History of Otter Tail County, Minnesota: Its People, Industries and Institutions, Volume I, Part 69

Author: John W. Mason
Publication date: 1916
Publisher:
Number of Pages: 765

USA > Minnesota > Otter Tail County > History of Otter Tail County, Minnesota: Its People, Industries and Institutions, Volume I > Part 69

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The full expression of the esthetic side of humanity, of necessity, relies somewhat upon the "almighty dollar." It is a means to an end. Such full expression required conveniences for gatherings, where artistic longings may have scope for development. An "opera house" was soon demanded, and the demand supplied in the fall of 1871 by one Dave Miles, merchant from Wisconsin.

He built a frame store building on the southeast corner of Lincoln and Union avenues, and over this structure, a hall, suitable for the then primi- tive needs of the place. The town was soon deprived of this enterprising citizen's companionship through some misunderstanding between him and his creditors, resulting in bankruptcy proceedings, but the "opera house" remained. It was utilized for every imaginable purpose-caucuses, political conventions, church services, choir meetings and the dances succeeding the same; barnstormers, local shows and concerts.

This "opera house" was formally "opened" in the early winter of 1871-2, by the "Italian Ole Bull; the Greatest Violinist. Ventriloquist and Tenor of the Nineteenth Century," so said his bills and advance agent, Phillip. Phillip was defective in his understandings. This has no mental significance, but relates to his legs, one of which was defective at the knee. This member was about six inches shorter than its companion, caused by a

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stiff knee joint, which gave Phillip, when he walked, a decidedly up and down motion. This misfortune and inconvenience was not without its advantages in an "advance agent." It served as an advertisement, drawing attention to the show.

Phillip and Ole drifted into town one cold day in January, and the advance agent, to meet the most people in the shortest possible time, made the rounds of the saloons, when he advertised the advent of the great violinist, ventriloquist and tenor, who would give his celebrated and world-renowned entertainment at the "opera house" that evening. Phillip was genial, energetic and companionable. On an invitation to take a drink, he could reach the bar as quickly as any man with both legs sound. He pictured, glowingly, the phenomenal powers of the Italian Ole Bull, and in this way aroused an interest which resulted in a small and not very select audience for the coming event.

Ole may have possessed all the powers claimed for him by Phillip, but on the night in question he was, decidedly, in bad form. To state the fact bluntly, Ole was drunk. The wails, screeches and groans of his violin as he murdered the poor thing, were nerve racking, while his attempts to sing broke up the entertainment, and the boys all returned to the saloon to await the coming of Phillip.

Phillip soon appeared and was surrounded by an indignant crowd, clamoring for a return of gate receipts, accompanied by dire threats if not paid at once. Phillip was contrite and conciliatory. He told his dupes that he would gladly refund the money, but did not have it; it had been turned over to Ole. He conceded the justice of the claim and deplored the failure of the entertainment. "The truth is," he said, "the professor ate too heartily at supper. His lungs were so full of food that he could not sing!" This explanation seemed adequate, and the crowd became generous and assisted Phillip to forget his sorrows in a manner most agreeable to him.

This artistic pair went next day to Elizabeth, where Phillip had to pawn the professor's Stradivarius to pay their hotel bill, and they departed forever, for parts unknown.

This "Miles opera house" served its purpose for two or three years, when one Ole Sundall built a brick one, directly across Union avenue. The auditorium was in the second story of this brick building and reached by a stairway in the middle of the building, starting at the street and ending within a few feet of the stage. The best idea of this place of amusement may be gained from a legend written on the wall of a ramshackle "play house" in Texas, as follows: "This is the worst opera house we ever played in except the one at Fergus Falls, Minn."

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We have a better one now, the Lyceum, on Bismark avenue, modern, with a seating capacity of about six hundred, but the old one served its purpose, and varied was the talent that entertained the populace within its walls. Among these were Henry Ward Beecher, Doctor Talmage, Emma Abbott, Thomas Keen, Colonel Copeland, Edouard Remenyi, Camilla Urso, Billy Marble, and many others too numerous for mention.

Billy Marble, with his Uncle Tom's Cabin troupe, was a prime favorite, and came time and time again. He was here one fall during the county fair. A matinee was advertised for one afternoon. The house was full; the hour was up, but Billy had not come. After waiting for what seemed a long time, Billy came wabbling up the stair, was steered behind the cur- tain; gotten into his costume and the show was ready to begin. Billy stepped to the front of the stage and, in a rather thick voice, said: "'Cuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I'm little late. Fact is, been to the races. Fellows bet whiskey an' I held stakes."

It would take too long to tell of the many "local talent" shows put on the boards at the old opera house. Home talent showed a penchant for the more somber plays, like "East Lynne" and "Ten Nights in a Bar Room." George Waters was the foot-lights favorite in the latter play. His inter- pretation of the model young man's progress through the Ten Nights, up to the besotted wreck of the last act, where he is seized with delirium tre- mens, will never be forgotten by those privileged to witness it. He could "tear a passion to tatters," and make the blood run cold, and at his last appearance he "tore" more than a "passion." As he was writhing on the floor in the awful throes of delirium, he tore the buttons all off his trousers, and in the last terrific lunge left them behind on the floor, when the "delirium" was transferred from the stage to the audience.

When Remenyi came in 1882, the piano on which his accompaniments were to be played was placed on the stage in position for use. Remenyi's manager tested the instrument, and told Smith, the manager of the opera house, that the piano was not "high" enough; that it must be put up to "concert pitch." Smith' assured him that that should be done. When Remenyi appeared it was discovered that Smith had "raised" the piano to concert pitch by placing a brick under each front leg. Remenyi swore in Polish. The audience could not understand the language, but realized that it was something emphatic.

It cost something to get first-class talent to come to us. Beecher exacted a guarantee of four hundred dollars, which was readily raised. It required two hundred dollars to secure Talmage two weeks later, and the difference in price measured quite accurately the value between the two.

In 1897 the Schumann Club was organized by the ladies of Fergus

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Falls, and has continued a live and prosperous organization to the present time. It is more particularly described in another part of this History. Through its efforts the people of Fergus Falls are enabled to listen to musi- cal talent from outside three or four times a year. The club has been well supported in its efforts in this direction and has had marked effect on the musical taste of the city.

In addition to this, the Northwestern College and the Park Region Luther College, in conjunction with the high school, usually secure a course of lectures and musical recitals each winter, all of which are well patronized and have become a standard feature in the city every year.

A list of these artists and character of their entertainments would show a marked upward progress from the Italian Ole Bull, Billy Marble and "Ten Nights in a Bar Room" period. The musical entertainments most appre- ciated and best attended are those of the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra.

The literary excellence of our city had its inception back in historic days. In the early municipal dawn, there existed in town a firm engaged in the sale of agricultural machinery, the senior member of which devoted a great por- tion of his spare moments to politics and factional disturbances. He was fond of airing his opinions through the press. He came to look upon his position on any given question as of great interest to the community and was constantly defining it in the newspaper. King, the editor of the Advocate, possessed a keen appreciation of the unique in literature, and was always glad to grant space to this versatile vender of industrial implements. He was fond of reasoning from analogy-stating his premises and following with the conclusion. I can recall a single instance which created a good deal of quiet amusement. He led up to the climax by stating his entire responsibility for the opinions he expressed, and closed by informing his readers that, "as every tub must stand on its own bottom, therefore I must stand on mine." He was ever afterwards known as the "tub." His success in the realm of letters inspired his junior partner to turn his hand and mind to a little literary work; so he determined to court the muse, and pluck the laurels of poesy. He was endowed with a poetical cast of countenance, thin, thoughtful and cadaverous, and during the brief period of his literary labors, looked as though "melancholy had marked him for her own." He finished his first and prob- ably his last poem, and submitted it to the critical eye of a confidential drug- gist. This friend advised him by all means to publish it, but sought, as an especial favor, before that was done, a copy of the poem in the author's own handwriting. It was never published. I learned it from the druggist's copy, and submit to your literary judgment the only stanza I can recall :

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"The autumn leaves are falling On the old Red river shore; And the catfish they are wailing, As I never saw before." "WHAT DO THE GLASSY WATERS HIDE?"

The merits and demerits of Lake Alice, now under discussion in the local press of Fergus Falls, is not a new subject. The lake, thirty years ago, inspired our poets, who sang its beauties in numbers as soft and sweet as the ripples of its waters.

So we rescue those literary gems from the hidden files of early news- papers and give them a niche in this history that they may be seen of gen- erations yet to come. In this way we perpetuate the name and claim of our local poets who were wont to mount and rein Pegasus to the brink of this lake for a draught of its ambrosial waters, to refresh and strengthen his Parnassian flights.

WHAT DO THE GLASSY WATERS HIDE? (By Nellie Kliff, written on the shores of Lake Alice.) As I sit this evening, gazing On the water, glancing bright, Rippling past me in the glory Of the sunset's dying light.

Strange, sad thoughts are coming to me Which I cannot well define. Would that I could give them utterance, Trace a thought in every line.

. -

Still I linger, gazing sadly- Evening deepens into night ; Still the waters ripple past me. Shimmering in the fading light.

And I wonder now, as gently On and on they ever glide, What beneath their beauteous surface Do these glassy waters hide.

And methinks they're like the casket Of some living human soul, O'er whose spirit waves of trouble, Dark and gloomy, often roll.

Filled ofttimes with grief and sorrow, Packed with many inward pain; Yet to gaze upon the surface, You might look for them in vain.

'Twere not well to show the world What is hidden in the heart; Oft 'twould cast a gloom o'er pleasure, Often make the tear-drop start.

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Then, may I go forth as bravely Though within all should be drear, By mild and loving actions Lone and sorrowing ones to cheer. May 23. 1883.

The same condition existed in Fergus Falls thirty-three years ago that does now in that no one could make an inquiry through the public press with- out getting an answer. Accordingly when the Morning Telegram appeared the next day it contained the answer to "What Do the Glassy Waters Hide?" the poem being from the pen of Dr. R. M. Reynolds, who also lived near the shores of Lake Alice. His answer was as follows :

AN ECHO FROM LAKE ALICE. (Being an answer to the inquiry "What Do the Glassy Waters Hide?" By one of the Lake poets.) -

When the summer sun, returning Thrills the heart of mother earth, Then the thoughts that have been churning In the poet's mind, find birth.

Of the mysteries of creation In impromptu verse he sings; Racks his brain with cogitation On all sorts of cosmic things.

Pond'ring thus on nature's riddle, Nellie seeks the Alician shore; Paddles out into the middle, Where the awful billows roar.

And she questions them in numbers Smoothly gliding like the tide, "What beneath their beauteous surface Do these glassy waters hide?"

Lest a ceaseless cogitation On this mystery, in vain, Might cause mental aberration- Maybe softening of the brain;

Though I can't tell half or quarter Of the contents of the lake. I'll investigate the water For the charming poet's sake.

- Will describe in simple manner All the objects that I find. So that any common man or Woman won't get left behind

First I see a hydrogastrum With a ciliated tail, Trying to make a square repast on A microscopic whale.

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Protozoa by the dozens, By the hundreds. protophytes, Vorticellae and their cousins. The voracious polypites.

'Round and 'round rolls the globator While the flagellata glares Like a pigmy alligator At the baby planatares.

Lizards, leeches and batrachians, All sorts of wriggling worms. Platyhelminths and selachians, And everything that squirms.

Would you know what else lies hidden 'Nenth the glassy lakelet's wave? Many and many a new-born kitten There has found a watery grave.

Why haunts the canine mother That lakelet's fatal shore? She would tell you that another Lovely litter's gone before.

And beneath its beauteous surface. Old fruit cans, boots and shoes Lie, a mould'ring heap of refuse, And anything else you choose.

And many other wonders I could easily relate. But my guilty conscience thunders "You'll bring down real estate." May 24, 1883.

CHARLES J. WRIGHT.

Charles J. Wright, one of the early settlers of Fergus Falls, was not only a successful man of affairs, but also a follower of the muses. He was a ready writer and graceful poetry and virile prose came from his pen with equal facility. He wrote hundreds of poems which found their way into print ; some under his own name and many others under one of several nom de plumes which he assumed-"Owlet," "Amicus," "Brads," and "W. J. C." He had a keen sense of the ridiculous as well as a deep appreciation of the sublime, both characteristics finding expression in his verse. Two of his poems are given here, illustrative of these two qualities:

PARTING. When forced to part from friends we love, Though sure to meet tomorrow. We yet a touch of sadness prove And feel a vein of sorrow.

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But O, what words can paint the fear, When from loved friends we sever, Perhaps to part for months-for years- Perhaps to part forever.

CHILDHOOD'S DAYS.

Some sage philosopher of old (Some fool, if I may be so bold) Wrote, with a bright idea possessed, That childhood's days were happiest. This adage "wise" ( ?) was handed down From sire to son (from clown to clown), Until at last the thing fast grew, And every one believes it true.

For business men, oppressed with cares, With striving to be millionaires; And old men, grown a little hazy, And young men on some damsel crazy : All backward looked at childhood then, And sighed, and wished them boys again, Forgetting how, when babies, they Were pinned, and trussed, and spanked each day, And made to swallow catnip tea, And water, salt as salt could be, And how, when older, packed to school, And made to sit on dunce's stool ; The master "walloped" them right well, Whene'er a word they could not spell.

And how big boys threw snow at them; And if they dared to cry, they spat them; And if at marbles they did play. Big boys would take them all away. Forgetting all their childhood's pain, Children they wish to be again. 'Tis ever thus, the feeble mind Turns from the front to look behind.

And, gazing backward to its youth, Forgets the stern and bitter truth, That we must bravely march ahead, Let the dead past bury the dead; Nor backward look to childhood then, Nor wish to be a boy again.

THE YOUNG NORWEGIAN.

"Tis of a young Norwegian boy That lived at Hastingsville, That I would write a poem sad And cause your eyes to fill. And each partic'lur hair to stand. Like to a hedgehog quill.

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This Norwegian, a full face had ; And eyes of yellowish hue, That were so big, wher'er he looked, You'd think he looked at you. His hair was long enough to tie Up in a Chinese que

This amorous Norwegian boy, On every Sunday night, His best clothes would put on, Although the pantaloons were tight. And off put on his hair unti! All 't wanted was a light.

He then would strut along to church, And find himself a pew. Right baek of where some pretty girls Were sitting in full view ; And he would grin and ogle them; This boy of whitish hue.

And when the church was out at last. This bold young Norwegian, The girls would quickly follow out. As if it was his plan, To see them home, this fancy chap. As big as any man.

He'd walk along aside of them. And help them through the mud, And offer them (the generous chap) Of gum his only cud. And swear that in defense of them He'd fight while he had blood.

But O. one time (how can I tell The horrors of that night) He went to see them home again (His pantaloons were tight) ; He went to lift them through the mud. They split both left and right.

Black, icy horrors seized on him, He dropped the handsome girl Plump in the mud; and then he turned, This young Norwegian churl, And scooted through the darksome street Nor stopped his shirt to furl.

At length he reached the river bank, And turned his flying step To where the son of fishing holes Was kept by "Mother Shep," And to the largest, deepest one This sad Norwegian crept.

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Moral.

Take warning of this Norwegian; Now deep from morning's light, And when you go to take girls home From meeting Sunday night, Beware of lifting them about, Or having breeches tight.

THE PHANTOM SHIP.

The wind was blowing strong and high.

The winter's piercing breeze

Was urging onward in its course

Among the raging seas A vessel powerful and large As anything afloat : The name that fated vessel bore

Was "Hudson Kanawl Boat."

The pilot's eye was glazed and stern ;

His hand upon the wheel

Still drove the vessel straightly on

And still the armed heel Of Billy Patterson. the man

Who drove the Kanawl mule,

Dug in the sides of that poor brute-

The name she bore was "Jule."

The captain at the bow did stand

To watch the driving spray Which dashed on every side Of that ship on her way : Tonight he thought he'd land

And sell the garden sass

And then tomorrow merrily Toward home again would pass.

Ah! ne'er again that boat shall sail And dash the foamy spray : The captain ne'er again will see The dawning of the day. His bones shall bleach twelve fathoms deep Far from the light of Sol. And coral Insects build his tomb Deep in the black Kanawl.

All. all at once the proud ship stopped : The captain wished to know What stopped the progress of the boat- The mule she would not go. He forward stepped to "lam" the beast And slipped into the brine: His body forms the choicest dish On which the fishes dine.

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At length the mule was forced to go. But soon there was a shock- The noble Kanawl boat had run Upon a coral rock. The cruel waves dashed in her sides, The sailors they were drowned ; The garding sass the Mermen took- No goods the wreckers found.

Since then on many a darksome night It rains and hails and blows; A phantom mule goes tramping by : A phantom ship follows: A phantom captain at the bows; A phantom driver calls, And then the phantoms all sink deep In the deep and dark Kanawl.

IDYLS OF THE SURVEYOR. By Fred Quiggle.

"How sweet the smell of beans upon the air !" Young Ronald murmured. hurrying toward the camp.

Adown the west the sun was sinking low. The nor. by nor'east wind blew cold and damp: And as he through a windfall tried to mizzle, Far down his back the snow and rain did drizzle.

But visions of the campfire flashed before. And little recked he of the slush and sleet. The unctuous bill of fare his bosom cheered. And put fresh spirit in his lagging feet. For ere he left that morn, the cook with glee Informed him what he might expect for tea.

Darker and darker grew the sullen night. Wetter and wetter came the slush and snow: Faster and faster yet. with eager feet, Did Ronald through the tamarack marshes go. Through the prickly ash and deadfalls straight he bore. Nor cared a darn how much his breeches tore.

And as he skinned along. to cheer his lot. Regaled, his mind with dishes rich and rare. And in his intellectual pabulum. He showed himself a true-born epicure. If epicure were written care. my rhyme Were perfect. But just now I'm pressed for time. "Ah, yes; how sweet the smell of baking beans When cooking with sowbelly in the pot. And what with generous doughgods can compare. Unless it be slumgullion, piping hot ? While juice of cow and fruit of hen combine To make a lickdob that is really fine.

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"Loblolly, too, when steaming in the cup. And oxslides towering in the baking pan,

And yellow dobawis, covered o'er with dope, Do elevate and cheer the inward man." But even as he spoke, in wild dismay

He stopped and cried, "The d-1 is to pay !"

Before him were the members of the camp, Fast dying. But the tents, oh, where were they?

"Ask of the winds -. " "But, no, I won't. If I Must quote, why, then, the cook shall have his say.

"As soon as he has left, we'll put for town,

And come a derned good cod on Mister Brown."

For one small moment Ronald wildly stamped And in his grief his auburn tresses tore.

And when at last he understood the joke, I really am afraid my hero swore. But as that helped him not. in sad array

He started for his hash-house, miles away.

THE R. R. S. W. N. CO.

While "Great hopes make great men," they failed in 1873 to effect the coming of a railroad to Fergus Falls, and a number of the more enter- prising citizens of the "Coming City" resolved to take matters into their own hands, and provide the inhabitants with a system of cheap water trans- portation. If the railroad companies could not appreciate the great advantage of building through the town, they must take the consequences of their lack of foresight when they did build, and meet the competition of low rates secured by a water route.

The Northern Pacific railroad crossed the Red river some sixty miles northeast of Fergus Falls, and our empire builders figured that, by a system of locks and dams, the stream could be made navigable for boats between the Northern Pacific railroad and Fergus Falls. The rapids of the river ended just below this place, and flour from the Fergus mills had been shipped by flat boats to Winnepeg, some two hundred miles north in a straight line.

These conditions attracted the attention of our 'embryo Hills, Harri- mans and Goulds and moved them to initiate a system which was to put us in direct commercial touch with the business world, to our own great advan- tage and to the consternation of the laggard railroads.

With these ends in view, the "town builders" in June, 1873, formed a corporation under the formidable name of the Red River Slack Water Navi- gation Company, with an authorized capital of five hundred thousand dollars. The "business" of this corporation as named in its corporate articles was : "To improve the navigation of the Red river of the North, by building

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dams, locks, sluices and other erections for convenient prosecution of the enterprise, and to construct, equip, maintain and operate tow-boats, barges and other water vessels which may be conveniently used upon said river for transportation of freight, express and passengers from a point where the Northern Pacific railroad crosses the Red river of the North at or near Perham to Fergus Falls, with such feeders as may be required for the profitable use of the same."

The incorporators and officers of this imposing company were: Jacob Austin, president; Henry G. Page, treasurer; J. W. Mason, secretary and general counsel; Robert Miller, chief engineer; Charles H. Goodsell, O. S. King, E. E. Corliss, Louis Goodsell, Edwin M. Wright, George Head, Samuel H. Nichols and James Compton. Fergus Falls, of course, was designated as the principal place of business of the corporation.

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History of Otter Tail County, Minnesota: Its People, Industries and Institutions, Volume I, Part 69

Author: John W. Mason Publication date: 1916 Publisher: Number of Pages: 765

Author: John W. Mason
Publication date: 1916
Publisher:
Number of Pages: 765