One of the nice things people tell of Judge Mayer, who served the
counties of Clinton, Cameron and Elk as president judge for almost forty
years, is of the deep sympathy he showed when Attorney Henry Harvey fell
dead in the court room. Harvey had been a law student in the judge’s
office, and he felt a fatherly interest in the young man. He was proud
of his achievements and successes at the bar, and was pleased when the
local Republicans spoke of Harvey as a candidate for the high office of
Governor of the great State of Pennsylvania. The judge much regretted
the conditions that robbed his pupil of the high honor, but still looked
ahead and hoped the honor might still hover near and select Mr. Harvey
later on.
The judge knew what disappointment tasted like, for, being a Democrat in
a Republican state, is what barred him from the Supreme bench. But he
deemed the honor, at the expense of his honest political convictions, to
be hollow and empty.
But one unfortunate day the man for whom he had seen such a brilliant
future was fatally stricken in court. Harvey was addressing the jury in
an important case, and was even more brilliant than usual, when suddenly
he threw up his arms and staggered backward into the arms of R. C.
Quiggle, calling to a physician sitting near him: “Doctor, I am sick.”
These were the last words uttered by the man of whom such a brilliant
future had been predicted. When all was over, and the dead attorney lay
cold in front of the jury, the venerable judge broke down and wept like a
tender-hearted woman.
People who had come to look upon Charles A. Mayer as a stern and
relentless judge, never dreamed of such a display of affection and
sympathy. The judge had revealed his humane and tender side to the
people, and they admired the new man far above the old one. After
adjourning court, he stood with a bunch of attorneys and court officials
discussing the tragical end of his friend, and out on the streets the
people were discussing the affair, and to each new man who joined the
crowds of startled citizens, some one would say: “The judge wept like a
child when Harvey died.”
The writer of these lines was attending a relative’s funeral on that
day, and when a man came to the funeral who had been in court when the
tragical death occurred, and was telling a bunch of men standing outside
the home and waiting for the services to begin, he did not forget to add:
“Judge Mayer cried like a loving father when he saw that his friend was
dead.”
And all over the country the news of Attorney Harvey’s death was
whispered in awed tones, and always in connection with the death of
Harvey was told the story of the judge’s tears.
It gave the people a peep into the real man behind the legal mask,
and they admired the real man far above the legal sternness which the
profession forced upon the judge. A man always gains in power and
admiration when he shows evidence of a sympathetic heart. Abraham
Lincoln’s tears of sympathy stand out as liquid diamonds upon his
official record, never to be washed away while his beloved name remains
on the pages of American history. The world may malign him and wrongly
accuse him of many things, but those tears of sympathy are out of reach
of human hands or slanderous tongues, and the crown of his earthly glory
will always sparkle in the light of his illustrious name as indelible
stars, forever polished by the love the American people retain for the
man.
So, too, do the judge’s tears stand out above all his other good
qualities, and command respect and admiration from his bitterest enemies.
They can never be forgotten. Though he is dead and in his grave, the
tears shed by loving friends will be forgotten by the world, while yet
his own tears of sympathy remain like drops of dew to keep his memory
fresh and green in the hearts of all those who know of the tender and
sympathetic side of the judge.