Thank God for the man who is cheerful,
In spite of life's troubles, I say;
Who sings of a brighter tomorrow
Because of the clouds today.
Then came a letter--whatever you may be, your parents were probably more
so about the same age; but the world is wiser now than then, the boy
world at least. The writer had heard of Alfred and his wonderful
talents; he was organizing a minstrel show and would like to negotiate
with him. The new organization would be one of the most complete in the
country; it would be an honor to anyone to be connected with it.
Benedict would head the company.
Duprez and Benedict's was one of the leading minstrel companies of the
period. How was Alfred to know the Benedict who was to head the new show
was not Lew Benedict?
Alfred engaged with the Great Benedict Minstrels. Rehearsals were called
for 10 a. m. daily, but were generally called off until 3 p. m., by
which time the principals were in such a jolly mood they did not require
rehearsals; they felt funny enough to entertain royalty.
The manager, or more properly, the angel, for angel he was, seemed more
desirous of making a reputation in bar rooms than with his show.
Alfred learned the minstrels were being organized to invade the oil
regions where money grew on derricks. After subduing the oil territory
the angel was supposed to become so favorably impressed with the
possibilities of the enterprise, augmenting the company, he would treat
the larger cities to a sight of the mighty monarch of the minstrel
world.
Doctor McClintock and wife lived near Rouseville, Pa. Childless, they
adopted a boy, John W. Steele. Prior to the discovery of coal oil, the
worn out fields of that locality were valueless. Now broad acres were as
valuable as the diamond fields of South Africa. Never in the wildest
days of the gold excitement in California was money more rapidly
accumulated or squandered than in the oil regions of Pennsylvania.
Johnny Steele fell heir to all the lands of Dr. McClintock. Wealth
rolled in upon him; he entered upon a career of extravagance. He spent
thousands of dollars daily, he literally cast money to the winds. His
notoriety spread to the furthermost limits of the country; the daily
papers, the weeklies, the monthlies printed exaggerated accounts of his
profligacy.
Skiff and Gaylord's Minstrels crossed the path of "Coal Oil Johnny," as
Steele had been dubbed. Lew Gaylord made a great ado over the
spendthrift. Steele accompanied the minstrels for a few days; their
pathway was one wide streak of hilarity. When hotel men complained of
the boisterous behavior of Steele the coal oil spendthrift bought the
hotel for their stay.
"Coal Oil Johnny" was the sensation of the day. He bought the minstrel
boys hats, coats, shoes, trunks and that most coveted minstrel
decoration, a diamond.
The minstrels flourished for a few months. The public rebuked the
unenviable notoriety of "Coal Oil Johnny." The minstrels steadily
declined. "Coal Oil Johnny" went down with them. His money gone, he was
made treasurer of the troupe his prodigality had ruined. When the ending
came there was none so poor as he. Hotels where he had spent thousands,
refused him even a night's lodging. He went back to the farm; the acres
he had cultivated were covered with oil derricks; the friends he knew
had departed; he was almost a stranger save for the notoriety he had
acquired. Unabashed he seemed to take a pride in the spendthrift race he
had run. He drove a baggage wagon; afterwards he became the baggage
master at the depot in Rouseville.
* * * * *
There never was a full rehearsal of the minstrels ere they embarked for
Parker's Landing on the good boat "Jim Rees." There was no railroad to
the oil regions from Pittsburgh in those days. The Allegheny River was
navigable to Venango, opposite the present Oil City.
Two members of the minstrels, song and dance men, took a dislike to
Alfred. Others soon became intimate with him, they enjoyed his humorous
narratives, particularly his experiences with Node Beckley and the
panorama. The two members mentioned exhausted the new boy's patience and
he invited both to fistic combat. His challenges were laughed at; the
jibes and jokes became more and more insulting.
Jealousy, that canker that eats and festers at the hearts of actors as
it does at those of no other humans, was the motive for their actions.
Alfred had introduced a bit of acrobatic comedy in the closing farce
that was the laughing hit of the minstrels. Owing to the lack of acts,
the stage manager ordered Alfred to put on a single turn. This act
preceded the turn of the song and dance men. The singing of Alfred took
with the oil men greatly. The two who followed were not even fair
singers, their efforts fell flat; they had the stage manager change them
on the bill. The change put them just before Alfred. When advised of the
change he reminded the stage manager that he went on only for
accommodation in the olio and flatly refused to follow the song and
dance men. The angel ordered the two song and dance men on in their
usual position, following Alfred. Alfred rehearsed a dance secretly. He
finished his singing turn with this dance, introducing all his known
acrobatic stunts. This rough dance simply set the oil men wild and the
two worthies fell flatter at every performance.
No philanthropist of the "Coal Oil Johnny" sort had discovered the
minstrels as yet, but the path of their travels was one of nightly
carousals. The two dancers were assisting the manager-angel in
scattering the money that came in. The people were hungry for
amusements; hence the tour thus far had been one of profit.
The manager and his companions never went to bed when there was another
place to go. It was one of the pass-times of the two dancers to enter
Alfred's room noiselessly, pull him violently out of bed and steal out
in the darkness. In one of their playful moods they carried Alfred's
wearing apparel to another part of the hotel.
Alfred warned the stage manager that he intended to resent this
treatment. However, there was no cessation to the indignities the two
put upon the young minstrel.
But like all so-called ladders, they could not stand the gaff. After a
particularly keen onslaught upon Alfred with their tongues, in which
several of his weaknesses were commented upon, Alfred got back at them:
"I don't have to cater to the manager to hold my job; I'm drawing my
wages on my work, not on my cheek," was Alfred's retort.
* * * * *
At Titusville, a banquet was tendered the minstrels by the landlord of
the hotel.
Many speeches were delivered, good, bad and very bad--all predicting the
perpetual success of the minstrel enterprise. There was a lull in the
gaiety. The toastmaster announced as there was no prepared program all
would be expected to say something. He thereupon introduced one of
Alfred's tormentors.
The fellow arose, cleared his throat and made a laborious attempt to
speak a few intelligible words, concluding with an indelicate story.
The landlord tiptoed across the room closing the door that none might
overhear. With a maudlin leer he followed the landlord with his eyes, as
he shouted: "Thanks, Landy, this ain't a ladies' story." As he sat down
there was neither laughter nor applause.
The toastmaster called upon Alfred. He was overcome with bashfulness and
did not arise until several urged him to say something. "Get up, get
up," urged the two men opposite. Alfred arose, so confused he could not
articulate. A voice shouted: "Tell them about the panorama."
Alfred began Palmer's lecture. It had no application to the occasion,
but few understood it, there was an oppressive silence. Alfred had no
idea of when to cease talking, and would probably have given the whole
lecture, had not Bill Young, a musician, one who took a very great
interest in him, seized him by the arm, shaking him forcibly: "Here,
here; you forgot the song, you promised to sing for us." Bill continued:
"Gentlemen: Alfred will now give you a correct imitation of an old maid
singing 'Barbara Allen.'"
He gave the imitation so cleverly that the guests applauded again and
again. As he ended the song, his eyes closed, imitating the old maid,
something soft and mushy struck him on the breast of his white shirt.
The juice spattered into his face and over those near him.
A glance at the mushy mess, Alfred's eyes fell on the two men opposite
him. One was looking apologetically at the gentleman next Alfred who was
wiping his face with his napkin; the other laughing tantalizingly.
Retaliation was speedy. It was not two seconds after the decayed tomato
landed on Alfred until a large platter of soft salad of some sort, a
sugar bowl and several smaller dishes were landing just where aimed.
One of Alfred's tormentors lay upon the floor, his face and vest
literally covered with salad and other cold lunch. The other was making
for the door, dodging plates and cups that flew perilously near his
head.
Alfred, being the swifter, soon overtook the fleeing man. There was a
short struggle, and Alfred's well directed blows took all the fight out
of him; he begged for mercy.
The landlord led Alfred to the parlor, commanding him to keep quiet and
not cause further disturbance.
Alfred remained in the parlor for what seemed to him a long time.
Finally, the landlord returned to advise the man struck with the salad
plate was pretty badly cut and they thought best to get a doctor. He
further stated the other one had complained to the police.
"The coward," sneered the landlord, "I wish we had let you give it to
him; he would have had something to complain of. However, the chief is a
good friend of mine and I think I can fix it so you will not be locked
up."
Alfred's first thought was, what will the folks at home say should he be
thrown into jail?
The chief of police and members of the company and others crowded into
the parlor. The chief, one of those officials who felt his importance
greatly, assumed to try the case then and there.
"Have you had any fights before?"
"Yes, sir, thousands of them," answered Alfred. He was under the
impression the question covered his entire life. Everybody in the room
laughed.
"No, I had reference to a fight with the parties whom you assaulted here
tonight," continued the officer.
Alfred was just a little ashamed of the admission and entered into an
explanation: "I never tried to fight them before, though they have done
everything they could to worry me. Ever since I joined the show it has
been one insult after another. I could scarcely keep my hands off them
only I was afeared they would double team on me. I'd had it out long ago
but for that," and as Alfred talked he warmed up.
"Hold on," the chief interrupted, "do not incriminate yourself. Did
either of these men ever offer you violence?"
"No, they was afraid to, they're both cowards. I will fight it out with
either of them right now." Alfred was angry; the old Brownsville way of
settling such disputes was all he thought of.
The chief remarked to those near him: "I feel sorry for this boy, owing
to the fact that they have tormented him;" he turned to Alfred, "I do
not feel sorry for them nor wish to protect them, yet that is no legal
excuse for your assault upon them."
Someone came forward with this proposition, that inasmuch as they all
belonged to one family, that they shake hands all around, call
everything square and go on about their business.
"Well, if the party will withdraw the charge of felonious assault it's
all right with me. I don't get nothing out of it nohow," was the police
officer's reply.
"Get them together," was the suggestion made by several. Alfred
interfered by saying: "I'm willing to get together or do anything that's
fair but I'm not going to travel with this gang of rowdies another day."
The chief nudged him to cease and whispered: "Then they'll put you in
jail."
"Well, I'll put them in jail, too," retorted Alfred.
"What charges will you prefer against them; you stated you had never had
trouble with them before?"
"But look what they have done to me," persisted Alfred. "They have
plagued me until I couldn't have a minute's peace of mind, and then they
hit me with a rotten tomattus as big as a gourd, why--?"
The chief here interrupted Alfred to inform him that in law a rotten
tomato was not considered a dangerous weapon.
"Well, if anybody would hit you with a rotten tomattus, I know what
you'd do; you'd shoot 'em, that's what you'd do."
"Why, there was no tomattuses on the table; I can prove it by the
landlord."
"Them fellers went to the slop barrel and fished it out; didn't I smell
old sour swill on it. Why the smell of that tomattus would made a dog
sick."
Whether it was Alfred's anger, emphasized by his smacking his hands
together, his hurried speech, or the description of the condition of the
tomato, the laughter that convulsed all seemed to make him more
indignant.
With heightened voice and more forcible gestures he continued: "If I do
live in a little town, I've been away from home before, and I won't let
no son-of-a-gun ride over me even if he is as big as the side of a
house. I've got a home; I've got good people; I can go to them and I
won't travel another day with a pack of drunken rowdies. You can do with
me as you please. You say there's no law agin heavin' rotten tomattuses
at a person in a banquet. What kind of law have you got in Titusville?
If anybody would hit another with a tomattus at the dinner table in
Brownsville they'd beat hell out of him quicker'n you could say 'Jack
Robinson.'"
The remainder of Alfred's forcible, if not eloquent, speech was drowned
by laughter. Half a dozen present volunteered to go his bail.
Numerous attempts were made in the early Sunday morning to influence
Alfred to continue his travels with the troupe. To all arguments he gave
the same answer: "No; I'll not travel further with a lot of drunken
rowdies."
With all sorts of promises, a raise of salary, promotion, and other
alluring inducements, they failed to move Alfred. Finally as do all
cajolers, the manager endeavored to threaten the boy into following his
wishes. But with no better results.
"I would walk home before I would travel another day with you," was the
parting shot as the manager left the room, swearing he would have Alfred
in jail and keep him there.
The injured man swore out a warrant for Alfred. Captain Ham came forward
promptly and signed the bail bond.
The Captain was to open a summer garden or park a few days later. As
Alfred had no previous acquaintance with the gentleman, he has often
thought the deep interest evinced by the genial Captain was influenced
by the two weeks' engagement offered and accepted by Alfred to appear in
the park.
In so far as the writer's knowledge goes, this summer park in Titusville
was the first of it's kind in this country. Titusville is renowned.
Rockefeller's career began there. Titusville was the birthplace of the
summer park and the Standard Oil Company.
The minstrels left Titusville with diminished forces; four remained
behind. After a few nights more of feverish hilarity the company
disbanded without money or friends.
Thus early in life the fact was impressed upon Alfred that the drunkard
is an annoyance to sociability; without judgment, without civility, the
drunkard is an object to be avoided in every walk of life. The drunkard
is a detriment in business; a disgrace to his friends; the shame and
sorrow of his wife and children. He is shunned by even those who profit
by his excesses.
At a banquet in Chicago last year Alfred was confused by someone
shouting: "Al, tell them about your panorama experience; there won't be
any tomatoes thrown."
He could not get his mind off the interruption. As the guests were
departing a gentleman passed his card; the name was not familiar. Alfred
was passing on when the gentleman said: "Al, don't you remember me? We
attended a banquet thirty-nine years ago. You were served with tomatoes;
I got a dose of salad or some such stuff. I didn't mind the salad but
the plate kind of jarred me."
Here he pushed back a lock of red hair streaked with gray, exhibiting a
small scar high up on the temple. Alfred recognized him. To relieve the
situation Alfred inquired as to the whereabouts of Dick, the other song
and dance man. "Oh, he is, or was, working in a saw-mill in
Williamsport. I haven't seen him in thirty years. Al, I didn't throw
that tomato. Come over to the store, I want to talk to you."
* * * * *
Fort Duquesne, afterward Pittsburgh, was builded at the confluence of
the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers where they form the Ohio, called by
the villagers the "Point"--a natural site for a beautiful village such
as Fort Duquesne was at the time we write of. It was indeed a sight on
which the eye might gaze enraptured, with ever changing beauties to
charm it. The high hills on every side cast their shades over the
peaceful village for, notwithstanding the prefix "Fort", there was no
semblance of soldiery, cannon or war, about the peaceful place.
The hills of smiling green rising abruptly in places, gently at others,
towering above the rivers, seemed to look down upon the village and its
peoples. The hills crowned with lofty trees and climbing vines, the
trees swaying in the breezes seemed to be bowing approval at the
tranquil scene below.
The locust, the sumac, the oak, the walnut, the dogwood, the haw, the
red berries, glowing in the eyes of the boys of the village, and as
impelling to them as the red lights that later glowed on the Anheuser
Busch plants in the city that supplanted the village of Fort Duquesne.
Brownsville was one long symphony of content and happiness. The
prosperity of its people excited the envy of those of Fort Duquesne. It
was argued by the discontented of Fort Duquesne that the changing of the
name of "Red Stone Old Fort" to Brownsville was that which brought
Brownsville renown and riches.
Therefore, certain ones of Fort Duquesne called a public meeting to be
held at the "Point" where the matter of changing the name of Fort
Duquesne was discussed. Those who had emigrated from Washington County
insisted the name should be Brownstown, hoping thereby to profit from
the confusion that would arise as between that name and Brownsville.
They argued that when the traders from Shousetown, Sewickley and Smith's
Ferry, came up the river to barter they would be confused by the
similarity of the names and ascend the river no further, thus the trade
of Brownsville would be diverted.
Others argued that the name be changed to "Three Rivers;" still others
insisted if change there must be, it be to Fort Pitt. Others wanted a
burg made out of the old Fort. There was a compromise and the name
"Pittsburgh" adopted. Immediately there was an influx of settlers,
particularly from Somerset and Butler Counties. The town profited
greatly by the change of names; there were many who could neither spell
nor pronounce "Duquesne;" but now that it was made easier to explain
where you lived, the town thrived.
Pittsburgh, with an "h", became noted. In Fort Duquesne the people had
been content to live as they began; but the interlopers from Braddocks
Field, Greene County, and Holidaysburg changed conditions. The luxuriant
cabbage gardens gave way to boiler yards; the little brick houses were
supplanted by glass houses, still houses and other manufacturing
establishments, the mark of that van of commercial greatness that has
made Pittsburgh famous.
That part of the town formerly given over to agricultural pursuits,
namely the river banks, was now paved with cobble stones and termed
"wharves," thus providing a vantageous place for the citizens to
congregate when they had a boat race over the lower course. Occasionally
a raft from Salamanca would be moored on the Allegheny wharf and
shingles unloaded in piles for the children to play ketch around in the
twilight.
On the Monongahela side where the boats came from and departed for
Brownsville, there was always more activity.
Many of Fort Duquesne's best citizens seceded. The volunteer firemen
remained faithful to the old Fort. They went into business on Smithfield
Street and are known to this day as the Duquesne Fire Company. It was
through those who seceded that the outlying boroughs of Birmingham,
Brownstown, and Ormsby, were created on the south side, while those on
the north-west side christened their settlement "Allegheny," thus
destroying its future. As the river of that name that runs away from
itself when it rains and drys up when it is clear, is so uncertain, the
name Allegheny does not appeal to the masses. Had Allegheny taken the
name of "Pittsburgh," the courthouse and all other public buildings
would be located on the north side, a natural site for a populous city.
As it is, Pittsburghers are compelled to live in Irwin, Latrobe,
Cassopolis and Kittanning, to make room for their public buildings.
In the early days of the "Smoky City," for such had become its nickname,
the residents were wont to sit for hours and gaze at the sun and sky;
this pleasure is denied residents in modern Pittsburgh. The only
knowledge they have that there are sun, moon and stars, is that which
Professor John Brashears (from Brownsville) supplies with his
astronomical instruments. Hurrah for Brownsville!
In those good old days there was no caste or class. On a Saturday
afternoon the entire populace would gather at Scotch Hill Market and on
Fifth Avenue at night.
Andy Carnegie knew every man who worked for him by his first name and
could be seen daily at the Bull's Head Tavern where the men always
stopped to open their pay envelopes.
The leaders of society were consistent. There were two balls each winter
and one picnic in summer. City Hall and Glenwood Grove were the scenes
of those gayeties.
Harry Alden, Mayor Blackmore, Chris Ihmsen, Tom Hughes, Major Maltby, N.
P. Sawyer, John O'Brien, Jimmy Hammill, Harry Williams, Major Bunnell,
John W. Pittock, Bill Ramsey and Dan O'Neil were the social, political
and business leaders of Pittsburgh in those days. No social function, no
political scheme, no public celebration from a wedding to a boat race
was successful without their active co-operation.
Ben Trimble, Harry Williams, Matt Canning and Major Bunnell controlled
all the theatres. Jake Fedder was the toll-taker at the Smithfield
Street bridge, a position second in importance only to that of mayor.
Those were happy days for Pittsburgh. Everybody had a skiff and fishing
was good anywhere. The suckers were all salmon in the river and you did
not have to go to lock number one to catch white or yellow perch. A
twine line could be bought at any grocery store. Sporting goods
emporiums had not taken over the fish hook industry.
Happy would Pittsburgh have been could it always have existed as in
those golden days. But communities, like humans, grow out of their
simplicity, encouraged or subdued by the successes or failures of life.
Alfred was in Pittsburgh again among friends whom he loved. Johnny Hart
had graduated from second cook on the tow boat Red Fox to stock comedian
at Trimble's Variety Theater. Harry Williams was the stage manager.
There was a place made for Alfred on almost every bill.
The Levantine Brothers, Fred Proctor, of Keith & Proctor, Harrigan &
Hart, Delehanty & Hengler, Joe Murphy, Johnson & Powers, and all the
famous artists of that time appeared at this house.
Alfred impersonated a wide range of characters while in this theatre.
Harry Williams, the stage manager, was an ideal "Mose" in the play of
that name. (It was the Saturday night bill for weeks.) Alfred made a big
hit as the newsboy, sharing honors with the star. He added new business
to the part weekly and was retained several weeks for the one
performance on Saturday night.
Alfred was engaged by Matt Canning, the manager of the Pittsburgh Opera
House. In those days all first class theatres employed a stock company;
the stars traveled alone, or at least with only a stage manager. The
manuscript of their plays, the scene and property plots were sent in
advance. The company studied their parts until the arrival of the star
when a grand rehearsal was gone through with. This was a strenuous day's
work, particularly if the star was a stickler.
Booth, Barrett, McCullough, Edwin Adams, Joe Jefferson, Jane Coombs and
many other noted stars appeared at the Pittsburgh Opera House and Alfred
had the honor of supporting all of them, by assisting in moving bureaus,
dressing cases, center tables, cooking stoves, bedsteads, bar fixtures
and other properties required in the plays, up and down stairs. However,
parts, and minor roles, were entrusted to Alfred. If the stock system
had continued it would be greatly to the advantage of the dramatic stage
of today. It made the actor, it proved the actor. He remained in the
ranks alone on his ability, impersonating many characters in one season.
His art broadened.
Actors do not compare with those of the olden days. This is true. We may
have a few actors as able as any that ever lived but the dramatic
profession in general has deteriorated since the combination system
superceded the stock company.
The stage has advanced in the authorship of plays and their production,
not in their rendition. The actors of today are not the students or
workers as were those of the earlier days, neither have they the
opportunities.
Alfred was entrusted with many roles not congenial to him; in those he
generally failed. In a society drama, appearing in evening dress, a
turn-down collar, a large red and white flowing tie, a huge minstrel
watch chain attached to his vest, he was reprimanded by Jane Coombs,
the star, in the presence of the company.
Another time he led a Roman mob costumed as a Quaker. John McCullough
laughed over this afterwards, but at the time, what he said cannot be
printed. When Joseph Jefferson appeared as Rip Van Winkle, in addition
to impersonating one of the villagers, Alfred was entrusted with the
task of securing children to take part in the play. The stage manager
advised the bashful children to make merry with Rip; that he was very
fond of children and would enjoy their familiarity. Whether it was the
shaggy beard or the assumed intoxication of Rip, a child refused to
clamber up on Rip's back. The stage was waiting; that the scene should
not be marred, seventeen year old Alfred attempted to perch himself on
Rip's back. It was not the Jefferson of later days but the Jefferson of
middle manhood. Alfred was dropped to the floor amid laughter that the
scene never evoked previously. Instead of the great actor being peeved,
he kindly inquired of Alfred if the fall had hurt him. As a matter of
fact Alfred purposely made the fall awkward.
Dick Cannon had a number of young friends--Billy Conard, Clarke Winnett,
Charley Smith, Billy Kane and Alfred. Dick had a large luxuriously
furnished room in the hotel. One evening each week he set apart to
entertain his young friends. To pass the time away Dick introduced a
game he had played a few times while tending lock at Rice's Landing. It
was a Greene County game, new to Fort Duquesne but universally popular
in Pittsburgh since. The game was known as "Draw Poker" in Greene
County.
After several lessons, in which Dick's courtesy and unusual interest in
his young friends was evidenced at the end of every deal, as Dick raked
in the pot with the air and manner of a learned professor of a college,
he explained to each player who had lost--and his lecture always
embraced the entire class, for when the pot justified it, they all
lost--just how they should have played their hand to win. "It's just as
important to learn how to lay 'em down as it is to play 'em up," was his
advice.
Alfred had failed, notwithstanding Dick's teachings, to learn even the
rudiments of the game, so he sought the dictionary. He had become
convinced that a person to be proficient should, as Dick advised in one
of his lectures, not only study the game but human nature as well.
Therefore, Alfred decided to start right. He found the word "draw"
signified "to drag, to entice, to delineate, to take out, to inhale, to
extend." The word "poker" signified any frightful object, a "spook."
[Illustration: The Old Greene County Game]
The echoes of Gideon's words were daily percolating through Alfred's
gray matter: "Don't know enough to quit the game when you got velvet in
front of you."
When questioned as to the cause of his absence from the weekly seance,
Alfred replied that, as he understood it, the object of Dick was to
teach and enlighten each in the class, and that he had thoroughly
mastered the mysteries of the game and he felt it was imposing on Dick
to take up his valuable time and devour his delicacies longer; Dick
should get a new class. "I'm graduated," concluded Alfred.
* * * * *
Alfred's connection with the drama was both pleasant and profitable. The
probabilities are that if a certain production had realized the hopes of
its authors, he would have continued in the dramatic line. It was the
beginning of that evolution of the stage that culminated in the
ascendency, for a time, of the melodrama.
A serial story under the title of "From Ocean to Ocean," then running in
Street & Smith's _New York Weekly_, was dramatized for J. Newton
Gotthold and in so far as the writer is informed it was Bartley
Campbell's first play. The play bore the title of "Through Fire." It was
a stirring drama, and both actor and author had high hopes of its
success.
J. K. Emmett, recruited from the minstrel ranks, had made himself
immensely popular, and wealth was rolling in on him. His vehicle "Fritz"
was a flimsy frame on which was hung Emmett's specialties.
Byron's phenomenal success in "Across the Continent" was achieved only
through his artistic ability. It was argued that J. Newton Gotthold, a
sterling actor, with a sterling play, was sure to attain success. Alfred
was engaged for the spring trial of the play; also the following season.
The opening occurred in Youngstown, a western city, so looked upon by
Pittsburghers in those days. After two nights in the west there would be
a week or two weeks in Pittsburgh.
Alfred, in addition to doubling the character of a young snob,
afterwards a quick gun-man, also led the Indians' attack on the wagon
train.
A number of supes were employed in Youngstown, husky young rolling mill
men of muscle and grit. Alfred, at the head of his Indian braves,
attacked the wagon train of emigrants; instead of the supes falling
back, as rehearsed, then charging forward, led by the star, they
pitched into Alfred and his Indians at the first rush. Alfred to save
the scene, fought valiantly to stem the tide of strength and sturdy
determination. But the supe pale-faces were too muscular for the copper
tinted braves whom Alfred led. In fact, at the first onslaught of the
whites the Indians, with the exception of one or two, fled and left
Alfred to battle alone.
Alfred was overpowered, completely vanquished--a blow between the eyes
laid him low. The Youngstown supes not only wiped up the stage with him
but they wiped their feet on him. The gallery howled, the down-stairs
applauded, the company laughed. The curtain fell amid loud applause.
Alfred was anxious to continue the conflict after the curtain dropped;
the supes were agreeable. But the stage manager, the stars and others of
the company interfered. The matter was amicably adjusted.
Alfred, although badly maimed, played his parts during the week's run in
Pittsburgh, although the war club he carried was not the imitation one
he wielded in Youngstown. However, there was no recurrence of the
Youngstown scene.
The play did not meet with success. After the Pittsburgh engagement it
was carefully laid away and thus Alfred was preserved to minstrelsy.
It is a curious fact that the only play Bartley Campbell ever wrote, a
play with the theme of which he was not in sympathy, written for
commercial purposes only, has lived longer and earned more money than
his most meritorious creations. We refer to "The White Slave." Who is
not familiar with those thrilling lines:
"Rags are royal raiment
When worn for virtue's sake."
Bartley Campbell was a self made man--from laboring in a brick-yard to
journalism, then a dramatist. He was a noble boy, a manly man. He toiled
patiently all the days of his only too brief life for those he loved.
* * * * *
It was in the early days of the beginning of that race for wealth that
has made Pittsburgh both famous and infamous. Jared M. Brush had been
elected mayor; Hostetter Stomach Bitters had become famous in all dry
sections of the country; Jimmy Hammill had won the single sculling
championship of the world; the Red Lion Hotel had painted the lion out
and painted St. Clair Hotel in gilt letters to attract trade from
Sewickley, which community, so near the Economites, had imbibed a sort
of religious fervor exhibited outwardly only. It was argued by the
proprietor that when the residents of Sewickley drove by on their way to
market to dispose of their garden truck, butter and eggs, they would be
attracted by the word "Saint." The St. Nicholas Hotel on Grant Street
always boarded the court jurors. The St. Charles on Wood Street had the
patronage of the Democrats of Fayette County. Brownsville people always
stopped at the Monongahela House.
The bleating sheep, the frolicking calves, the cackling hens, that had
been heard on the verdant ridges of Pennsylvania Road, had been crowded
to the rural district known later as East Liberty and Walls.
The log houses had given away to brick and frame dwellings owned by
those who occupied them. Doctor Spencer had opened a dental emporium on
Penn Street near the old ferry, then known as Hand Street, now Ninth.
Business was so good Joe Zimmerman had to paint his name upside down on
his store front near the union depot. The fact that this cigar store was
always crowded suggested the idea of another railroad for Pittsburgh. At
first it was contemplated building the road along the south or west bank
of the Monongahela, extending the road to, or beyond Brownsville.
Bill Brown then resided on Braddocks field, although he has repeatedly
and earnestly protested to the writer that he was not at home when
Braddock fell and did not hear of it for some time afterwards.
Therefore, it is hoped those who are not acquainted with Bill will not
connect him in any way with anything that happened to Braddock--the
general, not the village.
When Bill learned of the projected railroad he interested a number of
capitalists who owned coal land and town lots in Braddock. Hence, the
new road was built on Bill's side of the river. First, it was completed
to McKeesport. The opposition steamboat lines plying the river, (the
boats being much fleeter than the railroad), controlled the passenger
traffic.
When the projectors of the new railroad had this fact forced upon them
they abandoned the plan of building the road further up the Monongahela
than McKeesport. Surveying a route along the Youghiogheny River and
thence to Connellsville they announced that they would eventually build
to Uniontown and down Redstone Creek to Brownsville thus entering
Brownsville by the back door, as it were.
However, this change of route did not work as the railroad people hoped
for. The railroad carried a few passengers for Layton's Station, West
Newton and several settlements between McKeesport and Connellsville. All
travelers to McKeesport still patronized the boats, even those for West
Newton and Layton Station traveled on the boats to McKeesport, and
awaited the train to continue their journey.
The railroad people, dispirited and almost bankrupt, appealed to Brown
and his friends who had held out such glowing inducements to them to
build the road on their side of the river. An investigation of
conditions was ordered and Bill, with his usual good luck and influence,
appointed chairman of the investigating committee, with powers to expend
whatever amount was necessary to the investigation.
Bill made one trip on the railroad to Connellsville. Thereafter, he
spent the greater part of the beautiful autumn traveling up and down the
Monongahela, even as far up the river as Geneva, although the scope of
the investigation was to extend only as far as McKeesport.
The palatial side-wheel steamers were always crowded to the guards with
travelers. Many slept on cots in the cabins but Bill had the bridal
chamber. The mirrored bars employed a double shift of irrigators. They
were never closed except when the boats were moored at Pittsburgh, and
then Bill could always get in the back way. The food was bountiful;
stewed chicken for breakfast, turkey for dinner, fried chicken for
supper, and at night a poker game in the barber shop.
Again and again the railroad people requested a report from Bill but he
was busy investigating as to why the steam cars were running with empty
seats.
Finally notices were mailed to the railroad people, the superintendents
who were also the section foremen, that the chairman of the committee
was ready to report. They were requested to meet at Dimling's where Bill
often assembled himself.
[Illustration: Bill's Report]
Brown arose to read his elaborate report. He began by making a short
explanatory speech mostly devoted to the immense amount of labor
entailed upon him in the investigation. He thanked the railroad people
for the confidence they had placed in him. He deplored his lack of
ability and knowledge. In fact, in his talk he expressed such a
contemptuous opinion of himself that those present (country folks), from
Hazelwood and Port Perry were wrothy that they had entrusted Bill with
the mission and money to complete the investigation. They were ignorant
of the fact that the speech was one he had delivered to the members of
another body yearly when elected to the office of treasurer.
Bill then read his report. It dealt with the crowned heads of Europe,
the free traders of Pennsylvania, the populists of Kansas and Nebraska,
the government of Ancient Greece and the wars of the Romans. Of course
this had nothing to do with the subject under investigation but it
served to rattle and confuse those to whom the report was read and
impress them with the wide scope of the investigation.
The report referred in scathing terms to the unparalleled audacity of
the officers of the rival lines of steamers, more particularly the new,
or People's Line. That line had only two boats, the "Elector" and
"Chieftain," while the mail line had the "Fayette," "Gallatin,"
"Franklin," "Jefferson," "Elisha Bennett," and other boats.
Bill, like everybody on the inside, felt that the mail line would soon
absorb its rival and it was politic to be "in" with the stronger
corporation.
The report demanded that the runners for the boats be restrained from
soliciting passengers; that the steamboats be restrained from departing
on the scheduled time of the railroads. Thus, if the West Newton and
Layton Station passengers could not make connections at McKeesport, that
is, if the trains arrived prior to the boats, travellers would be
compelled to patronize the railroad.
He also compared the officers of the steamboat lines to the Gauls who
devastated Rome, the vandals who had over-run the fairest plains of
Europe. That part of the report ended with: "God forbid we live longer
under these conditions."
Having thus artfully worked up the feelings of those present, Bill gazed
over the assemblage with the air of a man who has gotten that which he
went after, and continued to read:
"After diligent research, entailing much traveling, including many trips
up and down the river at great expense including shoe-shining, your
committee has succeeded in evolving a plan whereby the Pittsburgh and
Connellsville Railroad may be able to control the passenger traffic on
its lines. And it is to be hoped that all concerned will take the proper
view of the matter and concur in the recommendations of the committee:
First, that all trains on the Pittsburgh and Connellsville Railroad
(excepting when otherwise so ordered), be and are hereby ordered
equipped with an extra car, divided into three compartments, namely,
dining room, bar-room, and another room."
The chairman explained that the words "excepting when otherwise so
ordered" were inserted as a precautionary measure. "It might happen at
times that two cars, of the kind the committee recommended, might be
required."
After concluding his report the chairman carefully folded the paper,
placing it in his hat. Casting his eyes over the meeting he silently
waited for some one to say something to Dimling.
After the meeting adjourned, one man ventured to remark that Bill had
gone about the investigation like a colt approaching a brass band,
prancing and dancing, wrong end foremost.
Many were the written protests sent Bill. All these he ignored. He not
only refused to reply to them, but to emphasize his contempt, used them
for an unseemly purpose.