Beneath two mounds, each banked with flowers, one in
Oakwood, the other in First Street Cemetery, were laid
the victims of Friday's tragedy Sunday afternoon. Never
were two funerals in this city more largely attended, and
never was the dead followed to a last resting place by
sorrowing friends with the reverence that was shown
yesterday. At each home, the Davis residence in the Fifth
Ward, and the Brann residence on North Fifth Street,
friends began to gather shortly after noon, and they
crowded through the two homes, on the lawn of one and
about the yard of the other. Each man had his friends,
and each had hosts of them, and they desired to show
by their attendance at this last service their devotion to
those friends who were now gone to the great beyond.
Each procession was a long one, the Davis cortege moved
from the home on Dallas Street to Elm, thence west on
Elm to the suspension bridge. When the hearse, which
was preceded by vehicles covering three blocks, containing
Knights of the Maccabees, turned into Elm Street, vehicles
were yet falling in line at the home, the procession
extending more than a dozen blocks in length. All
classes and conditions of men were in the line, from the
lowest to the highest, citizens of Waco joining in the
respect to the citizen whose tragic death was known. He
was well liked, and being liked, they sorrowfully joined
in this tribute to his memory. There were services at
the home, conducted by Rev. Austin Crouch, of East Waco
Baptist Church. Dr. Nelms was to participate, but a
sudden illness prevented him being present. The service
commenced by the singing by the choir of Some Sweet
Day. Those composing the choir were Messrs. W. T.
Millman, W. E. Brittain, W. R. Covington, J. S.
Henderson, Mrs. McDonald and Misses Josie Davis, Nannie
Huff and Shirley Faulkner, all of the East Waco
Baptist Church.
After the reading of the 23rd Psalm by Rev. Austin
Crouch, followed by the singing of Nearer My God to
Thee by the choir, Mr. Crouch began a short talk, which
went deep into the hearts of his hearers and was a beautiful
tribute to the noble characteristics of the deceased.
He began by quoting the poem, The Hour of Death, by
Mrs. Hemans, to illustrate the thought that man cannot
reckon upon the hour of the coming of death.
He drew attention to the fact that "it was said of
Moses that he died when his eye was not dim nor his
natural strength abated." He said it had been thus
with the deceased, he having been taken from life in the
prime of manhood, aged 42. He referred to him as a
loving husband and devoted father, and possessing the
love of a host of friends, as the vast concourse assembled
about his bier testified.
Mr. Crouch then referred with words full of
tenderness and pathos to the wife and six children whom the
husband and father had left when taken from life, and
in this connection quoted from Tennyson's In Memoriam,
the lines:
"I hold it true whate'er befalls;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all."
Touching upon the characteristics of the deceased, Mr.
Crouch eulogized his devotion to his family, his loyalty
to his friends and his willingness always to sacrifice
anything to them. He said of him that he was a good
citizen, who for the last several years had devoted much of
time and talents to upholding all the virtues of good
citizenship, adding that it was not often that one met a man
nowadays who could be called a good citizen.
Mr. Crouch closed a talk that was well chosen and
effectively delivered by warning his hearers that they
were but mortal and to be prepared for the hour of
death. With his final words he commended the loved
ones of the deceased to the mercy and care of Almighty
God.
The song, The Unclouded Day, closed the services at
the house.
When the procession reached the cemetery impressive
services, according to the ritual of the order, were
conducted by Commander Ben Richards of Artesian Tent,
Knights of the Maccabees, a final prayer was offered by
Rev. Crouch and the body of Tom Davis was lowered to
rest. The floral tributes were beautiful. Friends brought
cut flowers and evergreens, and two large designs especially
were noticed. One was a large wreath of red and white
flowers, twined with crepe, the red, white and black being
the colors of the Maccabees. This was sent by Artesian
Tent No. 6, of which the deceased was a member. The
other was a large anchor, fully four feet in length
composed of yellow roses and white carnations. It was a
huge piece, beautifully made, and testified the friendship
of him who sent it, Mr. Connor. The pallbearers were
Judge W. H. Jenkins, J. E. Boynton, T. B. Williams,
J. N. Harris, A. C. Riddle, J. K. Rose, J. H. Gouldy,
W. H. Deaton, Robt. Wright, S. F. Kirksey, Major A.
Symes and James I. Moore.
. . .
The funeral of W. C. Brann did not move promptly on
the hour. It had been fixed for 3 P.M., but there was some
delay. During the moments just preceding the funeral
services Mrs. Brann went upon the lawn herself,
accompanied by a friend, and she directed the cutting of
certain buds and roses which had been favorites of her
departed husband, and when the services were held in
the parlor she placed this collection of cut flowers upon
the head of the casket. The entire place was crowded
with sympathetic friends, and by her side were Mr. Brann's
sister and her husband, who came to Waco to attend the
funeral, being summoned from their Fort Worth home.
A brass quartette, composed of L. N. Griffin, first cornet;
J. C. Arratt, second cornet; H. C. Collier, trombone;
Fred Podgen, baritone horn, rendered sweet sacred music,
one selection being Nearer My God to Thee. Mrs. Tekla
Weslow Kempner sung Mr. Brann's favorite selection,
The Bridge. The service was conducted by Rev. Frank
Page of the Episcopal Church.
The procession was a very long one. It extended all
along Fifth Street from the house, and when Austin
Avenue was reached a large number dropped out of the
line, as was done in the Ross, Coke and Harris funerals,
and proceeded to Oakwood by other streets. A brass
band preceded the procession, playing martial music.
The street was lined with pedestrians and vehicles, some of
whom stood for thirty minutes waiting for the cortege.
The delay was occasioned, however, at the home. Soon
after the services were concluded, Mrs. Brann requested
that the casket be opened again, and her request was
complied with. For a few minutes she was alone with
her dead, and in that few minutes she gazed for the last
time upon her companion, her loved one and her husband.
When the procession reached the cemetery it was found
that a large number had preceded the cortege to the
grave, many vehicles and persons on foot being in waiting. A
large number went on the cars, three cars leaving the home.
The services at the grave consisted of an address by
Mr. J. D. Shaw, friend of the deceased. He said:
"My friends and friends of W. C. Brann: I come this
evening at the request of Mr. Brann's family to lay
tribute upon his grave. I speak as a friend living for a
friend dead. No ordinary man has fallen in the person
of W. C. Brann. Nature fashioned him to be a power
among his fellow men. By industry, by hard study, by
careful observation, by diligent research, by interminable
effort, he rose from comparative obscurity to teach and
impress the civilized world. In the person of W. C.
Brann we have an illustration of what may be expected
in a country like ours. He was a natural product of our
American democracy. He was a star that rose by dint
of his own effort, his own determination, surrounded by
circumstances that invited merit from the common people,
from the whole people. W. C. Brann was a cosmopolitan
character. He could never be confined within the
limits of a party or a creed. So great was his grasp,
so far-reaching his thought, that he lived in the world
and not in a mere party. He was found always with
that party or with that sect that represented what he
thought to be right and true. A peculiarity of this man
was his dual personality. Few people fully understood
him in this respect. As a bold genius, as an intellectual
giant, as a man armed and equipped with intellectual
fire, and as a man with a noble ambition to stand by
the right, he was a sworn foe of hypocrisy and fraud.
And when he took into his brave hands the pen, he made
fraud and hypocrisy quake and tremble. Burning words
came from his tongue, scorching and branding every fraud.
Men looked upon him then as a hard man, as a heartless
man because he told them the truth. But the other side
of this man's individuality, I, for one, have had the
opportunity to see. He could not only sow intellectually;
he was not only able to entertain the civilized world with
burning words, with thoughts that were winged and that
went like lightning, but he was a man of heart and of
honor, and a man of the warmest and most generous
love. He could go towards the skies intellectually, but
in his heart he lived close to nature. He loved nature.
He loved the very trees under whose shade he rested. He
loved the little birds that sang in the trees, the grass
upon which he walked, the flowers that bedecked the
forest. And he loved his fellow man. He had a warm,
generous heart and affection that went out to the poor
and those who were needy. W. C. Brann was never
known to attack a man who was a man. It was the strong
and the defiant that he branded, and not the weak and
the needy or the deserving. For these he was the friend.
I knew this man, not only as the editor of the ICONOCLAST,
not only as the utterer of grand and entertaining
sentences, but I knew him as a man whose palm was stretched
out to the man who was in need. Few men have been
more generous with their charity than my neighbor and
my friend whom we lay away to-day. No man within my
knowledge ever presented the world with a purer, a nobler,
a loftier home character than W. C. Brann. Oh! how he
loved his wife and his dear little children--not only the
children that were living, but the child that was dead.
How ardently he strove to support, maintain and bless
them. And what a friend they have lost. No man ever
approached W. C. Brann for a penny that he did not
respond, and from his beautiful home no beggar was ever
turned away. I am afraid many people who only knew
Mr. Brann as a genius, as a man of eloquence and power
with the pen, knew little of him as a man of heart and
affection. But, I, as his friend, as a friend of his wife
and his fatherless children, I thank the people of Waco
to-day that they have testified of their affection for this
man. We shall never see his like again here, perhaps.
He was a rising star. How soon that star has set! But,
my dear friends, he has left a memory. He has made
his impression upon the world and we will never forget
him. Let me then say, for I must be brief, I am reminded
by the stormy elements about us that I must not detain
you longer, let me say in conclusion that Brann is not
dead. His burning words still live, and his thoughts will
yet remain to affect the world, and we will never forget
him. And I say to his wife and children, though to-day
you feel crushed by this great sorrow, I know by
experience that our dead do not pass away from our minds.
They grow more beautiful the longer we live. We remember
them with greater pleasure, more tenderly, they will
always be just like they had been. They never change.
The little girl that you laid away in Houston is to-day in
your mind just what she was then. And the dear husband
that you lay away now will always be just what he is to-
day. No changes can come. He is fixed in the memory.
"Now, my friends, in behalf of Mrs. Brann and her
children, let me thank you for this presence, for this
demonstration of your appreciation of this man who has
so suddenly, so unexpectedly, fallen in our midst. Let us
cherish his memory, remember his virtue, and imitate his
daring courage in defiance of that which he thought was
evil and wrong. He was not without his faults. None
of us are. He was always ready and willing to admit that.
No man was more willing to answer for his work than
W. C. Brann. Therefore I ask for him that judgment
to-day we shall all crave of one another when we shall
have passed away. We will now lay his body in the
grave, we will cover it with mother earth, and upon it
place these flowers as a testimonial of our love and
affection for him."
At the grave, the bouquet which Mrs. Brann had laid
on the casket before leaving home was returned to her,
and just before the casket was lowered into the grave,
she stepped forward and lovingly placed the floral piece
upon the casket and it was closed in the grave. There
was a large number of floral offerings. Flowers were
there in profusion. But as at the other funeral, two
pieces were especially noticeable. One was a huge broken
wheel, full three feet in diameter, all in white, composed
of lilies of the valley, hyacinths and roses. It was the
gift of the employees of the ICONOCLAST, and William
Marion Reedy of St. Louis. The Knight Printing Company
sent a large anchor about three feet long, which
was composed of pink carnations and white roses. The
following were the pallbearers: J. W. Shaw, G. B. Gerald,
D. R. Wallace, L. Eyth, Waller S. Baker, Dr. J. W. Hale,
H. B. Mistrot, John D. Mayfield and James M. Drake.
* * *
THE LATEST TRAGEDY.
(Editorial appearing in the Waco Weekly Tribune,
issue April 9, 1898, and written by Hon. A. R. McCollum,
editor, and State Senator of the Texas Legislature.)
What use to write, or read or talk of the tragic deaths
of Brann and Davis unless those who survive are to draw
from the tragedy lessons which, rightly applied, will bring
peace and good to society and especially to this
community? If not this, then far better silence. In the news
columns of the paper we have told the story of the battle
to the death, fought on the public streets, of the death
scenes and burial. And all over this land, where newspapers
are printed, the story has been told and millions
have read. There will be no adequate estimate of the effect
the reading will have upon the minds of the millions. It
is certain that the most patent result will be to discredit
this community in the esteem of the people whose good
opinion our people would like to have, and to react in ways
that will affect the material welfare of this city and very
likely of the county, too. Beyond all question the
deplorable events of last year, opening with October, have
operated to the detriment of Waco, and beyond all question
the latest chapter of blood and violence will intensify
the distrust, unless it is evidenced that this is to be the
end, and that hereafter peace and order are to prevail, and
the sacredness of human life be more assured. This is
why we say it is little use to write or discuss the passing
of Brann and Davis, beyond rendering the tributes of love
and affection, unless our people are to learn from the
deaths the lessons of forbearance and tolerance and
subordination of passion and prejudice to the nobler and
better ends and aims of life. Asperity and bitterness must
be buried in the graves with the dead.
Brann and Davis have gone to a judgment higher than
that of men, and both, we venture to hope and believe, have
found how true it is that God is Mercy, as well as justice.
For our part, we would rather let them rest in peace and
not essay an analysis of their attributes and actions. We
will say this of Brann, that though he could write with a
pen of vitriol, in his private life he could be and was as
gentle as a woman, and his aspirations were those of
generosity and kindness, of faithfulness to friends. His home
life--with wife and children--was a poem that never
ended till he died. His genius was superhuman. As Mr.
Shaw truly said in his remarks at the grave, it is not
likely that we shall ever see his like again in this
community. Davis was cast in a different mold mentally, a
man of quite another type. He was sturdy and practical
and took the world precisely as he found it. It was indeed
a strange fate that brought these two men face to face
in deadly conflict and made of Davis the instrument to put
an end to Brann's earthly career. Both men loved and
were beloved. Widows and orphans mourn them. Let the
dead rest in peace, for good can be said of each.
It is the manifest duty of this community to forbear
from discussion of what might have been, or who sowed
the wind that brought the whirlwind. At the best, years
of patience, unselfish, earnest work will be needed to restore
our city to the place it might hold in the esteem of men.
The fool will say: "It makes no difference what others
think." It is a fool's consolation and a fool's argument,
for the cold truth is that not alone the prestige and good
repute of our fair city have been marred, but material
progress and prosperity have been affected. Population,
capital, skill, brawn, industry, morality hold aloof--not
wholly, of course, yet to a degree that is material and
unfortunate. It is possible to remedy this, but not until
we prove to the world that toleration and peace are to rule
here, and that human life is not to be held as the cheapest
thing society has to lose.
The following account of the mobbing of Brann in the
fall preceding his death (see Brann's article "Ropes,
Revolvers and Religion" in Vol. X.) is taken from the
Waco Tribune for October 9, 1897 It is reproduced
here to enable the reader to better interpret the
circumstances of Brann's death.