziegfeld Follies instead of New York. The 
 foregoing story may bring tears to the eyes of the reader, 
 and it may not, but it should demonstrate to him or her 
 how easily an "angel" is bom. 
 
 At Flo Ziegfeld's 1893 "Trocadero" there was another 
 attraction, Carmencita, a famed dancer. She fell in love 
 with a young man employed there first as head waiter and 
 
 117
 
 later as one of Flo's assistants. They were married and 
 her husband became her business agent. For years she 
 commanded a large salary that put her husband into big 
 money. I knew him well, but although his name slips my 
 mind, I recall that he was a rather small man, always 
 dressed well, and carried a big roll of "dough." 
 
 When the Fitzsimmons-Corbett fight was to take place, 
 Lou Houseman and Joe Ryan, sports writers on the Inter- 
 Ocean chartered a special train to take Chicago fans to 
 that fight. That project proved to be profitable for its pro- 
 moters, but after the train pulled out, they discovered 
 that the famous "gate-crasher," "One-Eyed" Connelly (the 
 original) was aboard. Crashing gates was not his only 
 specialty. Liquor on that train was served freely and 
 betting on the fight was going on. Carmencita's husband 
 had bet considerably and displayed his roll of money free- 
 ly. Early the next morning he discovered that "roll" of over 
 eight hundred dollars had been "lifted." He reported his 
 loss, and of course, "One-Eyed" Connelly knew that he 
 would be the one to be searched. It was rumored that he 
 went out to the vestibule between that car and the diner 
 and shoved money under the carpet covering that vesti- 
 bule. Then he returned to the car feeling safe in case he 
 was searched. The train came to a stop, and there was some 
 switching which was unnoticed by the car occupants. The 
 promoters were disturbed about the loss of that bankroll 
 and subjected Connelly to a thorough search. The money 
 was not found on him. When Connelly sneaked out to re- 
 cover that money from under the carpet in the vestibule, 
 to his great disappointment, he found that the diner had 
 been switched off that train and the bankroll with it. 
 
 "One-Eyed" Connelly, aside from his national reputa- 
 
 118
 
 tion as a gate crasher was just a "moocher." In the early 
 nineties, we saw him one evening in the luxurious bar 
 and gambling establishment run by Harry Varnell on 
 Clark Street. Of course, Connelly wasn't welcome there. 
 He was half "pickled" and started to argue with a man. 
 Both were put out of the place. We went out to see the 
 finish. The argument continued on the sidewalk. Connelly 
 reached in and took out his glass eye. He turned to a 
 bystander, and said, "Here, you hold me 'bloody eye' and 
 I'll get him." The fight started and the other fellow landed 
 first. Then Connelly brought up a "haymaker" from way 
 down below. Had he connected, his opponent would have 
 been out cold, but the other fellow ducked and Connelly 
 "half piped" and off balance, landed in the gutter. Then 
 a copper came along and ended the fight. 
 
 119
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 15 
 
 O. 
 
 NE EVENING the actor, Tom Nawn, a popular comedian, 
 invited eight of us to a Mallard duck dinner. Each w^as 
 served with a whole duck and all the trimmings. Tom 
 Hanton polished his duck off clean and said he could eat 
 another, and if there were any left over, he'd come after 
 it the next day. Tom Nawn said, "I suppose you think you 
 could eat a Mallard a day for thirty days?" Hanton agreed 
 that he would enjoy doing just that. 
 
 "Well," said Tom Nawn, "I'll bet you one hundred dol- 
 lars, a dinner for this crowd and the loser pay all, that 
 you can't eat an order of Mallard duck a day for thirty 
 consecutive days." Hanton said he would take that bet. 
 Schlogel's restaurant on Fifth Avenue (now Wells Street) 
 was decided upon as the place where Tom Hanton was to 
 eat an order of Mallard duck every evening for thirty 
 days. Tom Nawn went with him to see that he did it. The 
 result was that Tom Hanton not only ate the thirty orders 
 of Mallard duck, but enjoyed each and every one of them. 
 The next evening we were invited by Tom Nawn to the din- 
 ner he also lost. It was again at "Schlogel's." Nawn paid Han- 
 ton the hundred dollars and paid Schlogel's for the thirty 
 duck dinners. The menu was passed around to all of us to 
 ascertain what we would like to eat at that last dinner. 
 Each gave his order to the head waiter. Mostly steaks 
 were ordered, but Tom Hanton kept looking over the bill 
 of fare and couldn't seem to make up his mind, and finally 
 said, "Oh, Hell, bring me a Mallard duck!" 
 
 120
 
 \ 
 
 Tom Nawn nearly fainted. He turned to me, and said, 
 "Out of a hundred million people, I had to pick that guy 
 to make such a bet with." 
 
 Early in the winter of 1897 I was in San Francisco. It 
 was a wide open and hospitable town. There were many 
 good pals there, including Bill Pinkerton, "Big" Bill Lange, 
 Roy Carruthers, Harry Corbett (brother of the World's 
 Champion), Bob Smith, trainer of famous race horses in- 
 cluding Equipoise, the actors— Mathews and Bulger, Burt 
 Dasher, manager of "The Milk White Flag" theatrical com- 
 pany, and many others. We lived at the Baldwin Hotel. 
 Across the street was the popular Green Brothers restau- 
 rant. One afternoon I entered there for a drink. Mr. Green 
 greeted me and inquired where we were dining that eve- 
 ning. Evidently he knew that Mathews and Bulger and 
 Burt Dasher would be in our party. He stated he would 
 treat us to a surprise bit of entertainment if we could 
 arrange to dine at his place that evening. 
 
 He said, "A very talented young lady, clerking in a 
 Market Street store, in the glove department, is anxious 
 to enter the theatrical profession. I suggested that she 
 come here this evening and I hope you can induce your 
 fellows, including Mr. Dasher and Mathews and Bulger to 
 dine here. I'll give you the large room downstairs with 
 the piano in it, and if this lady makes a good impression 
 on Mr. Dasher and Mathews and Bulger or either of them, 
 maybe you'll be good enough to put in a word for her." 
 
 Whereupon I promptly informed Green that I couldn't 
 do any good in that direction, but he insisted that she 
 would be there and hoped that we would come anyway. 
 We did, about ten of us, among whom were Bill Pinkerton, 
 Burt Dasher, Mathews and Bulger, Harry Corbett, "Big" 
 
 121
 
 Bill Lange, John Farley, Bob Smith, and myself. I inti- 
 mated to Dasher and Mathews and Bulger why Green 
 wanted us there that evening and that he expected me to 
 put in a good word with them for that young lady to find 
 a spot for her in one of their companies, providing, of 
 course, that she was "there with the goods." All three in- 
 formed me that there was no chance because they already 
 had more "gals" than they really needed. After dinner, 
 Green took us down to the large room and the young lady 
 went to work. She turned out to be a "humdinger." She 
 could sing Irish songs, Negro songs, and dance. She was 
 really so good that Burt Dasher came to me and said, "Boy, 
 she's too good! I'm going to put her in my 'Milk White 
 Flag' Company." He did and that is how Miss Ethel Levey 
 got her start on the stage. The "Milk White Flag" Com- 
 pany, which was a Hoyt production, closed in Chicago. 
 Miss Levey, being out of a job, moved on to New York 
 and then to London, England. She became a star and later 
 the wife of the great George M. Cohan. If it had not been 
 for that incident in Green Brothers' restaurant, Ethel 
 Levey might have been delayed for quite some time in 
 getting started in that profession, and probably would not 
 have become Mrs. George M. Cohan, but a girl with her 
 ability could hardly have been stopped short of gaining a 
 successful stage career. 
 
 This story is related because of its importance in the 
 life of a truly great showman, the late lamented George 
 M. Cohan. His exceptional talents in all departments of 
 his profession have produced outstanding results in the 
 line of clean entertainment. He was an All American who 
 contributed much to the stage and the public has lost a 
 great star— one that will long be remembered. 
 
 122
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 16 
 
 T. 
 
 .HE SPECIAL ELECTION to fill out the Unexpired term of 
 our martyr mayor, Carter H. Harrison, St., was won by 
 John P. Hopkins. A new political era came to us with that 
 election. Roger Sullivan was at that time Clerk of the Pro- 
 bate Court. After the Hopkins election, Roger became the 
 dominating political figure in the Democratic Party of 
 Illinois. John P. Hopkins filled out the unexpired term, 
 but he did not try for reelection to that office, possibly be- 
 cause of some of the deals that were put over during his 
 short tenure of office. However, Sullivan and Hopkins, by 
 working closely with Tom Taggart, Norman Mack, Tam- 
 many's boss, Murphy, and several other potent leaders, 
 continued as the "bigwigs" of the Democratic National 
 Committee. Roger Sullivan, as the front, was a power that 
 could control Democratic national conventions. I had occa- 
 sion to feel that power adversely while vice-chairman of 
 a non-partisan Citizens' Committee that Chicago sent to 
 Washington for the purpose of inducing the Democratic 
 National Committee, then convened there, to hold its 1912 
 national convention in Chicago. I will relate further de- 
 tails about our committee's experience in that effort later. 
 John P. Hopkins and a partner named Secord had con- 
 ducted a mercantile business located in a suburb south of 
 the city. After Hopkins' election as mayor, Secord took 
 over a lease on an entire building that had been vacated 
 by a stationery concern. It was located on Monroe Street, 
 just east of Clark Street. There he opened a large establish- 
 
 123
 
 ment in the way of a restaurant and bar. The upper floors 
 were fitted up as large and small dining rooms. It was 
 generally understood that Mayor Hopkins was a principal 
 partner in that enterprise known as the Monroe Restau- 
 rant. It was conducted successfully and was a popular 
 spot. On the upper floor was one suite of well furnished 
 rooms which were used for conferences with political 
 leaders and where Roger and the Mayor could comfortably 
 relax with such companions as they would from time to 
 time invite for dinner and a dollar limit poker game. We 
 attended those evening parties frequently. Roger and John 
 P. were a hospitable and companionable pair. One was al- 
 ways assured of a fine dinner with no limit on wines 
 served, but when the poker game started, although it was 
 always for small stakes, it was played for keeps— a case of 
 "dog eat dog," and I was usually the dog who was eaten. 
 If a stray twenty-five cent check should fall on the floor, 
 there would be a wrangle, as everyone would claim it as 
 his own. The main fault with this writer as a poker player 
 was always his over-optimism. The late Ed Partridge once 
 made the statement that if the good Lord should ever see 
 fit to grant him one wish and only one, he would ask for 
 nothing better than that He send him seven Charley Her- 
 manns with whom to play poker. 
 
 When that meddler with the long nose, top hat, and 
 umbrella succeeded in scaring Congress into enacting that 
 inimical, senseless, and un-American prohibition law, many 
 popular places were forced to discontinue and that rendez- 
 vous, the Monroe Restaurant, also closed its doors. 
 
 With the advent of that "noble experiment," Prohibition, 
 the underworld fringe turned to bootlegging and racketeer- 
 ing and thereby crashed into big money. That unfortunate 
 
 124
 
 fact raised havoc with the night life of Chicago. It was re- 
 sponsible for the degradation of a considerable percentage 
 of the younger generation both male and female. Hot spots, 
 speakeasies, and road houses sprang up where a dollar 
 would induce the hat check girl to hand you back your hat. 
 Easy money flowed freely. It dominated Chicago's night 
 life and changed it almost completely from what it had 
 been during the thirty years from 1890 to 1920 when con- 
 ditions were normal. In those previous years the night 
 life in Chicago had been both interesting and enjoyable. 
 Most of the restaurant patrons usually knew how to order 
 a meal and the proper wines to go with it. The better 
 places catered to the better classes, where one could enjoy 
 companionship and feel safe to go with family and guests 
 without being subjected to encountering the crude "splash" 
 and hurrah so prevalent during the prohibition era and its 
 "hangover." 
 
 In those happy days interesting characters developed 
 from all walks of Chicago life. To dig down a bit deeper, 
 it will be interesting to mention two men who started 
 from nowhere, but were later to become well known, 
 influential, and distinctive characters. They knew more 
 men-about-town, actors, ball players, politicians, and men- 
 of-affairs than anyone within my ken. Coming from poor 
 but good old Irish families, one started life in "Little Hell" 
 with the Market Street crowd. He then began active life 
 as brakeman on the Northwestern Railroad. He was later 
 appointed as a deputy coroner, and when his chief went 
 out of office, he naturally went out with him. Then he took 
 over the Chicago agency for a St. Louis brewery and later 
 became owner of that popular restaurant known as The 
 Lamb's Cafe. That man was William "Smiley" Corbett. 
 
 125
 
 The other man was Tom Hanton who had worked in a 
 rolling mill, which job he left to take a half-interest in a 
 Randolph Street saloon, just east of Clark Street. The firm 
 name was Coffee and Hanton. It became a popular place 
 and a successful venture, patronized by city and county 
 officials, politicians, professional ball players, and many 
 from the theatrical profession. Later Tom Hanton became 
 its sole owner and conducted that business until forced out 
 by prohibition. 
 
 "Smiley" Corbett and Tom Hanton were two distinctive 
 characters and a most interesting team that worked well 
 together. They were a couple of rough "Turks," but very 
 original and entertaining as companions in any company. 
 Both could create laughs with their Irish songs which they 
 sang so well that they succeeded in entrancing even pro- 
 fessional stage folks. "Smiley" was sharp as a tack at 
 repartee and Tom was always ready with his natural, 
 wholesome Irish wit. Adding to that pair the aforemen- 
 tioned Matt Hogan, there were three good cards to draw 
 to and we drew to them on many evenings. On such occa- 
 sions we never even thought of looking at the clock. To 
 mention only a few of the participants who often took part 
 in those sessions were, Wilbur Studebaker, "Big Top" John 
 Ringling, James J. Callahan, "Big" Bill Lange, Bill Pinker- 
 ton, Charley O'Connor, Albert Goodrich, and some others 
 including men of the theatrical profession. 
 
 Wilton Lackye, Nat Goodwin, and Peter F. Daley were 
 often in the party when they played Chicago. Goodwin, 
 Lackye, and Daley could tell stories that were packed with 
 laughs. James J. Callahan, one of the star pitchers on 
 Anson's "Colts" team, later a pitching star for the "White 
 Sox," and still later manager of Charley Comiskey's team, 
 
 126
 
 brought in a young fellow who was playing in a vaude- 
 ville sketch with his father, mother, and sister at the 
 Masonic Temple Roof Garden. He was only twenty years 
 old, but what a lad! He talked from the side of his mouth, 
 ready with a quip to apply to any conversation and he just 
 bubbled over with wit. As in the case of Goodwin, Lackye, 
 and Daley, he found fertile soil to work on with those two 
 naturally quick witted Irishmen, Corbett and Hanton. That 
 lad was George M. Cohan, who became the leading figure 
 of the American theater, a great genius as an author, pro- 
 ducer, song writer, and an outstanding actor. Whenever 
 George Cohan played Chicago, Tom Hanton's place was 
 his favored spot. Those were interesting sessions but only 
 a fond memory now. It saddens me to know that about all 
 of those good fellows have passed on. At this writing "Big" 
 Bill Lange, Charley O'Connor and this relator are the only 
 three who have not yet "cashed in." 
 
 127
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 17 
 
 JLhere was no monopoly in the newspaper business in 
 the early nineties. With a population of about one-third of 
 what it is now, Chicago could boast of three times as many 
 daily newspapers, not counting Washington Hesing's Ger- 
 man paper, the Staats-Zeitung and several other foreign 
 language newspapers. There were only about two or three 
 that were making the grade financially, two of which were 
 the Chicago Tribune and the Daily News. The rest were 
 just struggling along. About the oldest publication in the 
 city was the Chicago Journal. Its office and plant were then 
 located on Dearborn Street, just north of Monroe Street. 
 Its chief was W. K. Sullivan, an able newspaper man. He 
 retired to accept the appointment by President Cleveland 
 to a minor diplomatic post in Bermuda. Later the Journal 
 was moved to Washington Street, east of LaSalle Street 
 and struggled along for quite some time, but finally 
 "petered out" and passed into other hands of which I will 
 give further details later. 
 
 Some of the most brilliant writers and artists were em- 
 ployed by the Chicago publications, but owing to fierce 
 competition and then to the depression, those able writers 
 worked for meager compensation. That condition existed 
 until William Randolph Hearst broke into the Chicago 
 field with his Chicago American. He paid unheard of 
 salaries and before the other publishers woke up, he had 
 induced many of the best writers and artists to join his 
 
 128
 
 organization, but that did not help those boys until late 
 in 1899 and 1900 when his paper came into being. 
 
 Newsboy Alley was between Washington and Madison 
 Streets, from LaSalle to Wells Street. There Henry Koster 
 conducted a saloon and lunchroom. It was in the back room 
 of Koster's place that the "Whitechapel Club" was born. 
 It happened at the time when "Jack the Ripper" committed 
 those horrible murders in Whitechapel, a slum section of 
 London, England. That coterie of geniuses whose only 
 "crime" ever was to pull off jokes and clever stunts to 
 produce laughs and make for good fellowship, conceived 
 the idea of adopting the name "Whitechapel Club." While 
 that unique organization lasted it made history. It is to be 
 regretted that the activities of the "Whitechapel Club" 
 were not written up and published in book form by one 
 of its members. It would to this day make entertaining 
 reading and would prove to be a best seller. 
 
 That club consisted of nearly ninety members, about one- 
 half of which were outstanding writers, cartoonists, and 
 news-reporters. The other half of the membership was 
 made up of leading Chicagoans, among which were promi- 
 nent judges, lawyers, architects and city officials. The club 
 continued to congregate in Koster's back room for some 
 time, then it moved into its own club-house which was lo- 
 cated in the same locality. As the club's membership, for 
 various reasons, grew smaller, the "Whitechapel Club" 
 eventually "petered out" in 1895. 
 
 About that time William Mangier, an ex-alderman, 
 opened up a classy restaurant and bar, which occupied 
 three floors of the building located on LaSalle Street, on 
 the opposite corner of Newsboy Alley. Then what was left 
 of the former members of the "Whitechapel Club" made 
 
 129
 
 Mangler's place their headquarters. This relator became a 
 regular participant and many happy and long remembered 
 sessions were enjoyed in the company of that coterie of 
 brilliant minds. 
 
 The old "Whitechapel Club" was from time to time host 
 to many famous men. Among those entertained were 
 George Francis Train, Bill Nye, James Whitcomb Riley, 
 Richard Harding Davis, Theodore Roosevelt, William T. 
 Stead, and others including that famous hero of the prize 
 ring, John L. Sullivan. 
 
 To name some "Whitechapelers" that come to mind at 
 this late date will recall : George Ade, John Bonfield, Fred- 
 rick "Griz" Adams, Charley Almy, Judge Lorin C. Collins, 
 Ben Donnelley, Finley Peter Dunne, John Eastman, Henry 
 Barrett Chamberlin, E. S. "Ted" Beck, Richard Henry 
 Little, Richard Gunning, Herbert Hallett, Hugh Kehoe, 
 Edward Lahiff, John T. McCutcheon, John Monteith, Ber- 
 nard Mulaney, Charley Perkins, Wallace Rice, Jacob Rich- 
 ards, Charles Spaulding, Kinsley "Drury" Underwood, 
 Wilbur Nesbit, John Corwin, Frank Finnegan, Billy Mc- 
 Kay, Opie Read, Frank Morris, B. L. Taylor, Charley 
 Seymour, Dr. Frank W. Reilly, "Biff" Hall, Leigh Reilly, 
 Brand Whitlock, Sumner Curtis, Hugh Fullerton. Of those, 
 many had accomplished much and their works and names 
 will long be remembered. 
 
 It is pleasant to look back on those many interesting 
 night sessions at Mangler's which often lasted into the 
 "wee" small hours. Before adjourning, their thoughts often 
 went out to their departed associates and usually that 
 would call for their favorite song. 
 
 Led by John Monteith, the chorus would, with sancti- 
 monious fervor, render the following lines : 
 
 130
 
 Then stand to your glasses steady! 
 We drink to our comrade's eyes. 
 A cup to the dead already— 
 Hurrah for the next that dies. 
 
 Among others, there was one song, probably inspired 
 by the 1893 World's Fair, the words of which took liberties 
 with the discoverer of America. In it Christopher Colum- 
 bus was started from the designated Spanish port and was 
 landed on the island of San Salvador, but there was con- 
 siderable uncertainty as to the direction in which he sailed 
 upon leaving Spain. However, before the finish of the song, 
 that question, with sarcastic humor directed at that great 
 discoverer, was always satisfactorily decided by lusty 
 voices of the chorus. Words of that song, as we remember 
 them, were as follows: 
 
 In 1492 was when Columbus departed 
 From Pales on the coast of Spain— 
 That's from where he started. 
 To find a new route to the West— 
 A new route to the Indies. 
 Columbus had his whiskers on 
 And the wind it blew quite windy. 
 Did he sail to the north? 
 
 CHORUS— No! No! No! 
 
 Did he sail to the South? 
 
 CHORUS— No! No! No! 
 
 Did he sail to the East? 
 
 CHORUS— No! No! No! 
 
 Did he sail to the West? 
 
 CHORUS— Yes! Yes! Yes! 
 
 The horny-handed son-of-a-gun— 
 Christopho Columbo. 
 
 131
 
 That song was delivered with much gusto, if not always 
 in perfect harmony. It was all in fun and anyway Christo- 
 pher Columbus' reputation as navigator and the World's 
 most distinguished discoverer was by then so well estab- 
 lished that the singing of that song did not in the least 
 seem to impair his fame. 
 
 Most of those mentioned above have since passed away, 
 but still among us at this writing (Fall 1943) are John 
 McCutcheon, the great artist and the writer of some fa- 
 mous pieces; and George Ade, the exceptional author and 
 playwright. Both were highly respected by all in their 
 profession. Each contributed the most popular features to 
 the papers on which they worked. McCutcheon and Ade 
 were the stars on the Chicago Record which later became 
 the Record-Herald. Way back in the early nineties they 
 were already recognized as geniuses in their respective 
 lines, and their accomplishments during the past half cen- 
 tury have made them both internationally famous. Many 
 years ago John McCutcheon became the ace cartoonist for 
 the Chicago Tribune, where he still continues as the dean 
 of them all. 
 
 George Ade was a modest young man. He confined his 
 drinking to seltzer and milk, while we usually ''cut into the 
 grape," but he was our frequent companion. He was then 
 writing The Stories of the Streets and of the Town. He 
 was aware of the fact that we knew our way around, and 
 by often being one of the party, he occasionally picked up 
 material useful to him. 
 
 In those early days our crowd saw much of the night 
 life of Chicago. We went often to Sam Barclay's "Rag 
 Shop" (so named because ragtime music was first played 
 there), even though it was a very low type of place. In a 
 
 132
 
 large room in the rear of the bar was a continuous floor 
 show which consisted of three really tough looking men. 
 One was "Mississippi" Jim, whose specialty was a gro- 
 tesque dance, and another was a clever fellow named 
 Fogarty, a product of "Little Hell." "Mississippi" Jim was 
 an ungainly six-footer with big hands and feet, with arms 
 that were so long that his hands came below his knees. He 
 did a "break neck" dance that was funny to look at largely 
 because of his ungainliness. Fogarty with his missing front 
 teeth was a funny looking specimen in general. He couldn't 
 speak a sentence that wasn't full of slang— it just came 
 natural to him and most of it was original. They were 
 an unusual team. They received no pay for their perform- 
 ance except the change that the customers threw to them. 
 George Ade went with us to that place frequently. I am 
 sure that Fogarty furnished him with the basis of his 
 articles entitled Fables in Slang, later published in book 
 form. When George Ade wrote the play. Sultan of Sulu, 
 he saw that Fogarty and his dancing partner were given 
 a part to do a dance, which they did very well. 
 
 In 1890 Dr. Frank W. Reilly was city editor of 
 Lawson's Morning News. While having lunch with him 
 one day, we talked about Chicago river navigation. Dr. 
 Reilly, by the way, was the man who suggested the drain- 
 age canal, and was therefore instrumental in preventing 
 the pollution of the city's drinking water. I recalled riding 
 to work on the cable car early one morning in 1890. When 
 the grip car on which I was riding, facing west, emerged 
 from the LaSalle Street tunnel, I noticed a large crowd 
 at the Randolph Street bridge. I jumped off the grip car 
 and ran down to the bridge to see what was happening. It 
 had already happened. The boiler of the freighter "Niobe" 
 
 133
 
 had exploded, wrecked part of that ship, and killed eleven 
 or more negroes. 
 
 Dr. Reilly, when I related that incident, looked at me, 
 and said, "Now, in that connection, I'll tell you a story 
 about a mutual friend of ours. When I was city edi- 
 tor of the Morning News, a tall, innocent looking young 
 man came to my desk and inquired if I was Dr. Reilly. I 
 informed him that I was and asked what else he wanted. 
 He told me his name was George Ade and that he had come 
 up from a small town in Indiana hoping he might find 
 employment as a cub reporter with my paper. He looked 
 and talked so modestly that I didn't have the heart to turn 
 him down cold. I told him we didn't have an opening for 
 such a job just then, but suggested that he come in each 
 day, have a seat, and if an opening occurred, I would let 
 him know. George Ade came in for several days, early 
 each morning, sat down in a chair and occupied his time 
 reading a paper. That morning my telephone rang and a 
 voice told me that something had happened at Randolph 
 Street bridge and I'd better send someone over to get the 
 story, I looked around and found all my reporters absent. 
 George Ade was there alone. I called to him and ordered 
 him to go to Randolph Street bridge and bring back to me 
 particulars of what was doing there and be quick about it. 
 He wasted no time and in about six or eight minutes my 
 phone rang. I answered and it was George Ade speaking, 
 informing me that something had happened that was too 
 big for him to cover. By that time a regular reporter had 
 come in and I chased him out on the job, with the result 
 that our paper carried the news of that explosion promptly 
 and correctly. When George Ade came back, I compli- 
 mented him on being smart enough to realize the import- 
 
 134
 
 ance of that story and not trying to cover it himself. I told 
 him that because he had used such good judgment he was 
 now hired and a part of our staff— at twelve dollars per 
 week. Under similar circumstances ninety-nine out of a 
 hundred would have attempted to cover that explosion 
 themselves and our paper might have been scooped on a 
 most important news story in connection with that catas- 
 trophe." 
 
 Due to George Ade's exceptional ability, his rise as a 
 writer was a rapid one. When he was grinding out two 
 columns every day on his Stories of the Streets and of the 
 Town for such an unusually long period of time, other 
 writers wondered how he could do it without running 
 "dry." George Ade was a humorist, but not a spontaneous 
 one. He was a good listener and a mental stenographer. 
 His writings abounded in a natural humor based on hu- 
 man nature, not on over-exaggeration. Although his half a 
 century of success as an outstanding writer of books and 
 plays have made him a national character, he has always 
 remained the same George Ade from Brook, Indiana, 
 where he still resides among his farms. 
 
 Brook and Rensselaer were neighboring towns in In- 
 diana. Each town supported a baseball team and there 
 existed much friendly rivalry. The annual game for the 
 championship was a gala event. Naturally, George was 
 much interested in Brook having the winning team. It was 
 in 1905 that Rensselaer won the championship from Brook 
 by such a large margin that the Brook team completely 
 "lost face." A few days later we were invited by George 
 Ade to come to Brook to spend a week-end. We kidded him 
 about his decrepit baseball team. He told us that Brook's 
 losing that game was caused by Rensselaer importing a 
 
 135
 
 number of semi-professional "ringers." I advised George 
 that he'd better use his head and "fight fire with fire," One 
 year later those two teams were to meet again in the final 
 game at Brook. I received a telegram from George asking 
 me what I could do to help his team. To that wire I replied 
 that we would be there with some "heavy artillery." Lou 
 Houseman, Hugh Keogh, and I came to Brook with six 
 players from the Chicago National League Club, none of 
 whom were recognized by the Rensselaer team or fans. 
 George Ade's father, who was a retired small town banker 
 and a fine old-fashioned American gentleman with a keen 
 sense of humor, sat with me in the grandstand watching 
 that game. In the sixth inning the score was about eighteen 
 to nothing in favor of Brook and then I remarked to Mr. 
 Ade that the Brook team appeared to have a good chance 
 to win that game. Mr. Ade turned to me, gave me a wise 
 look, and replied, "Well, I see quite a few fellows on the 
 Brook team who don't appear on our poll list." 
 
 On January 15, 1943, 1 wrote to George Ade at his winter 
 home in Miami Beach, recalling some old incidents and 
 again congratulating him on that Brook baseball victory. I 
 received a letter from him dated January 23, 1943, answer- 
 ing in part : 
 
 I am interested to have your friendly and amusing letter 
 of the 15th and to be reminded of the time when you brought 
 all of those ball players down to Brook, and with them, Lou 
 Houseman and Hugh Keogh. I made myself very unpopular 
 in Rensselaer by importing all of that talent, but we certainly 
 had a big day. 
 
 Among the coterie of reporters mentioned, Finley Peter 
 Dunne was an all-Chicago product, and became nationally 
 famous as a philosopher. He is still being quoted, often in 
 
 136
 
 Washington by Senators and Congressmen. He was work- 
 ing on the Chicago Evening Journal and was a most capable 
 newspaper writer, but he was unnoticed until he "barged" 
 out with his daily stories of the alleged conversations of 
 Jim McGary and John J. McKenna. While those two Irish- 
 men furnished Dunne with the basis of the stories which 
 portrayed those two characters perfectly, the material and 
 philosophy were Dunne's. 
 
 Jim McGary ran a saloon on Dearborn Street, just north 
 of Madison Street. Dibblee and Maniere owned that prop- 
 erty and would not rent to McGary unless Chapin & Gore 
 signed with him on the lease, so McGary was really our 
 tenant. Before McGary took the saloon, it was owned and 
 operated by that influential Democratic politician, Joseph 
 Mackin, who introduced free lunch, by giving away an 
 oyster with each drink. He was called "Oyster Joe," and 
 because he was a stylish dresser was also called "Chester- 
 field Joe." He was an important cog in Democratic politics 
 of the first ward for quite some time before "Bathhouse" 
 John and "Hinky Dink" came into power in that ward. 
 
 In the middle "Eighties" some county officials pulled 
 off deals where bribery was charged. It involved a number 
 of politicians. William J. McGarrigle was obliged to make 
 a quick get-away to Canada. "Chesterfield Joe" happened 
 to be mixed up in one such scandal and for some reason 
 was obliged to "take the rap." Thereafter he was never 
 again able to make a come-back. 
 
 Another such scandal that will be remembered by old 
 timers, was uncovered when the commissioners awarded 
 a contract for the painting of the county building. The job 
 was to be done with a "secret fluid" that was supposed to 
 preserve the bricks and stone in that building. The inven- 
 
 137
 
 tor of that fluid was said to have been Harry S. Holland, 
 then Mike McDonald's righthand man. Before it was dis- 
 covered that the fluid was a fake, nearly one half of the 
 amount due on that contract had been paid out, leaving a 
 balance due of about $65,000. Harry Holland told this writer 
 as late as 1894, that he intended to sue the county to re- 
 cover that $65,000 with interest, but it was never paid and 
 Harry Holland evidently decided to drop that "hot potato." 
 
 Joe Mackin's Dearborn Street saloon was somewhat of a 
 political headquarters and continued so after McGary took 
 over the place. Many prominent Irishmen congregated in 
 McGary's back room. Inspector John D. Shea was an 
 habitue. So was John J. McKenna, a quiet little "Turk," 
 who was slow spoken. It is interesting to note that, through 
 politics, that same John J. McKenna was appointed as a 
 member of the Chicago School Board. One day I asked 
 him how he was getting on in that important position and 
 he complained to me that Margaret Haley was making life 
 miserable for him. It was she who organized the teachers. 
 
 Jim McGary's Irish wit was unintentional. His opinions 
 of politics or general conditions, as well as his replies to 
 questions, were conscientiously given, and he was liberal 
 in giving his opinions and seldom lacked for an answer. 
 If his views or explanations seemed funny to the other 
 party, McGary resented it, for he didn't want to be laughed 
 at. 
 
 McGary had many friends. I often dropped in for a visit 
 with him. One day George Anderson, a salesman for 
 Sprague Warner and Company, came in with me. I ordered 
 bourbon and George ordered a glass of seltzer and milk, 
 and engaged McGary in conversation. While he was talk- 
 ing with us, a well-dressed, tall, middle-aged man came in 
 
 138
 
 and stood at the other end of the bar to be waited upon. 
 McGary excused himself and went to the customer who 
 asked for some good whiskey. McGary placed a bottle of 
 whiskey, a whiskey glass, and a glass of water before the 
 customer and then came back to us to finish a remark 
 he hadn't completed. The customer filled his glass with 
 whiskey up to the rim. George Anderson called McGary's 
 attention to the size of the drink the fellow poured. Mc- 
 Gary took notice, walked to where the customer stood and 
 said to him, "If I had known you would take such a drink, 
 I'd have given you a mug." 
 
 The gentleman asked, "What's that you said?" 
 
 McGary replied, "I say, if I'd known you'd take such a 
 fill of my whiskey, I'd have given you a mug." 
 
 The customer, who was really a gentleman, then lost his 
 temper, and said, "You red-nosed Irish so and so, there is 
 a half dollar on the bar. I didn't say how much whiskey 
 I wanted! Take out what I owe you." 
 
 McGary was licked. He rang up fifteen cents and gave 
 the man his change. As the man walked out still directing 
 invectives at McGary, McGary was noticeably defeated. Of 
 course, he had slipped a bit. What he should have done 
 was to take pay out of the half dollar for the amount of two 
 drinks, but he didn't, and he looked a bit ashamed at the 
 abuse he had received, and then said, "Jasus, I'd have 
 given the place had I only known what to have told him." 
 This was certainly an exception, for Jim McGary always 
 knew "what to have told him." 
 
 There was a men's grill to which Jim always went for 
 his lunch between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, 
 where he always sat alone in a small private dining room, 
 and always ordered the same; a sirloin steak, baked potato, 
 
 139
 
 and cup of coffee. The same waiter, a little middle-aged 
 Irishman named Phil, always waited on him. I was at the 
 bar one day when McGary came in. He greeted me and 
 Phil hurried to get his order. Shortly after he was served, 
 I heard McGary bellow, "Phil, Phil, Phil, damn you Phil, 
 where are you?" He never took the trouble to push the 
 bell button— he always called the waiter. Seeing Phil hurry 
 to the room, from curiosity I also walked over to the door 
 of the little room. I saw McGary shaking his right hand 
 at Phil and exclaiming, "Phil, how do you expect me to 
 eat this steak without a fork?" 
 
 Phil noticed that he had a fork in the hand he had 
 waved at him, and said, "You have one in your hand." 
 
 McGary looked surprised at seeing the fork in the right 
 hand, but quickly retorted, "So I have; bring me another 
 one." 
 
 Neither Jim McGary nor his bartender, Casey, had ever 
 made a mixed drink. McGary served only straight liquors, 
 ale, porter, beer, ginger ale, and seltzer water; also, cigars, 
 but no cigarettes. If any customer called for mixed drinks 
 or cigarettes, McGary would threaten to chase him out 
 with a bung starter. 
 
 On Dearborn Street directly across from McGary's 
 place was a high class saloon run by Williams and New- 
 man. They specialized in the mixed drinks, and were the 
 originators of the famous "Cohassett" punch. They were 
 both classy sort of fellows and catered to the best. Each 
 was always dressed well and sported a good sized diamond 
 stud in his shirt front and other jewelry to match. On a 
 very warm July evening Harry O'Brien and I went into 
 McGary's place for a cold glass of beer. While there, Tom 
 Newman came in with three well-dressed friends and 
 
 140
 
 walked up to the bar. McGary greeted them and asked 
 what they would have. One of the foursome innocently 
 remarked, "It's so hot, I believe I'll have a gin fizz." The 
 other said he would have the same and the third Newman 
 guest ordered a Manhattan cocktail. 
 
 McGary looked at them and then at Newman who seemed 
 a bit nervous, and asked, "And you, you damned dude, 
 what will you have?" 
 
 Newman replied, "Mr. McGary, I'll have some straight 
 bourbon." 
 
 McGary made no reply. He put on the bar four whiskey 
 glasses and four whiskey glasses filled with plain water 
 for chasers. Then he placed a bottle of straight whiskey 
 before the four of them and said, "There it is, damn you, 
 drink it." 
 
 Many anecdotes could be related about Jim McGary, 
 but the above will suffice to give a fair picture of the kind 
 of material that the resourceful humorist and philosopher, 
 Finley Peter Dunne, used as the basis for those stories that 
 soon became the talk of the town. For a while, Dunne used 
 McGary 's name as the principal and McKenna's name as 
 the foil. Although that publicity increased McGary's busi- 
 ness, nevertheless he was incensed. He resented being 
 quoted in that way publicly by Pete Dunne. One afternoon 
 I was walking west on Washington Street near LaSalle 
 Street and met Jim McGary coming east. I stopped to chat 
 with him and inquired what he was doing so far away from 
 his place. "Well," said he, "I've just had it out with the 
 city editor of the Chicago Journal. I laid the law down to 
 him in no uncertain way. I told him that Pete Dunne must 
 stop writing such 'stuff' about me or I'll see what can be 
 done about it, and he agreed to stop it." 
 
 141
 
 I said, "You have made a big mistake. It pays to adver- 
 tise, and ybu got a lot of that through Dunne's stories for 
 nothing. If I were you, I certainly would not have stopped 
 Dunne from giving me such boosting. Hasn't your business 
 increased since Dunne's articles have been appearing?" 
 
 McGary replied, "It has that, but many come in to look 
 at me like they do at the monkeys in Lincoln Park. Busi- 
 ness or no business, I'll not be the laughing stock for 
 Pete Dunne or his paper." 
 
 After that the stories continued to appear daily, but 
 Finley Peter Dunne omitted the names of McGary and 
 McKenna, and in their places used "Mr. Dooley" as the 
 principal and "Mr. Hennessy" as the foil. That's how the 
 now famous Mr. Dooley stories began. 
 
 After George Ade brought out his "Artie" stories in 
 book form, I was talking with Dunne in Mangler's place 
 where we often met, and asked him why he didn't do as 
 George Ade had done with "Artie" and publish "Mr. 
 Dooley" in book form. He laughed at me, and said, "May- 
 be they would sell here in Chicago to the Irish and some 
 politicians, but I doubt that such a book would appeal to 
 any others and especially away from Chicago." I tried to 
 convince Pete, but he only laughed. Shortly after, he went 
 to London and found that there he was considered Amer- 
 ica's foremost humorist. When he returned to America, 
 the "Mr. Dooley" stories were published in book form and 
 proved an outstanding financial success. Dunne left for 
 New York, and the old crowd at Mangler's missed his 
 bright and genial companionship, and Chicago lost that 
 famous humorist and philosopher. New York acclaimed 
 him. 
 
 About 1901 James Carter and I were in New York hav- 
 
 142
 
 ing breakfast at the Holland House. At the next table with 
 his back to us sat a man also having breakfast. During our 
 breakfast, I mentioned to Mr. Carter a new play, Cyrano 
 de Bergerac. Mr. Carter corrected my pronunciation of the 
 title. The man at the next table finished his breakfast, 
 arose, and pulled up a chair at our table. It was Finley 
 Peter Dunne. We shook hands, and I said, "Pete, I didn't 
 know you were sitting there." 
 
 He replied that he had seen us come in, but was too far 
 along with his breakfast to join us, and also didn't want to 
 interrupt our breakfast as he had to run along. 
 
 He started laughing, and I asked, "What's the meaning 
 of the big laugh, Pete?" 
 
 He said, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation 
 and argument about the pronunciation of that new play." 
 
 I asked him to decide whether Mr. Carter or I was 
 wrong. He said, "Charley, I don't wish to decide one way 
 or the other, but if you can get one, it would be a good bet 
 for you to make that your pronunciation was wrong." As 
 we shook hands when he was leaving, I intimated to him 
 that, for a fellow who declared that he didn't wish to de- 
 cide an argument one way or another, he had surely de- 
 cided this one emphatically. Incidentally, that was the last 
 time that I saw Finley Peter Dunne. 
 
 Finley Peter Dunne had no equal in detecting humor in 
 any situation. Kinsley "Drury" Underwood was a capable 
 news writer and a very companionable fellow. But because 
 he invested too freely in old John Barley Com, he was 
 frequently among the unemployed in his profession and 
 usually insolvent financially. Then for quite a period of 
 time he settled down and stayed on one job long enough 
 to amass a surplus of three hundred dollars . . . during 
 
 143
 
 the Spanish-American war when the government issued 
 three per cent war bonds. On our advice he invested that 
 sum in the purchase of these bonds. He asked me to accom- 
 pany him on this important mission to the U. S. Treasury 
 Department, which was located in the old Rand-McNally 
 building on Adams Street. The bonds were handed to 
 "Drury" in a rather large envelope which he proudly 
 carried in his hand. On our way back we met Pete Dunne 
 and stopped for a chat during which "Drury" remarked: 
 "I'll bet you can't guess what I have in this envelope." 
 Dunne admitted that he couldn't and inquired about its 
 mysterious contents. "Drury" boastfully replied: "Three 
 hundred dollars worth of U. S. War Bonds." Dunne greatly 
 surprised said: "Ah! I take it that you have finally become 
 tired of investing in peace bonds." 
 
 In New York he became a close friend of Mr. Whitney, 
 a multi-millionaire. Mr. Whitney and his coterie of friends 
 rated Finley Peter Dunne as "tops," and Dunne and Whit- 
 ney were companions for over a quarter century. When 
 Mr. Whitney died, his will revealed that he had remem- 
 bered Finley Peter Dunne to the extent of a half million 
 dollars. 
 
 A shining star among Chicago's greats from the coterie 
 of newspaper writers mentioned above was Eugene Field. 
 At that time he was writing the famous column for the 
 Daily News under the title of Sharps and Flats. He spe- 
 cialized in sentimental pieces, but he could also write other 
 kinds. Among his masterpieces was his immortal Little 
 Boy Blue. Eugene Field was a most interesting and enter- 
 taining companion in any company. As has already been 
 stated, in those times even geniuses like Eugene Field 
 were underpaid, and it was sometimes difficult for some 
 
 144
 
 who were not conservative to live within their meager 
 incomes. 
 
 There was a restaurant and bar run by a German where 
 newspaper men congregated, and Field was recognized as 
 "tops" among the habitues of that place. It was a con- 
 genial crowd that constituted its main source of patronage. 
 Eugene Field went as far as his means would permit, and 
 then started running up a fair sized "tab." Not being able 
 to meet that obligation, he felt obliged to transfer his 
 patronage elsewhere. A number of his pals followed him, 
 and the German's business suffered a loss. One day the 
 owner of that place complained to one of Field's com- 
 panions and said he hoped he could induce Eugene Field 
 to forget what he owed and come back. Then that com- 
 panion of Field made a suggestion to the owner, stating, 
 "Tomorrow is Eugene Field's birthday. Why not give him 
 a birthday dinner? Invite some of the boys, and inasmuch 
 as you feel like forgetting what Field owes you, I'll call on 
 you for a speech. That will give you the opportunity of 
 congratulating him on his birthday, and as a token of your 
 esteem for him, you can present to him as a birthday gift 
 from you his 'tab' receipted as paid in full. It will not 
 only clean the slate, but we'll all have the pleasure of see- 
 ing Field embarrassed." 
 
 The German fell for that idea and the dinner was 
 arranged. Field was informed that he was to be honored 
 with a birthday dinner, but was not told where it was to 
 take place. He was taken in a hack and landed at that 
 German's restaurant. This dinner was a jolly affair, and 
 finally, the owner of the place was called upon to make 
 a speech. In a few words he offered his congratulations 
 and then, as his gift on that occasion, he presented Field 
 
 145
 
 with a sealed envelope. When Field opened it and found 
 his "tab" receipted as paid in full, he arose and made some 
 remarks. "I would like to ask a question," he said. "I may 
 be wrong, but I have always heard it said that when a man 
 pays a large indebtedness of this kind, it is customary for 
 the proprietor of the place to buy the drinks." Those re- 
 marks not only received the expected laugh, but the laugh 
 was on the proprietor and so were the drinks. 
 
 Eugene Field was a close friend and admirer of the 
 great actor, William H. Crane, and his wife, Ella. The 
 Cranes spent their last years in Hollywood at the Holly- 
 wood Hotel, where we visited with them often. On one 
 such visit Mrs. Crane, while reminiscing about Chicago, 
 recalled their dear old friend, Eugene Field. In most senti- 
 mental terms she expressed her high regard for his friend- 
 ship. It seemed as though there were tears in her eyes 
 when she left the room to get us a copy of what Eugene 
 Field had written about her in his column, "Sharps and 
 Flats" in June, 1891. In remembrance of her and because 
 of that great writer's well merited lines about that sweet, 
 brilliant, and fine little woman, the article she referred to 
 is reproduced here. 
 
 MRS. BILLY CRANE 
 
 A woman is a blessing, be she big or be she small, 
 
 Be she wee as any midget, or as any cypress tall; 
 
 And though I'm free to say I like all women folks the best, 
 
 I think I like the little women better than the rest . , . 
 
 And of all the little women I'm in love with I am fain 
 
 To sing the praises of the peerless Mrs. Billy Crane! 
 
 I met this charming lady . . . never mind how long ago . . . 
 In that prehistoric period I was reckoned quite a beau; 
 
 146
 
 You'll never think it of me if you chanced to see me now 
 With my shrunken shanks and bleary eyes, and deeply furrowed 
 
 brow; 
 But I was young and chipper when I joined that brisk campaign 
 At Utica to storm the heart of Mrs. Billy Crane. 
 
 We called her Ella in those days ... as trim a little minx 
 As ever fascinated man with coquetries, methinks! 
 I saw her home from singing school a million times, I guess, 
 And purred around her domicile three winters, more or less. 
 And brought her lozenges and things . . . alas! 'twas all in 
 
 vain . . . 
 She was predestined to become a Mrs. Billy Crane! 
 
 That Mr. Billy Crane is smart and handsome, I'll aver. 
 
 Yet, with all his brains and beauty he's not good enough for her; 
 
 Now, though I'm somewhat homely and in gumption quite a 
 
 dolt, 
 The quality of goodness is my best and strongest holt; 
 And as goodness is the only human thing that doesn't wane, 
 I wonder she preferred to wed with Mr. Billy Crane. 
 
 Yet Heaven had blessed her all these years . . . she's just as 
 
 blithe and gay 
 As when the belle of Utica, and she ha'n't grown old a day! 
 Her face is just as pretty and her eyes as bright as then . . . 
 Egad! Their gracious magic makes me feel a boy again; 
 And still I court (as still I were a callow York state swain) , 
 With hecatombs of lozenges that Mrs. Billy Crane! 
 
 That she has heaps of faculty, her husband can't deny . . . 
 Whenever he don't toe the mark she knows the reason why; 
 She handles all the monies, and receipts, which, as a rule, 
 She carries round upon her arm in a famous reticule, 
 And Billy seldom gets a cent, unless he can explain 
 The wherefore and etceteras to Mrs. Billy Crane! 
 
 147
 
 Yet, oh, ye gracious actors! with uppers on your feet; 
 And, oh, ye brankrupt critics! athirst for things to eat . . . 
 Did you ever leave her presence all unrequited when 
 In an hour of inspiration, you struck her for a ten? 
 No! Never yet an applicant there was who'd not obtain 
 A solace for his misery from Mrs. Billy Crane. 
 
 Dear little lady . . , Ella! (Let me call you that once more, 
 
 In memory of the happy days in Utica of yore) , 
 
 If I could have the ordering of blessings here below, 
 
 I might keep some small share myself, but most of 'em should 
 
 go 
 To you . . . yes, riches, happiness and health should surely 
 
 reign 
 Upon the temporal estate of Mrs, Billy Crane! 
 
 She's coming to Chicago in a week or two, and then. 
 
 In honor of the grand event, I shall blossom out again! 
 
 In a brand new suit of checkered tweed and a low cut satin 
 
 vest, 
 I shall be the gaudiest spectacle in all the gorgeous west! 
 And with a splendid coach and four, I'll meet you at the 
 
 train . . . 
 So don't forget the reticule, dear Mrs. Billy Crane! 
 
 Dear Mrs. William H. Crane died shortly after the death 
 of her famous husband about fifteen years ago. Both will 
 long be remembered and sadly missed by those who had 
 the privilege and pleasure of knowing them personally, 
 and they will also be missed by the American theatre 
 patrons of the past generation. 
 
 Charley Seymour and Charley Almy were a couple of 
 jovial members of the "Whitechapel Club" who were top- 
 notch reporters, and for originality and imagination they 
 had few equals. Once Charley Seymour was at the Press 
 
 148
 
 Club imbibing rather too freely when a call came to him 
 from his night city editor ordering him to hurry to the 
 Stock Yards in response to a fire alarm. Charley, unfor- 
 tunately, was already "three sheets in the wind," and there- 
 fore, unequal to the occasion. As it happened, the fire was 
 serious, and of much importance as a news story for the 
 morning edition. Charley Seymour failed to cover it. In 
 fact, he never left the club. When he recovered from his 
 over indulgence, he was informed of the magnitude of that 
 conflagration, and without being an eye witness, he sat 
 down to write a story for his paper, the Inter-Ocean. Some- 
 one must have given him a few necessary pointers. That 
 morning his paper carried a most interesting and vivid 
 story of that fire written by Charley Seymour. It was so 
 good that it was the next thing to a scoop. 
 
 Charley Almy's finish was sad. He came to miy office one 
 morning to bid me goodbye. He said the doctors suspected 
 that he was consumptive, and had ordered him to go to 
 Texas or New Mexico. He suggested that we go to the 
 Wellington Hotel bar for a parting drink. On our way we 
 met Ben ("Sport") Donnelley, who joined us. When in- 
 formed by Charley Almy as to where he was going that 
 day, "Sport" said, "That's a funny one! I have the same 
 trouble and am leaving today for the very same place. That 
 calls for another drink because we'll be leaving dear old 
 Chicago together." It was reported later that life out there 
 grew very monotonous for Charley. His health did not im- 
 prove as rapidly as he expected. He became morose and on 
 one rather cool night, undressed completely and went out 
 and sat in the open long enough to contract pneumonia. 
 In a short time he died. 
 
 The story of "Sport" Donnelley was an entirely different 
 
 149
 
 one, and is interesting enough to relate here. He was a son 
 of the Chicago pioneer who founded the Donnelley printing 
 firm that has always published the Chicago City Directory. 
 He was the outstanding football player on the Princeton 
 team, an "All American." He was a noted rough and tum- 
 ble fighter and usually weighed close to two hundred and 
 thirty pounds. When William Hale Thompson organized 
 the Chicago Athletic Association team, which was also 
 made up of ex-college football greats, "Sport" Donnelley 
 organized another team temporarily just to play one game 
 with the C. A. A. "Sport's" team was supposed to be made 
 up of all stars. A group of us made up a party which in- 
 cluded Jack Terrill, Warren Wright, Arthur Clement, 
 George Rew, Harry Lobdell, Herman Pomy, and a few 
 others, and hired a tally-ho to take us to that great game. 
 It was intimated that it was going to be a rough affair and 
 it was. "Sport" Donnelley knocked out several opponents. 
 After that game, he started failing in health and losing 
 weight. When he had lost sixty pounds, the doctors de- 
 clared he had consumption and he was sent west. He got no 
 better, but he had made the acquaintance there of an old- 
 fashioned, retired western doctor who questioned him. The 
 doctor requested that "Sport" allow him to make an exam- 
 ination, stating, "I don't believe you are a consumptive." 
 After the examination, he informed "Sport" that he had 
 three broken ribs which had resulted from that rough foot- 
 ball game. He said those ribs were pressing on certain 
 nerves and should be removed, and offered to do the job 
 right there if he had the necessary instruments— what tools 
 he had were too crude. But "Sport" Donnelley said, "Go 
 ahead with such tools as you have. I'll stand for it." It 
 must have been a painful ordeal, but the operation was a 
 
 150
 
 complete success. "Sport" regained his health and weight, 
 came back to Chicago, and lived over twenty-five more 
 years. 
 
 Much could be written of the newspaper boys of those 
 old days. "Biff" Hall was "quick on the trigger." He finally 
 left the newspaper field to become a judge of the court at 
 the Harrison Street police station, where he passed sen- 
 tences mostly on drunks and disorderly characters. One 
 day he invited me to sit with him during a court session. 
 An old Civil War veteran was brought before him on a 
 charge of drunkenness. "What have you to say for your- 
 self?" the judge asked. 
 
 The "old bird" hesitated and then allowed that it all 
 happened because he called on an old comrade. 
 
 "Biff" said, "You called on an old comrade. I guess you 
 must also have done considerable calling on Comrades 
 Chapin and Gore. Case dismissed." 
 
 The police brought another drunken bum before him. 
 The judge asked, "What's your name?" 
 
 The prisoner replied, "Wilson." 
 
 "That's all. Call the next case." 
 
 Harrison Street station, including the court room, was a 
 very smelly place with no ventilation. That finally impaired 
 "Biff" Hall's health, and was the cause of his untimely 
 death. 
 
 Burt L. Taylor originated the "Line O'Type" column in 
 the Tribune. The B. L. T. on the bottom of that column will 
 always be remembered. At his death, Richard Henry Little 
 took over the column. It is still a feature of the Tribune. 
 
 Edward S. ("Ted") Beck was a son-in-law of Dr. Frank 
 W. Reilly. He went over to the Tribune and was managing 
 editor of that great paper for many years. He occu- 
 
 151
 
 pied that position until recently when he passed away. 
 Nearly all of that coterie have passed on, including the 
 sports writers of those days, Hugh E. Keogh, who origi- 
 nated that column The Wake in the Tribune. It is still fea- 
 tured in that paper, but his signature, "Hek," is missing. 
 Until recently it was written by that popular sports writer, 
 Harvey Woodruff, who also passed on, as did Ed Smith, 
 Lou Houseman, George Siler and Ring Lardner. 
 
 152
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 18 
 
 G 
 
 'HiCAGO WAS DESTINED to play the most important part 
 in the political campaign of 1896. The disastrous depression 
 was still upon the country in full force, causing a tremen- 
 dous number of failures in all business, which resulted in 
 much unemployment. As is usually the case in times of 
 depression, there was unrest among the people which 
 caused them to listen attentively to theorists who expertly 
 expounded their alleged "cure alls." The political cam- 
 paign in 1896 proved to be a great "joy ride" for "crack- 
 pots." There was "Coin" Harvey, Henry George, "Sock- 
 less" Jerry Simpson, "Pitchfork" Tillman, "Bloody 
 Bridles" Waite, then Governor of Colorado, and many 
 others, but the big prize went to William Jennings Bryan 
 and the "Free Silver" advocates. 
 
 The 1896 Democratic national convention was held in 
 Chicago, far out on the south side of the city in the old 
 Coliseum. Our socialistic Governor, John P. Altgeld, was 
 conceded to be an important factor among those in control 
 of that convention. It was like attending a picnic to watch 
 the proceedings. I attended every session, except that last 
 afternoon when Bryan was nominated. He came to the 
 convention as a contesting delegate, and after a battle 
 finally was seated. He stopped at the old Windsor-Clifton 
 Hotel on the corner of Monroe Street and Wabash Avenue, 
 a run-down hostelry where the price of rooms was from 
 seventy-five cents to as high as two dollars each. The man- 
 ager and the hotel were on their last legs. I knew Cum- 
 
 153
 
 mings, the manager, quite well, and on the afternoon that 
 Bryan was nominated after making his now famous "Cross- 
 of-Gold" speech, I happened to be in his office to speak to 
 him regarding his indebtedness to us. He was a rustic type 
 of man, and was sitting with his feet on his desk, which was 
 in disorder and upon which was a pouch of tobacco and an 
 old clay pipe. He told me that the convention was not help- 
 ing him as much as he had hoped for, and complained that 
 one of the delegates who was stopping with him was 
 William Jennings Bryan who occupied a small, cheap room. 
 He said that when he came there he told Cummings that 
 he couldn't afford a more costly room because his bankroll 
 consisted of only ten dollars. Just then the telephone rang. 
 Cummings answered and turned to me with a smile, and 
 said, "What do you think of that? Bryan just called to 
 inform me that he has been nominated to run for president, 
 and under those conditions, will require larger quarters, 
 and asked me to arrange a suite for him. He expects to be 
 here in thirty minutes, so if you want to visit with me that 
 long, I'll shift his suitcase, and when he arrives I'll intro- 
 duce you to the nominee who may be our next president. 
 Of course, I waited, and Cummings introduced me to 
 Bryan. He was all smiles and thanked Cummings for mov- 
 ing him to a suite of three rooms. Mr. Bryan was led to the 
 lobby where they were to climb the one flight of stairs to 
 the nominee's new quarters; but when we reached the 
 lobby, a crowd of over forty had already collected, curious 
 to get a glimpse at the Democratic nominee. Mr. Bryan 
 walked up a few steps on the stairs, then stopped to smile 
 and bow to the crowd. He pulled a red bandanna handker- 
 chief from his pocket and held it constantly in his hand. 
 He made a few remarks and then followed Cummings to 
 
 154
 
 the second floor. He was a graduate of Illinois University, 
 where at that time the boys didn't wear such togs nor use 
 bandanna handkerchiefs. Of course, after leaving those 
 university associations, Bryan had gone back to Nebraska 
 for several years, but nevertheless, after seeing him, his 
 togs and his bandanna handkerchief, I was left with the 
 impression that much of all that was done for effect. 
 
 That I guessed right was proved to me later by Colonel 
 Henry Barrett Chamberlin, then managing editor of the 
 Record-Herald. Chamberlin and I were at lunch one day at 
 Vogelsang's restaurant, when he informed me that he had 
 once been managing editor of an Omaha newspaper and 
 that Bryan was working for him as an editorial writer. 
 Chamberlin said that "Cross-of-Gold" speech that took that 
 convention by storm was "old stuff" with Bryan. He had 
 been rehearsing it for a long time and to his own knowl- 
 edge had delivered it a number of times at county fairs. 
 One day after he made that speech Chamberlin asked him 
 how it went and was told that Bryan considered it a great 
 speech, but what it needed was the proper setting. 
 
 The result of that campaign is well known to all. It split 
 the Democratic party and William McKinley was elected 
 by a large majority. Soon after that election, the "crack- 
 pots" dwindled away and a prosperous era followed. 
 
 The next time I met Bryan, who had become an impor- 
 tant national figure, was when that well known politician 
 and former gambler, Michael Cassius McDonald, invited 
 Wilbur Studebaker, Matt Hogan, and me to serve with him 
 on the reception committee to receive William Jennings 
 Bryan, the guest of honor and the principal speaker at that 
 Jackson Day banquet. It was a big event staged by Illinois 
 Democrats at the Tremont House in 1897. 
 
 155
 
 It was at that banquet that a fine speech was delivered 
 by a newcomer into the Chicago poHtical arena. He was a 
 young man, not very well known, except that he was the 
 son of Carter H. Harrison, who as mayor of Chicago for 
 five terms, clearly demonstrated that he knew the city's 
 needs better than any other man. As mayor and as a 
 pioneer Chicagoan, he did much towards making this the 
 great metropolis of the west. His name was a big asset to 
 his son. Carter H. Harrison, Jr. 
 
 The campaign for the nomination for mayor at the time 
 of that Jackson Day banquet was at hand. There were sev- 
 eral candidates, the most prominent of whom was A. S. 
 Trude. Carter H. Harrison, Jr., was being prevailed upon 
 to enter that field, but he was a modest and conservative 
 man. He came out openly for Judge John Barton Payne as 
 his candidate and would have preferred to accept a cabinet 
 appointment from the Judge. He withstood all pressure 
 brought upon him, especially by Bobby Burke and Joe 
 Martin, that he become a candidate himself. Finally, an 
 uncalled-for act on the part of the judge forced young 
 Harrison to allow his name to be placed before that con- 
 vention. He was nominated and elected mayor for his first 
 term in the spring of 1897, and was reelected for the fol- 
 lowing three terms. Then he was forced to retire in 1905 
 on account of a serious illness that afflicted his son. Carter 
 H. Harrison, III. He was advised by the doctors that his 
 son's chances for recovery largely depended upon a change 
 of climate. Thereupon Mr. and Mrs. Harrison took their 
 son to California where, after a protracted illness, the boy 
 completely recovered. 
 
 During Mr. Harrison's stay in California, ex-alderman 
 George Swift was elected for a two-year term as mayor. 
 
 156
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 19 
 
 k-/OME INCIDENTS that may prove to be interesting in con- 
 nection with the activities of two Chicago publishers who 
 possessed distinctive traits of their own and who, because 
 of their aggressive personalities exerted a considerable 
 influence politically and otherwise for quite a number of 
 years. One was Andrew Lawrence, then Chief of the Hearst 
 papers in Chicago and the other was John Eastman, who 
 became the sole owner and publisher of one of Chicago's 
 oldest newspapers the Evening Journal. 
 
 John Eastman was one of the former "Whitechapel" Club 
 members who had spent many evenings with us at 
 Mangler's restaurant on LaSalle Street. At that time he 
 was business manager for a Chicago newspaper and evi- 
 dently a capable and resourceful executive. One day late in 
 1899 or early in 1900, John Eastman called on me to show 
 me a telegram that he had just received from William Ran- 
 dolph Hearst's San Francisco office, informing him that he 
 had been appointed business manager for Hearst's Chicago 
 American, that was to be established in Chicago without 
 unnecessary delay. The telegram mentioned four buildings 
 that had been suggested to them to house that new publica- 
 tion, and the selection of one of that four was left entirely 
 up to John Eastman. John told me that he didn't want to 
 make a mistake in making that decision, and asked me to 
 go with him to look over those sites and help him in select- 
 ing the most desirable one. I went with John, and on my 
 advice, he wired that he considered the Madison Street 
 
 157
 
 building the one to take. Shortly thereafter, Andrew 
 Lawrence and Tom Williams came to Chicago to conclude 
 all arrangements. The Chicago American was housed in 
 the building on Madison Street. 
 
 John Eastman was business manager and the Chicago 
 American was on the streets in plenty of time to play a 
 prominent part in William Jennings Bryan's second cam- 
 paign for the nomination and election to the presidency in 
 1900. 
 
 Tom Williams did not stay in Chicago long, but Andrew 
 Lawrence became the publisher, mouthpiece, and big boss 
 of the Chicago American for the next sixteen or eighteen 
 years. Lawrence had a square jaw and when he took a dis- 
 like to anyone, in or out of politics, he'd go after him with 
 "both barrels." It so happened that, although I seldom 
 agreed with him on his radical policies, I became his close 
 friend and confidant. He discussed many important matters 
 with me, and frequently I succeeded in inducing that head- 
 strong publisher to change his mind. In those times the 
 Hearst papers were known as "yellow sheets," and rightly 
 so. They had in their organization, through paying exorbi- 
 tant salaries, the best talent in the way of writers and 
 artists. There was no ceiling on the abuse heaped upon 
 William McKinley, Mark Hanna, and other prominent men. 
 They placed all of their chips on the election of William 
 Jennings Bryan, a loser. It has been many years since the 
 Hearst papers could be classed as "yellow sheets." Their 
 policy has undergone a big change, and to the credit of 
 Mr. Hearst and his organization it is generally admitted 
 that for the past twenty years or more his papers have been 
 editorially and otherwise very sound. 
 
 On election day Andy Lawrence called me by telephone, 
 
 158
 
 I 
 
 informing me that Tom Williams and some others in his 
 office understood that the betting was two to one against 
 Bryan, and he asked me if I could place a bet for them of 
 about three thousand dollars at those odds. I told Andy 
 that if he and Tom insisted on throwing away their money, 
 I would cover any bet they wished to make at those odds. 
 That afternoon Andy sent over to me sixteen hundred dol- 
 lars to bet on Bryan. I took that bet and on the next eve- 
 ning I was with Tom Williams and Andy Lawrence in a 
 place on Monroe Street having a drink and listening to the 
 election returns which by eleven o'clock were overwhelm- 
 ingly in favor of McKinley. I then asked Williams and 
 Lawrence if they were willing to concede that I had won 
 that bet. They both said yes and just then a Chicago 
 American bandwagon drove by covered with painted 
 streamers proclaiming a "landslide" for Bryan. The band 
 was playing. I looked at Tom Williams with a smile and 
 asked, "Tom, you have just conceded that McKinley is 
 elected and there goes your bandwagon announcing a 'land- 
 slide' for Bryan. I'm not a newspaper man, but I would 
 like you to tell me how the Chicago American will explain 
 this 'landslide' stuff in your tomorrow's issue." 
 
 Tom looked at me and said, "Let's have another drink, 
 Charley. Just remember one thing, and that is that it will 
 be easier for us to 'kick' for the next four years than it 
 would have been to apologize." 
 
 John Eastman lost his position as business manager. 
 Evidently he just could not get along with Andy Lawrence. 
 John had no money, and being without a job, decided to go 
 to West Baden for a rest. There he saw a man in a wheel 
 chair being pushed around and no one paying much atten- 
 tion to him. Upon being informed that the invalid was 
 
 159
 
 Mr. Plant of Florida railroad fame, John played up to him. 
 John Eastman was interesting company and Mr. Plant took 
 a "shine" to him. One day he asked John what his business 
 was, and John told him that he had been a newspaper 
 executive for years, but was a gentleman of leisure then. 
 He informed Mr. Plant that he was hoping to acquire the 
 failing Chicago Journal, said it was the oldest newspaper 
 in Chicago, and he knew he could make it a successful pub- 
 lication if only he could raise the money to buy it. He said 
 Levi Mayer, the eminent Chicago lawyer, had offered to 
 help him to some extent, but he would need four hundred 
 thousand dollars to close that deal which, in his opinion, 
 was "peanuts" compared to what that newspaper property 
 was worth. After going into the matter more fully for a 
 few days, Mr. Plant offered to furnish John with the neces- 
 sary capital. That is how John Eastman came to own the 
 then defunct Chicago Journal. I am repeating this story 
 just as John told it to me while we were celebrating his 
 success in landing that "angel" over a few pints of cham- 
 pagne. 
 
 John Eastman then went to work with a determination 
 to build up the Chicago Evening Journal into a successful 
 publication. He was a very resourceful newspaper man, 
 but to gain what he was after, he seldom allowed proper 
 ethics to stand in his way. He resorted to devious methods 
 in forcing the large advertisers to greatly increase their 
 purchases of advertising space. He made that venture a 
 noted success financially. His backers were paid up in full 
 and when John Eastman passed away, he was quite a 
 wealthy man. 
 
 Fred Busse had been for many years a prominent figure 
 in Republican party politics. He was a wealthy coal dealer, 
 
 160
 
 p 
 
 highly respected by all who knew him because he was a 
 square dealer, a loyal friend, and a capable executive. In 
 1907 he was elected mayor for the city's first four-year 
 term. His election was a popular victory, but the Chicago 
 American was against him with all their might. After he 
 had been in office for a few months, information reached 
 Mayor Busse that the Chicago American would print a 
 story on the following day which would cast a reflection on 
 a member of his family. That day Mayor Busse called me 
 over the telephone to tell me about the story that was to 
 appear in print the next afternoon and said, "Charley, in 
 the first place, that story is a lie. The printing of it will 
 cause embarrassment to a lady that cannot entirely be off- 
 set by disproving it. Do you think you can induce Andy 
 Lawrence to stop it? If he doesn't, I know what I will do 
 about it and it will be just too bad for him. I would rather 
 not see it go that far." I then told the mayor that I would 
 go the limit to help him in the matter, but reminded him 
 of the fact that the Chicago American was fighting him, and 
 that Mr. Lawrence fought fearlessly and was hard to stop. 
 I then inquired as to where I could reach the mayor later 
 by phone and told him it might be that afternoon or eve- 
 ning. The mayor stated he was leaving the city hall for his 
 coal office and would stay there all afternoon and into the 
 night until he heard from me one way or the other. I prom- 
 ised to go immediately to find Andy Lawrence. 
 
 I then called up Lawrence's office and was told that he 
 was not there and would not return until the next day. 
 I then went direct to his office to ascertain where Andy was 
 and was told that he was presiding that afternoon at a large 
 meeting of the Independence League. The League, it will 
 be remembered, was organized for the purpose of advanc- 
 
 161
 
 ing the presidential ambitions of William Randolph Hearst. 
 That meeting was being held in the assembly room of the 
 building on the southeast corner of Madison Street and 
 Fifth Avenue. I hurried over there, found the large room 
 filled, and saw Andy Lawrence wielding the gavel. Among 
 other notables on that platform was County Judge John E. 
 Owens. I sent word to Lawrence that I must see him at 
 once. He turned the gavel over to Judge Owens and came 
 to me. "Andy, get your hat and come next door to Vogel- 
 sang's restaurant. This is most important." 
 
 "Charley, you're crazy! Can't you see that I am presiding 
 at this important meeting?" 
 
 I looked at him sternly, and answered, "Yes, but you are 
 only an amateur. Judge Owens will carry on that meeting 
 and do a better job of it. I'll buy a pint of champagne while 
 you listen to what I came to tell you." 
 
 Before Andy knew it, we were on our way to Vogle- 
 sang's, him swearing at me and accusing me of having 
 entirely too much gall. When we were inside of that res- 
 taurant, I selected a table next to the telephone booth and 
 ordered a pint of wine. We drank that and when he asked 
 me what was on my mind, I said, "Another pint," which 
 I promptly ordered and I saw to it that he got more than 
 his share of both pints. After ordering the third pint, I 
 opened up on him and told him that the mayor knew of 
 that story and that I came hoping to convince him not to 
 print it. Andy then said that I was asking too much as that 
 would be a sensational story that meant much to his paper. 
 
 He then countered by asking me, "Charley, if some good 
 concern gave your firm an order for several carloads of 
 your merchandise and I came over and asked you not to 
 take the order, wouldn't you just tell me to go to Hell?" 
 
 162
 
 To which I repHed, again sternly, "Andy, you have very 
 few friends who really like you, and if you lost my friend- 
 ship, maybe you wouldn't miss much. I'll answer your ques- 
 tion by informing you that the story is based on a lie. 
 I know you have been fighting the mayor, but I would not 
 believe you would do him such an injustice. If you print 
 that story, you can go to Hell!" 
 
 Andy Lawrence looked at me rather surprised, and said, 
 "Damn you, anyway! I'll order that story stopped." 
 
 Then, I said, "That's fine of you, Andy. Wait just one 
 minute. I'll call the mayor over the phone and you tell that 
 to him." 
 
 Before he could reply, I had the mayor on the phone. 
 I pushed Andy into the booth and heard him say, "How are 
 you, Mr. Mayor? I have just been talking with Charley 
 Hermann, and told him that I would not permit that story 
 to be printed, but I want you to understand that will not 
 change our paper's opinion of you. We will continue to 
 'slap you on the wrist' every time we have a chance to do 
 it." That act on the part of Andy Lawrence showed that he 
 would go quite a ways for anyone he really liked. He per- 
 formed one other and much more important act for me, 
 details of which will be told later. 
 
 163
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 20 
 
 M, 
 
 .AYOR BussE was a rugged individual who could think 
 quick and talk straight. He was a product of Chicago and 
 during his four years as mayor he gave the city a successful 
 administration. He was loyal to his political associates, but 
 while in office he considered the interests of the city as 
 paramount and his personal interests as secondary. When 
 he took over the great responsibilities as mayor of Chicago, 
 he was a wealthy business man, but because of those re- 
 sponsibilities he neglected his own business. The result was 
 that when he retired from office, he was a poor man 
 financially. 
 
 When he selected his cabinet he was careful to pick good 
 men and his cabinet was of a high calibre. Mayor Busse 
 did much toward bringing about improvements for his city. 
 When Daniel Burnham worked out his great dream where- 
 by he wished to re-mold Chicago, he needed the help of 
 Mayor Busse. After listening to Daniel Burnham, the 
 mayor was quick to realize the importance of Burnham's 
 plan to the city, and he went for it one hundred percent. 
 He won the support of aldermen and the City Council 
 empowered the mayor to appoint a commission to study 
 Burnham's plan and report back as to what parts of it 
 should be adopted. He appointed a business man of high 
 standing as chairman of that committee, namely, Charles 
 Wacker, who from the day he was appointed to the day of 
 his passing away made Daniel Burnham's great project, 
 through the Chicago Plan Commission, his life work. Mayor 
 
 164
 
 Busse brought about many other improvements. It also fell 
 to his lot to finish the building of the new City Hall. During 
 its construction, the city was forced to take over a building 
 for temporary quarters. Accordingly, the building on the 
 south side of Randolph Street, just west of Fifth Avenue, 
 housed many of the city's departments, including the 
 mayor's offices. Adjacent to the temporary City Hall was 
 an old building, the upper floors of which were occupied by 
 the Metropolitan Hotel, an old landmark. On the first floor 
 were several stores, one of L shape with frontage on Fifth 
 Avenue and frontage also on Randolph Street. That prop- 
 erty had been owned for a great many years by that Chi- 
 cago pioneer, John Borden. I bought it from him in 1907. 
 
 As a politician, Fred Busse was always popular with 
 men from all walks of life, and during his long and active 
 political career he naturally met some with a rather shady 
 past. If Fred Busse was convinced that such a man was 
 attempting to "go straight" he was always ready to extend 
 to him a helping hand. One such case caused Mayor Busse 
 considerable embarrassment and would have turned into a 
 sensational scandal had I not intercepted promptly. 
 
 Barney Bertche had been an underworld character— a 
 bad man with a gun. Barney had made a sincere attempt 
 to "go straight." He idolized Fred Busse who gave him 
 encouragement and helped him. When Fred Busse's cam- 
 paign was on for the nomination and election as mayor, 
 Barney Bertche, in spite of his past, had a wide acquaint- 
 ance and quite some prestige with a certain element. He 
 worked day and night in the interests of his idol. When 
 Fred Busse was elected as the city's chief executive, 
 Barney Bertche was a happy man. He was advised that the 
 mayor appreciated his efforts in that campaign, and Barney 
 
 165
 
 grew considerably in importance in the estimation of his 
 friends. 
 
 One day, about three months after the election, I was 
 called over the phone by the mayor's secretary, my friend 
 "Barney" Mulaney, who asked me to hold the wire as the 
 mayor wanted to speak to me. All that the mayor said to 
 me was, "Charley, will you come over to this office within 
 an hour?" That I agreed to do and started for there with- 
 out delay. When I reached the outer office the mayor was 
 there, and motioned for me to come into his private office. 
 After shaking my hand the mayor said, "Charley, you have 
 a vacant L store in your building next door and I would 
 like you to rent it for five years to Barney Bertche." 
 
 I nearly lost my speech on account of that request, and 
 then I said, "Fred, you can't be in earnest about that. I 
 don't want to have him for a tenant, and you, as mayor, 
 can't afford to have a saloon license issued to Barney 
 Bertche on his past record. If you follow the law, the police 
 cannot OK his application for such a license." 
 
 To which the mayor replied, "You have the wrong slant 
 on this proposition. Barney Bertche is living down his past, 
 and has been going straight. I'd like to help him, but I can't 
 give him any appointment in the way of a job with the city. 
 I can arrange it so a license will be issued to him, and that 
 will give him a chance to make some money. You needn't 
 worry about your rent. Barney assures me that he will 
 have a prominent brewing company sign with him on the 
 lease." 
 
 To which I replied, "Mayor, I wasn't worrying about the 
 rent. I am worrying about what it will mean to you. I still 
 don't advise your doing that, but if you insist that I should 
 rent those two stores to Barney, I'll follow your orders." 
 
 166
 
 The mayor thanked me, and the next day Barney Bertche 
 came into my ojSice. I leased those stores to him and the 
 brewing company. Here should be mentioned the fact that 
 the mayor had employed as his bodyguard, Paddy Guerin, 
 the brother of Eddie Guerin, both of whom have been men- 
 tioned in this narrative. Paddy Guerin was a fearless man 
 in any company and was well qualified for that job. He 
 hadn't committed a wrong act in many years. He was a 
 friend of Barney Bertche, and wouldn't doublecross him 
 or anyone. 
 
 The place was well fitted out with fixtures by the brew- 
 ing company and proved to be a successful venture for 
 several months. Had Bertche confined his entire interests 
 to conducting that business, he would have made good 
 money. The mayor had warned him that he must in no way 
 whatsoever have anything to do with gambling, and that he 
 must conduct the place in a strictly legitimate way. Bertche 
 gave the mayor his promise to do that. Soon Barney saw 
 an opportunity to get into bigger money and started selling 
 protection to some outlying gambling places, the owners of 
 which he led to believe that he had a pull with the mayor. 
 It wasn't long before word of it reached the mayor, and he 
 sent for Bertche and questioned him. Bertche denied every- 
 thing, but the mayor had the "goods" on him. He gave 
 Bertche a terrible lambasting, and he himself threw and 
 kicked Barney out of his offce. 
 
 Then Bertche was an outcast. He brooded over it, and 
 finally concluded that it must have been Paddy Guerin 
 who tipped off the mayor, and he decided to kill Paddy 
 Guerin. He went to the mayor's outer office where Paddy 
 was, and directly accused him of doublecrossing him, and 
 made a move for his big gun which was always strapped 
 
 167
 
 inside his vest from the shoulder. Paddy Guerin was cool 
 and said, "Just a minute, you rat. I did not do what you 
 accuse me of doing. Two fellows like you and I should be 
 proud and appreciative of what Mayor Busse has done for 
 us. To have a shooting occur here in his office would be 
 the act of a petty larceny ingrate. I'll meet you tomorrow 
 morning wherever you say, and if you still think what you 
 have said to me, I'll shoot it out with you." That cool argu- 
 ment by Paddy Guerin stopped Barney, and he left the 
 office. I was telephoned about this occurrence in the 
 mayor's office, and I hurried right over to get Paddy 
 Guerin's version of the affair. It was told to me by Paddy 
 just as it is written here. I had known Paddy Guerin for 
 nearly twenty years, and had never known him to lie. 
 Then, as landlord, I went to call on Barney Bertche and 
 told him that I wanted to talk with him privately. He took 
 me into his basement storeroom. I told him that I had just 
 come from the mayor's office, that the mayor was not there, 
 but that Paddy Guerin had informed me of what had taken 
 place. Barney opened his vest and said, "I'm going there 
 with 'Betsy' " (meaning the gun), "and take that louse's 
 measure." 
 
 I then started giving him advice. First of all, I told him 
 that he was laboring under a delusion, that I had known 
 Paddy Guerin for twenty years, and that he would be the 
 last man to squeal. I said, "Barney, you have too much to 
 lose by committting such a brash act, and if later you 
 should discover that Paddy is innocent in this matter, you'd 
 feel rotten. The mayor has been a good friend of yours. 
 He would not have broken with you unless he had the 
 'goods' on you, and that must have been brought to him by 
 one of his 'coppers.' This thing may blow over. Don't men- 
 
 168
 
 tion it to anyone. Just keep on attending to running this 
 place. I'm sure you are too smart a fellow, and you have 
 known Paddy Guerin too long and too well to even suspect 
 him." 
 
 Barney quieted down, and said, "Paddy thinks I stand 
 too well with the 'boss,' and he's jealous." 
 
 "Barney," I said, "get that out of your head. Let's go 
 upstairs and have a drink." I believe I stopped any shoot- 
 ing that day in the office of the city's chief executive. Not 
 long afterwards, Paddy Guerin and Barney Bertche met 
 in Ballard's basement restaurant on the northwest corner 
 of Wabash Avenue and Adams Street. Before anyone could 
 interfere, they started shooting at each other, but neither 
 was fatally hurt. 
 
 A short time after that two policemen were shot in 
 Barney Bertche's saloon. That put him out of business. 
 Not long thereafter, Barney Bertche shot it out with Dan 
 Monahan and two other detectives on Randolph Street just 
 east of Clark Street. One detective was killed, the other 
 two were badly wounded, and Barney Bertche was also 
 badly wounded, but finally recovered and lived for several 
 years. 
 
 As for Barney Bertche's help during that campaign, he 
 probably did more harm than good. The mayor's only 
 thought was that another bad boy was trying to "go 
 straight," and he wanted to help make a man of him, but 
 he was fooled. He helped many who didn't disappoint him. 
 When it came to selecting men for his cabinet or making 
 appointments for city jobs, he was careful to pick the best 
 men available. He was a good judge of men, and made very 
 few mistakes. About the time that he took office, there were 
 signs that some agitation was going on in the fire depart- 
 
 169
 
 ment for the double platoon system. It was plain that its 
 adoption would have a tendency to hamper that depart- 
 ment's discipline and considerably increase the cost of its 
 operation. To cope with that troublesome situation, the 
 mayor required as fire marshal a man of outstanding abil- 
 ity. He must be forceful and fearless. There were two such 
 men in that department, Charles Seyferlick and James 
 Horan. Mayor Busse appointed James Horan, because he 
 figured him to be the more aggressive. Seyferlick was 
 made Assistant Fire Marshal. He was entitled to be made 
 Fire Marshal because he was next in line, ahead of James 
 Horan who was then a Battalion Chief, stationed at the 
 Dearborn Street fire house, but Seyferlick gracefully 
 stepped aside so James Horan, his friend, got the appoint- 
 ment. 
 
 There was another good fireman, big Tom O'Connor, a 
 Battalion Chief, stationed at the Michigan Avenue and 
 Fourteenth Street fire house. He ranked next, but events 
 were to come about whereby Seyferlick and O'Connor 
 were to receive the consideration to which their experi- 
 ence and executive ability entitled them. Mayor Busse's 
 elevation of James Horan was a most wise and popular 
 decision. James Horan proved to be a great Chief of the 
 Fire Department. He was every inch a fearless fire fighter. 
 When danger confronted them, Jim Horan didn't send his 
 men into such a situation— he led them into it. 
 
 Chief Jim Horan was not only the personal friend, but 
 the idol of a coterie of men who were known as the Fire 
 Fans Association. A few of them were: Albert Goodrich, 
 George Oilman, E. L. Brand, William Mohr, Frank Hogan, 
 Tom Hanton, James Kirkley, Fred Sykes, Frank Deacon, 
 J. R. D. Stevenson, Charles H. Hermann, Finley Barrell, 
 
 170
 
 Harry Farnam, J. Emmet Carney, Frank Swenie, Alder- 
 man Francis Taylor, J. J. Swenie, John P. Harding, Robert 
 Many, Howard Sweepe, W. J. Carney, D. J. Cahill, James 
 Thome, Frank Doherty, and Bill Corbett. Quite a few of 
 these "Firebugs" were real fire fans. Some had fire alarms 
 installed in their bedrooms, and they would answer fire 
 calls at all hours of the night, but most of us were satisfied 
 to read reports of such fires in the next morning's news- 
 papers. The Fire Marshal issued special silver stars to the 
 "Firebugs" which would permit them through the lines of 
 ordinary citizens. These stars were considered as treasured 
 possessions by the "Firebugs." The "Firebugs" were not an 
 entirely useless lot. I remember one big fire on Wabash 
 Avenue, close to Albert Goodrich's home on Michigan Ave- 
 nue. It was on a cold winter night, and Al Goodrich opened 
 his home to all the firemen and served them food, coffee, 
 and drink. That was a welcome and useful treat to those 
 tired, frozen firemen. 
 
 One evening early in January, 1911, W. J. Carney, the 
 lumberman, and I met Fire Marshal Jim Horan on his 
 way home. We invited him to join us in a drink at Jack 
 Henry's place on Adams Street. In discussing fires, it was 
 a strange coincidence that the chief should bring up the 
 subject of the great danger that was always uppermost in 
 his mind— the terrible hazard confronting his department 
 at the Union Stock Yards. He informed us that he had 
 purposely taken a house on Ashland Avenue as his home, 
 so he would be close to the Stock Yards in case of an alarm 
 from there. Jim shook hands with us as he left. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Carney came to my office early 
 and said, "My God! Charley, have you heard what has 
 happened?" I replied that I had heard nothing, and in- 
 
 171
 
 quired what he had heard. There were tears in his eyes 
 when he informed me that a big fire had broken out at the 
 Stock Yards, and that Fire Marshal Jim Horan and a num- 
 ber of his brave men had lost their lives. They were 
 crushed by the falling of a big brick wall. For a time I was 
 speechless, and then my eyes filled up with tears. Jim 
 Horan had been one of our closest friends for over fifteen 
 years. That fatal accident was a heart-breaking ordeal for 
 Mayor Busse and all of Chicago. 
 
 172
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 21 
 
 I 
 
 T IS NOT GENERALLY knowii who it was that first created 
 interest in and promoted golf in Chicago, but J. Marshal 
 Weir, I believe, contributed more than a small share. 
 
 Ireland had a substantial exhibit at the 1893 World's 
 Fair, consisting largely of Irish linens. That exhibit was 
 in charge of Ireland's able representative, J. Marshal Weir, 
 a most cultured and dignified gentleman. I am not sure 
 whether or not he had a title, but he looked the part. When 
 the World's Fair closed, he intimated to me that he liked 
 Chicago so well that he was not going back to Ireland. He 
 said he was negotiating for some agency that would per- 
 mit him to make Chicago his home. He secured the agency 
 for both a Scotch and an Irish whiskey. Up to that time 
 very little of either had been consumed in America. Natu- 
 rally, a Scotch game like golf would be of help in pro- 
 moting such merchandise, so he started talking golf. Soon 
 sufficient interest was worked up to induce a number of 
 Chicagoans to build the Belmont Golf Course, and shortly 
 after that a course was built at Wheaton, Illinois, and a 
 little later the Chicago Golf Club was organized. Later on, 
 the members of the famous Washington Park race track 
 turned the in-field into a nine-hole course. 
 
 Of course, that was after racing had been discontinued 
 at that track, and the organization was carried on for a few 
 years solely as a social club. WTien the directors finally 
 concluded that horse racing at that track could never again 
 be revived, they decided to dismantle the clubhouse and 
 
 173
 
 other structures, and to sub-divide the land for residential 
 purposes. It may be of interest to relate here that the pass- 
 ing of the Washington Park Club was the cause of bring- 
 ing about the organization of the South Shore Country 
 Club. How that club was born is probably not known to 
 many of its present members, but this relator was at the 
 "bornin'," and the man solely responsible for organizing 
 and making possible the building of the South Shore Coun- 
 try Club was Lawrence Heyworth. He alone obtained an 
 option on the land where the club is located. Then he 
 called a meeting in my office to which were also invited 
 Lawrence A. Young, then president of the Washington 
 Park Club; William Phelps; and Harry H. Honore. Hey- 
 worth advised us of his having procured that option and 
 that, in his opinion, it would be an excellent site to estab- 
 lish a social and golf club to replace the Washington Park 
 Club which was slated to discontinue, stating further that 
 if we agreed with him and would take a hand in that 
 project, he would turn over his option to such an organiza- 
 tion. He said that, in his opinion, one hundred and twenty- 
 five members could make the South Shore Country Club 
 a reality. All he asked was that we five underwrite an equal 
 amount of those memberships each. We all agreed that his 
 selection of that site was a good one and we joined him in 
 the underwriting. Then Lawrence Heyworth requested 
 that, to facilitate the building of the golf course, Lawrence 
 Young donate the Washington Park putting greens, to 
 which Young agreed. The balance of the work necessary 
 to complete that undertaking was mostly attended to by 
 the father of the South Shore Country Club, Lawrence 
 Heyworth. 
 
 J. Marshall Weir came to my office frequently, and tried 
 
 174
 
 to induce me to take up golf. I told him one day, "You 
 don't mean that game they play where they hit a little ball 
 and then go after it on horseback? I'm a working man, and 
 not silly enough to waste my time playing that game." 
 With such a remark I must have disgusted him, because he 
 stopped trying to interest me in the game. More than likely 
 he concluded that I lacked sufficient intelligence to play 
 golf. Eventually, I arrived at the same conclusion. 
 
 One day George Ade appeared in Mangler's place with 
 his bag of mysterious looking implements. Upon my ask- 
 ing him what he intended to do with that kit of "burglar 
 tools," he answered, "I'm going to try to play golf. I played 
 at it once before, and take it from me, Charley, there's 
 more to that game than you think." 
 
 After examining his tools, I said, "George, coming from 
 an Indiana farm, you should be good at plowing up the 
 ground." 
 
 The popularity of golf grew rapidly and more golf 
 courses were built. Soon we were obliged to listen to bank- 
 ers, railroad presidents, and men of importance in business 
 ciffairs, while they stuck out their chests and told about 
 how they had broken a hundred and had counted every 
 stroke. No wonder the rest of us started to prick up our 
 ears. In the late nineties, the Edgewater Golf Club was 
 organized. An interesting nine-hole course was built on 
 the northwest corner of Evanston (now Broadway) and 
 Devon Avenues. About twelve of our crowd joined almost 
 in a body in the spring of 1903. Herbert E. Bell and I are 
 the only two left, the others have passed on. 
 
 Herb Bell is a man of large affairs— the principal owner 
 of the Bell and Zoller Coal Company, the great Cardox 
 Company, the sky-scraping Bell Building, and other inter- 
 
 175
 
 ests including a large farm at Barrington, Illinois. All of 
 that won't stop me from admitting that he possesses a good 
 sense of humor, and that he can carry a joke further than 
 anyone I know. I was convinced of that fact by what he 
 pulled on me in a golf game at Edgewater Golf Club. Herb 
 played a steady game, scoring from eighty-seven to ninety 
 regularly. At that time, if I played carefully, I might suc- 
 ceed in bringing in a score of one hundred and ten or so. 
 He was crafty in making up a game— all that he ever wanted 
 was a fair advantage. This day, he gave me nine strokes 
 for a "Glory Dimple" golf ball per hole. As it happened, 
 I played way over my head, and he went "haywire," so I 
 brought him in nine down. He congratulated me, and said 
 he would place the nine balls in my locker. Two days later 
 we played another game on the same basis. I found a box 
 of balls in my locker, each ball neatly wrapped. I put three 
 into my pocket and went to the first tee. I unwrapped 
 one ball to tee up, and found it was black with age, and 
 all cut up. The other two were of the same "vintage," as 
 were the remaining six balls in my locker. That gave 
 us all a good laugh. He had Turpee, the professional, 
 select the worst nine practice balls, wrap them to look like 
 new, and place them in my locker. That was a real good 
 joke and still is because Herb to this day owes me nine 
 balls, and now he says that debt is outlawed. 
 
 When we joined Edgewater Golf Club, Charles 
 ("Chick") Evans was about twelve years old, and by far 
 the best caddy at the club. We all tried to get him as our 
 caddy, and often matched a coin to see who would. Turpee 
 was a great professional, and it was he who developed 
 "Chick" Evans and made of him America's leading ama- 
 teur golfer. When he was about sixteen years of age, it 
 
 176
 
 was our crowd that took up a collection to make it possi- 
 ble for "Chick" to compete in his first western golf tourna- 
 ment. "Chick" kept on climbing from there on until he 
 reached top honors in the amateur ranks. "Chick" was 
 the Bobby Jones of his day. The members of the club 
 were all proud of "Chick's" success. 
 
 I never felt that I could spare the time to take a lesson, 
 but finally Turpee induced me to do it. He gave me a les- 
 son, and I still remember his remark when that lesson 
 was finished. He said, "Mr. Hermann, you Americans are 
 great business men. You seem to be able to accomplish 
 most things you undertake, but you all forget that this 
 little golf ball doesn't give a damn for you, and it's got 
 you licked." The best I could do was to get my handicap 
 down to twelve, but I had fewer worries about the game, 
 and derived as much enjoyment from it as did the scratch 
 men to whom one bad shot was costly and worried them 
 more than it did the "dub" player. 
 
 I belonged to four golf clubs in Chicago— Exmoor, Bob 
 O'Link, South Shore Country Club, and Edgewater; and 
 two in northern Wisconsin— Plum Lake Golf Club and 
 Eagle Waters Golf Club. I became a "nut" on that game. 
 Many of us neglected business for golf, but we didn't regret 
 that, as golf did a lot of good for us "tired" business men. 
 We pulled off at least one private tournament among our 
 crowd per week. Some of the regulars in that crowd were 
 Harry Lobdell, Warren Wright, Ed Pardtridge, Frederick 
 Bartlett, William Simpson, A. B. Schuttler, Gale Thomp- 
 son, R. J. Collins, James Gorman, John Lenfesty, Percy 
 Thompson, Bill Collins, John Irwin, Richmond Dean, 
 Herbert E. Bell, Arthur Clement, Allen Clement, Tony 
 Hoof, Dennis Kelly, John Coulter, Walter Schuttler, J. 
 
 177
 
 Howard Johnson, Harry Curran, Ed McGuiness, Thomas 
 Dennehy, Frank Pagin, Michael Agnew, Jim Barnard, 
 Charley Knickerbocker, Oliver Hogue, Frank Bradley, 
 Eugene Pike, Walter Bledsoe, W. M. Walker, George 
 Thorne, "Snake" Ames, Jack Sellers, Wm. Chiniquy, and 
 a score of others. At each of these weekly tournaments, 
 we had five or more foursomes. The players were properly 
 handicapped. I would auction off the individual players, 
 and the proceeds of the auction would constitute the "pot" 
 to be played for, which was usually split four ways. That 
 is where the system of auctioning golf players in tourna- 
 ments originated. It has since been common practice in 
 many of the important tournaments in all parts of the 
 country. 
 
 Another golf joke put over on me has been told often 
 and has brought many laughs at my expense. The late 
 James Gorman, President of the Rock Island Railroad, 
 and the late R. J. Collins, President of Fulton Market and 
 several other corporations, a bank director, and until 
 his demise. President of Chicago's Civil Service Commis- 
 sion, were both pals of mine since the early nineties. Jim 
 Gorman, up to 1893, imbibed liquor quite freely. In that 
 year he took the Keeley Cure and thereafter never again 
 took a drink. Dick Collins never tasted liquor in all his 
 life, but seemed to pal around with those of his friends 
 who did. Consequently, he was often in my company and 
 I usually met Jim Gorman at the club, at a dinner party, 
 or at his office. However, up to this date, I didn't remember 
 meeting Gorman and Collins together. 
 
 In the summer of 1910, after playing golf in a foursome 
 with Jim Gorman at Exmoor, he asked me to play with 
 him and Dennis Kelly on the following Sunday, and re- 
 
 178
 
 quested that I bring the fourth man to make up the four- 
 some. The next day I was with Dick Collins at the Chi- 
 cago Athletic Club, and I told him that he was slated for 
 a game of golf at Exmoor on Sunday, and he agreed to 
 play. I did not tell him, and he did not ask, who else was 
 to be in the foursome. Jim Gorman and I got on that train 
 at the main station, and when we arrived at the Evanston 
 station, the train stopped and I told Jim Gorman that 
 our fourth man was getting on there. When Dick got to us, 
 I introduced him to Jim Gorman. Both shook hands, neither 
 one seemed surprised, but Dick asked me again what the 
 gentleman's name was. I whispered that his name was Jim 
 Gorman, and that he was Vice President of the Rock 
 Island Railroad. Without a smile, the two then entered into 
 conversation like strangers for my benefit. When we ar- 
 rived at Exmoor, we changed to our golf clothes, went to 
 the grill, and had our lunch, and then went to the first tee. 
 
 Dick said, "Mr. Norman, you take the honor." Without 
 a change of expression, Jim teed up his ball and drove off. 
 
 I took Dick to one side, and told him, "You have the 
 name wrong. It's Gorman, not Norman." Dick apologized 
 and said he was sorry. 
 
 On the third putting green, Dick said, "I think you're 
 away, Mr. Floorman." Without so much as moving an 
 eyelash, Jim went to make his putt. I gave Dick a dirty 
 look. 
 
 On the fifth tee, Dick said, "You are up, Mr. Foreman." 
 
 "Thank you," said Jim, and he teed up his ball and 
 drove. 
 
 By then I was fit to be tied, so I took Dick to one side 
 and told him, "Dick this gentleman is Vice President of 
 the Rock Island Railroad. You are not only embarrassing 
 
 179
 
 him, but me too. I told you what his name is." Dick apol- 
 ogized, but kept miscalling Jim's name up to the eighteenth 
 hole. I was so disturbed that I played ten strokes over 
 my average. 
 
 When we arrived on the eighteenth putting green, I 
 wasn't on speaking terms with Dick, but Dick said, "Is my 
 ball in your way, Mr. Doorman?" 
 
 Then I "blew up" again. I took Dick to one side and 
 told him how I wished he had missed that train. I told 
 him the name was "Gorman," and spelled it out for 
 him, but expressed my doubts that even then he could get 
 it through his Irish fat head. To that he mildly replied, 
 "Charley, what did you say he does on the Illinois Cen- 
 tral?" 
 
 I threw my clubs to the caddy and made for the club- 
 house and a shower bath. I heard much laughter in the 
 locker room. Richmond Dean came to my locker laughing 
 hysterically, and said to me, "Charley, I understand you 
 introduced Jim to Dick. You damn fool, they were born 
 next door to each other, and were often wheeled in the 
 same baby buggy." Then I woke up and confronted them. 
 Those two dear pals approached me with a sweet smile, 
 put their arms around my shoulders, and asked my for- 
 giveness. Of course, I forgave them, but not until I re- 
 minded both that they had caused me much suffering and 
 had made me an "all day sucker." In carrying out that 
 joke, a couple of Barrymores couldn't have acted it as well 
 as Jim and Dick did. I also did a good job of acting the 
 part of the "goat." 
 
 While on the subject of golf, Dick Collins had a hand 
 in another laugh put over on me. Exmoor was an out- 
 standing golf club. The course was an interesting one and 
 
 180
 
 JOHN IRWIN-A Unique Golfer
 
 
 .= ^
 
 was always kept in perfect condition. All of the club's 
 departments were ably managed, and the membership 
 committees were "choosy," which always assured a high 
 type of membership. It was a fine family club at which 
 many enjoyable social events were staged. Among our 
 crowd the idea was proposed that, in addition to Exmoor, 
 we ought to promote another golf club that would be ex- 
 clusively a club for men. About a couple of miles south 
 of Exmoor was the Bob O'Link Golf Club which was not 
 in sound financial condition. We decided to take that 
 property over providing that those in charge, Clark Poole 
 and Ike Elston, could change the club's by-laws so as to 
 make it a club exclusively for men. The job of putting 
 over that deal was placed entirely in my hands. It was 
 consummated, but certain of the old members fought the 
 proposition of excluding their families. I left for California 
 to spend the winter months, leaving the troublesome 
 detail to be attended to by Clark Poole, Ike Elston, Dick 
 Collins, John Coulter, and A. D. Plamondon. I was assured 
 that it would be taken care of. When I returned, the boys 
 arranged a golf party for me. Forty of our fellows, includ- 
 ing Elston and Poole, were invited. It was arranged to 
 be a private golf tournament, handicaps were attended 
 to, and while we were seated at a long banquet table 
 having our lunch, I was to auction off the foursomes. 
 
 Collins' chauffeur called for Plamondon, Coulter, Dick, 
 and me at the C. A. A., and drove us to Bob O'Link. 
 They noticed that I was mostly interested in ascertaining 
 whether the matter of excluding the ladies had been 
 attended to, and they assured me everything was OK. 
 While auctioning the players, during which ordeal I may 
 have used some rather forceful language, and when about 
 
 181
 
 half of the foursomes were sold, someone whispered to 
 me, "Cheese it, look over there!" 
 
 I looked, and saw a tall man with his back to me sitting 
 at a side table having lunch with a beautiful young "flap- 
 per." She was stylishly dressed and quite chic. She was 
 looking at me with a sort of I-heard-what-you-said smile. 
 I was dumbfounded and sat down. I said to Clark Poole, 
 "You were to attend to the matter of excluding women 
 from this club. I'll go no further until you request that 
 couple to leave." 
 
 Clark answered, "I'm sorry, Charley. I'll attend to it." 
 
 He went over to them, and there ensued a rather heated 
 argument. The man assumed a belligerent attitude. Finally 
 the pretty "flapper" arose and explained in a lady-like 
 manner, "Had I suspected that ladies were not welcome 
 here, I most certainly would have refused to come to 
 this club." Then she tore off her hat and the wig with it, 
 and in a masculine voice said, "What the hell kind of a 
 dump is this club anyway?" Everyone laughed but me. I 
 was still mad. Then they told me that they had engaged a 
 female impersonator who was playing in a Chicago theatre, 
 and had paid him fifty dollars just to have a laugh on me. 
 
 When we took over Bob O'Link and reorganized that 
 golf club, the majority of that club's members who didn't 
 agree to making it a men's club exclusively, naturally 
 resigned. Then we "hand-picked" over seventy-five new 
 applicants for membership. This move was not made by 
 our crowd because we were woman haters— not at all. 
 Our aim was to get a membership of good fellows who 
 could afford to belong to two clubs— one a family club, 
 and the other devoted strictly to the game of golf. It 
 proved to be a success from the start. The course was 
 
 182
 
 entirely rebuilt into a championship course, a real test 
 for good players. Commencing with the first season, we 
 decided to inaugurate an annual invitation tournament. 
 The details of that tournament were to be worked out by 
 a committee of three, of which I was made chairman. We 
 had to think up a name for that event, and hoped to arrive 
 at something original as a trademark for that important 
 annual affair. I was playing in a foursome, and asked the 
 other three for advice along that line. None seemed to 
 rise to the occasion. What they suggested did not appeal to 
 me. Finally, one of them lost patience, and said, "It seems 
 to me like you are raising a hell of a lot of hullabaloo about 
 a simple thing like a name." 
 
 I looked at him, and said, *'Boy, you've got something 
 there. We'll name that tournament 'Hullabaloo'." Hulla- 
 baloo is still the outstanding invitation golf tournament in 
 Chicago. In fact, it has acquired a national reputation, and 
 Bob O'Link is still one of the top-notch golf clubs of the 
 country. 
 
 Another incident worth relating is about a foursome 
 made up of Tony Hoof, A. B. Schuttler, Johnny Coulter, 
 and George Ade. Schuttler with a handicap of four took 
 Ade, with a handicap of fourteen as a partner against 
 Coulter with a handicap of seven, and Hoof with a handi- 
 cap of sixteen. Schuttler and Ade started their opponents 
 two points up on each nine holes. They played for five 
 dollars on each nine and five dollars on the game. 
 
 Hoof was six feet, two inches tall, and weighed over 
 two hundred and seventy-five pounds. Coulter was about 
 five feet tall, and weighed about one hundred and eighteen 
 pounds. As those two walked down the fairway, they 
 resembled a picture of a giant and a midget. Hoof was 
 
 183
 
 plainly off his game, and had trouble keeping his ball in 
 the fairway. Coulter stood Hoof's bad playing as long as 
 he could, but when Hoof sliced one into a ditch, Johnny 
 lost his patience, and informed Tony rather meekly that 
 he felt like kicking him in the pants. George Ade over- 
 heard that remark, and encouraged Johnny to do it, say- 
 ing " I'll help you by holding you up high enough to 
 enable you to reach the desired point of contact." 
 
 Congenial Tony Hoof was a large man with an appropri- 
 ate appetite for good food. About thirty years ago George 
 Ade, who had added an interesting nine hole golf course to 
 his estate at Brook, Indiana, invited 19 of his Chicago pals 
 to "Hazelden" for a preview of and to play over his new 
 golf course. After the first eighteen holes of play an 
 excellent luncheon was provided for the golfers in 
 George's spacious living room, where each guest was to 
 serve himself from an abundant assortment, with such 
 items of food that appealed to him most and there was 
 no limit on quantity. It seemed that numerous items ap- 
 pealed to Tony and he partook of them quite freely. Upon 
 our return to Chicago we wrote to George Ade congratu- 
 lating him on his interesting golf course and expressed 
 our thanks for his hospitality. We stated that the food 
 he had served to us was excellent, but knowing as we 
 did that Tony was to participate at that luncheon, we each 
 should have fortified ourselves by bringing with us a ham 
 sandwich. That letter brought from him a typical George 
 Ade reply. Among other remarks he stated: "I note your 
 reference to Tony's generous partaking of that food. It is 
 my opinion that he didn't eat any more than the rest of 
 you fellows— that is— all together." 
 
 On that joyous occasion another unusual incident oc- 
 
 184
 
 curred. In those days golf was still somewhat in its infancy 
 and small town folks were not familiar with that game. 
 George Ade was hard put to dig up twenty caddies for 
 the play on that day, but twenty of his townsmen gladly 
 volunteered to help George solve that problem. They were 
 all good fellows and nineteen of them seemed to enjoy 
 the doings and they did a good job of caddying, while the 
 twentieth one succeeded in spilling the beans plenty. He 
 was evidently a green farm hand, about seventeen years 
 old. A tall, lanky and matter-of-fact lad who had never 
 heard of golf nor seen a bag of golf clubs. It was evident 
 that he considered it a fool thing for grown men to in- 
 dulge in. 
 
 Our foursome consisted of James Rankin, Frank Teeple, 
 A. B. Schuttler, and this relator. Unfortunately that 
 gawky lad was assigned to caddie for Schuttler. A. B. was 
 fond of perpetrating jokes and he was possessed of an 
 unusual sense of humor, except when playing golf. He 
 was a four handicap man and he took his golf game 
 very seriously. 
 
 When that lad came to take Schuttler's bag, we noticed 
 that he was armed with a rifle which he promptly shoved 
 into the golf bag. During the first five holes of play the 
 poor lad did everything that a caddy shouldn't do. A. B. 
 was terribly disturbed and remarked: "Where in hell did 
 George dig up that rube to caddie for me?" On the sixth 
 putting green A. B. had a four-foot putt to sink in order 
 to half that hole. He carefully examined the slightly 
 bumpy lay of the turf. It was a tricky putt to make and 
 he spent considerable time in surveying all the angles. 
 Then he took his stance, slowly making the back stroke 
 with his putter and just as he was about to hit the ball 
 
 185
 
 there was a loud gunshot. It scared us all and turning 
 to the back edge of the putting green we saw A. B.'s caddy 
 with his back to us, holding a smoking gun. Without turn- 
 ing around towards us we heard him quietly remark: "Yep! 
 I got him!" He had shot a rabbit. That shot was not "heard 
 around the world" but it sure turned a four-foot putt 
 into a fair drive, for A. B.'s ball swiftly by-passed the cup 
 and landed in the fairway. While we were convulsed in 
 laughter, A. B. was white with rage and furious. From 
 there on he carried his own bag, but for that day his 
 golf game was shot. 
 
 The lad couldn't understand why all that fuss about 
 shooting a rabbit. He said that he brought his gun with 
 him because he was told that all he had to do was carry a 
 bag and therefore figured that he might as well pick off a 
 rabbit or two if any came within gunshot. 
 
 While we are on the subject of golf, it might prove help- 
 ful to such devotees of that great game who have failed 
 to break a hundred to reproduce here a new stance. The 
 inventor seems to have a monopoly on that stance, even 
 though he failed to have it copyrighted. He will not feel 
 disturbed when he sees it illustrated here, because we 
 happen to know that he is really proud of the distinction 
 that it is his "brain child," and that he has no competition 
 while adopting it in connection with his play. It has been 
 used before, but only by golfers who may be stooping low 
 while looking for four-leaf clovers. It is only fair to state 
 here that by use of that stance, John Irwin has succeeded 
 in bringing in fairly low scores. Although he has passed 
 the three-quarter century mark in age, he is still respected 
 as being a tough competitor at golf and a very good money 
 player. 
 
 186
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 22 
 
 -L^LECTRic LIGHTING and electric power is an old story 
 now, but it should be of interest that Chapin & Gore built 
 the first electric plant in Chicago about 1880. Soon there- 
 after, Willoughby-Hill Company built an electric plant 
 to service their large clothing establishment which occu- 
 pied the entire building on the southeast corner of Clark 
 and Madison Streets, now the site of the Morrison Hotel. 
 In those days arc lights were principally used. Chapin & 
 Gore supplied light, power, and steam heat to quite a 
 number of customers in the entire block bounded by 
 Madison, State, Monroe, and Dearborn Streets. That did 
 not necessitate the crossing of a street, but was just a 
 matter of boring a hole under the surface of each alley 
 and driving an iron pipe through and "fishing" the service 
 wires through that pipe to reach any of those desiring 
 electric service or steam heat. There was no law against 
 crossing an alley. Consequently, aside from supplying the 
 necessary service for their own establishment, Chapin & 
 Gore sold such service to other concerns in that block for 
 many years without interruption. 
 
 The Chicago Edison Company was established later, 
 with their headquarters in a small building situated next 
 to the Home Insurance Building on Adams Street. In either 
 1890 or 1891 a young man who had been employed, I 
 believe, as private secretary to Thomas Edison, came to 
 Chicago to develop the business of the Chicago Edison 
 Company. The company grew rapidly because of the great 
 
 187
 
 demand for electric light and power. The "ethics" of that 
 corporation's executive were not always according to 
 "Hoyle," and by devious means or otherwise, he registered 
 a great success, if success is to be measured by money. 
 The Chicago Edison Company (later the Commonwealth- 
 Edison Company), grew into a great and wealthy corpo- 
 ration, and Samuel InsuU became a power financially and 
 politically in Chicago. To make its monopoly complete, the 
 Commonwealth-Edison Company started a campaign to 
 chase all independent plants out of business. If they could 
 be bought at their price, OK. If not, they resorted to other 
 means. In the late nineties they caused an ordinance to be 
 passed by the City Council making it obligatory for all 
 independent plants to obtain a franchise from the City 
 Council if they needed to cross an alley or street. We 
 were then forced to attempt to obtain such franchise by 
 a vote of the City Council. We soon found out the so-called 
 "Gray Wolves" were being paid to see that no such ordi- 
 nance would get by. It didn't mean much to us one way 
 or another, so we decided to try our hand at licking that 
 situation. 
 
 William Hale Thompson had just been elected an alder- 
 man. We asked "Big Bill" to introduce that ordinance for 
 us and he did. We contacted some of the other aldermen, 
 advising them that ours was a small proposition, and that 
 we were only interested in using such pipes as were 
 already in those alleys. It was to be a ten-year franchise. 
 At the first council meeting, they couldn't kill that ordi- 
 nance, so it was held over to the next meeting. Henry 
 Jampolis looked after Insull's political interests in the 
 City Council. He kept in touch with the "Gray Wolves" 
 during that first session, and somehow seemed unsure of 
 
 188
 
 the result, so he came over to me, and suggested, "Charley, 
 when this session is over, you and I will go out and have a 
 drink. I want to talk this whole matter over with you, 
 and give you some advice that will save both of us a lot 
 of time." 
 
 I said, "That's fine; let's go and have that drink." 
 
 He immediately advised me that I was wasting my time 
 trying to get that franchise. I kept buying drinks for him 
 to keep him talking. He could take a lot, and I saw to it 
 that he took them all, but when he wasn't looking, mine 
 went into the cuspidor. Soon he was "three sheets in 
 the wind." 
 
 Then I started, "Henry, I know you are a pal of mine, 
 and you wouldn't give me a 'bum steer.' What makes you 
 think that we can't get that ordinance through the Coun- 
 cil?" 
 
 He looked at me for a while and then said, "Charley, 
 eight of those aldermen are on Insull's payroll." 
 
 That was a hell of a confession, but it was what I wanted 
 to know. I gave that "dope" to my aldermen friends. It 
 scared off the "Gray Wolves," and our ordinance was 
 passed in spite of the fight Alderman Cullerton made 
 against it. Chapin & Gore got their franchise which, in 
 itself, was an unimportant matter, except that it was a 
 defeat of the gang, so inadvertently "uncovered," in the 
 admission made to me by Insull's political agent, Henry 
 Jampolis. That gives a fair picture of what a mayor, intent 
 upon the guarding of the city's interests was up against 
 in dealing with such an element within the membership of 
 the City Council at that time. 
 
 The reason for relating this story is to show how high- 
 handed and devious a course Samuel Insull employed in 
 
 189
 
 arriving at the heights that he reached. Eventually, he 
 considered himself a sort of "dictator." It was that which 
 caused his undoing. When the crash came, the affairs of 
 InsuU and his corporations were placed in the hands of a 
 competent committee representing creditors and stock- 
 holders. That "square shooting," able, hardworking, and 
 successful business man, Charles A. McCullough, was a 
 member of that coromittee. Insull tried some of his "high 
 horse" stuff on him, but Charley McCullough hauled him 
 down and put him where he belonged. That was a new 
 experience for the erstwhile "Czar." It was stated that 
 Insull remarked later that he wished he'd had someone 
 talk to him in McCullough 's straightforward way in past 
 years. It would have prevented him from making the mis- 
 takes that brought on his troubles. 
 
 190
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 23 
 
 W. 
 
 ITH THE COMPLETE recovery of their son, the Carter 
 H. Harrisons returned to Chicago. The ex-mayor entered 
 into civic affairs, and naturally, into the politics of his 
 party. It is not the object here to review Mr. Harrison's 
 many notable accomplishments as Chicago's chief execu- 
 tive during his first four terms as mayor, nor during his 
 last term of four years to which he was later elected. He 
 has ably and very conservatively covered all of his activi- 
 ties during his entire official career in his book entitled 
 Stormy Years, published by The Bobbs-Merrill Company, 
 New York. In that book there are three items that he 
 dealt with, but for some reason failed to give the inside 
 details which are of importance and will prove interesting 
 enough to warrant an explanation of each. Before going 
 into that, I prefer first to outline a picture of that famous 
 Chicagoan's personality, so well known and esteemed by 
 his close friends. 
 
 Carter H. Harrison was scrupulously honest in his every 
 act. He had the courage of his convictions. He weighed all 
 matters put up to him carefully, and when convinced any 
 proposition was wrong, he could say "No" firmly, whether 
 it be to friend or foe. He never fooled anyone and was 
 always cautious so as not to be fooled himself. Diplomacy 
 played no part in his decisions. His "No" meant "No," 
 which often hurt him politically, but that did not deter 
 him. Consequently, he was considered a "cold" proposi- 
 tion, especially by the ordinary run of politicians who 
 
 191
 
 came to him with requests that he knew were detrimental 
 to the city's welfare. Such politicians didn't understand 
 him because they couldn't induce him to play politics at 
 the expense of the city. That is why some such left him for 
 the enemy's camp. 
 
 Carter H. Harrison confined his personal associations 
 to a small group of his old cronies— men who understood 
 him and whom he understood. He was assured they were 
 his pals and not looking for favors because of his official 
 position. He felt relaxed in their company and those of us 
 who made up that group knew him as a warm-hearted 
 human being, with an unusual sense of humor. He thor- 
 oughly enjoyed a joke, and loved to put one over on any 
 one of his pals. Without doubt, his closest friend was Oscar 
 F. Mayer. When Mr. Harrison was first elected in 1897, 
 a few of us were with Oscar in Mangler's place having a 
 drink. In a joking way Oscar remarked, "You fellows had 
 better look up to me because my good friend, Carter H., 
 has been elected mayor and I stand high with him," 
 
 I excused myself, saying I would be right back, I went 
 into the telephone booth unnoticed, called up the mayor's 
 secretary, and told him what Oscar had said. I requested 
 that he explain to the mayor that I would bet Oscar a bottle 
 of champagne that the mayor didn't know him, and that 
 I wanted to know if the mayor would back me up if I 
 should bring Oscar right over to his office. 
 
 The secretary came back quickly, and said, "Mr. Har- 
 rison said for you to make that bet." 
 
 I wasn't quite sure but what the mayor might double 
 cross me, but when I returned to the bar where Oscar 
 was, I asked if I had understood him correctly— that he 
 was Harrison's close friend. Oscar admitted that he was. 
 
 192
 
 "Well," said I, "Oscar, I'll bet you a quart of champagne 
 that the mayor doesn't know you. We'll go over to the 
 mayor's office while these boys wait here, and if the mayor 
 knows you, I'll buy a quart." 
 
 Oscar said, "Come on. You boys wait here." 
 
 When Oscar and I arrived at the mayor's office, the 
 secretary led us in and the mayor shook hands with me. 
 Then I introduced Oscar, and the mayor said, "Haven't I 
 met you somewhere before, Mr. Mayer?" 
 
 Oscar's face turned white, then red. He knew he was 
 being "jobbed." The mayor stood pat and then asked to 
 be excused as he was quite busy. We made Oscar buy that 
 quart, but he said we were just a lot of crooks, and that 
 he would get even with the mayor. Carter Harrison and 
 the rest of us had many a laugh over that incident, but 
 Oscar Mayer couldn't quite really appreciate that as a joke. 
 Mayor Harrison was just the opposite of a "cold" propo- 
 sition. He was a congenial companion who enjoyed the 
 company of his friends. In spite of his many troubles and 
 heavy responsibilities, during those twelve "stormy years" 
 he would come to lunch each day in a happy frame of 
 mind. During his last four years as Mayor it was three 
 days each week at Vogelsang's restaurant, and the other 
 three at Emil Demme's Bismarck. At each place there was 
 reserved a large round table in a corner for our coterie of 
 "side kicks." Those lunch hours were happy occasions, 
 with plenty of "rapid fire" back and forth. Jokes were per- 
 petrated, and the mayor put over more than his share. 
 Further on, I will tell a few where he made me the "goat." 
 
 In 1911 Carter H. Harrison finally decided to enter the 
 campaign for the nomination of mayor, which he and his 
 friends realized would be the hardest fight of his political 
 
 193
 
 career. It really looked like a hopeless task, considering 
 his opposition and the split in his own party. Some of his 
 former supporters were lukewarm, and many had deserted 
 into the camp of the Democratic wing that he had been 
 fighting during all of his former terms as mayor. We won't 
 go into all of the details of that memorable campaign. 
 Again we refer to his book, Stormy Years, which deals 
 with those details completely, with the exception of giving 
 a full explanation of the three interesting items that were 
 referred to in this narrative. After going into some neces- 
 sary preliminary arrangements, I will then give an ex- 
 planation of the inside story of those three incidents which 
 played such an important and probably decisive part in 
 Mr. Harrison's nomination and election, and one of which 
 might have changed the history not only of America, but 
 of the world. I still wish he had taken my advice. 
 
 Carter H. Harrison's first act in connection with his 
 entering that campaign was to appoint his personal and 
 finance committee. He appointed James F. Bowers as its 
 chairman. The other members of that committee were 
 Oscar F. Mayer, Charles A. Plamondon, Edward Tilden, 
 Thomas Carey, C. J. Vopicka, John E. Traeger, Michael 
 P. Byrne, John W. Eckhart, David Pfaelzer, Peter Rein- 
 berg, James S. Agar, and Charles H. Hermann. Mr. Har- 
 rison was really the boss of that committee. He carefully 
 scrutinized its every act, and it is well that he did, be- 
 cause it was a tough job to raise the campaign fund. We 
 were offered sizable contributions with no "strings" at- 
 tached, and a few of the members were for accepting 
 several of those. Mr. Harrison said "No," and they were 
 returned with thanks. He wouldn't permit a single con- 
 tribution to be accepted that wouldn't stand the light of 
 
 194
 
 day. We held day and night meetings in a large private 
 room in Vogelsang's basement. The real political Harrison 
 headquarters was in the old Briggs House. That's where 
 they lined up the ward organizations. Our committee wor- 
 ried only about the "high spots" and the campaign fund. 
 One of the important "high spots" was that nearly all of 
 the important newspapers were against Harrison. How to 
 win over some support from the press just wasn't in the 
 cards. I did some thinking, and discovered that foxy John 
 Eastman had not yet come out with his Chicago Journal 
 for any candidate. Knowing John's appetite for cham- 
 pagne, I called him up and invited him to have dinner 
 with me at the Chicago Automobile Club. He accepted and 
 I said nothing to him until about the fourth pint was 
 served. Then I stated my proposition, "John, you're not 
 smart enough to make the right decision, so I've decided 
 to help you. I know you don't care a damn about any of 
 the mayoralty candidates, or you would have been sup- 
 porting one of them by now. The papers are all against 
 Harrison. It will give you distinction to be with him, and 
 I think he'll win. Why not come along? I'm for him 'hook, 
 line, and sinker.' " 
 
 He said he didn't like Harrison, but to make a long story 
 short, after three or four more pints of champagne and a 
 lot more argument— John loved an argument— when I left 
 him that night he had agreed to support Harrison. It was 
 great news that I reported to Carter H. Harrison and the 
 committee. 
 
 Because Harrison failed to go along with the Independ- 
 ence League which was promoting William Randolph 
 Hearst for the nomination to the presidency, the two 
 Hearst papers were bitter towards Harrison. It looked 
 
 195
 
 like an impossibility to win them over, but not to me. I 
 got to thinking about Andy Lawrence and about the best 
 way to approach him on such a tender subject. He had 
 always damned Harrison up and down to me, and said 
 he didn't like him personally. I finally figured out a way 
 to bring those two face to face. So I requested Mr. Har- 
 rison to meet me at Vogelsang's. He said he was "tied up" 
 and couldn't come over that afternoon. 
 
 "Well," said I, "you just 'untie' yourself and be at Vogel- 
 sang's this noon without fail." He finally agreed to be 
 there. I had John Vogelsang go with us into a back private 
 room. I ordered a bottle of wine, and said, "Don't pull this 
 cork until I return with another fellow." I called up Andy 
 Lawrence and informed him that I had a "sucker" friend 
 at Vogelsang's buying champagne for me, and asked him 
 to come and meet him and help "polish off" a bottle. Law- 
 rence came, I met him at the front door, led him back 
 to the room, pushed him in, and said, "I want to introduce 
 you two 'bucks.' Each of you has an exceptional thirst 
 for champagne and you should be pals." 
 
 Harrison smiled and Andy seemed to want to back out 
 of the room, but I was in his way and pushed him into a 
 chair. We had some wine and we stayed there for nearly 
 two hours. Harrison acted wonderfully. We started kidding 
 one another and soon both Harrison and Andy were kid- 
 ding me. When they left, Andy's arm was on Harrison's 
 shoulder and in that way the two great Hearst newspapers 
 came out strongly for Harrison. Both were independent 
 men with square jaws, and I'm sure that, if I hadn't 
 "jobbed" them as I did, they would never have gotten 
 together. As it turned out, it was fortunate both for Har- 
 rison and the Hearst papers. Harrison was elected by a 
 
 196
 
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 9 - 
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 L^^A'^- 
 
 NewYork JL PETtRS Ji PtTLRSsCO S'lou.s 
 
 CINCINNATI BASEBALL CLUB, 1869 
 
 The Wright Brothers, reputed fathers of baseball, and their teammates. 
 
 Clockwise: Sweasy, Harry Wright, Allison, Waterman, McVey, 
 
 Leonard, Brainard. George Wright, Gould
 
 scant margin and the Hearst papers were on a winner. 
 
 There was a "kick back" on me in connection with 
 John Eastman, and to some extent, with Lawrence. Both of 
 those pubhshers were forceful, aggressive men, and not 
 at all modest in their demands. John Eastman came to 
 me and asked that I see the mayor about his paper being 
 given the advertising by the city in connection with its 
 tax-lien sales. Knowing Harrison as I did, I sensed trouble 
 brewing. I agreed to take that matter up with the mayor 
 and report his answer to John Eastman. He informed me 
 that he was entitled to that favor and that I'd better suc- 
 ceed in getting it for him. When I advised the mayor of 
 Eastman's request, I was told in no uncertain words that 
 such advertising was always given to the lowest bidder 
 and that the Chicago Journal would get it if their bid was 
 as low as the lowest bidder. On an equal basis, the mayor 
 agreed to favor John Eastman's Chicago Journal. When I 
 told that to John, he hit the ceiling, and said, "That's just 
 about the kind of treatment I'd expect from Harrison," 
 Shortly thereafter John Eastman severed relations with 
 the mayor as was to be expected. 
 
 Two or three days after the election the mayor was 
 greatly disturbed, and showed me a list of appointments 
 requested by Andy Lawrence and said, "See what you 
 got me into. I positively cannot meet any such demands." 
 It was a very long list and plainly unreasonable. 
 
 I said, "Mayor, you can concede some of those appoint- 
 ments. You'll have to meet Andy's request the best you 
 can." So the mayor went through the long list. He 
 scratched out over half of them. Mr. Harrison appointed 
 Charley Fitzmorris, a Hearst man, as Secretary to the 
 Mayor. It didn't entirely satisfy Lawrence, but after I 
 
 197
 
 kidded him about his "modesty," he finally became recon- 
 ciled, and he "stayed put." The Hearst papers continued 
 their whole-hearted support of Harrison throughout his 
 four-year term as mayor and thereafter. Andrew Lawrence 
 and Harrison are still on friendly terms. Charley Fitzmor- 
 ris, at that time, was young in years but long on "gray 
 matter," a very able and loyal man. Mr. Harrison has 
 frequently expressed his appreciation of Charley Fitzmor- 
 ris' loyalty and exceptional ability and diplomacy in the 
 discharge of his duties as the mayor's secretary. 
 
 This explains the inside details of two of the three items 
 previously referred to, namely, the obtaining of newspaper 
 support for Harrison's nomination and election. John 
 Eastman, through his Chicago Journal, certainly supplied 
 some of the needed support in that campaign, but Harrison 
 himself intimated in his book. Stormy Years, some doubt 
 as to whether he could have been nominated and elected 
 without the Hearst papers coming out so strongly for him. 
 That victory was a great tribute to Carter H. Harrison, 
 because not only was he faced with his Republican op- 
 ponent, the professor from Chicago University, but was 
 also being ferociously fought by two strong factions in his 
 own party— the Edward F. Dunne crowd and the Sullivan- 
 Hopkins-Brennan faction. All three resorted to every 
 known trick in their efforts to defeat him. Harrison per- 
 sonally supervised his campaign and won by making a 
 strictly clean fight, sticking to the truth, and standing 
 squarely on the record of his previous four terms as Chi- 
 cago's chief executive. He had much to overcome, but he 
 managed his campaign intelligently. It was a typical Har- 
 rison victory that must be credited to him. 
 
 The "Fire Fans Association," in spite of my being a 
 
 198
 
 member of it, was a crowd of influential good fellows. 
 They were all deeply interested in seeing Charles Seyfer- 
 lick appointed as Chicago's Fire Marshal, and placed the 
 responsibility of obtaining that appointment on me. When 
 Harrison won the nomination, I approached him on that 
 subject, informing him that Mayor Busse had appointed 
 Battalion Chief James Horan as his Fire Marshal. It was 
 a wise and popular appointment, but was made over the 
 head of Charles Seyferlick, who gracefully stepped aside 
 to see his friend, Horan, get that job, although Seyferlick, 
 through rank and seniority, was himself entitled to be 
 appointed. Harrison listened, but then changed the subject. 
 I talked with him about it on a couple of other occasions, 
 but in each instance he listened without showing much 
 interest, and again changed the subject. During the cam- 
 paign for the election I knew Harrison's former Fire 
 Chief Campion was a daily visitor at the Briggs House 
 headquarters, and that he had made a substantial con- 
 tribution to the Harrison campaign fund. The day after 
 the election I was at Harrison's personal office in the old 
 Chronicle Building. After talking about some other mat- 
 ters, I once more mentioned Charles Seyferlick. Again 
 he listened and then again changed the subject without 
 giving me the slightest bit of encouragement. As I was 
 leaving, I told him that he held the world's championship 
 on changing the subject. He took that as a compliment, 
 but that afternoon his brother, Preston, took me to one 
 side, and said, "Charley, don't worry any more about 
 Charles Seyferlick." 
 
 The evening of his inauguration, in reporting his cabinet 
 appointments to the City Council, Mayor Harrison said, 
 "In the matter of appointing a Fire Marshal, if I were to 
 
 199
 
 follow my personal wish, I would appoint my former Fire 
 Chief Campion, but to that important post I am appoint- 
 ing the present Acting Chief, Charles Seyferlick." Before 
 the end of Harrison's term of office Charles Seyferlick 
 died. I again approached the mayor about Seyferlick's 
 successor and recommended Big Tom O'Connor for that 
 post. O'Connor was next in line, and the mayor appointed 
 him. Mayor Harrison would not have made either of 
 those appointments without each having merited it, and 
 it was his method to never say what he intended doing 
 until he did it. 
 
 Mayor Harrison was an exceptional judge of men. He 
 was concerned only with the guarding of the city's inter- 
 ests. He demanded truthfulness, honesty, and ability. His 
 appointments to responsible positions reflected that clearly. 
 He would have no truck with the other kind, and that 
 is why he fell out so quickly with that wing of his party 
 controlled by the Sullivan-Hopkins-Brennan crowd. He 
 fought them from the start, regardless of consequences. 
 Having defeated them and the Edward F. Dunne faction 
 in the 1911 election. Carter H. Harrison was the dominant 
 factor of his party in Illinois and a prominent figure na- 
 tionally. He had refused the nomination for the Vice 
 Presidency in the 1904 national convention. He could have 
 been a potential candidate for President in 1912, except 
 for the fact that he had agreed to back the candidacy of 
 Champ Clark who was also the choice of the Hearst news- 
 papers. Carter H. Harrison would have been the control- 
 ling factor of the Illinois delegation had it not been for 
 the roughest kind of crooked tactics employed by his 
 opponents who were in the minority. In spite of that and 
 the "all out" fight put up by the Sullivan-Hopkins-Brennan 
 
 200
 
 element, Champ Clark won in the Illinois preferential 
 primary race. The vote was 218,483 for Champ Clark and 
 75,527 for Wilson. The victory was credited to Harrison 
 and the Hearst press and its influence. Champ Clark 
 should have been and would have been nominated at the 
 national convention had it been held in Chicago instead 
 of Baltimore. 
 
 Chicago was "double crossed" by the Sullivan crowd at 
 the national committee meeting which convened in Wash- 
 ington early in January, 1912. A citizens' non-political 
 committee was appointed, mostly through the efforts of 
 the Chicago Association of Commerce, for the purpose of 
 inducing both the Republican and Democratic national 
 committees to select Chicago as their 1912 national con- 
 vention city. The men comprising that committee were: 
 
 Fred W. Upham, Chairman 
 Charles H. Hermann, Vice Chairman 
 Charles H. Wacker Charles F. Gunther 
 
 Charles J. Vopicka William C. Vierbuchen 
 
 James F. Bowers John W. Eckhart 
 
 John C. Roth Michael Zimmer 
 
 Dennis F. Kelly John Z. Vogelsang 
 
 James Hamilton Lewis Cyrus H. McCormick 
 
 John A. Richert William L. O'Connell 
 
 Fred W. Upham was Republican State Committeeman 
 from Illinois and was also the Treasurer for the National 
 Republican Committee. It was he who was principally 
 responsible for obtaining the 1912 Republican Convention 
 for Chicago. The Democratic National Committee was to 
 meet in Washington on January 7, 1912. Roger Sullivan 
 had promised to give us his support in landing the Demo- 
 cratic National Convention for Chicago, but Fred Upham 
 
 201
 
 suggested that I'd better see Roger Sullivan alone and get 
 further information from him. I did that, and Roger Sulli- 
 van promised that he would "move heaven and earth" to 
 help us. Furthermore, he suggested that when our com- 
 mittee arrived in Washington, we were to make our head- 
 quarters in his suite of rooms at the Hotel Shoreham. Our 
 first job, of course, was to raise the money necessary to 
 pay all expenses of both conventions. That was attended 
 to, as we had raised $150,000. When our committee arrived 
 in Washington, we were given plenty of advice and instruc- 
 tions from Roger Sullivan. He introduced us to all the 
 "powers that be," and we held our meetings in Roger Sul- 
 livan's suite. He told us what committeemen we must con- 
 tact. It was arranged that Fred Upham was to make the 
 opening address to the National Committee, and J. Hamil- 
 ton Lewis was to make the main speech. The third and 
 last argument was to be made by Roger Sullivan, which 
 he readily agreed to do. I became suspicious of Sullivan's 
 sincerity because I realized that his influence in that Com- 
 mittee was greater than that of any other man, and yet 
 he insisted on having each of our fellows contact the 
 committeemen when one word from him would have 
 accomplished what he asked us to try to do; so I made 
 it my business to invite four committeemen who I knew 
 were Sullivan men to dinner at the Hotel Raleigh. We 
 had a nice dinner, plenty of wine, and much joking back 
 and forth. They seemed to have spent an enjoyable five or 
 six hours and were feeling "high" when we were about to 
 leave. Up to that moment I never even mentioned Chicago 
 or the Convention. The conmiitteeman from Texas, and I 
 became real "chummy." As we were leaving the Hotel 
 Raleigh, I said to him, "I hope we'll have the pleasure 
 
 202
 
 of having this party over again when you fellows come to 
 Chicago in June for the Convention." 
 
 He looked at me for a moment, and then said, "If I could 
 be convinced that Chicago is on the square about wanting 
 the Convention, I'd vote my head off for Chicago." 
 
 That was all I wanted to know. Here was Roger Sulli- 
 van's close pal, one of the seven men who controlled the 
 doings of the whole National Committee corroborating 
 just what I had suspected. 
 
 The big National Committee meeting was to take place 
 in the banquet room of the Hotel Shoreham the next day, 
 January 8, 1912. The room was filled. On the platform 
 were many distinguished Democrats. Fred W. Upham, as 
 a national figure in the Republican party, was somewhat 
 on the spot. When he advanced to the platform, Chairman 
 Mack caused a laugh with "Gentlemen of the Democratic 
 National Committee, I take special pleasure in presenting 
 to you the Hon. Fred W. Upham, Treasurer of the Re- 
 publican National Committee." Fred Upham blushed, and 
 briefly said what Chicago would do, stating that it would 
 pay all convention expenses and be liberal about it. When 
 he had finished his talk, Committeeman Woods of Cali- 
 fornia proposed that Mr. Upham be made an honorary 
 member of the Democratic National Committee. There was 
 applause, but when Fred Upham came back to where we 
 were standing, he and I went into a huddle quickly with 
 all of our committee, and decided that something was 
 brewing against us. Of course, I had reported to the com- 
 mittee previously my suspicions and what I had learned 
 the night before. It was agreed that we must offer more 
 money. We quickly signed up among us to guarantee forty 
 thousand dollars more. 
 
 203
 
 In the meanwhile J. Hamilton Lewis was making his 
 long and very flowery speech for Chicago. Just then Roger 
 Sullivan came up and put his arm around my shoulder. 
 I said coldly, "Roger, you are to make the third and last 
 appeal as you agreed, and we depend upon you to make 
 it strong." 
 
 He smiled, and said, "I'm not going to make that speech. 
 You're going to make it yourself." 
 
 George Brennan was close by, and I could see a sly grin 
 on his face. Of course, all of our committee were mad, but 
 none as mad as I. I said, "Roger, if that's the way you feel 
 about it, we'll have to do the best we can." 
 
 J. Hamilton Lewis was still talking, and he omitted noth- 
 ing in extolling Chicago as the natural choice convention 
 city. When he finished, there was plenty of applause. 
 I didn't expect to be called upon to make Sullivan's talk, 
 but I was forced to it, and I marched up to the platform, 
 feeling much like I was approaching the gallows, but I was 
 mad clear through. When Chairman Mack introduced me, 
 I said, "Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: Some folks have 
 been circulating a story that Chicago isn't in earnest about 
 wanting this convention. Now, let me prove to you that we 
 do want it, and that we couldn't be more earnest about 
 wanting it than we are. Mr. Upham has promised that all 
 reasonable and necessary expenses of your convention will 
 be paid, and Chicago will be liberal about it. To that I add— 
 and I hold in my hand a guarantee signed by people whose 
 reliability Mr. Roger Sullivan will attest— the pledge that 
 we will also hand over to your committee forty thousand 
 dollars as a contribution to the Democratic campaign fund 
 and no questions asked." 
 
 The Washington Times of January 9, 1912, stated: 
 
 204
 
 It was a fetching coup, and as Mr. Hermann bowed himself 
 from the platform, he got more applause from the really prac- 
 tical politicians than had greeted the noblest tropes that Mr. 
 Lewis had exhibited. 
 
 Our committee made the best fight possible in view of 
 the fact that we had to be "double crossed" because the 
 Sullivan crowd just couldn't take a chance of bringing that 
 convention to Chicago on account of their fear of the pres- 
 tige of Harrison and the Hearst influence. Roger Sullivan, 
 of course, voted for Chicago, but he knew his vote meant 
 nothing. The convention went to Baltimore, and the so- 
 called Great Commoner, William Jennings Bryan, did some 
 of his "double crossing" which was the cause of cheating 
 Champ Clark out of the nomination and "slipping" it to 
 Wbodrow Wilson. To do that dirty work, Bryan was obliged 
 to play along with the Sullivan-Hopkins-Brennan boys 
 whom he had called "train robbers" in his speech before 
 the 1904 National Democratic Convention. That proves 
 that my first impression of Bryan when I met him in 1896 
 in the Windsor-Clifton Hotel was correct. 
 
 The 1912 Democratic National Committee was com- 
 pletely controlled by seven men— Murphy of Tammany 
 Hall, Norman E. Mack, Roger Sullivan, Urey Woodson, 
 Thomas Taggert, Kennedy of Montana, and the committee- 
 man from Texas whom they nicknamed "Vice President." 
 Those seven men could not only take the convention to any 
 city they wished, but they absolutely controlled the nomi- 
 nation of a president in the 1912 convention. 
 
 That brings us up to another story involving Carter H. 
 Harrison. It constitutes the third item that is not given in 
 full detail in Mr. Harrison's book. It should be added here 
 that, of the seven men above mentioned, Roger Sulli- 
 
 205
 
 van, at that time, was the most influential. He was osten- 
 sibly the leader in Chicago and all Illinois of the Sullivan- 
 Hopkins-Brennan wing of the Democratic party. They 
 knew all the tricks, and their policy was to do anything to 
 win. Roger Sullivan was made the leader of that element, 
 but John P. Hopkins was a relentless politician and George 
 Brennan was really the power behind the throne. Brennan 
 stayed in the background, but it was he who did the real 
 scheming. Those of us who knew Roger Sullivan well knew 
 that he was a good mixer and a companionable man. He, 
 being the "front" for his wing of the Democratic party, 
 naturally was blamed for all the dirty work, and he was 
 by no means blameless. 
 
 Shortly after the return of our "conventionless" com- 
 mittee from Washington, it was rumored that Sullivan 
 would run for the nomination of United States Senator 
 from Illinois. In discussing Sullivan's proposed candidacy 
 with two other of Harrison's closest pals and hundred 
 percent supporters, Oscar F. Mayer and Charles A. 
 Plamondon, they said, "Like yourself, Charley, we are not 
 politicians. We have been friendly with Sullivan and with 
 his followers. If he is nominated, we'll stay out of that 
 fight and feel inclined to vote for him. Sullivan knows we 
 have always been 'all out' for Harrison, and he has never 
 allowed that fact to interfere with his friendship for us. 
 If he should be elected, which is doubtful, he'll probably 
 represent the state as well as some of those other politi- 
 cians." 
 
 A few days later, I received a telephone request to come 
 to Sullivan's office in the Gas Building just across the 
 street from my office. When I arrived, he put his arm 
 around my shoulder and said, "Charley, come into my 
 
 206
 
 private office. I want to talk with you," He gave orders to 
 his secretary that he was "out to callers or telephone calls." 
 I shook hands with him, sat down, and said nothing. He 
 looked at me apologetically, and said, "Forget about Wash- 
 ington. That just couldn't be helped. I felt worse about that 
 than you did." 
 
 To which I replied, "Then you must have felt bad, Roger. 
 You made 'goats' out of a lot of good fellows even if you 
 didn't give a damn for Fred Upham and me." 
 
 We had been good friends, and up to that time, he had 
 never committed an unfriendly act towards me. He then 
 said, "Charley, listen to what I have to say. Harrison and 
 I have operated from different angles. His opinion of me 
 is correct. In politics I have done many wrong things 
 against him, and I respect him for the stand he has always 
 taken. I have arrived at a stage in life where I feel inclined 
 to change my views. Harrison is clean in every respect. The 
 people are with him, and to be truthful, he holds the upper 
 hand. We've had lots of hard battles, and he defeated us 
 many times. Now, I can forget a fight, and I wish you could 
 get him to do the same. I have all I want of the world's 
 goods, and at my age, I'd like to finish out my career as 
 United States Senator. 
 
 "I know that I can't be elected if he is against me, and 
 I also know that, on past performances, he can't come out 
 for me. Now, I'll give you an inside view of the coming 
 presidential campaign. Our fellows have been for Harmon 
 of Ohio, but they associated him with the railroads and 
 he is out of the running. Hearst is out for Champ Clark." 
 (Up to this time I didn't know Harrison had agreed to 
 give his support for the nomination to Champ Clark.) 
 "I cannot induce my fellows to go for anything that Hearst 
 
 207
 
 is for. William Jennings Bryan is impossible as far as we 
 are concerned, and that leaves only Wilson, that college 
 professor. We don't believe that he will make a good presi- 
 dent. I'll now tell you confidentially that no candidate can 
 be nominated without our support. Even though he has 
 always fought us, Carter H. Harrison appeals to us most. 
 He has a fine record and the proper background. I want 
 you to go to him with this proposition today. I won't ask 
 him to come out for me or turn a hand to help me get that 
 nomination. I'll get that without his aid. All I ask is that 
 he stay out of the fight, and if I should be nominated, he 
 still need not turn a hand to help in my election. If he is 
 asked about my candidacy all he need say is five words— 
 'I'm with the Democratic nominee.' If you can get him to 
 forget our fights and get him to do that, that is all that 
 I ask of him. I don't expect him to endorse my candidacy 
 nor make a single speech. All I ask is that he agree not to 
 fight me. If he will agree to that, I authorize you to assure 
 him that the Illinois delegation will be for Carter H. Harri- 
 son for the nomination for President, and I'm sure he 
 knows what that means. Harrison will be the Democratic 
 nominee for the presidency." 
 
 I answered, "Roger, you know Harrison never deviates 
 from the straight course. You are asking me to do some- 
 thing that looks like an impossible job. I'd like to see you 
 get what you are after, and I'm sure some other close 
 Harrison friends feel as I do. I'll make it my business to 
 see Harrison today, and will do my best for you, but I 
 can't promise that I will succeed." 
 
 He said with a smile, "Charley, I'll not leave this office 
 until I hear from you. I have thought this over carefully, 
 and decided on you as the best fellow to do this for me. 
 
 208
 
 I'll appreciate your doing it whether you succeed or not." 
 
 I left Sullivan's office, went directly to mine, and called 
 up Charley Fitzmorris, the mayor's secretary. I told him 
 that I was going to lunch with the mayor, but wanted a 
 half hour talk with him at the mayor's office before lunch. 
 Charley informed me to hurry over, that the mayor was 
 holding his conference with the reporters, and if I got over 
 in fifteen minutes, he'd let me into the mayor's private 
 office while the reporters were still there. I arrived in ten 
 minutes and Charley led me in. 
 
 I sat on the side, and when the reporters left, the mayor 
 looked at me and said jokingly, "Well, what are you after 
 now?" 
 
 I didn't even smile, but pulled up a chair close to him, 
 and said, "Mr. Mayor, I came over to talk with you about a 
 matter I hope you will seriously consider. Some of your 
 other close friends are also interested in your reaction to 
 what I'm about to say to you." Then I told him that Roger 
 Sullivan had called me to his office, and I repeated to him 
 word for word what I have written above. 
 
 Harrison listened attentively, and when I had finished, 
 he said, "Now you listen to me. In 1899 I was running for 
 re-nomination, and Billy Loeffler came to me and said that 
 Roger Sullivan was in control of three west side wards, 
 the fourteenth and the two adjoining wards, and to win 
 that nomination we would have to have those wards. He 
 said we could get them if I would agree to permit his man 
 to be nominated at the forthcoming Peoria convention for 
 a judgeship, as he realized that I controlled that nomina- 
 tion. I told Billy Loeffler that I wouldn't do anything of the 
 kind, because if I did, Sullivan wouldn't keep his word. 
 Sullivan is not my kind, and I am not his kind. I positively 
 
 209
 
 refused Loeffler's request, but he kept working on me for 
 the next few days, and he brought in some of my other 
 fellows to back him up in what he had proposed. Finally 
 I weakened by saying to them, 'I'm telling you that Sulli- 
 van won't keep his word. Now, if you fellows insist on it, 
 I'll do what you say, but it's on your heads.' 
 
 "During my campaign for re-nomination, I checked up 
 and found those three wards were going against me, so I 
 called in Billy Loeffler, and asked him to see Sullivan about 
 keeping his word. Billy went to see Sullivan and when he 
 returned he said that Sullivan informed him that he was 
 doing his best, but regretted that he couldn't control his 
 fellows. I said, 'Let's you and me go back to Sullivan's 
 office.' I got my hat and we went there. When I arrived 
 with Billy Loeffler, Sullivan came up to me and offered to 
 shake hands. I did not extend my hand, but said, 'I came 
 here to see you, Mr. Sullivan, just to ask you whether or 
 not you gave Billy Loeffler your word that you would 
 deliver your three wards to me if I gave your man that 
 nomination for judge.' Sullivan said that he did tell Loeffler 
 he'd deliver those wards to me and that he was doing all 
 he could to make good on it, but couldn't control his men. 
 I then turned to Billy Loeffler, asked him to repeat what 
 I had told him at the time he got that promise. Loeffler did 
 not answer, so I did it for him, and informed Sullivan that 
 he had fooled only Billy Loeffler, as I had assured Loeffler 
 that Sullivan would not keep his word. I said, 'That's all, 
 Mr. Sullivan,' and walked out. 
 
 "Now Charley, I am well aware of the fact that, having 
 the Illinois delegation with me in the forthcoming conven- 
 tion is an assurance of my being nominated as the Demo- 
 cratic candidate for the presidency. I now want you to go 
 
 210
 
 back to Roger Sullivan and tell him that. Tell him further- 
 more that, if that nomination were to be accompanied by 
 a certificate of election, and Sullivan was to hand it to me 
 on a gold platter, I would still refuse it as quickly as I now 
 refuse this proposition." 
 
 That kept Carter H. Harrison from becoming president 
 of the United States instead of Woodrow Wilson, and kept 
 Roger Sullivan from being elected to the United States 
 Senate. Had Carter H. Harrison accepted Sullivan's propo- 
 sition, no one can tell what a change it would have meant 
 in the history of, not only the United States of America, 
 but of the world. I am sure that Sullivan and his fellows 
 would have kept their word in that instance, not only for 
 reasons Sullivan stated, but because it would have helped 
 the Sullivan crowd considerably to get Harrison out of 
 Chicago and Illinois by helping to send him to the White 
 House. Sullivan was a very disappointed man. 
 
 211
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 24 
 
 A. 
 
 .s WAS STATED BEFORE, Carter H. Harrison met with his 
 close friends each day at lunch, alternately three days at 
 Vogelsang's and three days at the Bismarck. Among the 
 regulars were Oscar F. Mayer, Charles A. Plamondon, 
 Preston Harrison, his brother, County Judge John E. 
 Owens, and I. When we ate at Vogelsang's, John Vogelsang 
 always sat in, and at the Bismarck, Emil Demme was of the 
 party. Later when he was elected to his last term of four 
 years as mayor, that coterie was sometimes called the 
 mayor's "kitchen cabinet." Among the others who often 
 sat in were Ed EUicott, Maclay Hoyne, Michael Byrne, 
 Thomas Carey, Ed Tilden, Murray Keller, James Agar, 
 Peter Reinberg, Andrew Lawrence, Charles J. Vopicka, 
 John Neumeister, William H. Sexton, and William Wells, 
 the artist. The mayor enjoyed being with his friends. The 
 "kitchen cabinet" didn't carry much weight as such. It was 
 just a jolly bunch. The mayor loved to kid us, and he 
 enjoyed taking a lot of kidding in return. 
 
 After his election he asked me to go with him to call on 
 Mayor Busse to conclude arrangements as to the date when 
 he would take over, and for getting his share of tickets of 
 admission to the council chamber for the inauguration. 
 The city offices had been moved several months before 
 from the temporary quarters on Randolph Street to the 
 new City Hall. 
 
 On April 11, 1911, the Chicago Journal reported that 
 visit as follows : 
 
 212 
 
 I
 
 HARRISON SEES BUSSE 
 
 SPURNS BIG NEW CHAIR 
 
 Carter H. Harrison, mayor elect, visited the new City Hall today 
 for the first time. He called on Mayor Busse, inspected the new 
 executive offices and bathroom, and after inspecting the Council 
 Chamber, sat for the first time in the big mayor's chair of 
 Old English Oak, procured at the cost of several hundred 
 dollars, to be the seat of authority for the middlewestern 
 metropolis. 
 
 "Not for me," he remarked, getting up with a wry face and 
 sitting with a sigh of satisfaction in the old mayor's chair 
 which had been saved from the wreck of the old City Hall 
 and stood alongside. "This old chair is good enough," he com- 
 mented comfortably, thus making known his decision to sit 
 during his fifth term in the identical chair which he occupied 
 for four terms. 
 
 Mr. Harrison called on Mayor Busse at noon. He was accom- 
 panied by F. D. Connery, City Clerk, and Charles H. Hermann, 
 a friend. They went into the mayor's private office. Mr. Busse 
 greeted his successor with a smile. 
 
 "Welcome to your new quarters," said Mr. Busse. "You see, 
 your picture is already here," pointing to a big frame on the 
 wall where are the portraits of all the men who have served 
 as Chicago's mayor. Mr. Harrison noticed that there were only 
 three empty spaces in the big frame to be filled. "It won't be 
 long before we have too many mayors for that frame," he 
 remarked. 
 
 "Oh, don't worry," said Mayor Busse, "that frame will last 
 a long time with a man in office who can be elected five terms." 
 
 Mr. Busse showed Mr. Harrison through the mayor's suite, 
 including the bathroom in which Mr. Harrison was much in- 
 terested. "I acquired the bath habit several years ago and am 
 pretty well provided for at home," Mr. Harrison commented. 
 
 After a half hour's talk, the party went down to the Council 
 Chamber. Mr. Busse and Mr. Harrison had a good natured 
 scuffle upon entering the lobby, each insisting that the other 
 take precedence. "You are mayor, you go ahead," Mr. Harrison 
 
 213
 
 insisted and pushed his predecessor in first. They discussed 
 briefly arrangements for the inauguration the following Mon- 
 day and Mr. Harrison departed. 
 
 A few days after he took office he was at lunch with 
 Oscar Mayer, Charley Plamondon, Preston Harrison, 
 Murray Keller, and me. Oscar suggested that he must now 
 appoint a "night mayor." Quick as a flash, the mayor said, 
 "The first man of you who orders a bottle of Vintage Pom- 
 mery I'll appoint 'night mayor'." Charley Plamondon beat 
 us to it. He ordered the bottle, and was appointed then 
 and there. That appointment was about as important as a 
 fifth wheel on a wagon, but Oscar expected to be appointed. 
 Charley Plamondon beating Oscar to it gave the mayor 
 and the rest of us a good laugh. 
 
 One day while at lunch in Vogelsang's, there were pres- 
 ent Preston Harrison, John Vogelsang, John Neumeister, 
 Judge Owens, myself, and of course, the mayor. Preston 
 and John Neumeister had some time before undergone 
 appendectomies, and the two were each claiming to have 
 been subjected to the largest scar. Finally, John Neu- 
 meister bet Preston a bottle of champagne that his cut was 
 the larger. I had been operated on in February, 1901, for 
 the same trouble, but at that time the surgeons knew less 
 about such operations and made larger incisions than in 
 later years. Feeling certain that I could win that bet, I 
 offered to enter that contest. The mayor whispered to 
 Judge Owens, and remarked, "Now, as I understand it, 
 the one of you three who has the smallest scar will buy 
 a bottle. Are you all willing to have Judge Owens and me 
 be the judges, and agree that our decision is final?" 
 
 We all agreed because we felt safe to leave it to the 
 mayor of the city and the county judge, even if one of the 
 
 214
 
 contestants was the brother of the mayor. Being in a private 
 corner of the restaurant, the mayor of the city requested 
 that we show our scars. My scar was wider than either of 
 the other two. I started giving John and Preston the laugh. 
 Then, the mayor and the judge both decided that I had 
 lost the bet. I was amazed and made a few remarks about 
 crooked mayors and judges, but as I had agreed to abide by 
 their decision, I was obliged to buy a quart of champagne. 
 
 Later, the mayor explained that crooked decision to me 
 in confidence, "Charley, you know Preston never buys a 
 drink, and you also know that John would attempt to get 
 out of buying that bottle if he lost. We wanted a glass of 
 wine and the surest way to get it, the judge and I decided, 
 was to make you the loser." 
 
 "That's fine," said I, "but I wouldn't ever again trust 
 you or the judge with a red hot stove." The mayor got a 
 big kick out of putting it over on me. It was worth a quart 
 of champagne to see and hear him laugh. 
 
 Early in July, 1913, the mayor left for his summer home 
 in northern Michigan on a fishing trip. I wrote to him advis- 
 ing him that I had arranged a fish dinner at my home in 
 Glencoe. I mentioned the names of those who would be 
 present, and that we expected he would furnish the fish. 
 I didn't deem it necessary to include his name in that list, 
 but that unintentional oversight won for me a caustic reply. 
 The castigation didn't stop there, for on July 9, 1913, the 
 Chicago Record-Herald printed the following article : 
 
 MAYOR ASKED FOR FISH 
 LEFT OFF GUEST LIST 
 
 BY THE SAUNTERER 
 
 A feast of fish, a motor drive along the north shore, and a stag 
 party at Glencoe, after careful preparation and eager anticipa- 
 
 215
 
 tion, came near being cancelled in untimely and unseemly 
 fashion last night because the chief guest insisted that he had 
 not been invited and wouldn't come. For important reasons, the 
 festivities could not proceed without him. Charles H. Hermann, 
 of Glencoe, was giving the party and Mayor Harrison, who 
 has been on a fishing trip, was to furnish the fish. On July 8th 
 Mr. Hermann wrote to the mayor to remind him, "not to come 
 back without fish as almost a dozen will be waiting expectantly 
 to be fed by you on next Tuesday at my house. Those invited 
 are as follows: Hon. Peter Reinberg, Preston Harrison, Maclay 
 Hoyne, Judge Owens, E. E. Ellicott, Emil Demme, John Vogel- 
 sang, A. C. Wackenreuter, Oscar F. Mayer, and Charles A. 
 Plamondon." 
 
 His Honor, the Mayor, read the communication over several 
 times, looking for his own name among the invited guests 
 and failed to find it. Thereupon he wrote in crooked, indignant 
 lines across the comer of the note what he thought of a man 
 who asked him to supply the fish when his name was not 
 among those expected to be present. He also expressed his 
 hopes as to what might happen to the eleven, including the 
 host, who had failed to write his name. He hoped they would 
 all drink out of a poisoned well or something equally dire. 
 
 One C. H. Hermann was duly alarmed, as well as contrite 
 and humble. He dropped all business and other interests and 
 divided his time between the ''Complete Letter Writer," a book 
 of etiquette, and the mayor's office. In the course of time his 
 diligence was rewarded. His Honor agreed to overlook the 
 slight that never was intended, and with his fish joined the 
 Glencoe-bound motor party. 
 
 Incidentally, Mr. Hermann has learned how to deal with a 
 guest of honor. 
 
 That story was wrong in one important respect— the 
 mayor came Ashless, but he had some good alibis. 
 
 The mayor was a great baseball fan. He attended those 
 games whenever he found that he could conscientiously 
 
 216
 
 spare the time away from his official duties to do so. His 
 "side kicks" at those events were usually Oscar F. Mayer, 
 Charles A. Plamondon, Judge Owens, and myself. Fre- 
 quently, some one or two of those mentioned could not 
 attend, and occasionally he and I went alone. The mayor 
 was always on hand at the opening game of the season 
 when, as is the custom, the mayor is asked to throw the 
 first ball. Then the newspaper photographers would rush 
 over to his box to get pictures for their morning editions, 
 and of course, the others in his box necessarily were always 
 in the picture. On one such occasion the mayor and I were 
 alone in the box. The next morning the picture appeared 
 in the newspapers. At lunch that day, the mayor remarked, 
 "I see, Charley, that you had your picture in the papers 
 again. I wish sometime you would be considerate enough 
 not to edge out in front of me so that I too might get into 
 the picture." 
 
 To that I replied, "Mr. Mayor, you have the wrong slant 
 in the matter. It's me that the public wants to see." Then 
 I was obliged to listen to plenty of good natured heckling 
 from everyone around the luncheon table. It is best that 
 I make no attempt here to repeat all that was said that 
 afternoon. 
 
 The sole object in recalling these apparently simple inci- 
 dents is to cast a sidelight on the ex-mayor. Since 1933 Mr. 
 Harrison has been Collector of Internal Revenue at Chi- 
 cago. While in his office in the Federal Building shortly 
 after his seventy-sixth birthday, the Hon. Carter H. Harri- 
 son seemed much delighted to inform me that he had 
 just received a telegram conveying to him happy birthday 
 greetings from the famous little motion picture star, Shirley 
 Temple. 
 
 217
 
 "Los Angeles, Calif. April 23, 1936 PM 5 28 
 Honorable Carter H. Harrison 
 Parkway Hotel . 
 Dear Mr. Harrison- 
 
 I am so glad you are having a 
 birthday too and I hope you have a big cake like 
 mine and blow out all the candles and get your 
 wish, and I hope you have many more happy 
 birthdays too. 
 
 Shirley Temple." 
 
 In answer to the greeting, Mr. Harrison answered : 
 
 April 24, 1936 
 "My dear Miss Shirley: 
 
 Now that you are seven years old I 
 think a gentleman ought to call you "Miss" when 
 he addresses you. 
 
 That was an awfully nice telegram 
 you sent me and I am more than ever satisfied I 
 selected as my birthday the day on which St. 
 George and the Dragon, William Shakespeare and 
 Miss Shirley Temple were born. That was one time 
 I was smart! 
 
 The telegram was really coming to me 
 for I go to every movie in which you are featured. 
 I wish St. George and the Dragon, William Shake- 
 speare and I could have been in Hollywood yester- 
 day to help you blow out the candles, but you will 
 need us more when you have had as many birthdays 
 as your admiring Fan. 
 
 Sincerely, 
 
 Carter H. Harrison 
 
 Recently after his eighty-third birthday, I wrote to him, 
 and jokingly referred to his apparent popularity in Holly- 
 wood. He quickly replied: 
 
 May 20th 1943 
 Dear Charlie: 
 
 Here's the story of attached telegrams: The 
 day before my 76th birthday some newspaper boys were 
 in the office asking what I would do on the great 
 day. My answer was: "I'll just celebrate it — It is 
 a great day that ushered into the world St. George 
 and the Dragon, William Shakespeare, Shirley 
 Temple & C. H. H. !" 
 
 One of the boys ducked out. I have a hunch 
 for a "hot" to the movie outfit Shirley worked 
 for, got a "bill" for his trouble and the en- 
 closed correspondence followed. The next day the 
 
 218
 
 messages were carried to all of its newspaper 
 members by the Associated Press. Advertising 
 pays! Poor little Shirley, however, never knew 
 what had happened! 
 
 Sincerely , 
 
 Carter H. Harrison 
 
 219
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 25 
 
 I 
 
 .t's a bit difficult for an old fan to resist recalling a few 
 baseball incidents that might prove of interest. It so hap- 
 pens that I was not a rabid, but an enthusiastic follower of 
 that great American pastime. From 1890 and for many 
 years thereafter, I enjoyed a close personal acquaintance 
 with many of the outstanding stars of that game, including 
 Captain Adrian Anson, one of the great ball players and 
 ball club managers. For many years he managed the 
 famous Chicago Colts. During the nineties he frequently 
 invited me to sit with him and his players on their bench 
 while watching a game. There were no Babe Ruth salaries 
 paid in those days. The players were paid about ten per- 
 cent of what ball players of their ability received in later 
 years, but they gave all they had in every game. Individual- 
 ism was secondary, team play came first. Captain Anson 
 was a hard taskmaster. He played the first "sack," and 
 how! His batting average was always close to the top. He 
 was past middle age when he retired, after establishing a 
 long term as manager of the same club and as a ball player. 
 
 Captain Anson developed great ball teams, and many of 
 his players became outstanding stars. Clark Griffith, known 
 as "The Fox," was one of his great pitchers. Clark Griffith 
 and "Big" Bill Lange were two important cogs in Captain 
 Anson's great baseball machine. Recently Bill Leiser, 
 sports writer on the San Francisco Chronicle, wrote a story 
 about one of Lange's sensational plays. Shortly after that 
 great catch was made, Hugh Fullerton recounted it to us, 
 
 220
 
 and "Big" Bill himself advised us how he was lucky enough 
 to get out from under that hundred dollar fine. 
 
 Baseball fans may be interested to read Bill Leiser's 
 account of that record catch, so we reproduce his story. 
 
 THE BEST DAY IN BASEBALL, as Bill Lange remembers it, was 
 requested by friends on the Chicago Daily News. 
 
 You may not know Big Bill of Millbrae, or "Little Eva," as 
 he was called, though he has been one of us hereabouts for more 
 than 40 years. As a player he was 6 feet 2, weighed 230 pounds 
 and raji like Ty Cobb. Always a leading hitter and the best base 
 runner of the period when he played with Chicago, 1893 to 1899. 
 
 At the peak of his baseball career he dropped out of the 
 game, went into business, or he would have piled up records 
 for another 10 years. He'd be in Baseball's Hall of Fame, too. 
 Almost all who know of his accomplishments agree he belongs 
 in the Hall of Fame, though there's some rule about not nom- 
 inating any player whose work was completed before 1900. 
 
 Anyway, Bill says it was a mistake that gave him his best 
 day in baseball, a mistake by his manager, Cap Anson. 
 
 The Team was coming down from Boston, going through 
 New York to play Washington. The men reached New York at 
 8 a.m., and Bill asked Anson what time they'd pull out. Anson 
 answered, "10: 30 a.m." 
 
 Bill says he went to breakfast with a young actress who was 
 his friend, returned to the station at 10:20 to find the train 
 gone. Anson had been wrong. The train left at 10 a.m. 
 
 So the large Mr. Lange paid his own way to Washington. He 
 was late, though they were starting the game at that time at 
 4 p.m. Bill got himself a horse cab, changed to his uniform on 
 the way to the park, and arrived at about the third inning. 
 
 A very mad Cap Anson fined him $100 right then. He went 
 to the field. 
 
 Chicago went into the ninth inning leading, 3 to 2. But 
 Washington put men on first and second with one out, and it 
 got serious. 
 
 Clark Griffith was pitching. 
 
 221
 
 Al Selbach, a very hard, if not too high average hitter, 
 caught hold of one. "Over the fence, sure," it was tagged. 
 
 Bill Lange didn't have time to take a second look at the 
 ball. He ducked his head and hightailed it for the point where 
 he thought it might go. Upward and sidewise he leaped in end- 
 ing the desperate sprint, stretching both paws high, and, says 
 Bill, "the ball stuck in my glove as my body knocked a board 
 off the fence." 
 
 Lange got the ball back to second in time to double the guy 
 who thought it was a home run ball, sure. 
 
 Cap Anson and Clark Griffith were talking when Bill got 
 back in and the manager said, "Well, Lange, I guess you were 
 taking care of yourself after all. The fine's off." 
 
 "That," says Bill, "was easily my biggest day. You know $100 
 then was like $1000 now; very, very tough." 
 
 In describing the play in Liberty, May 12, 1928, Hugh Fuller- 
 ton states it was the catch to end all catches, far ahead of the 
 many famous ones, such as the noted foul catch by Hugh Jen- 
 nings, Willie Keeler's catch after running along the top of the 
 slanting fence at Baltimore, and Tris Speaker's catch over the 
 barrier cutting off a home run to save a game at old Red Sox 
 Park. Fullerton saw Lange's "$100 catch," and relates that to 
 any who did see it it's in a class all by itself. 
 
 Asked if he could remember the exact date of the game, Bill 
 said, "No, but I bet Clark Griffith would. He was as happy 
 about it as I was." Perhaps Washington's present owner will 
 remember. Fullerton described the Bill Lange of the late 
 nineties not only great, but good natured, grinning, jovial, 
 friendly, popular, and the "most famous man in baseball." 
 
 "Big" Bill Lange, nicknamed "Little Eva," played on 
 Anson's team from the start of 1893 until the end of 1899. 
 "Big" Bill stole over one hundred bases per year, and his 
 fielding and batting averages are still unequalled for con- 
 sistency. He was, without question, the greatest center- 
 fielder of all time. Unfortunately, he quit the game at the 
 
 222
 
 close of the 1899 season. For reasons unknown, "Baseball's 
 Hall of Fame" for ball players was limited to those who 
 were in the game commencing in 1900. That rule is all 
 that kept "Big" Bill Lange from having his plaque hung 
 in "Baseball's Hall of Fame." Lange was the only star ever 
 to retire at his peak. 
 
 Many of his old-time fans, some star players of those 
 days, and such great baseball magnates as Connie Mack 
 and Clark Griffith, have endeavored to have the "powers 
 that be" make an exception in "Big" Bill Lange's case so 
 that his plaque would be hanging among the other baseball 
 greats where it truly belongs. The following is a letter from 
 a noted man, Dudley Field Malone, which well described 
 that great ball player. I am also quoting letters received 
 from Commissioner Judge Kenesaw M. Landis, and from 
 "The Fox," Clark Griffith, owner of the Washington base- 
 ball club, the Senators. 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 March 12, 1940 
 Mr. Sid Mercer, Sports Editor 
 New York Journal, New York City 
 Dear Sid: 
 
 You will probably be surprised to hear from me after this 
 long time but I am now living in San Francisco. However, I 
 want to write to you about Big Bill Lange, the famous out- 
 fielder of Pop Anson's Chicago Club. 
 
 I was a younger man and a daily Giant rooter through most 
 of the years that Bill Lange played ball. In those days, of 
 course, my natural heroes were George Van Altren and Silent 
 Mike Tiernan, who played in the outfield for the Giants, but 
 the sportsmanship and the great playing of Bill Lange made 
 him a hero even to every Giant rooter. Bill could cover more 
 ground and more gracefully whether he had to race to the back 
 
 223
 
 fence or tear in for a Texas Leaguer or cover the other out- 
 fielders than any baseball player I ever saw. I always called 
 him "Twinkle Toes" because, though he was and is about six 
 feet four, his feet always seemed to be in the correct rhythmical 
 movement of a ballet dancer. As a matter of fact, even today 
 Bill Lange is readily noticed on any dance floor as the best man 
 dancer among the crowd, but in addition to this he was a mag- 
 nificent batsman, as his record will show. He could hit them 
 out or hit them short and even in those days before so many 
 rules, he was always willing to sacrifice his batting average for 
 his team. He could run the bases and get there without spiking 
 anybody, even in those good old rough days, and if he did hurt 
 anybody by accident, he was the sorriest man on the field. He 
 was the great strength of Pop Anson's great team. He was 
 always a manly, laughing sportsmanlike example to the young 
 and old who loved baseball. Even on days when the Giant 
 rooters would throw bottles and other missiles at the Chicago 
 players in heated days of high rivalry. Big Bill Lange could 
 and would always walk across the trailing Giant rooters. I, as 
 one of the still living, old-time lovers of American baseball, 
 think of Big Bill as easily one of the greatest players the game 
 ever had and one who in those early and tough days taught 
 sportsmanship and manners both to the players of his and other 
 teams and to the young and older rooters of the game. My dear 
 Sid, by what he gave to the game as a fielder, batter, inspira- 
 tion, and gentleman, I think Bill Lange should be recorded in 
 the Baseball Hall of Fame and I wonder if you can urge his 
 recognition, or at least file my opinion with those who choose 
 the immortals. 
 
 Please give my affectionate remembrance to your wife and 
 daughter. 
 
 Always affectionately yours, 
 
 Dudley Field Malone 
 
 May 7, 1940 
 My dear Judge: 
 
 As busy as you are, I feel that you will be interested in the 
 
 224
 
 matter I am writing to you about because like myself you date 
 back to the old days in baseball. 
 
 At the time when the Hall of Fame for baseball stars was 
 suggested, old time fans felt sure that Bill Lange would be 
 included, but were informed that only ball players since 1900 
 would be selected. "Big Bill" left the game in 1899. 
 
 Recently Clark Griffith talked over the radio on the "We, the 
 People" hour and gave it as his opinion that the three greatest 
 ball players he ever knew were "Big Bill" Lange, Ty Cobb and 
 Walter Johnson. I wrote Clark a letter and received a reply, 
 copy of which I enclose herewith. 
 
 A friend of mine just forwarded to me from San Francisco 
 copy of letter written by Dudley Field Malone to Sid Mercer, 
 and this friend has included in his letter some clippings show- 
 ing that there is quite a feeling that "Big Bill" ought to be in 
 the Hall of Fame. I am enclosing the same herewith because I 
 am sure you will be interested in reading them. 
 
 If the occasion arises where you can see your way clear to 
 put in a word for "Big Bill" that will help him get that recogni- 
 tion, I hope that you will be good enough to do it. 
 
 I am back here and living at the Athletic Club. I expect to 
 be here until about the middle of June, and I hope I will have 
 the pleasure of seeing you before I leave. 
 
 With kind regards, I remain 
 
 Yours always, (Charles H. Hermann) 
 
 Judge Kenesaw M. Landis 
 333 N. Michigan Avenue 
 
 BASEBALL 
 
 333 NORTH MICHIGAN AVENUE 
 CHICAGO, MAY 28, 1940 
 
 Mr. Charles H. Hermann 
 
 63 E. Adams Street, Chicago, Illinois 
 
 Dear Mr. Hermann: 
 
 I found your letter at home this morning. Apparently it 
 arrived at the office on time, but for some reason, escaped my 
 
 225
 
 personal attention, and, in some way, got transferred from the 
 
 office here to the house, where it kept on hiding from me. 
 
 They have been on my back about Bill Lange and getting 
 
 him foot room in the Hall of Fame, etc. All this on the theory 
 
 that I have had something to do with keeping him out. God 
 
 knows I have had nothing to do with putting anybody in, and 
 
 it just dawned on me this morning that I don't even know how 
 
 they get in. However, I will look into this thing and turn the 
 
 documents you sent to me over to whoever it is that is entitled 
 
 to bear the odium of this thing. 
 
 LUCK. ,, ^ , 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 K. M. Landis 
 
 WASHINGTON AMERICAN LEAGUE 
 BASEBALL CLUB 
 
 Offices: 7th St. and Florida Ave. N.W. 
 
 Washington, D. C. 
 
 May 2, 1940 
 Mr. Charles Hermann 
 63 East Adams Street, Chicago, Illinois 
 
 Dear Friend Charlie: 
 
 I was very much delighted to receive word from you. Sorry 
 I don't get an opportunity to come to Chicago and say hello, 
 but I very seldom make the trips with the Club any more. 
 
 Yes, our old friend Bill Lange was certainly a wonderful ball 
 player and he should be included in the Hall of Fame. I have 
 hopes of seeing him in there some of these days, and I am 
 doing a lot of boosting. 
 
 Trusting this finds you well, and with lots of good wishes, 
 I am 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 CG: wm Clark Griffith 
 
 Many well known sports writers, including the late 
 Harvey Woodruff, of the Chicago Tribune, have in their 
 
 226
 
 respective columns ardently voiced their disappointment 
 that "Big" Bill Lange's name was not included w^ith those 
 selected for "Baseball's Hall of Fame." Waldo P. Breeden, 
 of the San Francisco Chronicle, recently w^rote an article 
 in his column, quoting that eminent sports authority, 
 Grantland Rice, w^ho in his New York Sun column. The 
 Sportlight, referred to that flagrant omission. Then, 
 Breeden wrote the following letter to Grantland Rice, who 
 published Breeden's remarks in his column. In addition to 
 Grantland Rice's statement about "Big" Bill Lange, it will 
 be noted that he also included that outstanding pitching 
 star of Chicago's National League Club, Clark Griffith. 
 Clark is now and has for many years been the owner of 
 the Senators. He and Connie Mack are the two "Grand 
 Old Men" of baseball. 
 
 OLD-TIME GREATS 
 
 Dear Grant: 
 
 I was interested in your spiel about Clark Griffith and Connie 
 Mack. On my desk is a nice picture of Clark taken at the time 
 of his seventieth birthday celebration. That is the type of news 
 the public, young and old, hke to read. 
 
 About Clark— he had an outcurve that didn't drop and he 
 kept it right in around the nameplate. If the outcurve drops 
 the batter can get it from an angle by striking down with it as 
 it breaks; the Clark curve stayed up and went over the bat. 
 Clark was a powerful and timely hitter. Backing him up were 
 the gamest bunch of fine players then to be found: Anson 
 Pfeff er, Williamson, Burns, Lange, Jimmy Ryan (with the blond 
 mustache) , Jack Dalrymple, Wilmot, Dibbie Flinn and Pitchers 
 Adonis Terry, Thornton, Billie Hutchison and a swell catcher 
 named Malachi Kittridge. 
 
 On the team was a blond giant, half a head taUer than Cobb, 
 champion base-stealer, power hitter, who could go further for 
 
 227
 
 a fly than Cobb ever thought of trying to go and whose arm 
 would make Cobb's look like a softball player's. I am referring 
 to Mr. William Lange, who didn't beat out infield hits to swell 
 his average or have the no-time-at-bat on a base on balls that 
 Cobb had. 
 
 Mr. Christy Mathewson learned his stuff from some of the 
 old pitchers who had everything— or they didn't even get a 
 chance to pitch— no shine ball, knuckle ball, slider or downer, 
 but everything. 
 
 Yours very truly 
 
 Waldo P. Breeden 
 
 While at breakfast one morning with that famous Ail- 
 American, Judge Kenesaw M. Landis, the Judge intimated 
 that he had met a man in Boston who was said to be the 
 "father" of baseball, named Wright. I maintained that it 
 couldn't have been one of the Wright brothers. When I 
 returned to my home, I looked at a photograph, and I 
 found that in the Cincinnati Red Stocking team as well as 
 the Champion Boston Nine every player had either a full 
 set of whiskers or a large moustache, which made me sus- 
 pect that the Wright brothers must have been somewhere 
 between twenty-two and twenty-five years of age at the 
 time that print was made, that is, early in 1869. 
 
 I wrote to Judge Landis, stating that "If the man that 
 you met was one of those Wright brothers, I would say that 
 he must be ninety or more years of age at this time." 
 
 The Judge replied, "It does seem a little hard to figure 
 out that Wright thing, but apparently there is no escape 
 from the proposition that the Boston Wright is the old base- 
 ball Wright. At all events, before we wash him off, go slow." 
 
 When recalling baseball in Chicago, one just must men- 
 tion the "Old Roman," Charley Comiskey. He was a one 
 hundred percent Chicagoan, but he played on the St. Louis 
 
 228
 
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 team. Then he took over the St. Paul Club, which didn't 
 turn out so well financially. He returned to his home town 
 at the same time when Ban Johnson came to Chicago to 
 organize the American League. Much of the preliminary 
 work was done in the Great Northern Hotel, and we were 
 often present when the details were discussed. When the 
 organization was well under way, Ban Johnson agreed to 
 hand the Chicago franchise to Charley Comiskey, provid- 
 ing he could obtain a lease on a ball park, and produce ten 
 thousand dollars in cash. 
 
 Comiskey obtained a lease on that primitive ball park a 
 couple of blocks south of the present White Sox park, but 
 he lacked some of the cash. He offered me a third interest 
 in that project for three thousand three hundred and thirty- 
 three dollars. I remembered that in 1890 most of the star 
 players in the National League left that circuit to form the 
 Brotherhood League. It was proved then that there wasn't 
 room for two major leagues, because the Brotherhood 
 League didn't last two seasons. I thought I was smart not to 
 accept Comiskey's offer, and it surely proved that I was 
 anything but smart. Charley Comiskey raided the Chicago 
 National League Club of half dozen or more of their good 
 ball players, including one of the Colts' star pitchers, Jim 
 Callahan. He soon succeeded in gathering up a real ball 
 club, and the White Sox proved to be a financial success 
 from the start. Charley Comiskey was a popular leader 
 with the ball fans and the public in general. He rewarded 
 that loyalty by building a new ball park that was unex- 
 celled in the whole country. He kept on making large 
 profits because he had a real fighting ball team, made up 
 of star ball players -a winning, top-notch team— and that's 
 what brought the customers. 
 
 229
 
 Then something terrible happened— something Charley 
 Comiskey never even dreamed could happen to him. The 
 "Black Sox," consisting of a few key men on his team 
 allowed themselves to be reached by some crooked eastern 
 gamblers. They accepted what they considered to be some 
 easy money, and threw a national championship game to 
 Cincinnati. Because they went "haywire," it ruined those 
 few erstwhile star ball players for life, but it broke 
 Charley Comiskey 's heart. He never recovered from that 
 blow. If I'm not mistaken, it was the now-famous West- 
 brook Pegler who uncovered that dirty work. He was then 
 a sports writer on a Chicago newspaper. Charley Comiskey 
 was not entitled to be the victim of such a crooked deal. 
 He did much for that great American game, and until that 
 unfortunate break, created more interest in baseball than 
 any other club owner. 
 
 In the beginning of the 1898 baseball season, I went out 
 to watch Anson's Colts play from the players' bench. "Big" 
 Bill Lange introduced me to a green rookie. He was slight- 
 ly bowlegged, but big and husky. Bill told me that he had 
 been playing ball with local clubs out in Lange's home 
 state, California, and when not playing ball, he worked in 
 orange groves as a picker. He said that he had watched him 
 play and believed he had the makings of a good ball player. 
 He brought him to Chicago with him and induced Captain 
 Anson to give him a tryout. His name was Frank Chance. 
 Anson gave him a real tryout, and soon used him as his 
 understudy at playing first base. Frank Chance turned out 
 to be a great "find." He was a real fielder and batter— a 
 smart player. 
 
 When Captain Anson retired from baseball, he opened 
 a large billiard hall and bowling alley on Madison Street 
 
 230
 
 just west of Clark Street. He was succeeded as manager of 
 the Colts by Tom Bums, who had been one of Anson's 
 star players in the early eighties. Tom Bums tackled a 
 tough job to follow a man with Anson's ability as manager, 
 but Frank Chance became a fixture in the position of cov- 
 ering the first bag. When James Hart, owner of the Colts 
 sold out to Charles W. Murphy, Frank Chance was made 
 playing manager of the Colts, and he developed it into the 
 wonder ball team of the nation. "From Tinker to Evers to 
 Chance" was then and is to this day a by-word. Frank 
 Chance could lick any member on his team. They all re- 
 spected him, and he got from his players what was neces- 
 sary to win ball games, namely consistent team play, with 
 the result that his Colts, later named the Cubs, won many 
 pennants and some national championships. Frank Chance 
 was forced to quit the game on account of ill health. When 
 he had practically regained his health, he was made man- 
 ager of the New York Yankees. In the meantime, Jim 
 Callahan had quit playing with the White Sox, but the 
 same season that Frank Chance became manager of the 
 Yankees, Charley Comiskey took Jim Callahan back as 
 manager of the White Sox. The first game between Chance's 
 Yankees and the White Sox was played at Comiskey Park. 
 Charley Comiskey informed me that Chance and Callahan 
 would be presented with large floral pieces before the 
 game. He said it would be a big day, and he would like 
 Mayor Harrison to be at the game and present those floral 
 pieces. Mayor Harrison and Governor Dunne had become 
 friendly again. I knew that the governor would be in Chi- 
 cago on that day, so I assured Charley Comiskey that I 
 would convey his invitations to the mayor and the gover- 
 nor. Both accepted with pleasure and were there to make 
 
 231
 
 the presentations. Comiskey Park was packed to the gates. 
 It was truly a great and deserving tribute to those two club 
 managers, but particularly to Frank Chance. 
 
 Unfortunately, Chance's illness came back on him, and 
 he was again forced to quit baseball, and he passed away 
 soon thereafter. His demise was a big loss to that great 
 game— baseball. 
 
 232
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 26 
 
 I 
 
 N 1913, THE TAxiCAB situatioH in Chicago became serious, 
 and had to be worked out with the cooperation of Mayor 
 Harrison. When the Hotel LaSalle was projected, we were 
 asked to subscribe to some of the preferred stock, and we 
 bought one hundred shares. The hotel was doing a good 
 business, but in the spring of 1913, the manager, George 
 Gazely came to my office with a long face. "Mr. Hermann," 
 he said, "the Walden-Shaw Company has been furnishing 
 the hotel with good cab service. It would be a blow to us 
 to lose that service, and it looks like we are going to lose it. 
 John Hertz came to me and said that they were operating 
 at a loss, and must throw up the sponge unless they can 
 get the City Council to permit them to raise their rates. 
 He said that he believes that the Council will act favorably, 
 but that the mayor will veto such an ordinance. Hertz 
 would like to see you about that matter this morning, and 
 has asked me to arrange for an appointment with you. 
 I hope you will be good enough to see him and listen to 
 what he has to say." 
 
 I replied, "Gazely, the mayor doesn't ask advice from 
 the likes of me on matters of that nature. I can't promise 
 to be of any help, but if Mr. Hertz, whom I don't know, 
 wants to come here, I'll be glad to talk with him." 
 
 Gazely said, "That's all I want, and I'll thank you if 
 you'll listen to what Hertz has to say, and if you can be of 
 help in that matter, it will surely mean much to the Hotel 
 LaSalle." 
 
 233
 
 It seemed that John Hertz must have been waiting near- 
 by, for in less than thirty minutes he was in my office. He 
 unfolded his logical story, and informed me that Chicago 
 was not yet taxicab minded. In other cities like London, 
 Paris, and New York, taxicabs could be hailed anywhere 
 on the street when empty and would pick up fares. He 
 said, "In Chicago, a party will engage one of our cabs to 
 take them to South Shore Country Club, the Edgewater 
 Beach Hotel, or some other distant point and return with- 
 out picking up a passenger. That condition is what broke 
 our predecessors. We have been operating at a loss, and 
 I'm telling you confidentially that we can't go any further 
 unless we can get an increase in rates to stay in effect until 
 such time as our cabs can get passengers on their return 
 trips. When that condition prevails, we will voluntarily 
 reduce our rates. If the City Council does not enact an 
 ordinance to allow us to make a fair increase in our rates, 
 we are through, and Chicago will again be without a taxi- 
 cab service." 
 
 I assured John Hertz that I agreed with what he said, 
 and sincerely hoped that he would succeed in getting what 
 he was after, but I couldn't see where I could be of any 
 help to him. 
 
 To that he replied, "Mr. Hermann, I have taken this 
 matter up with several aldermen, and I feel quite certain 
 that we can succeed in getting such an ordinance passed, 
 but all seem to think that Mayor Harrison will veto it, so 
 we cannot get anywhere unless we have the mayor's assur- 
 ance that he will sign such a bill. Now, I am wondering if 
 you could see your way clear to explain our troubles to 
 the mayor and try to obtain that assurance from him." I 
 thought that request over for a while, and then advised 
 
 234
 
 John Hertz that I didn't believe that I could be of much 
 help to him, but I agreed to try it. I informed him that 
 Mayor Harrison was at his Huron Mountain summer 
 home, and would return to Chicago the following Monday; 
 and also, that I expected to be at lunch with the mayor and 
 would then talk with him about the matter. I suggested 
 that John Hertz come and see me Monday afternoon. 
 
 Although resolved to attempt to do what I had promised, 
 I ran into a bad start. The situation was funny, but the 
 laugh was on me. Mayor Harrison arrived for lunch, but 
 he seemed to be disturbed about some trivial matter. When 
 he sat down he started complaining about having been 
 overcharged by a taxicab driver. Mayor Harrison was 
 always conservative, to say the least, when it came to 
 spending money. He opened up and told us that it was a 
 shame that Chicago couldn't have taxicab service at a fair 
 price. He said, "I took a taxicab from the Northwestern 
 Station to my home at Rush and Ohio Streets, and for that 
 short run the charge was a dollar and a quarter. Seventy- 
 five cents would have been plenty to charge." 
 
 That put me on the spot— I was intending to ask him to 
 permit the City Council to increase the taxicab rates. I 
 couldn't help but burst into a loud laugh. Then the mayor 
 asked, "What's the matter with you?" 
 
 "Plenty," I replied, "and you'll laugh too when I explain 
 to you what I'm laughing about. Let's have our lunch first, 
 and I'll tell you about it confidentially later." The mayor 
 got no sympathy about the taxicab overcharge, and the 
 subject was changed. 
 
 After lunch I went with him to his office, and on the 
 way I told him frankly that I wanted to talk with him 
 about the taxicab situation. When we arrived at his offire, 
 
 235
 
 I asked him if he would have preferred to carry his suit- 
 case and walk home or pay a dollar and a quarter for a 
 taxicab. His reply was, "What are you driving at?" 
 
 I fully explained the conditions to him, telling him about 
 previous taxicab concerns going broke, and assuring him 
 that unless the rates were raised temporarily the Walden- 
 Shaw Company would "fold up." I told him, "That will not 
 only make you walk from the station to your home, but it 
 will be a 'knock' to Chicago as hotel guests will have no 
 way of obtaining up-to-date transportation which should 
 be available in a big city like Chicago." 
 
 The mayor had his eyes opened and seeing the point, 
 agreed that, as a temporary remedy, he might not be 
 against such an ordinance, but he first wanted me to furnish 
 him with further facts and figures if I could obtain them. 
 I did some quick thinking and told him that that was a 
 matter to be investigated by the Chicago Association of 
 Commerce. Being active in the work of that association 
 and a member of the committee, I broached that subject to 
 them, advising them of all details in connection with the 
 taxicab situation, including my talk with the mayor. The 
 committee ruled it was a subject that would first have to 
 be acted upon by the local committee. It was sent there and 
 a special committee of three was appointed for the purpose 
 of making a thorough investigation. I was made chairman 
 and the other two members, being left to my choice, I 
 recommended the appointment of Henry Paulman, a promi- 
 nent automobile distributor, and John Vogelsang, owner of 
 a large and popular restaurant. We were furnished with a 
 secretary and a stenographer. We rented a room at the old 
 Palmer House. There we called in the principals of those 
 concerns operating taxicabs. We obtained a detailed report 
 
 236
 
 of their investments, general expenses, and complete, de- 
 tailed operating costs. We wrote for information relative to 
 experience in connection with the operation of taxicabs in 
 other large cities, including London, Paris, and New York. 
 That placed us in the position of completing a comprehen- 
 sive report on the taxicab business on November 11, 1913, 
 on which date that report was sent to Mayor Harrison by 
 the Chicago Association of Commerce, stating that it was 
 the report of the special committee which had made that 
 investigation, and was being sent to him with the unani- 
 mous approval of the local (convention bureau) commit- 
 tee and also the executive committee of the Association. 
 
 The City Council passed that ordinance and the mayor 
 signed it. The taxicab business was conducted by able 
 executives. Charles A. McCollough had been general man- 
 ager for many years of that pioneer and prominent Parme- 
 lee Transfer Company. With the passing on of the Parme- 
 lees, John C. Schaeffer, owner and publisher of the Chicago 
 Evening Post, became the principal owner of the Parmelee 
 Company, but Charles A. McCollough bought him out and 
 became the owner as well as general manager. Under the 
 shrewd management of John D. Hertz, who by the way, 
 adopted the idea of the yellow cab, which later became 
 national, the Walden-Shaw Company prospered. Chicago 
 was supplied with the best taxicab service in the country, 
 and the rates have been reduced to a low price comparable 
 to any in the country. In due time, of course, Chicago 
 would have been supplied with an adequate taxicab serv- 
 ice, but it is certain that such service would have been 
 delayed for at least two or more years, if that ordinance 
 had not been passed, and the Walden-Shaw Company had 
 been forced out of business. 
 
 237
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 27 
 
 W, 
 
 ^HEN I BEGAN to jot down these recollections I 
 earnestly hoped that it would not be necessary to touch on 
 the subject of vice. Too much has already been written 
 along that line to the discredit of Chicago, conveying the 
 impression that this city had a monopoly on vice, which 
 it certainly had not, but as this will constitute the "finishing 
 touch," it may be permissible to divulge three interesting 
 incidents that led to the cleaning up of segregated commer- 
 cial vice in Chicago. 
 
 Chapin & Gore was one of two concerns that were the 
 largest distributors of imported champagnes. One day our 
 credit man came into my office, and told me that a stylishly 
 dressed lady had driven up to our place of business on 
 Adams Street, and placed an order for champagne to the 
 amount of over fifteen hundred dollars. He said that she 
 wished to open an account with our house, that she said she 
 paid her bills promptly before the fifth of each month, and 
 gave Marshall Field and Company as her reference. He did 
 not care to take the responsibility for that account, and 
 preferred to bring her into my office so that I could decide 
 about extending credit to her. The credit man had a sly 
 grin on his face, and said, "Look out of that window and 
 get a 'slant' at the fancy outfit she drove up in." I asked 
 him to bring her in because I had my own suspicions as 
 to who she was, which were verified when I saw the name 
 on the order. Murray Keller, western representative for 
 Pommery Champagne, had previously related to me the 
 
 238
 
 history of the Everleigh sisters. The credit man came in and 
 introduced me to Ada Everleigh. She was a very well edu- 
 cated woman. She was very businesslike, and except for 
 her expensive clothes and all her diamonds, no one would 
 suspect her of being a "queen" of vice. Credit was extended 
 to her, and her account ran from two to five thousand 
 dollars per month. Promptly on the third of each month 
 she called at our office and handed to our cashier a check 
 in full for her account. 
 
 During the 1907 panic, one day she handed her check 
 into the cashier's window, she stepped into my oflfice, and 
 stated that she would like some advice from me. She always 
 acted very ladylike. I asked her to have a chair, and then 
 she told me her troubles. "Mr. Hermann, in my business 
 I require a lot of cash on hand for cashing checks. Now 
 that the panic is on, the banks refuse to give me the amount 
 of cash I require. I was wondering if it wouldn't be ad- 
 visable for us to draw out all of our deposits and place the 
 money in a safety box?" 
 
 "Before I can answer your question, I would like you to 
 tell me what bank you deal with and the amount of your 
 balance." 
 
 She said, "We have accounts at three banks. Our com- 
 mercial account is with the Fort Dearborn Bank, and there 
 we carry an average balance of close to forty thousand 
 dollars. Then we have a savings account with the First 
 Trust and Savings Bank where our balance today is one 
 hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Our other savings 
 account is with the Illinois Trust and Savings Bank where 
 our balance is eighty thousand dollars." 
 
 For a moment, I was speechless and then I said: "Miss 
 Everleigh, you have probably talked with the teller. You 
 
 239
 
 go back and tell the cashier, or preferably the president 
 of the bank what you have just told me, and I'm sure you'll 
 get all the cash you need, but I certainly would not advise 
 you to withdraw your money from those banks. They are 
 as safe as the United States Treasury. If even a small per- 
 centage of large depositors were to withdraw their accounts 
 from the banks under the present conditions, it might cause 
 still more serious financial troubles. I am sure you wouldn't 
 care to be the cause of anything like that." 
 
 She said, "I see what you mean. I'll have a talk with the 
 head of the bank." She did, and left her money with the 
 banks. If she had insisted on it, of course, the banks would 
 have had to give her that money, but under those panic 
 conditions, withdrawing such large sums might have 
 proved harmful to those banks. When adding up those 
 sums deposited in three banks, I was astounded at that 
 high finance from such a source. 
 
 The other two incidents referred to deal with the clean- 
 ing up of vice conditions. 
 
 It was in 1909 that two men came to me and inquired 
 about John E. W. Wayman. One was a lawyer in good 
 standing, and the other was Charley Furthman, a young 
 man, rather smart, but without visible means of support. 
 His father had been an assistant state's attorney under 
 Grinnell, and I knew the father well. Answering their 
 question, I said, "Smith and Wallace do what law business 
 we have, and John Wayman is a junior partner in that 
 firm. I don't know anything about him and have only a 
 bowing acquaintance with him." 
 
 They then told me that, in their opinion, Wayman would 
 be a good candidate for the nomination for state's attorney 
 in the coming campaign. I disagreed with them, saying 
 
 240
 
 that, while he looked like a clean-cut young man, he was 
 without sufficient experience and entirely unknown. 
 Charley Furthman insisted that there were certain ways 
 in which I could help Wayman, and with that help they 
 felt sure they could put him over. Later, they brought 
 Wayman to my house, and finally, I ''fell" for him. I con- 
 tributed to his campaign and raised a considerable further 
 sum among my friends. I discovered that he was a good 
 speaker, logical, and made a good impression. I was able 
 to arrange for him to address a large meeting. I gave him 
 the use of my car and chauffeur. Charley Furthman and 
 his lawyer friend organized a campaign committee that did 
 a good job politically. John E. W. Wayman was nominated 
 and elected by a scant margin to the important office of 
 state's attorney. Wayman turned out to be a rather thought- 
 less and ungrateful fellow. Evidently that victory went to 
 his head. That was the opinion of Charley Furthman's 
 lawyer friend, who was a high class man and stood well 
 in his profession. After Wayman's election I never saw him 
 again. Furthman was well taken care of. I am sure that 
 what I did to help Wayman had considerable to do with 
 his nomination and election. It was John E. W. Wayman 
 who put the finishing touches on completely breaking up 
 Chicago's commercial vice district. Mayor Harrison had 
 previously chased the "Madams" out of the district close 
 to the Loop and later issued the sensational order to close 
 the notorious Everleigh Club. He was preparing to also 
 close Vic Shaw's place, but Wayman beat him to it. Shortly 
 after Wayman made his successful drive against vice, he 
 committed suicide by shooting himself. 
 
 Mayor Harrison was not a Puritan, but he was a prac- 
 tical reformer. He always exerted his best efforts toward 
 
 241
 
 cleaning up the vicious elements. He realized that segre- 
 gated vice meant corruption among certain politicians and 
 police. On the other hand, he feared the closing of the 
 segregated district meant the spreading of vice conditions 
 to many decent neighborhoods. Eventually, the mayor 
 seemed to have concluded that he would do something 
 about that matter regardless of political consequences to 
 himself. 
 
 One day while at lunch, Mayor Harrison remarked 
 that Comiskey Park had been fitted up with an electric 
 lighting system, and that the first night game would be 
 played by the White Sox in the near future. He suggested 
 that Charley Plamondon and I should join him in watching 
 that first night baseball game, provided that I would sup- 
 ply my automobile and chauffeur. It was an interesting 
 sight, but after six or seven innings, a light rain fell, and 
 we left for home. When we arrived at 22nd Street, Charley 
 Plamondon and I were both surprised at the mayor's re- 
 quest that I order my chauffeur to drive slowly up Dear- 
 born Street, then on Armour Avenue, and back again. 
 I said, "Mr. Mayor, you may not care what becomes of 
 you, but Charley and I can't afford to be seen roaming 
 around in this district." 
 
 To that he replied, "I didn't suggest driving here to be 
 seen. I want to see what's going on around these parts at 
 night." That is all he imparted to us, and neither Charley 
 nor I had the slightest suspicion of what was in the mayor's 
 mind. One morning about one week after this incident, I 
 was called over the telephone by Charley Fitzmorris who 
 requested me to hold the line, saying the mayor wanted to 
 talk to me. The mayor said that Oscar Mayer was in his 
 office, that Oscar had brought his car and chauffeur, and 
 
 242
 
 would I go riding with them. If so, they would call for me 
 in fifteen minutes. I agreed to go, but wanted to know 
 where they intended riding. The mayor said he'd tell me 
 later, and in fifteen minutes Oscar's car pulled up to our 
 office on Adams Street. Oscar sat in front with the chauf- 
 feur and the mayor sat alone in the rear seat. I got in £ind 
 advised the mayor that I had a little money and some 
 jewelry on me, and that I'd like to know where I was being 
 taken. He said, "Charley, I can't trust you because you talk 
 too much, but I'll agree to give you the 'dope' after we 
 cross 31st Street." When we arrived at 31st Street, he said, 
 "We are driving out to Palos Park to do some target shoot- 
 ing, and then we'll have a real 'spread.' There will be quite 
 a crowd there— Judge Kickham Scanlon, Judge Charles 
 McDonald, Judge Kersten, and at least fifteen more of our 
 friends. We'll have a big day, but my real reason for going 
 out there is that I must be away from my office for one 
 full day. Now, I'll inform you that I have issued an order 
 to close the Everleigh Club, and if I should be in my office 
 'The Bath' and 'Hinky Dink' will be on my neck, and it 
 would mean a hard argument. I want that order executed, 
 and that place closed tight for twenty-four hours before 
 any of those fellows can get to me. I have decided to close 
 it for good and Vic Shaw's place is next on the list." 
 
 As an innocent bystander, I had become implicated in 
 the "clean up" movements promulgated by Mayor Harri- 
 son and State's Attorney Wayman. 
 
 The Hon. Carter H. Harrison served in France with the 
 Red Cross for the duration of World War I, and was 
 decorated by the French Republic for valiant services 
 rendered. For the past ten years or more he has been and 
 still is the Collector of Internal Revenue at Chicago. After 
 
 243
 
 his book Stormy Years was published I wrote to him calling 
 his attention to another recently published book that dealt 
 principally with vice and carried a yarn about Mayor 
 Harrison's closing of the Everleigh Club. I received a reply 
 from him which is interesting because it demonstrates the 
 handicap that was placed in his way, even by the high offi- 
 cials of his police department. Inasmuch as he inquired 
 about George Ade, I mailed Mr. Harrison's letter to George 
 Ade, knowing that he would be interested in reading it. 
 His letter and George Ade's reply follow : 
 
 June 14, 1937 
 Mr. Chas. H. Hermann 
 63 E. Adams Street 
 Chicago, Illinois 
 
 Dear Charlie: 
 
 Thanks for the high class literature you sent me! Glancing 
 through it I would size it up as a typical reporter's yarn padded 
 out to make a good sized book. 
 
 How did your name escape? 
 
 One place where the writer of the book is way off is in sug- 
 gesting the closing had been subject of gossip for some time. 
 Not a human being had even an inkling of an idea the 
 thing was coming off until the axe fell. I made up my mind 
 to close the dump but never mentioned it to a living being. 
 That is the absolute truth. Outside of an occasional joshing of 
 some member of the luncheon crowd, I never mentioned the 
 club nor the sisters. Vic Shaw was the doU I especially gunned 
 for, I kept the news locked in my own brain until I handed 
 the order written hy my own hand to the Chief. I did not trust 
 it even to John Kelley, my personal stenographer, for fear 
 there might be a leak. Neither Chief McWeeny, Inspector John 
 Wheeler, nor Capt. Pat Harding would issue the order per- 
 sonally. Each passed it on to his secretary. And it was not long 
 before each one got his walking papers! 
 
 244
 
 EVERLEIGH CLUB 
 
 Reproduction from drawing made in 1933, nearly twenty years after that 
 notorious house was closed by order of Mayor Harrison
 
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 f4
 
 How is George Ade? I have not seen him for years, though 
 I run into his old side partner, John McCutcheon, once in a 
 while. 
 
 Sincerely, 
 
 Carter H. 
 
 June 20, 1937 
 Carter H. Harrison, 
 2100 Lincoln Park West, 
 Chicago, Illinois. 
 
 Dear Mr. Harrison: 
 
 The one and only Charley Hermann has sent to me for read- 
 ing your letter to him and I note in it an inquiry regarding me. 
 Therefore, I take the liberty of reporting that I am up and 
 about although not very athletic since my serious illness of last 
 fall. I am living very quietly at my country home and do not 
 get into Chicago very frequently. When I knew the place your 
 esteemed father was Mayor and I knew the old bailiwick from 
 one end to the other. Now it has outgrown me and is so stu- 
 pendous and noisy that it scares me. 
 
 I have been interested to learn from your letter some of the 
 "inside stuff" in connection with the clamping down on the 
 somewhat famous institution described in the book Charley 
 sent to you. It was certainly a gorgeous and prospering estab- 
 lishment and I can understand why you had to go carefully and 
 work against opposition when you decided to get rid of it. 
 Under all of the circumstances, you were compelled to do just 
 what you did and you made a good job of it. 
 
 I have read your book with great interest. Inasmuch as I 
 have kept rather close tab on Chicago since 1890 it happens 
 that I came in contact with a great many of the people men- 
 tioned in your book. Your story is mighty interesting and very 
 fair minded. 
 
 I am, with best wishes. 
 
 Sincerely, 
 
 George Ade 
 
 245
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 28 
 
 JLhe great eastern cities, being Atlantic coast ports, 
 were naturals to become large population centers. They 
 received a tribute on importations from the rest of the 
 country on merchandise that passed through their ports. 
 Chicago's growth seemed to be of the mushroom type. The 
 town was built up to a great city by rugged individuals 
 who gamely fought their way through handicaps and what 
 appeared to be unsurmountable difficulties. They were real 
 he-men who never shied away from taking tremendous 
 risks, always willing to take a chance, with the result that 
 great industries developed. Chicago took the lead in pack- 
 ing houses, farm implements, as the world's grain mart, 
 enormous merchandising concerns, and in architecture. 
 Skyscrapers of steel construction were devised and first 
 built in Chicago. 
 
 Up to and into the nineties Chicago was still to some 
 extent a frontier town. That vice, gambling, and crooked 
 politics prevailed there cannot be denied, but it is unfair 
 to emphasize that as strongly as it has been by some publi- 
 cations whose object was to supply something sensational. 
 The city was well on the way to being cleaned up if it had 
 not been for the enactment of that noble experiment, the 
 since discarded Eighteenth Amendment. 
 
 There is no need of going into the extensive details of 
 what prohibition did to Chicago. The results are too well 
 known, not alone to Chicagoans, but to the world. Brothel 
 keepers, pimps, pickpockets, gangsters, gunmen, and 
 
 246
 
 crooks who before that Eighteenth Amendment were lim- 
 ited to petty larceny pickings, soon foresaw their oppor- 
 tunity for reaping huge profits that ran into many millions 
 of dollars by turning to and concentrating on bootlegging. 
 That put those former underworld piker law breakers into 
 the big money with such tremendous resources at their 
 command that it naturally placed them in position to often 
 control elections in certain districts and to bribe crooked 
 politicians and police officials. That lawless condition was 
 not limited to Chicago. Many other sections of the country 
 suffered likewise, but I am writing only about Chicago. 
 
 The Chicago Association of Commerce realized the 
 gravity of what was going on and what it meant to Chicago, 
 and did much toward helping to solve it. At first the famous 
 "Secret Six" went to work courageously at the job of clean- 
 ing up law breakers. Later the executive committee of the 
 Chicago Association of Commerce, of which I was a mem- 
 ber, appointed a committee of five, which was increased to 
 fifteen, for the purpose of organizing a commission to battle 
 crime, with the result that the great and efficient Chicago 
 Crime Commission was created. The big problem that 
 confronted us was to find a capable man with plenty of 
 intestinal fortitude, one whom all law enforcement agen- 
 cies would respect, who thoroughly understood our objec- 
 tive so as to be able to set up the necessary machinery for 
 such a permanent organization, and who would take the 
 active lead in the hazardous work ahead. To find the man 
 with such qualifications was the chief problem. At the 
 beginning of our undertaking such a man would mean 
 either its success or failure. The Committee of Fifteen gave 
 it much thought. Finally at a meeting of that committee at 
 the Union League Club, at which Rufus Abbott presided, 
 
 247
 
 I proposed and strongly urged Colonel Henry Barrett 
 Chamberlin for that job. After a thorough investigation, 
 he was appointed. Colonel Chamberlin accepted and con- 
 clusively proved to be just the man we needed, for he did 
 an outstanding job and served for many years as the man- 
 aging director of the Chicago Crime Commission until his 
 death in 1941. Colonel Henry Barrett Chamberlin had been 
 a noted newspaper man. He was managing editor of the 
 Chicago Record-Herald. He was a fearless man of unusual 
 ability. He realized the seriousness of his new undertaking, 
 and went to work at it in real earnest and with all of his 
 might. The principal credit for creating from scratch the 
 methods and details of the Chicago Crime Commission 
 belongs to him. Commencing in 1919, I spent the winters 
 in California, and therefore, I was later obliged to resign 
 as a member of the committee of the Crime Commission. 
 
 The letter accepting my resignation was mailed to me in 
 California. Naturally, President Gore's complimentary 
 remarks are highly appreciated, but I still believe some 
 were more favorable than I deserved. My most valuable 
 contribution to the Chicago Crime Commission was the act 
 of proposing, securing the appointment, and then obtaining 
 the acceptance by Colonel Henry Barrett Chamberlin to 
 act as managing director of the Commission. 
 
 CHICAGO CRIME COMMISSION 
 organized hy 
 
 THE CHICAGO ASSOCIATION OF COMMERCE 
 
 300 West Adams Street 
 
 September One, 1927 
 My dear Mr. Hermann: 
 
 Your letter of July 26th was read to the Executive Committee 
 
 248
 
 of the Chicago Crime Commission at its meeting of August 25, 
 and on motion of Mr. Gustave F. Fischer, seconded by Major 
 George A. Paddick, your resignation was accepted with regret. 
 
 In putting the motion to accept your resignation, President 
 Gore said, among other things, "For the benefit of those who 
 might not know Mr. Hermann, I may say that he was one of the 
 first members of the Commisison as well as one of the most 
 useful and enthusiastic. If he were in Chicago now no more 
 valuable man could be had. Personally, I sincerely regret the 
 apparent necessity for his withdrawal. I will entertain a motion 
 accepting his resignation with words of appreciation for his 
 valuable services." 
 
 The Operating Director was instructed to communicate the 
 action of the Committee to Mr. Hermann and to express to him 
 its appreciation of his activities and efforts at the time of organi- 
 zation and to assure him that the membership was appreciative 
 of the things that he had done to make effective the work of 
 the commission. 
 
 Henry Barrett Chamberlin 
 Operating Director 
 
 249
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 29 
 
 W. 
 
 ^HEN LOOKING out over that great expanse of fresh 
 water comprising the finest inland lake in the whole world 
 and Chicago's greatest asset, Lake Michigan, many folks 
 of the past generation must wonder what has become of 
 the numerous excursion steamboats and the regular pas- 
 senger and freight traffic that has in recent years prac- 
 tically gone out of existence. Aside from a few small inde- 
 pendent concerns, there were several large, old established 
 transportation companies that operated their steamboat 
 lines on regular schedules to many points in Michigan and 
 Wisconsin. Aside from that needed service in the way of 
 passenger and freight traffic, the steamboats during the 
 warm summer months also furnished a considerable source 
 of pleasure to a multitude of excursionists. In fact, those 
 steamboats constituted an important asset to Chicago and 
 other cities located on the shores of Lake Michigan. 
 
 It may surprise many to learn that the old established 
 transportation companies that were sound enterprises 
 rendering much-needed services and rated as an important 
 part of Chicago's business institutions, were driven out of 
 existence by what is today termed liberal legislation. That 
 law was introduced by the first Senator Robert LaFollette, 
 of Wisconsin. Labor leaders were behind it, and the senator, 
 being a progressive, introduced the act and worked for it 
 until it was passed and became a law. That senator's inten- 
 tions may have been good as a "do-gooder," but no doubt 
 labor politics played its part. The owners and employers, 
 
 250
 
 as usual, were helpless. They and the unsuspecting public 
 had that unreasonable, impractical, and devastating act 
 put over on them. As is usually the case, there were some 
 labor grievances at the time that needed correction, but 
 such alleged liberal legislation unfortunately goes to the 
 extreme and fails to accord justice or consideration for the 
 other side. The LaFoUette-Seaman's Act went so far that 
 it turned out bad for labor, and ruined the steamboat busi- 
 ness of the United States. It was enforced long enough to 
 drive many such transportation companies out of business. 
 In later years, I believe it was either amended or was not 
 enforced in order to rebuild to some extent the business of 
 transportation via water. That law, which also contained a 
 "featherbed" clause, was so severe that operation under it 
 was, in most cases, practically impossible except at a loss. 
 The Goodrich Transit Company was started not many 
 years after Chicago became a corporate city. It grew to be 
 the largest inland steamboat line in America. It owned 
 extensive docks, freight houses, and its executive office 
 building on the river front just east of Michigan Avenue. 
 Its fleet consisted of ten big steamboats, the largest of 
 which was the famous "Whaleback." The company owned 
 one steel ship that was an ice-breaker, named "Nevada." 
 That steamboat carried freight all winter. Some of the 
 other boats carried freight during the winter months. The 
 Goodrich Line's excursion business started each year on 
 Decoration Day and finished on Labor Day. When the fleet 
 was ready early in each spring, the United States Govern- 
 ment would send inspectors to examine each ship. After 
 such inspection, the company received its permit for each 
 ship, such permit containing explicit orders as to the num- 
 ber of passengers each ship would be permitted to carry, 
 
 251
 
 As an example of what the LaFollette Act did to the 
 Goodrich Transit Company's business, we'll take the case 
 of the Whaleback. That ship plied exclusively between 
 Chicago and Milwaukee. It operated never over five miles 
 from shore, and it was equipped with radio and all neces- 
 sary safety devices. It was an unsinkable ship. Accord- 
 ingly, the government inspectors permitted that ship to 
 carry up to thirty-eight hundred passengers. When the 
 LaFollette Act was passed, its "featherbed" clause provided 
 for a considerable duplication of crew who, for most of the 
 time, stood idly by and took up space. Also, that act pro- 
 vided that the ship must install such an unreasonable and 
 entirely unnecessary amount of life-saving material and 
 life boats that the ship's deck space was considerably 
 clogged with it. After those provisions were complied with, 
 the government inspectors were forced to limit the number 
 of passengers that the Whaleback could carry to about one- 
 half the number the ship was permitted to carry before 
 the LaFollette Act was enacted. 
 
 Also, the passenger end of the steamboat business was 
 seasonal. As already stated, it started on Decoration Day 
 and ended on Labor Day. Consequently, in the spring the 
 company would hire additional crews for the different 
 ships of the fleet and after Labor Day such surplus crews 
 were necessarily laid off. The men were satisfied with that 
 arrangement. The company, of course, picked those best 
 fitted for the job and sometimes a man with one season's 
 experience was better than some who had four years ex- 
 perience. But the LaFollette law would not permit the 
 company to employ anyone as a seaman unless he had had 
 four years experience. That condition made it difficult and 
 expensive to assemble the necessary crews. 
 
 252
 
 The Goodrich Transit Company, naturally, was forced 
 to operate at a loss, and in time its indebtedness to the 
 banks became topheavy. Something had to be done, so 
 A. W. Goodrich, the president of the company, decided to 
 resort to selling an issue of preferred stock in the Good- 
 rich Transit Company with the hope of continuing the 
 operations of that important concern that had been estab- 
 lished by his father more than a half century before the 
 LaFollette-Seamen's Act was enacted. A. W. Goodrich, 
 the son of the founder of that steamship line, had managed 
 the affairs of that concern successfully for many years. 
 He was practically the sole owner, and did not wish to sell 
 the preferred stock issue to the public. Accordingly, he 
 invited about twenty of his close friends to a dinner with 
 him. At that dinner he explained the corporation's situa- 
 tion and his conclusion to sell the preferred stock issue. 
 After he presented all of the facts to those present, of 
 whom I happened to be one, the entire issue was purchased 
 by his friends. A new Board of Directors was elected and 
 five of the seven members of that Board were picked from 
 the purchasers of the preferred stock, namely : B. M. Wins- 
 ton, F. L. Whitcomb, W. L. Phelps, C. H. Hermann, A. A. 
 Sprague II. The other two directors were A. W. Goodrich, 
 the president and H. W. Thorp, the vice president. With 
 the careful management of the officers, together with the 
 active aid and advice of the Board of Directors, the corpor- 
 ation managed to weather the storm. About two years later, 
 in 1914, World War I was started in Europe. The Russian 
 government needed ice-breaking steel ships and purchased 
 the Nevada from the Goodrich Transit Company for the 
 sum of six hundred thousand dollars. That was about two 
 hundred thousand dollars more than the Nevada originally 
 
 253
 
 cost. While that ship was needed by the company, it was 
 decided that so was the big sum of money. The corporation 
 was now clear of all indebtedness, and while under the 
 drastic conditions of that new law, profit prospects were 
 not bright, but the company was in position to continue as 
 long or longer than any of its competitors, and could man- 
 age to hold its own. 
 
 In 1915 the terrible catastrophe occurred. A large manu- 
 facturing concern employing many thousands of men and 
 women decided to give its employees a gala outing by 
 chartering an excursion boat (from a Goodrich line com- 
 petitor) for an excursion on Lake Michigan. A full day's 
 outing with an ample supply of food and refreshments was 
 provided at that concern's expense. It was a fine thought 
 and a noble act, and it should be noted here that its turning 
 out so sadly was not the fault of that great Chicago concern. 
 That catastrophe, however, could have been averted be- 
 cause it was a known fact that the steamship's upper struc- 
 ture was topheavy, and therefore, its passenger-carrying 
 capacity should have been limited to a considerably smaller 
 number of passengers than those that boarded the "East- 
 land" at the Clark Street bridge on that occasion. The 
 extreme weight lowered that ship until it rested on its 
 keel on the river bed and when too many of those unfor- 
 ate excursionists crowded to one side of that ship, it turned 
 over and more than eight hundred were drowned. It was 
 the worst steamship disaster ever experienced in Chicago, 
 and naturally, ruined the passenger business for all of the 
 other steamship lines. A meeting of the Board of Directors 
 of the Goodrich Transit Company was immediately called. 
 That session had all of the earmarks of a coroner's inquest. 
 Every one of us realized the seriousness of the situation and 
 
 254
 
 all, including the executive officers, seemed helpless. 
 Finally a thought struck me, and I asked a question that 
 had to be answered by Goodrich and Thorp. The thought 
 that had come to my mind was that the only thing we 
 could do was to prove that the Whaleback could not be 
 tipped over or sunk. So I asked, "If the Whaleback were 
 fully loaded with passengers and all of them went to one 
 side of that ship, would it tip?" Both Goodrich and Thorp 
 immediately answered no. "Well," said I, "then we must 
 without delay, but with plenty of publicity, make such a 
 demonstration. ' ' 
 
 They all wondered where we could get such a large 
 number of passengers to which I replied, "The average 
 weight of passengers should be about one hundred and 
 fifty pounds. Then let us get some passengers, including 
 a band of music, and fill out the balance with sacks of sand 
 weighing a hundred and fifty pounds each. I will try to 
 get some prominent city officials to accept such an invita- 
 tion. It will be a notable event and will make a front page 
 story. I think I know a managing editor who will fall for it. 
 I only hope Goodrich and Thorp are correct in saying that 
 such a test can be made safely." They again assured me 
 on that point, so it was decided to arrange for the sacks of 
 sand, a band, and other details. I was to report about which 
 leading paper would print the advance story of what the 
 Goodrich Transit Company was arranging to do. 
 
 Arthur Brisbane came to Chicago and invited Dennis 
 Kelly, then general manager of Mandel Brothers Depart- 
 ment Store, to have lunch with him. The following day 
 Dennis Kelly and I were to play golf. Kelly called me up 
 to say he would bring a guest. When we arrived at Exmoor, 
 Kelly introduced me to Charley Stanton, the new manag- 
 
 255
 
 ing editor of Hearst's Morning Examiner. We spent a happy 
 afternoon, and Stanton seemed like a good fellow. Kelly 
 informed me that Arthur Brisbane had asked Kelly to 
 introduce Stanton to some of his friends as Stanton was a 
 stranger in Chicago. Well, we took Stanton in and gave 
 him several pleasant afternoons, and he and I became good 
 friends. After that Director's meeting, I called up Stanton 
 for a golf game the next day. He accepted and I called for 
 him in my car. After a pleasant afternoon I drove him to 
 his office. On the way I told him about that terrible East- 
 land disaster, and how it had affected all steamship lines. 
 Then I said, "Charley, I'll give your paper a scoop, provid- 
 ing you will promise to make it a front page story." I out- 
 lined what we expected to do. 
 
 "If you will do as you say," he said, "it will make good 
 reading, and I'll agree to give it a good spread with a 
 picture of the Whaleback." 
 
 The test, with many prominent men and city officials on 
 the ship, took place just off Grant Park. Stanton made good 
 his word, and the story caused quite a furore. Then, on 
 August 25, 1915, the Examiner printed another story with 
 illustrations. I had invited Charles L. Dering, President of 
 the Chicago Association of Commerce, and the entire 
 executive committee as guests of the Goodrich Transit 
 Company for a trip to Michigan on one of the company's 
 other boats. Those two stunts did the work, and the com- 
 pany's passenger business came back to normal. That 
 Board of Directors stayed with the corporation for ten 
 years until the Goodrich Transit Company was sold and 
 merged with the Graham and Morton Line. The preferred 
 stock was called in at a premium, and that ended the 
 existence of the old Goodrich line. The merged lines evi- 
 
 256
 
 dently could not subsist on what was left to the steamboat 
 business, so they later on petered out. And that is how the 
 old established steamship lines started down the "skids," 
 going downward until eventually such water transporta- 
 tion was largely diminished on Lake Michigan. 
 
 257
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 30 
 
 R, 
 
 .ECENTLY there appeared some interesting articles 
 written by that former veteran Pinkerton official, David C. 
 Thornhill, in the magazine section of the Hearst Sunday 
 papers, starting with the story of their apprehension of the 
 world's cleverest criminal, Adam Worth. The founder of 
 that great agency, Allan Pinkerton, and his two famous 
 sons, William A. Pinkerton and Robert A. Pinkerton, per- 
 formed many notable feats long before the Adam Worth 
 case. 
 
 Allan Pinkerton, an early Chicago pioneer, established 
 the Pinkerton's Protective Police in 1850. Within a few 
 years he operated his force on a national scale and his 
 organization then became known as Pinkerton's National 
 Detective Agency. He passed away in 1884. During the last 
 34 years of his life, due to his exceptional courage and 
 resourcefulness and that of his two famous sons, they, with 
 their force of operatives had performed enough outstand- 
 ing exploits in that line of endeavor to furnish material 
 that would fill many volumes. A number of such hair- 
 raising stories, based on actual facts, written by Alan 
 Hynd, Spencer Webster and Richard Hirsch were pub- 
 lished by Macfadden Publications, Inc. in 1940, 1941, 1942, 
 and 1943. Including all high thriller, which described 
 the hazardous, though successful undertaking by Pinker- 
 ton's ace detective, James McParland in connection with 
 the breaking up and conviction of that infamous gang of 
 murderers and criminals known as the "Molly Maguires." 
 
 258
 
 One of the highlights of Allan Pinkerton's early career 
 was his success in detecting that hideous plot hatched by 
 secessionists to assassinate President-elect Abraham 
 Lincoln during his trip to Washington, D. C, for his inaugu- 
 ration in 1861. The rebels had planned to murder Mr. 
 Lincoln while he was on his way from Harrisburg, Pa., to 
 the Capitol. It was due solely to the sagaciousness of that 
 great detective that the planned dastardly crime was frus- 
 trated. To Allan Pinkerton alone belongs the credit that 
 the life of our great President was saved. 
 
 The Pinkertons had been an important factor in the 
 activities of Chicago and the nation for the twenty years 
 preceding 1871, when the city was subjected to that devas- 
 tating catastrophe— the Chicago fire in October of that year. 
 As is usually the case in such a great crisis, pandemonium 
 ensued which resulted in lawlessness that called for mili- 
 tary aid. Lieutenant General Phil H. Sheridan was charged 
 with restoring order to the stricken city, but the Pinker- 
 tons were destined to play a major part in bringing order 
 out of the chaos. Allan Pinkerton assumed a tremendous 
 responsibility to which he responded in his characteristic 
 manner, namely with courage and decision. He realized 
 that the people of the stricken city, suffering from the hor- 
 rors of that unprecedented conflagration, must be safe- 
 guarded against the additional terrors of lawlessness. 
 Accordingly, he concluded that it called for stem and deci- 
 sive action, and therefore, issued the following order to his 
 entire organization : 
 
 OFFICE OF PINKERTON'S POLICE 
 
 Orders are hereby given to Captains, Lieutenants, Sergeants, 
 and men of the Pinkerton's Preventive Police, that they are in 
 
 259
 
 charge of the burning district in the South Division. Any 
 person stealing, or seeking to steal any property in my charge 
 or attempting to break open safes, as the men cannot make 
 arrests at the present time, they shall kill the persons by my 
 order. No mercy shall be shown them, but death shall be their 
 fate. 
 
 ALLAN PINKERTON. 
 
 The Pinkertons were noted Chicagoans and the "EYE" 
 was a Chicago institution that soon became national and 
 then international. Upon the passing of Allan Pinkerton, 
 the founder, his two famous sons became sole owners and 
 equal co-partners of the Pinkerton's National Detective 
 Agency. Robert A. Pinkerton operated from New York and 
 William A. Pinkerton operated from Chicago. Through 
 their success in tracking down criminals those two great 
 detectives became world famous. I knew them both since 
 1889 and by the middle nineties I became one of Bill Pink- 
 erton's close associates. After his office hours he could fre- 
 quently be found in company with his cronies at Chapin & 
 Gore. With the many important, intricate, and dangerous 
 problems that were his to solve, he still found time for 
 companionship with his friends. Bill Pinkerton greatly 
 enjoyed pulling a joke, especially on a friend of whom he 
 was particularly fond. I have already mentioned his joke 
 on Joseph S. Martin, City Collector. Nobody but Bill Pink- 
 erton could have gotten away with that. 
 
 Big John Ryan, who had charge of the betting ring at 
 Washington Park race track, was a friend he liked. John 
 Ryan had a relative in a suburb of Chicago who raised 
 chickens. To please Mrs. Ryan, John would drive out on 
 each Sunday to his relative's place to get six dozen fresh 
 eggs. Bill Studebaker, Jim Brady, Bill Corbett, and I were 
 with Bill Pinkerton in a restaurant and bar where John 
 
 260
 
 Ryan was to meet us. John came in with his basket of fresh 
 eggs that he expected to take home. He handed the basket 
 to the manager of the place for safe keeping while we were 
 having a drink at the bar. Bill Pinkerton excused himself, 
 saying he'd be right back. He returned in about five min- 
 utes. I noticed a guilty smirk on his face. In about an hour 
 John Ryan asked for his basket and left for home. As soon 
 as he got out of the door, Bill Pinkerton burst into laughter. 
 He informed us that when he excused himself and left us 
 for about five minutes he had gone to the manager and 
 ordered him to hard boil those six dozen eggs. The next 
 time we saw John Ryan he was still "foaming at the 
 kisser." He had driven a long ways to get those eggs, and 
 couldn't explain to his wife how fresh eggs were ever laid 
 hard boiled. Had any other one of us done that to him, John 
 Ryan might have been tempted to commit murder. It is not 
 known whether John ever entirely forgave Bill for pulling 
 that one on him. At least, none of us ever dared to mention 
 that egg incident in John Ryan's presence. 
 
 John Farley ran a popular bar adjacent to the Baldwin 
 Hotel in San Francisco. We frequently congregated there, 
 but Bill Pinkerton was his most welcome patron and idol. 
 James Flood, son of the "Forty Niner," was the owner of 
 the property in which Farley's place was located, and 
 therefore, was his landlord. Each New Year's Day it was 
 Farley's custom to serve eggnog gratis to his favored cus- 
 tomers from a large bowl placed in the center of his bar. 
 He had just mixed a fresh bowl full when Bill Pinkerton, 
 Jim Flood, Big Bill Lange, Harry Corbett, and I strolled 
 into the place, this January 1, 1898. Bill Pinkerton knew 
 about the eggnog, so he came prepared. He had hired two 
 bums to sneak in and stoop low directly under that bowl. 
 
 261
 
 Then he stuck a small hose into the eggnog. The two bums 
 fastened on to the other end of that hose. They were 
 warned that, unless they emptied that bowl, they wouldn't 
 be paid. They emptied it and made their getaway while 
 Bill Pinkerton held John Farley in whispered conversa- 
 tion at the end of the bar. Then Bill Pinkerton requested 
 that Farley treat us to some of his famous New Year's 
 eggnog. Farley said, "That will be a pleasure. You came 
 just in time as I have made a fresh bowl full." He put up 
 the glasses and dipped his large silver ladle into the 
 bowl. When he pulled it out, there was nothing in that 
 ladle but foam. It is difficult to ever forget that surprised 
 and embarrassed look on John Farley's face. Farley could 
 not figure out what had happened until we all burst into 
 laughter. For years afterwards Bill Pinkerton loved to 
 recall that eggnog joke. 
 
 In later years Bill Pinkerton became less active and 
 frequently would telephone one of us to come to his office 
 for a visit. He was interested in collecting curios. He had 
 a wonderful assortment of valuable, highly colored meer- 
 schaum pipes and cigar holders that he kept in his desk 
 and enjoyed showing as well as other interesting oddities. 
 He liked talking of old times. 
 
 One day he told me an interesting story. "Before the 
 Civil War I was a young lad when my dad came in and 
 ordered me to put on my coat and hat, stating that he 
 wanted to take me to a place where I would meet the 
 greatest man in the world. He walked me down the rail- 
 road track to Sixteenth Street to a small railroad shack. 
 That was way out in the 'sticks' in those days. When we 
 arrived he gave a secret knock on the shack door. It was 
 opened, we went in, and dad introduced me to the im- 
 
 262
 
 mortal John Brown. Dad had smuggled him that far safely 
 and finally succeeded in landing him into Canada. John 
 Brown, to show his appreciation, presented my dad with 
 a picture of himself. Dad had a plate made of it and had 
 three pictures made off that plate so he could give one to 
 each of his children. Then he had that plate destroyed. 
 I'm now giving you this one. I know you'll appreciate it." 
 I still own and always will that picture of John Brown. 
 Bill told me that he had the original and that the other 
 two were owned by his sister and brother. 
 
 William A. Pinkerton was a courageous and most re- 
 sourceful detective. His life was often in danger, but he 
 fearlessly faced every situation when necessary to do so. 
 One time when he had succeeded in having convicted 
 some leaders of a dangerous gang of safe blowers, he re- 
 ceived word that he was marked to be killed and was told 
 the names of the two gunmen who were hired to do the 
 job. Bill Pinkerton was walking north on Dearborn Street 
 from Madison Street when he observed those two gunmen 
 just across the street watching him. Bill walked a few 
 steps more until he reached Donnelly's store and loan 
 office at the corner of gambler's alley. He said that he had 
 some valuable papers in his pocket. He knew Donnelly 
 well, and requested that Donnelly give him a large en- 
 velope. He then put those papers into that envelope, and 
 addressed it to himself, instructing Donnelly to place that 
 envelope into his safe and if he didn't call for it within an 
 hour, Donnelly was to have it delivered to his office. All 
 of that time Pinkerton could see out of the corner of his 
 eye that the two gunmen were waiting for him on the 
 other side of the street. Then Bill Pinkerton boldly walked 
 out of Donnelly's store, and turned up into the alley for 
 
 263
 
 about fifty feet and stood there looking over at the gun- 
 men, as much as inviting them to come on and do their 
 stuff. They stood amazed at his boldness, and evidently 
 figured that Pinkerton had their number. Then they turned 
 and made their get-away. A couple of days after that, 
 Pinkerton's informer came to his office, and told him that 
 those two gunmen said, "To Hell with Pinkerton! That 
 bastard tried to coax us to come into that alley so he could 
 murder us." Nothing but Bill Pinkerton's coolness and 
 courage saved his life that day. 
 
 In February, 1903, Bill Pinkerton appeared to be in ill 
 health. With no signs of improvement, the latter part of 
 March he decided on a four-month ocean voyage that 
 would take him to China and Japan. On the day of his de- 
 parture, Lou M. Houseman, sports editor of the Inter- 
 Ocean, Larry T, Curtis, and I were at the railway station 
 to see him off. That voyage and vacation did the work. 
 We heard from him that he had completely recovered, and 
 would be back in Chicago about the middle of July. Curtis 
 and Houseman came to my office to conclude arrangements 
 to give him a "welcome home" surprise dinner. We agreed 
 that, regardless of expense, it must be an outstanding 
 affair, but that Bill Pinkerton would like it better if that 
 party were limited to about twenty-four of his friends. We 
 invited the following friends to join us: Charles S. Bush, 
 Charles E. Tripp, F. M. Blount, Michael Cassius McDonald, 
 Joseph S. Martin, Dr. Leonard St. John, John Powers, 
 M. A. Hogan, P. Guerin, Harold Stickler, J. A. Murphy, 
 E. L. Lomax, John Corwin, Joseph Ullman, Sam Hildreth, 
 Tom Hanton, William Corbett, Will J. Davis, and the guest 
 of honor, William A. Pinkerton. 
 
 Larry Curtis and Lou Houseman decided that the arrang- 
 
 264
 
 ing of the details for that party was really a one-man job, 
 and that I was the man to make the arrangements. I said, 
 "Larry, I might have expected as much from you two. 
 Wasn't your decision based on the fact that, with your 
 limited intelligence, neither of you could be of much help 
 in that matter?" 
 
 He said, "No, Charley, we felt you knew how to make 
 the proper arrangements, and we figured that, if it wasn't 
 attended to properly, we'd have you to blame for it." 
 
 That was all there was to that. The job was in my lap, 
 so I went to work on it. I went to the Annex Hotel ( later 
 named the Congress Hotel ) , and consulted with John Roth, 
 manager of the catering department. Roth was a resource- 
 ful man, and is really entitled to most of the credit for 
 working out the many original details. We first planned 
 an elaborate menu and the proper wines. Some foods were 
 served in the shape of stars and policeman's clubs. An 
 .attractive folder menu was especially engraved with a big 
 "Eye" on the front page. "So far, so good," said I to Jack 
 Roth, "but Bill Pinkerton won't know he's coming to a 
 party in his honor until he enters the room, so we must 
 pull a real and an original surprise. How about putting 
 on a safe-blowing act?" 
 
 Jack agreed that that was a grand idea, and elaborated 
 with enthusiasm, "We'll use the English Room which is 
 on the third floor and a fire escape leads to a window of 
 that room. I'll have my house carpenter build a big safe 
 out of wood, paint it a dull black so it will look like the 
 real thing. We'll have him install a nickel plated combina- 
 tion fixture on it that even you won't think that safe is a 
 phony. I'll have that carpenter dress to look like a burglar, 
 with a mask over his eyes. I'll assure you he'll look like 
 
 265
 
 a real burglar. You arrange to have all the guests come 
 ahead of time and we'll seat them. Then we'll put out all 
 the lights. All I want you to do is to borrow four suits 
 from the Pinkerton Agency to be worn by the waiters. 
 Then, when all is ready, you, Mr. Houseman, and Mr. 
 Curtis can escort Mr. Pinkerton to the English Room and 
 have him sit in the chair at the end. The room will be 
 dark, and he'll see nobody but you three. Then, I'll have 
 my phony burglar come up that fire escape with a flash 
 light, raise the window, come into the room, and pretend 
 that he is there alone. He'll use his burglar tools on that 
 combination. There will be a button that he will press 
 and a bell will ring. The burglar will flash his light on 
 Mr. Pinkerton, and exclaim, 'Well, I'll be blowed! It's the 
 EYE.' As the burglar attempts to make his get-away, the 
 four phony Pinkerton men will jump on him. There will 
 be a scramble on the floor, and the lights will all be 
 turned on. The burglar, handcuffed, will be led out of the. 
 room. Then the four Pinkerton men (waiters) will im- 
 mediately return, open the safe, and serve the cocktails 
 out of it." 
 
 That party was staged on July 25, 1903. There wasn't 
 a single hitch. Everything worked just as it had been 
 planned. It was a real surprise for Bill Pinkerton and a 
 most enjoyable event. On July 26, 1903, each morning 
 paper carried a column about that party. Inasmuch as the 
 details have been described above, I will merely repeat 
 some of the headlines as they appeared in the papers. 
 
 Chicago Chronicle 
 CATCHES THIEF AT BANQUET 
 
 FRIENDS ARRANGE ENTERTAINMENT 
 AND SAFE ROBBERY AS FEATURE 
 
 266
 
 EVENT GIVEN IN HONOR OF DETECTIVE'S 
 RETURN FROM TRIP ABROAD 
 
 WILLIAM A. PINKERTON FINDS SURPRISE IN DINING ROOM 
 MOCK CRACKSMAN ENTERS AND THE SLEUTH MAKES CAPTURE 
 
 Chicago Tribune 
 
 PINKERTON HAS "GOOD BURGLAR" 
 
 HAVE FUN AT BANQUET 
 
 MASKED INTRUDER INVADES HIS ROOM 
 WITH DARK LANTERN AND DRILL 
 
 DETECTIVE RETURNS FROM ORIENT 
 AND FRIENDS GATHER IN THE ANNEX 
 
 Chicago Evening American 
 
 DETECTIVES AT BANQUET SEE SAFE ROBBED 
 GUESTS OF THE NOTED CHIEF AS SPECTATORS 
 
 BURGLAR ALARM CALLS OFFICERS INTO ENGLISH ROOM OF THE 
 ANNEX HOTEL WHERE WILLIAM A. PINKERTON IS BEING DINED 
 
 ASTOUNDED BANQUETERS GAZE SPELLBOUND AT INTRUDER, BUT 
 DO NOT MAKE EFFORT TO CAPTURE HIM. EXPLANATION MADE. 
 
 When the party was over, Bill Pinkerton asked me to 
 be sure to have that safe sent over to him as a memento. 
 It was sent to his office. I saw it there for many years, 
 and for all I know, it may yet be there. I still have the 
 menu of that party— in these days of food rationing, it 
 brings back fond memories. Reading it is ample proof 
 that, when that dinner was over, if any guest left that 
 
 267
 
 table either hungry or thirsty, he had only himself to 
 blame. 
 
 At the turn of the century, the Postal Telegraph-Cable 
 Company had finished laying the cable from San Francisco 
 to Honolulu. As a guest of John W. Mackay, William A. 
 Pinkerton was in Honolulu on January 1, 1903, for the 
 purpose of participating in the celebration of that historic 
 event, the opening day of that cable which provided the 
 island a direct wire communication with the mainland. 
 Each of the guests was given the privilege of sending the 
 first cable message. Bill Pinkerton sent his message to 
 me carrying his kind remembrances to Dr. Leonard St. 
 John, Larry Curtis, and his other friends. For its historic 
 value, that cable message is reproduced herewith. 
 
 268
 
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 3 *
 
 The Passing of Pioneers 
 
 James Jefferson Gore, a great merchant and Chicago 
 pioneer passed away on September 25, 1891. Mr. Gore was 
 an energetic business man, possessed of an engaging per- 
 sonaUty; a fine, true, and interesting character. He was 
 one of the recognized leaders among the old-timers of that 
 early Chicago period. Mr. Gore, up to the time of his death, 
 was also nationally known as a leader in the distilling 
 industry. It was he who originated the term "sour mash," 
 designating a certain method of quality distillation. 
 
 Gardner Spring Chapin, for many years owned a winter 
 home, "The Lakota Grounds," in Santa Barbara, Califor- 
 nia. He went there with his family in 1894-'95. He was 
 taken ill and died February 5, 1895 at the age of sixty- 
 one. His rather sudden death marked the passing of an- 
 other Chicago pioneer. 
 
 His surviving partner, James Swift Carter, who had 
 entered the firm in the spring of 1872, was then elected 
 president, and Ellis L. Hagenbuck, who had been cashier 
 since 1881, was elected secretary and treasurer of the cor- 
 poration. As for me, I had been the firm's sales manager, 
 and upon the election of Mr. Carter to the presidency, 
 much of the chief executive's duties were shifted onto my 
 young shoulders. By the end of the nineties, I negotiated 
 for and purchased all of the stock holdings of the Chapin 
 estate. At the age of seventy-nine, Mr. Carter wished to 
 retire from the business on account of illness. I purchased 
 his entire holdings, and thereby, in January, 1913, became 
 
 269
 
 the sole owner of Chapin & Gore. Ellis L. Hagenbuck 
 passed away in 1911. James S. Carter died on April 29, 
 1913. He was highly respected, an old timer with fine prin- 
 ciples and high ideals. As in the case of the deaths of Mr. 
 Chapin and Mr. Gore, with the demise of Mr. Carter the 
 last of the trio, another Chicago pioneer had passed on. 
 
 At the turn of the century, because of the firm's expand- 
 ing operations in the distilling and national distribution 
 of their product, it became necessary that we move into 
 a larger building. From our new quarters the business 
 continued to prosper until the advent of the "noble experi- 
 ment." The Eighteenth Amendment was unfortunately 
 foisted on the U.S.A. by some well meaning reformers, 
 who however, were completely controlled by a pressure 
 group of professional "blue noses." The "noble experi- 
 ment" was the cause of the old firm's liquidation and the 
 passing of that famed Chicago pioneer concern. 
 
 My reason for recalling the above personal matters is 
 solely because of the historic part the old house of Chapin 
 & Gore was destined to play in doings of Chicago since 
 the year of 1865. 
 
 As we old timers turn our thoughts to the past and 
 review the years during the period of time referred to in 
 this narrative and take note of the many changes that in 
 recent years have come to pass in our mode of life, we 
 must conclude that, even though it has not always been 
 smooth sailing, ours has been a great life. We have seen 
 much and no matter what may come in the next half 
 century, our generation has had the best of it. 
 
 270
 
 Index 
 
 Ade, George, 130, 132, 136, 142, 175, 
 
 183, 244 
 Almy, Charley, 146, 148 
 Altgeld, Governor, 25, 92, 111 
 Anson, Captain Adrian, 50, 220, 230 
 Baldwin Hotel, San Francisco, 121 
 Baldwin, "Lucky," 78 
 Bartlett, Frederick H., 12, 177 
 Baseball "Hall of Fame," 220 
 Batchelder's Restaurant, 52 
 Bell, Herbert E, 175, 177 
 Bertche, Barney, 165 
 Biltmore Hotel, New York, 61 
 Bob O'Link Golf Club, 182 
 Bob O'Link "Hullabaloo," 183 
 Bond, William A., 83 
 Bouman, Gustave, New York, 59 
 Bowman, Jack, New York, 61 
 Boxing Contests, 30 
 Boyle, Billy, Chop House, 62 
 Brown, Captain, 52, 74 
 Bryan, Williams Jennings, 153, 158, 
 
 205 
 Burkey and Milan's Restaurant, 63 
 Burnham, Daniel, 88, 105, 164 
 Busse, Mayor Fred, 92, 160, 164, 213 
 Callahan, James J., 126, 229 
 Carter, James Swift, 70, 142, 268 
 Chamberlin, Col. Henry Barrett, 
 
 155, 248 
 Chance, Frank, 230, 231 
 Chapin, Gardner Spring, 14, 70, 268 
 Chicago Association of Commerce, 
 
 84, 201, 236, 247, 256 
 Chicago Athletic Association, 66, 150 
 Chicago Fire 1871, 80 
 Chicago's First Electric Plant, 187 
 Chicago Historical Society, 22 
 Chicago Taxi Cab Service, 233 
 Chicago Times, 18 
 Chinn, Col. Jack, 90, 105 
 Choinski, Joe, San Francisco, 32 
 Clark, Hon. Champ, 200, 207 
 
 Cleveland, President Grover, 128 
 Cody, William F., "Buffalo Bill," 
 
 106, 112 
 Cohan, George M., 122, 127 
 Collins, Richard J., 178 
 Columbian Exposition 1893, 88, 112 
 Comiskey, Charley, 126, 228 
 Committee of Fifteen, 247 
 Connelly, "One Eyed," the original, 
 
 118 
 Corbett, Harry, San Francisco, 121 
 Corbett, James, Champion, 32 
 Corbett, William, "Smiley," 32, 50, 
 
 125, 260, 264 
 Coughlin, John, "Bath House," 100, 
 
 137 
 Crane, Mr. and Mrs. William H., 146 
 Davies, "Parson," 31 
 Davis, Will J., 116, 264 
 Democratic National Committee, 
 
 201 
 Donnelley, Ben, "Sport," 149, 150 
 "Dooley, Mr.," 142 
 Dowie, John Alexander, 40 
 Dunne, Mayor Edward F., 82, 89, 
 
 231 
 Dunne, Peter Finley, 130, 136, 141, 
 
 143, 144 
 Eastland Disaster, 254 
 Eastman, John, 130, 157, 159, 160, 195 
 Edgewater Golf Club, 177 
 Evans, "Chick," 176 
 Everleigh Sisters, 240, 246 
 Exmoor Golf Club, 177 
 Farley, John, San Francisco, 122, 
 
 261 
 Father's of Baseball, 228 
 Field, Eugene, 144, 146 
 Fire Fan's Association, 170, 198 
 Fitzmorris, Charley, 198, 209, 242 
 Fullerton, Hugh, 220 
 Gaster, Police Chief, New Orleans, 
 
 54 
 
 272
 
 Geeting, Hazel, 47 
 
 Golf, 173 
 
 Goodrich, Albert W., 50, 126, 171, 
 
 253 
 Goodrich Transit Company, 253 
 Gore, James Jefferson, 14, 70, 92, 268 
 Gorman, James, 178 
 Green Brother's Restaurant, San 
 
 Francisco, 121 
 Griffith, Clark, 220, 222, 225, 226 
 Guerin, Paddy, 93, 167 
 Hall, "Biff," 151 
 
 Hanton, Tom, 32, 38, 50, 120, 126, 264 
 Harrison's Campaign Committee, 
 
 194 
 Harrison, Mayor Carter H., Sr., 22, 
 
 92, 95, 121, 126, 258 
 Harrison, Mayor Carter H., Jr., 12, 
 
 73, 92, 103, 156, 191, 211, 231, 241 
 Harrison's "Kitchen Cabinet," 212 
 Harrison, Preston, 199, 212, 214 
 Hearst's Chicago American, 157 
 Hearst, William Randolph, 128, 157, 
 
 162, 195, 196, 205, 207 
 Hertz, John, 233 
 Hesing, Washington, 128 
 Heyworth, Lawrence, 174 
 Hogan, Matt A., 52, 155 
 Holland House, New York, 59, 143 
 Hoof, Tony, 183 
 Hopkins, Mayor John P., 54, 103, 
 
 111, 123, 206 
 Horan, James, Fire Marshal, 50, 170, 
 
 171, 199 
 Housman, Lou, 118, 136, 264 
 Howard, James, 71 
 Hoyne, "Uncle" Phil, 22, 57 
 Insull, Samuel, 188 
 Irwin, John, 177, 186 
 Johnson, Ban, 229 
 Kelly, Dennis, 178, 255 
 Kenna, Mike, "Hinky Dink," 102, 
 
 137 
 Keogh, Hugh, 136, 152 
 Kinsley, H. M., 57 
 Kohlsaat, Herman H., 65 
 Kuntz, John, 60, 61 
 Lake Michigan Excursion Boats, 250 
 Lamb's Cafe, 125 
 Landis, Judge Kenesaw M., 225, 228 
 
 Landon, "Appetite" Bill, 64 " 
 
 Lang, "Big Bill," 121, 220, 230 
 
 Lansing and McGarigle, 63, 137 
 
 Lawrence, Andrew, 157, 159, 212 
 
 Levey, Ethel, 122 
 
 Lewis, Senator J. Hamilton, 202 
 
 Little, Richard Henry, 130, 151 
 
 Lobdell, Harry H., 150, 177 
 
 Mackin, Joe, 137 
 
 Mangler's Restaurant, 50, 129, 130, 
 
 157 
 Martin, Joe, 92, 98, 137, 260 
 Masonic Temple Roof Garden, 127 
 Masterson, "Bat," 107 
 Mathews and Bulger, 121 
 Mayer, Oscar F., 192, 206, 212, 214, 
 
 217, 242 
 McCullough, Charles A., 190, 237 
 McCutcheon, John T., 130, 132 
 McDonald, Judge Charles A., 243 
 McDonald, Michael Cassins, 34, 92, 
 
 96, 138, 155, 264 
 McGary, Jim, 137 
 McKenna, John J., 137 
 McKoy, "Kid," 38 
 "Milk White Flag Company," 121, 
 
 122 
 Monroe Restaurant, 124 
 Moore Brothers, 20 
 Mulaney, Bernard, 130, 132, 166 
 Mygatt, William R., 20, 21 
 Nawn, Tom, 120 
 Newspapers and Writers, 128 
 O'Connor, Tom, Fire Marshal, 170, 
 
 200 
 O'Leary, "Big" Jim, 76, 80 
 O'Malley, Dominick, New Orleans, 
 
 36 
 Owens, Judge John E., 162, 196, 212, 
 
 214, 217 
 Palmer, Potter, 105 
 Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 109 
 Partridge, Ed, 124, 177 
 Passing of Pioneers, 268 
 Pinkertons, The, 258 
 Pinkerton, William A., 22, 38, 95, 
 
 121, 126, 258 
 Plamondon, A. D., 181 
 Plamondon, Charles A., 194, 206, 
 
 212, 214, 217 
 
 273
 
 Presidential Campaign 1896, 153 
 
 Race Tracks, 72 
 
 Rector, Charles, 59 
 
 Reilly, Dr. Frank W, 50, 130, 133, 
 
 151 
 Ringling, John, 126 
 Ritter, "Colonel," 108 
 San Francisco Fire, 1906, 82 
 Schaefer, Jake "Wizard," 41 
 Schlogel's Restaurant, 120 
 Seyferlick, Charles, Fire Marshal, 
 
 170, 199 
 Seymour, Charley, 148 
 Shea, Inspector John D., 30, 50, 93, 
 
 138 
 Sheridan, General Philip, 22, 72, 259 
 Shuttler, A. B., 177, 183 
 Sloan, "Tod," 77 
 Smith, Charles O., 55, 56 
 Smith and Perry "Social," 52, 55 
 Snell, Amos, Jr., 25 
 South Shore Country Club, 174 
 Stanton, Charles, San Francisco, 255 
 Steward's Boarding House, 114 
 Storey, Wilbur F., 22, 115, 126 
 Sullivan, John L., 31, 33, 120 
 
 Sullivan, Roger, 103, 123, 201 
 Temple, Miss Shirley, 218 
 Thompson, John R., 64, 65, 70 
 Thompson, Lydia, Black Crook 
 
 Company, 22, 115 
 Thompson, William Hale, 150, 188 
 Train, George Francis, 37 
 Trotting and Running Races, 69 
 Underwood, Kinsley "Drury," 130, 
 
 143 
 Union Stock Yards, 171 
 Upham, Fred, 82, 201, 207 
 Upman, Frank, 115 
 Vice Cleanup, 240, 246 
 Vogelsang's Restaurant, 155, 196, 
 
 212 
 Walden-Shaw Company, 233 
 Wayman, John E. W., 240 
 Wells, Orson C, 34 
 "Whaleback" Test for Safety, 256 
 Whitechapel Club, 129 
 "White Sox" Night Ball Game, 242 
 Williams, Tom, San Francisco, 158 
 Wright, Warren, 70, 150, 177 
 Ziegfeld, Flo, 113 
 Ziegfeld, Dr. Florence, 112