OIL-WELLS AT LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
OIL-WELLS AT LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
OIL-WELLS AT LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
Los Angeles is a genuine California town, with oil-wells as an extra feature. Derricks cluster on Belmont Hill, State street, Lakeshore avenue, Second street, and leading thoroughfares. A six-inch line conveys crude to the railroads and car-tanks are shipped over the Southern Pacific and Santa Fé routes. At least one of the preachers seems to be drilling “on the belt,” if a tourist’s tale of a prayer he offered be true. Here it is:
“O, Lord! we pray that the excursion train going east this morning may not run off the track and kill any church-members that may be on board. Thou knowest it is bad enough to run oil-wells on Sunday, but worse to run Sunday excursions. Church-members on Sunday excursions are not in condition to die. In addition to this, it is embarrassing to a minister to officiate at a funeral of a member of the church who has been killed on a Sunday excursion. Keep the train on the track and preserve it from any calamity, that all church-members among the excursionists may have opportunity for repentance, that their sins may be forgiven. We ask it for Christ’s sake. Amen.”
With juicy Ohio, plump West Virginia, nutritious Indiana, succulent California, appetizing Texas and many other luscious bivalves to keep fat Pennsylvania company, there is no lack of oysters in the stew.
SOME OF THE BOYS.
Michael Murphy, of “mystery” fame, lives in Chester county.
William L. Lay, founder of South Oil-City, died last winter.
W. J. Welch, a respected citizen, who operated at Bullion and Bradford and for years belonged to the Oil-City Exchange, died in 1897.
Ruel A. Watson, an active broker, as he lay gasping for breath, raised his head, asked an attendant “What’s the market?” sank back on his pillow and expired. “The ruling passion is strong in death.”
John Vanausdall, partner of William Phillips in the biggest well on Oil Creek, left his home at Oil City in the morning, took ill at Petrolia and telegraphed for his wife. She reached his bedside just as he drew his last breath.
A man may seem to be a bang-up seraph,Yet be a proper subject for the sheriff.
A man may seem to be a bang-up seraph,Yet be a proper subject for the sheriff.
A man may seem to be a bang-up seraph,Yet be a proper subject for the sheriff.
A man may seem to be a bang-up seraph,
Yet be a proper subject for the sheriff.
John Wallace, an early oil-operator at Rouseville and merchant at Rynd, died in 1880. Born in Great Britain, he served in the English army, participated in the Crimean war and was one of the “Gallant Six Hundred” in the desperate charge at Balaklava immortalized by Tennyson.
The late H. L. McCance, long secretary of the Oil-City Exchange, was the Thomas Nast of Oildom. Two of his cartoons—“When Oil is Seventy Cents” and “When Oil is Three Dollars”—in this volume and those exposing the South-Improvement infamy were especially striking.
B. D. J. McKeown is probably the only millionaire ball-player in the United States. He belongs to the Washington team, which is a member of the Pennsylvania State-League, and has played first base with the nine the entire season. He is a son of the late John McKeown, a keen man of affairs, a clean fielder, heavy batter and swift base-runner.
Many a chap who thinks he’s sure of Heaven,But in his make-up lacks the kindly leaven,Will find Old Nick on hand with a replevin.
Many a chap who thinks he’s sure of Heaven,But in his make-up lacks the kindly leaven,Will find Old Nick on hand with a replevin.
Many a chap who thinks he’s sure of Heaven,But in his make-up lacks the kindly leaven,Will find Old Nick on hand with a replevin.
Many a chap who thinks he’s sure of Heaven,
But in his make-up lacks the kindly leaven,
Will find Old Nick on hand with a replevin.
Col. W. H. Kinter, of Oil City, a man of kindliest impulses, genial and whole-souled, greeting a neighbor one Sunday evening, remarked: “Goodnight, old boy—no, make it good-bye; we may never meet again!” He retired in excellent health and spirits. Next morning, feeling drowsy, he asked his wife—a daughter of Hamilton McClintock—to bring him a cup of tea. She returned in a short time to find her husband asleep in death.
The irrepressible “Sam” Blakely originated the term “shuffle,” which he often practiced in his dealings in the oil-exchanges, and the phrase, “Boys, don’t take off your shirts!” This expression spread far and wide and was actually repeated by Osman Pasha—if the cablegrams told the truth—at the battle of Plevna, when his troops wavered an instant in the face of a dreadful rain of bullets. “Sam” alsoinauguratedinauguratedthe custom of drinking Rhine-wine. Once he constituted himself a committee of one to celebrate the Fourth of July at Parker. He printed a great lot of posters, which announced a celebration on a gorgeous scale—horse-races, climbing the greased pole, boat-races, orations, fireworks and other attractions. These were posted about the city and on barns and fences within a radius of ten miles. A friend asked him how his celebration was likely to come off. “Oh,” he said, “we’re going to get all the hayseeds in here and then we’ll give them the great kibosh.” On the glorious day “Sam” mounted a box in front of the Columbia hose-house and delivered an oration before four-thousand people, who pronounced it the funniest thing they ever heard and accepted the situation good-naturedly. Some impromptu games were got up and the day passed off pleasantly.
POND-FRESHET AT OIL CITY, MARCH, 1863.
POND-FRESHET AT OIL CITY, MARCH, 1863.
POND-FRESHET AT OIL CITY, MARCH, 1863.