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Title: The "St. Jo Gazette"
Author: Eugene Field [
More Titles by Field]
WHEN I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette,"
I was upon familiar terms with every one I met;
For "items" were my stock in trade in that my callow time,
Before the muses tempted me to try my hand at rhyme,--
Before I found in verses
Those soothing, gracious mercies,
Less practical, but much more glorious than a well-filled purse is.
A votary of Mammon, I hustled round and sweat,
And helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
The labors of the day began at half-past eight A.M.,
For the farmers came in early, and I had to tackle them;
And many a noble bit of news I managed to acquire
By those discreet attentions which all farmer-folk admire,
With my daily commentary
On affairs of farm and dairy,
The tone of which anon with subtle pufferies I'd vary,--
Oh, many a peck of apples and of peaches did I get
When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
Dramatic news was scarce, but when a minstrel show was due,
Why, Milton Tootle's opera house was then my rendezvous;
Judge Grubb would give me points about the latest legal case,
And Dr. Runcie let me print his sermons when I'd space;
Of fevers, fractures, humors,
Contusions, fits, and tumors,
Would Dr. Hall or Dr. Baines confirm or nail the rumors;
From Colonel Dawes what railroad news there was I used to get,--
When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
For "personals" the old Pacific House was just the place,--
Pap Abell knew the pedigrees of all the human race;
And when he'd gin up all he had, he'd drop a subtle wink,
And lead the way where one might wet one's whistle with a drink.
Those drinks at the Pacific,
When days were sudorific,
Were what Parisians (pray excuse my French!) would call "magnifique;"
And frequently an invitation to a meal I'd get
When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
And when in rainy weather news was scarce as well as slow,
To Saxton's bank or Hopkins' store for items would I go.
The jokes which Colonel Saxton told were old, but good enough
For local application in lieu of better stuff;
And when the ducks were flying,
Or the fishing well worth trying--
Gosh! but those "sports" at Hopkins' store could beat the world at
lying!
And I--I printed all their yarns, though not without regret,
When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
For squibs political I'd go to Col. Waller Young,
Or Col. James N. Burnes, the "statesman with the silver tongue;"
Should some old pioneer take sick and die, why, then I'd call
On Frank M. Posegate for the "life," and Posegate knew 'em all.
Lon Tullar used to pony
Up descriptions that were tony
Of toilets worn at party, ball, or conversazione;
For the ladies were addicted to the style called "deckolett"
When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
So was I wont my daily round of labor to pursue;
And when came night I found that there was still more work to do,--
The telegraph to edit, yards and yards of proof to read,
And reprint to be gathered to supply the printers' greed.
Oh, but it takes agility,
Combined with versatility,
To run a country daily with appropriate ability!
There never were a smarter lot of editors, I'll bet,
Than we who whooped up local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
Yes, maybe it was irksome; maybe a discontent
Rebellious rose amid the toil I daily underwent
If so, I don't remember; this only do I know,--
My thoughts turn ever fondly to that time in old St. Jo.
The years that speed so fleetly
Have blotted out completely
All else than that which still remains to solace me so sweetly;
The friendships of that time,--ah, me! they are as precious yet
As when I was a local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
[The end]
Eugene Field's poem: "St. Jo Gazette"
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