A Grapevine Telegraph Line.
It wasthe Fourth of July, 1876, and the City of St. Louis was celebrating the occasion in the good old way, which is rapidly becoming merely a matter of history.
The Atlantic & Pacific Telegraph Company had recently opened an office in the Missouri metropolis, but the facilities were, indeed, very meagre, consisting of but one wire to Chicago, which went along the highways and byways the entire distance. The telegraph company did a good business, the wire being crowded to its fullest capacity day and night.
The advent of the new telegraph company had brought into existence a new daily paper, the Morning Chronicle, which came to fill a long felt want. The Chronicle could be supplied with press dispatches, a matter of vital moment in the introduction of a new journal, even in those days.
On the afternoon of the “glorious Fourth” some bucolic individual with more enthusiasm than good sense, shot off several insulators near Alton, breaking the wire, and as the linemen were off duty celebrating the day the telegraph company was put out of business pending repairs.
The writer was the night operator for this company at St. Louis at this time, and while regretting the unfortunate break and loss to the company, it looked like there was a chance for a holiday.
The Chronicle was informed of the situation, and the telegraph editor, who was also city editor and writer ofheavy editorials, came to the telegraph office to discuss some way of obtaining some press dispatches.
“You can’t expect to get any dispatches without a wire, and there is absolutely no use hoping to get one tonight,” was the report made to the editor, who was very much chagrined. He said he was up against it and he could not get out a paper unless he had some telegraph news, and what was he to do? He declined allowing the office to be closed up till the regular time, hoping against hope that the wire might come up.
It seemed cruel to keep a person from enjoying himself on the occasion of the nation’s Independence day, but there was nothing to do but to remain on duty. Every half hour the editor would drop in to ascertain the prospect and it was really pitiful to observe how disappointed he was.
It grew on till 8 o’clock, with no change in the condition of the wire.
Hank Cowan, an interesting character, a fine operator, but given to drink, stepped into the office to borrow four bits.
“Come, Hank, I’ll make it a dollar if you’ll give me a lift for an hour.”
“All right,” replied Hank, “tell me what to do for I need a dollar pretty badly tonight.”
Connection was made from the manager’s private office to the Chicago table and I began calling St. Louis.
“Take that fellow, Hank,” was the next order, and Cowan sat down at the wire.
I was doing the manipulating at the key in the manager’s office and said, “Here, you are, I’ve a bunch of press reports for you.”
“Go ahead,” said Cowan and I immediately began sending a lot of fictitious news.
The first item was from London and purported to be a dispatch from Queen Victoria to President Grant, felicitatingthe United States on its 100th anniversary. This was followed by one of similar import from the Czar of Russia and the Emperor of Germany. A graphic description of the day’s doings in New York City was next put on the 25-foot wire, Hank Cowan copying it in a big round hand. News from the nation’s Capitol came next making an interesting budget. An imaginary steamboat explosion on the Mississippi River came next in order and then a report of a battle in some one of the Central American States, but as they are fighting down there all the time, not much chance was taken in making up this story.
A report from Chicago of the day’s proceedings followed, a big fire in the lumber regions of Michigan, and then the West was supposed to be turned on. Omaha reported some Indian depredations in the Sioux country, a big strike in the Comstock mines at Virginia City, loss of a steamer at sea came from Victoria, B. C., and an account of one of Denis Kearney’s sandlot speeches to his constituency in San Francisco was given, when the editor came in.
He looked over the “news” with a gleeful eye and thanked me again and again and before I could realize it, walked away with the “stuff.”
I gasped as I thought what had happened, for it had been my intention to merely have some fun with Cowan and make him work for his $1.00. I told Hank that it was me and not Chicago that had been sending to him and asked his advice about confessing the situation to the editor.
“No, let him print it, it’s good stuff and no one in St. Louis will know the difference,” was the advice I got from Cowan and as he was much older and experienced than me, his advice was accepted.
There was no more news sent over the “short line” after this and we locked up the office shortly after.
I was impatient to get a copy of the St. Louis Chronicle the next morning, and there were all my dispatches, only more so, for the intelligent editor had freely padded them showing that he, too, was quite fertile in his imagination.
Not only were the dispatches printed, but editorial comment was made on the Queen’s alleged telegram to President Grant, a scathing rebuke was given Denis Kearney and his followers, attention being particularly called to the item from San Francisco, in “our dispatches.”
I was a little fidgety for a few days but as time went by and no mention was made of the hoax, I began to take more courage and laugh about it.
A month later, I resigned to come West and ’fessed up to the manager the Fourth of July joke. When the enormity of the hoax dawned on him, he laughed loud and hearty, declaring it was the most daring, venturesome and awful joke he had ever heard. I was freely forgiven for the part I enacted, but the story was not told to the paper.
This incident occurred many years ago, and in a recent visit to St. Louis, I looked up this enterprising editor, who had grown rich in the business.
He remembered the Fourth of July, 1876, and all the circumstances, but when I related the story, he laughed so heartily that he declared that 10 years had been added to his life.
It would be impossible in this day and generation to successfully carry out such a joke as is just related, press dispatches being scrutinized for the “bogus” with as much zeal by the diligent telegraph editor as he would a bunch of dollar bills in quest of counterfeits. And so it happened again that “All is well that ends well.”