Chapter II: A Terrible Reality

After the lapse of more than four score of years the voyageur from the frigid North returned from his philanthropic visit to the red man. A wonderful change met the eye. A transformation as magnificent as it was bewildering had occurred. The same grand old bluffs looked proudly down upon the Father of Water. The same magnificent river pursued its unmolested course toward the boundless ocean. But all else had changed. The hostile warrior no longer impeded the onward march of civilization, and cultivated fields abounded on every side. Steamers were hourly traversing the translucent waters of the great Mississippi; steam and electricity were carrying people with the rapidity of lightning in every direction; gigantic buildings appeared on the earth's surface, visible in either direction as far as the eye could reach; on every corner was a proud descendant of Erin's nobility, clad in gorgeous raiment, who had been branded "St. Paul's finest" before leaving the shores of his native land. In the midst of this great city was a magnificent building, erected by the generosity of its people, in which the paleface, supported on either side by the Okons, was the high and mighty ruler. The Okons and the followers of the Okons were in possession of every office within the gift of the paleface. Floating proudly from the top of this great building was an immense banner, on which was painted in monster letters the talismanic words: "For mayor, 1902, Robert A. Smith," Verily the prophecy of the dusky maiden had been fulfilled. The paleface had become impregnably intrenched. The Okons could never be dislodged.

With feelings of unutterable anguish at the omnipresence of the Okons, the aged voyageur quietly retraced his footsteps and was never more seen by the helpless and overburdened subjects of the paleface.

SPELLING DOWN A SCHOOL.

* * * * *

When I was about twelve years of age I resided in a small village in one of the mountainous and sparsely settled sections of the northern part of Pennsylvania.

It was before the advent of the railroad and telegraph in that locality. The people were not blessed with prosperity as it is known to-day. Neither were they gifted with the intellectual attainments possessed by the inhabitants of the same locality at the present time. Many of the old men served in the war of 1812, and they were looked up to with about the same veneration as are the heroes of the Civil War to-day. It was at a time when the younger generation was beginning to acquire a thirst for knowledge, but it was not easily obtained under the peculiar conditions existing at that period. A school district that was able to support a school for six months in each year was indeed considered fortunate, but even in these the older children were not permitted to attend during the summer months, as their services were considered indispensable in the cultivation of the soil.

Reading, writing and arithmetic were about all the studies pursued in those rural school districts, although occasionally some of the better class of the country maidens could be seen listlessly glancing over a geography or grammar, but they were regarded as "stuck up," and the other pupils thought they were endeavoring to master something far beyond their capacity.

Our winter school term generally commenced the first week in December and lasted until the first week in March, with one evening set apart each week for a spelling-match and recitation. We had our spelling match on Saturday nights, and every four weeks we would meet with schools in other districts in a grand spelling contest. I was considered too young to participate in any of the joint spelling matches, and my heart was heavy within me every time I saw a great four-horse sleigh loaded with joyful boys and girls on their way to one of the great contests.

One Saturday night there was to be a grand spelling match at a country crossroad about four miles from our village, and four schools were to participate. As I saw the great sleigh loaded for the coming struggle the thought occurred to me that if I only managed to secure a ride without being observed I might in some way be able to demonstrate to the older scholars that in spelling at least I was their equal. While the driver was making a final inspection of the team preparatory to starting I managed to crawl under his seat, where I remained as quiet as mouse until the team arrived at the point of destination. I had not considered the question of getting back--I left that to chance. As soon as the different schools had arrived two of the best spellers were selected to choose sides, and it happened that neither of them was from our school. I stood in front of the old-fashioned fire-place and eagerly watched the pupils as they took their places in the line. They were drawn in the order of their reputation as spellers. When they had finished calling the names I was still standing by the fireplace, and I thought my chance was hopeless. The school-master from our district noticed my woebegone appearance, and he arose from his seat and said:

"That boy standing by the fireplace is one of the best spellers in our school."

My name was then reluctantly called, and I took my place at the foot of the column. I felt very grateful towards our master for his compliment and I thought I would be able to hold my position in the line long enough to demonstrate that our master was correct. The school-master from our district was selected to pronounce the words, and I inwardly rejoiced.

After going down the line several times and a number of scholars had fallen on some simple word the school-master pronounced the word "phthisic." My heart leaped as the word fell from the school-master's lips. It was one of my favorite hard words and was not in the spelling book. It had been selected so as to floor the entire line in order to make way for the exercises to follow.

As I looked over the long line of overgrown country boys and girls I felt sure that none of them would be able to correctly spell the word. "Next!" "Next!" "Next!" said the school-master, and my pulse beat faster and faster as the older scholars ahead of me were relegated to their seats.

At last the crucial time had come. I was the only one left standing. As the school-master stood directly in front of me and said "Next," I could see by the twinkle in his eye that he thought I could correctly spell the word. My countenance had betrayed me. With a clear and distinct voice loud enough to be heard by every one in the room I spelled out "ph-th-is-ic--phthisic." "Correct," said the school-master, and all the scholars looked aghast at my promptness.

I shall never forget the kindly smile of the old school-master, as he laid the spelling book upon the teacher's desk, with the quiet remark: "I told you he could spell." I had spelled down four schools, and my reputation as a speller was established. Our school was declared to have furnished the champion speller of the four districts, and ever after my name was not the last one to be called.

On my return home I was not compelled to ride under the driver's seat.

HALF A CENTURY WITH THE PIONEER PRESS.

Pioneer Press, April 18, 1908:--Frank Moore, superintendent of the composing room if the Pioneer Press, celebrated yesterday the fiftieth anniversary of his connection with the paper. A dozen of the old employes of the Pioneer Press entertained Mr. Moore at an informal dinner at Magee's to celebrate the unusual event. Mr. Moore's service on the Pioneer Press, in fact, has been longer than the Pioneer Press itself, for he began his work on one of the newspapers which eventually was merged into the present Pioneer Press. He has held his present position as the head of the composing room for about forty years.

Frank Moore was fifteen years old when he came to St. Paul from Tioga county, Pa., where he was born. He came with his brother, George W. Moore, who was one of the owners and managers of the Minnesotian. His brother had been East and brought the boy West with him. Mr. Moore's first view of newspaper work was on the trip up the river to St. Paul. There had been a special election on a bond issue and on the way his brother stopped at the various towns to got the election returns.

Mr. Moore went to work for the Minnesotian on April 17, 1858, as a printer's "devil." It is interesting in these days of water works and telegraph to recall that among his duties was to carry water for the office. He got it from a spring below where the Merchants hotel now stands. Another of his jobs was to meet the boats. Whenever a steamer whistled Mr. Moore ran to the dock to get the bundle of newspapers the boat brought, and hurry with it back to the office. It was from these papers that the editors got the telegraph news of the world. He also was half the carrier staff of the paper. His territory covered all the city above Wabasha street, but as far as he went up the hill was College avenue and Ramsey street was his limit out West Seventh street. There was no St. Paul worth mentioning beyond that.

When the Press absorbed the Minnesotian in 1861, Mr. Moore went with it, and when in 1874 the Press and Pioneer were united Mr. Moore stayed with the merged paper. His service has been continuous, excepting during his service as a volunteer in the Civil war. The Pioneer Press, with its antecedents, has been his only interest.

While Mr. Moore's service is notable for its length, it is still more notable for the fact that he has grown with the paper, so that to-day at sixty-five he is still filling his important position as efficiently on a large modern newspaper as he filled it as a young man when things in the Northwest, including its newspapers, were in the beginning. Successive managements found that his services always gave full value and recognized in him an employe of unusual loyalty and devotion to the interests of the paper. Successive generations of employes have found him always just the kind of man it is a pleasure to have as a fellow workman.