Author name: Jack Sullivan

Beginning with their immigrant Irish father, James, and carried forward by two sons, Nicholas and Denis, the Walsh family carved out a liquor dynasty in northern Kentucky that began before the Civil War and lasted for more than a half century.  Because the Walshes openly declared themselves to be whiskey re-distillers and compounders, the state’s “whiskey barons,” dedicated to straight bourbons and ryes, could scorn them for making “imitation” whiskey.   Truth was, the Walshes really didn’t care.

James Walsh, left,  was born in April 1817 in County Mayo, Ireland, the names of his parents unrecorded.  Information on his education and early occupation is also sparse.  Unlike many Irish whiskey men James did not come to America as a child or teenager.  Records indicate his immigration was in 1832 when he was about 25, eventually heading to Covington, Kentucky, just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati.  Walsh appears to have returned to Ireland three years later to marry Mary Ellen McCarthy of Cork.  Bride and groom were both 28.  Over the next dozen years, living in Covington, they would have three sons, James, Nicholas, and Denis.

About 1848 Walsh found employment in Covington working for a liquor house that had been erected in 1830 as a whiskey “rectifying” plant, located near a major suspension bridge that spanned the Ohio River. Shown above as later expanded, the facility was founded by Marcus Smith who later sold it;  a succession of owners ensued over the years.  Walsh is recorded employed there as a distillery worker.  When the Irish immigrant’s talent for the business was recognized, Walsh was brought into management by a subsequent owner, Samuel Murphy.  He became a junior partner in 1860. 

   Warehouse A — brick with a metal or slate roof and located 350 feet north of the still.

   Warehouse B — brick with a metal or slate roof, adjoining “A”.

   Warehouse C — brick with a metal or slate roof, located 300 ft NW.

   Warehouse D — a new brick building with a metal or slate roof, located 180 feet       NW of the still and 10 ft east of “C”

    A Free Warehouse — iron clad, located 210 feet north of the still.

Now operating as James Walsh & Company, in 1875 the Walshes acquired the Rossville Distillery in Lawrenceburg, Indiana, 25 miles east of Cincinnati. Shown below, this plant at buildout had a daily mashing capacity of 5,000 bushels of grain, storage space for 60,000 barrels in its warehouses, four steel grain elevators holding 200,000 bushels, and two slop dryers that held 5,000 bushels of feed.

In 1886  “Industries of Cincinnati,” a book extolling the virtues of the city, reported that the Walsh company now owned three distilleries, employing some 100 workers. The corporate offices were at Pike’s Office Building in downtown Cincinnati.  By  this time the company had reorganized with James Walsh, Nicholas Walsh, Denis Walsh, and Peter O’Shaughnessy as partners.  Under their father’s watchful eye, Nicholas attended to the office work, Denis looked after the Lawrenceburg operation.  H. D. Haynes managed the Paris Distillery. Peter O’Shaughnessy superintended the compounding and redistilling business in Covington. 

Their large distillery facilities allowed the Walshes to issue a blizzard of brands:

“A Rye Whiskey – Kenton Co. Ky.”, “A. L. Rye”, “Belle of Paris”, “Duncan Bourbon”, “Gold Medal Rye”, “Golden Pheasant”, “Joe Fiske”, “Juniata Pure Rye”, “King of Kenton”, “Ned White”, “Old Buck Creek”, “Old Hickory”, “Orange Valley”, “Paris Club”, “Rossville B Bourbon”, “Rossville B Rye”, “Sam Clay”, “Walsh Old Stock”, and “Well House.”    Of these, the Walshes trademarked only four:  “Orange Valley” and “Well House” in 1876, and then, possibly discouraged by the lax legal protection afforded, not again until years later with “A Rye Whiskey” in 1906 and “Old Hickory” in 1907.  Over time the company also sold corn whisky under several labels, said to be aged 10 years.

 

Kentucky’s straight bourbon distillers, the so-called “Whiskey Barons,” were contemptuous of operations like the Walshes.  Col. E. F. Taylor, vocal leader of the bourbon makers, referred to compounded and re-distilled whiskey as “imitation” and lobbied Presidents and the Congress to require that the word be prominent on labels. Corn whiskey was derided as “cheap goods.”  The idea that the Walshes operated a distillery in Indiana also would have elicited criticism.  Truth was, however, Walsh’s whiskey was less expensive than straight bourbons and the market for them was brisk.  Profits rolled in and the family thrived.

The ascendancy of the Walshes was not without setbacks.  On March 19, 1893, fire broke out at their sprawling five story re-distilling and compounding facility in Covington.  For two and a half hours local firefighters strove valiantly to save the structure but to no avail.  The walls crumbled and destruction was total.  Falling debris also damaged adjacent small structures.  A Government bonded warehouse in the rear escaped but about 2,000 barrels of whiskey stored elsewhere were destroyed.  The New York Times reported the total loss at $250,000 (equivalent to $8.2 million today) “well insured in numerous companies,

mostly foreign.”

By that time, James Walsh had died.  Apparently in declining health he had retired in 1888 at the age of 71.  Two years later, while on a visit to Washington, D.C., he was stricken and died.  The cause given was “apoplexy,” likely a stroke.  He was buried at St. Mary’s Catholic Cemetery in Fort Mitchell, Kentucky, just outside Covington.  

The burden of maintaining the Walsh whiskey empire fell to Nicholas.  In charge when the fire ripped through the Covington plant, he decided not to rebuild.  Nicholas also was faced with the growing prohibitionary fervor in the country, reducing markets.  Moreover, increasing pressure from the Whiskey Trust had grown strong in Kentucky.  In 1902 he sold the Paris Distillery to the monopoly.  Following the 1905 death of his brother, Denis, Nicholas increasingly relied on  Peter O’Shaughnessy who brought his own sons into company management.  Retiring in 1914, Nicholas died in 1915 at 59 years old.  The Walsh dynasty, despite the critics, had lasted 54 years.

The O’Shaughnessys continued to operate as James Walsh & Co., with their main distillery the Rossville plant in Lawrenceburg.  Indicating the continuing prestige of the Walsh name, they called their flagship liquors “James Walsh Bourbon” and “James Walsh Rye.”  Following the imposition of National Prohibition, the plant continued production of grain alcohol for medicinal and commercial purposes and resumed making whiskey after Repeal.  It was subsequently sold to Schenley.

Meanwhile, the Walshes, father and sons, lie united in death even as they were in life.  Shown left above is the family monument that stands in St. Mary’s Cemetery.  Note the panels below each of the arches.  They memorialize each of the three men buried nearby, a family united in their passing as they were in life.

Note:  This post was assembled from a wide variety of sources available on the Internet.

 

 Famed American author Jack London as a boy found a second home and a source of inspiration in an Oakland, California, saloon run by a friendly German immigrant named Johnny Heinhold.   Memorialized by London in his novels and autobiography, Heinhold’s still stands as a tribute to London, shown here, who never forgot the proprietor or the drinking establishment where his writer’s imagination first was ignited.

London was born in San Francisco in January 1876, the son of Flora Wellman and William Chaney, a historical figure for having traveled America as an early advocate for astrology.  His parents, shown below, separated soon after his birth.  Flora soon after married a Civil war veteran named John London who adopted the boy.  The three moved to nearby Oakland where young Jack grew up. 

 

That same year Heinhold, shown right, arrived in San Francisco, working on the docks before he too relocated to Oakland and opened a saloon on San Pablo Avenue.  According to family lore, Heinhold missed seeing the bustling waterfront and purchased a bunkhouse for oyster workers at the docks, converting it into a saloon.  This structure had originated from the timbers of the Umatilla, an abandoned stern-wheel paddle steamer that was built in 1858 in the Oregon Territory.  The ship was in service during the Fraser River Gold Rush later that year and on the San Francisco Bay and Sacramento River in the 1860s. Opened in June 1883 or 1884, Heinhold would be its sole proprietor of the saloon for the next 50 years.

London is said to have found this “second home” when he was as young as ten.Heinhold, known for his kind heart, must have seen something special in the boyand made a place for him.  Shown below is an extraordinary photo of the young London sitting in Heinhold’s, engrossed in a dictionary .  At the same time the boy was listening to the stories of “the hard mixed crowd” that frequented the saloon, including crews of whaling vessels, sealing ships, and windjammers.   At age15 London bought a boat and then with Heinhold’s help got a berth on a schooner, sailed to Japan and spent a few months traveling around the Orient as a tramp.

Returning to Oakland, London attended high school, writing for the school newspaper.  The experience having whetted his interest in becoming an author, London decided he needed a college education.  Approaching Heinhold in 1896 he asked  for a forty dollar loan to pay the entry fee.  After cramming for the entrance exam, he was admitted to the University of California.   After a year, his finances forced him to leave school permanently.  Heinhold forgave the loan.

In his autobiographical book, “John Barleycorn,” London dwelled on his relationship with the saloonkeeper:  “More than once in the brief days of my struggles for an education, I went to Johnny Heinhold to borrow money.  When I entered the university I borrowed forty dollars from him, without interest, without security, without buying a drink.  And yet…in the days of my prosperity, after the lapse of years, I have gone out of my way by many a long block to spend across Johnny Heinhold’s bar deferred interest on the various loans.  Not that Johnny Heinhold asked me to do it, or expected me to do it.”

By this time London was one of the most famous authors of his day having achieved a large and enthusiastic readership in the United State and abroad for such novels as “Call of the Wild, “White Fang,” and “The Sea-Wolf.” Some critics were hailing his work as belonging on a shelf with Walden and  Huckleberry Finn: “the very best kind of work done in America.” “Call of the Wild” was termed a masterpiece.

Meanwhile, Heinhold continued to operate his saloon on Oakland’s waterfront, eventually changing the name to “Heinhold’s First and Last Chance.”  The reference apparently was to the first and last chance for many sailors to drink alcohol in quantity after or before a long ocean voyage.  London’s wife, Charmian, shown here, had another interpretation, however, writing that Johnny had adopted the “two-faced pseudonym by reason of its accommodating relation to comers as well as goers,” including travelers across the bridge to Alameda and passengers from ferries docking at the Oakland Municipal Wharf.

Heinhold continued to enhance his reputation as a kind-hearted publican. In 1890, a passenger train plunged off an open drawbridge into the San Antonio Estuary, and the Saloon became a make-shift hospital and morgue. As victims of the disaster filled the saloon, Johnny was reported to cry out: “Sell no more whisky! Take everything in the house if it will save a life, or make even one poor woman die easier.” 

As London grew in fame, Heinhold began to promote his saloon actively as “Jack London’s Rendevous.”  The author made it a point to visit Johnny every time he was in the area.  Although other literary figures such as Robert Louis Stevenson and Joaquin Miller also patronized his saloon, those associations never approached the importance of London in Heinhold’s eyes.  During Prohibition he kept the saloon open, selling soft drinks and cigars.  When asked why he didn’t sell alcohol “under the counter” as did other West Coast saloonkeepers, Heinhold replied that it wouldn’t look right for Jack London’s good friend to be called a bootlegger.

Heinhold lived to see National Prohibition in the process of being dismantled but died in 1933 before its actual repeal.  The saloon came under the management of his son, George, a World War One veteran, who ran it for the next 37 years,  When George died in 1970, his widow, Margaret Heinhold, became the owner-manager for 14 years, until selling it in 1984 with the promise that new ownership would maintain the saloon in its original form.

 Now on the National Register of Historic Places, Johnny Heinhold’s original saloon has been altered on the outside.  As shown here, the front has been updated to accommodate a large neon sign announcing the saloon as “Jack London’s Rendevous.”  Neon has also been added to the “First and Last Chance” motto and to “Open” signs.  The north side of the building is hidden behind a billboard-like appendage decorated with a recent a late 1990’s mural honoring Jack London, commissioned by the Port of Oakland and painted by artist Charles Nitti.  The mural depicts the author at the tiller of a ship and in a tree reading a book.  At the center is a large likeness of a howling wolf, a reminder of London’s “Call of the Wild.”

Inside, however, the interior would be readily recognized by both London and Heinhold as the saloon they knew and loved.  During the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, the front portion of the barroom floor buckled.  Unfazed, Heinhold repaired the structure, leaving a notable slope in the floor that can be seen in the present day.  In the corner of Heinhold’s is a clock that has been stopped since the moment of the 1906 quake, at 5:18.  Heinhold’s is the last commercial establishment in California with its original gas lighting. The tables, which reportedly came from a whaling ship, and other furnishings date back to the days when Johnny ran the pub.  The building still holds the original potbellied stove used to warm the room.  It has been the saloon’s only source of heat since 1889.  The original mahogany bar is still use today.

The interior walls and ceiling are covered with memorabilia:  business cards, hats of past patrons and money, often signed by sailors about to deploy so they would have money for a drink waiting for them upon their return.  Bob Fitzsimmon’s and Jim Jeffries boxing gloves and Johnny Heinhold’s hat remain where they were hung. 

If you are ever in Oakland make it an objective to visit Heinhold’s Saloon and drink two toasts:  The first to Johnny Heinhold, the genial German immigrant saloonkeeper, and a second to Jack London, a giant of American literature whose career was made possible by Johnny’s generosity and care.

Notes:  The Internet holds a great deal of information about the relationship between Jack London and Saloonkeeper Johnny Heinhold.  Among them are documents from the National Park Service report on declaring the saloon a National Heritage Site.  London himself mentioned the saloon and its proprietor frequently, most notably multiple times in his autobiographical “John Barleycorn,” right.

Stuck in sleepy Canton, Ohio, selling hats, caps, and other small items to the locals, an ambitious 26-year-old immigrant named Philip Louis Dattelbaum avidly read about gold strikes near Cripple Creek, Colorado.  The prospect of riches and adventure beckoned him there.  He found both, including more of the latter than he likely had bargained for.

Philip was born in February 1864 in Nagy Vitez, Saros County, Hungary, a picturesque mountain village, then part of the sprawling Austro-Hungarian Empire, the eldest son of Meyer Wolf (Maier Zev) Dattelbaum.  In quick succession he would have seven brothers and sisters.  When Philip was only 15 his father died, apparently leaving him the breadwinner in the family.  Then the record gets confused with varying dates given for his arrival in the United States.  Dattelbaum himself put it at 1880 when he would have been 16.

How he ended up in Canton, Ohio, about 60 miles east  of Cleveland, presents another mystery.  My experience  suggests that he had relatives in that city who may have helped set him up in business.  The 1881 Canton city directory records a Philip L. Dattelbaum who was selling “hats and caps” and “tobacco and cigars” from the same store at the northwest corner of West and Freedom Streets.

Although Canton was the home of President William McKinley and a growing industrial American city, to the restless young Dattelbaum the town may have seemed to have few prospects.  In 1890 word came east of a rich gold strike at Cripple Creek, a valley at an elevation of 9,494 feet in the Colorado Rockies.  Previously avoided by prospectors and considered no more than a summer pasture for cattle, Cripple Creek quickly became a magnet for gold seekers from all over the world.  Within three years the population increased from 500 to 10,000.

Dattelbaum was quick to see the opportunities presented.  Not only was the terrain similar to his Hungarian home town, but he had divined that rather than “moiling for gold” an easier way to riches was pouring whiskey to thirsty miners.Selling his business in Canton, he took the cash and hurried west to Cripple Creek.  In 1900 Dattelbaum is recorded owning and operating a saloon at 2nd and Masonic Streets.

This must have been the highly productive enterprise that Dattlebaum had imagined in Canton.  By 1902 he owned and operated two saloons:  the original site and a second Cripple Creek “watering hole” at 226-228 East Bennett Avenue, the town’s main thoroughfare. He was also dealing in wholesale liquor, servicing the estimated 150 saloons that arose during the gold boom.  Shown here are Dattelbaum jugs of various sizes that he provided to his customer saloons, restaurants and hotels.  Those likely contained a blend of liquors mixed from barrels transported to him via the Florence & Cripple Creek Railroad from Denver area distilleries.

His growing wealth allowed him to bring to Cripple Creek his fiance’, Ida Roth.  Nine years younger than Philip she had been born in Hungary and immigrated to America as a girl.  Shown here in a later passport photo, Ida made the arduous trip from the East to Colorado. There the couple was married.  Three of their children could be born in the boom town.  The family is recorded living at 137 Bison Street.

As Dattelbaum’s wealth was growing, so was jealousy among a lawless segment of Cripple Creek’s population.  Philip’s Jewish background may also have played a role in the enmity toward him.  Three local men — Sam Haas, Jack Frame, and Clayte Watts — conspired to assault and rob him.  My efforts to identify them  through a city directory suggest that Sam Haas may have been stage manager at a local theater with a background as an electrician. He lived on Masonic Street not far from Dattelbaum’s saloon.  Jack Frame is listed as a miner, also living on Masonic Street.  They apparently were customers at the saloon and well acquainted with the proprietor.

In December 1905 on a ruse they lured Dattelbaum to a deserted spot near the Addie Mine outside Cripple Creek.  According to newspaper accounts, earlier the trio had erected there a gallows-like structure complete with rope and noose.  When the conspirators arrived with the unsuspecting saloonkeeper at the location, they seized and trust him into the gallows, threatening to kick away the box on which he was standing and hang him unless he revealed where his money was stashed. 

Dattelbaum’s desperate struggles were able to bring the jerry-built gallows crashing down, landing the intended victim on the ground, virtually unhurt.  Able to get away from his tormenters, the saloonkeeper went directly to the authorities to report the attempted hanging.  The event made newspaper headlines across Colorado.  The Denver Post headlined:  “Philip Dattelbaum Attacked.”  The Colorado Springs Gazette splashed:  “Philip Dattelbaum Hung from Gallows in Attack.”

The district attorney wasted no time in charging Haas, Frame and Watts on a charges of assault with intent to murder Dattelbaum and take his possessions. The arrested trio were housed in the Cripple Creek jail, shown below as recreated in the town museum.  Their trial occurred in March of 1906.  It ended with all three men being convicted as charged and sentenced to nine and a half years in prison without parole.

Dattelbaum and his wife both were badly shaken by these events.  Not long after the conviction of his assailants, Dattelbaum sold his saloons and liquor business and moved to Chicago, never again to see Cripple Creek.  Five years in that gold rush town apparently had provided him with enough adventure for a lifetime.   With his liquor profits,  Dattelbaum purchased two Chicago specialty groceries.

Shown here is Dattelbaum’s ad in a Chicago newspaper.   In it he described “delicacies of all kinds….meats, cheeses, caviar and preserves of all kinds,” and “a complete line of candies.”  Open Sundays and evenings Dattelbaum’s had two locations, 1101 E. 63rd Street and 5240 Lake Park Avenue, and an associated bakery and delicatessen at 63rd and Greenwood.  Their couple’s fourth child would be born in Chicago.

Despite the locations, hours, and products offered, the enterprise apparently was not as successful as Dattelbaum’s saloons.  Eventually the owner was forced to declare bankruptcy.  He and Ida moved to Los Angeles with their 24-year-old son, Myron.   The 1930 census found the family living there.  Dattelbaum, now 66, was working as a salesman of food specialties.   He died in Los Angeles in 1939 at the age of 75.  His gravesite is unidentified.

Dattelbaum’s story suggests to me a riff on the Robert Service poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee”:

Cripple Creek mines have seen strange sights,

But the strangest they ever did see,

Was that day in ’05 when Dattelbaum survived,

Being hanged by a bloodthirsty three.

Note:  Demonstrating once again that behind every pre-Prohibition liquor container lies a story, it was a Dattelbaum whiskey jug that caused me to look more deeply into the history of the Hungarian immigrant who issued it.  Unfortunately I could find no photo of this plucky but luckless man, but hope a descendant will see this post and provide one.

  

 

Let’s set the stage.  Shown below are pictures of the principals.  Left is Mary Agnes Maloney, a pretty young woman, 19, of Irish Catholic heritage.  At right is Joseph D. Sattler, 24, a dapper young Jewish immigrant from Bohemia. They had met in Duluth, fallen deeply in love, but found their families adamantly opposed to their marriage.  It was a “Romeo and Juliet” story set in the Upper Midwest.   What were the lovers to do?

The setting and dialogue for this melodrama was provided by a Duluth newspaper in January 1891 under the headline:  “An Elopement That Causes a Sensation in Two Duluth Families.”  The news story related the scene:  “About a week ago two young ladies sat in their room.  One was tall and beautiful [Mary Agnes], the other of medium height and rustic beauty.  The soft glow of a shaded light lit the room, and the two fair intruders chatted in a whisper. The taller of the two was in the house of her parents, while her companion was a visitor from Dakota.”

“‘Will I do it?,’ impulsively asked the Duluth girl.  ‘You should.  You will not be the first girl that ran away and got married, and as you know, I think it is so romantic and just too lovely for anything to run away with a lover.  And then too, when it gets in the paper it makes such charming reading.  I think all such marriage quite cute.  You could come to our home in Dakota and everything could take place.  Then you could write home and tell them all.  Yes, do run away.’”

“Her companion did not speak, but a quiet smile played about her mouth.  After a while she said:  ‘Well I love him, although my Ma doesn’t.  But Ma can’t understand that we love differently now from what they did in her time.’”  Thus were the plans for the elopement hatched.   On the pretext of a simple visit to the Dakota girl’s home in Grand Forks, Mary Agnes contacted Joseph to meet her there.  Working in his uncle’s Duluth store, Joseph announced he was going to Chicago for a holiday. Instead the young man hurried to Grand Forks.

Although the wedding initially was to take place in a home, the marriage license above indicates the ceremony occurred on January 13, 1892, in Grand Fork’s St. Michael’s Catholic Church, conducted by the pastor, Father Edward Conaty.  When the word reach the couple’s families in Duluth, the newspaper reported” “There was war all around today, and the young couple may be allowed to repent at leisure.  Most of the hostility comes from the fact that Joe is a Hebrew and his wife a gentile of the Roman Catholic persuasion.”

Despite an inauspicious start to the marriage when Sattler was forced to wire relatives for money just to bring his new bride and himself back to Duluth from Grand Forks, the groom was a young man with ambition and prospects.  Born in Radkovnik in 1868 in the Bohemian section of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Sattler at about nine years had immigrated into the United States, arriving in New York City with family members aboard the Steamship Oder, shown here.

After receiving his education in New York schools, by 1890 Sattler moved to Minnesota to go to work as a clerk in a major Duluth department store owned by his uncle, Ignatz Freimuth.  Shown here, the store was one of the city’s largest and most prosperous, offering the young immigrant opportunities for advancement.  Instead, following his marriage and its new familial responsibilities,  Sattler began planning to strike out on his own.  By 1902, he had achieved sufficient resources to open a liquor house at 20 East Superior Street, below, in the Duluth business district.  He called it “Sattler Liquor Company, Importers, Distillers, Wholesale Liquor Dealers.” His flagship brand was SaddleRock Whiskey.

Meanwhile on the home front,  the marriage of Joseph and Mary Agnes seemed to move smoothly as their respective families eventually came to accept the reality of their union.  Although their first child, a boy, died at after one month in 1893 and was buried in the Catholic cemetery, a healthy girl was born in June 1897. A family photo shows the couple with their new daughter, Marie Therese.  A son, Arlayne, was born in 1905.

Sattler’s liquor house appears rapidly to have been successful.  He was able to give employment to his brothers.  Jacob B. Sattler was named treasurer and Emanuel Sattler vice president.  Outgrowing the Superior Street location, he moved his liquor business to  214-216 West Michigan Street into a three story building that also contained a cigar company on the third floor.  

The future, however, would bring setbacks.  In January 1906 a fire of unknown origin broke out on the second floor, occupied by Sattler.  Quick action by the Duluth Fire Department limited damage to the liquor house. The greatest damage occurred to an elevator shaft and stairway on the second floor and the third floor.  It wiped out the cigar company.  The loss to Sattler was estimated at $15,000 (today close to a half million dollars), said to be fully covered by insurance.

That setback was followed two months later by a robbery committed by a very unusual burglar, identified as Albert Schultz, 24.  When arrested Schultz  was carrying a letter apparently intended for Joseph Sattler.  According to press accounts, in it the burglar “expressed dissatisfaction that the Sattler Liquor Company’s champagne stock was depleted before he got around.”  That revelation drew laughs from the grand jury that then indicted him on a second degree burglary charge.  Schultz pled guilty and went to jail.

In June 1907, the marriage that had caused Duluth headlines came to a halt after  16 years with the Mary Agnes’ untimely death at age 35.  Earlier the press had noted her ill with quinsy (strep throat). Indicative that consternation over her marriage had abated, local press reported that she visited often with relatives and:  “Her death will be mourned by a wide circle of friends.”  She was buried in Duluth’s Catholic cemetery adjacent to her infant son.

In 1909, possibly wanting a mother for his 12-year-old daughter, Marie, and 5-year old son, Arlayne, Sattler remarried at age 40.  His second wife was Jewel A. Sattler, a Michigan-born woman.  The 1910 census found the family living on East 9th Street in Duluth with a servant and a boarder. The house is shown here as it looks today.  A genealogical site indicates that Sattler may have wed a third time, a woman named “Minnie,” but I can find no evidence of the marriage.

In 1915, after some 13 years in the liquor trade, Sattler declared bankruptcy and shut the doors on his business.  Not long after, accompanied by his family, he moved to Wisconsin as an executive of the Milwaukee Knitting Mill Company. In June 1916 Sattler died there at the age of 48.   Although reported to have been in bad health, the immediate cause of his death was not reported.  Sattler’s body was returned to Duluth where he was buried in Temple Emanuel Cemetery. 

The difference in religious affiliation that had made the elopement of Mary Agnes and Joseph a newsworthy sensation in Duluth in 1891 by all appearances had not been a major problem in the Sattlers’ married life.  In death the difference did.  Mary Agnes is buried in a Duluth Catholic cemetery, Joseph is interred in the Jewish burying ground. Several miles separate their graves. 

Notes:  This post would have been impossible without a website entitled “Old Newspaper Articles: The Sattler Family,”  a chronological list of articles culled from the pages of Duluth newspapers by descendants.  The site includes more than a dozen articles related to Joseph and Mary Agnes, including the one that opens this post.

 Foreword:  When I find material on an individual or family engaged in the liquor trade that is well written, I frequently ask permission to incorporate it into this website, with appropriate modifications or additions.  Recently Rick Lynch sent me a piece on his Lynch great grandfather whom I had been researching.  After reviewing Rick’s input I decided that his contribution should be incorporated into my material and images.  Rick agreed and the following is the co-authored result.

John Kennedy Lynch I, shown here, was born in Woodville, Jefferson County, New York, on November 11, 1844. He was the first of the Lynch family line to be born in the United States.  His father, Matthew, born in Limerick Ireland,  emigrated to the United States with his wife, Hannah Kennedy, also a native of Ireland. Matthew died at the age of 55, while Hannah lived to be 82.

Educated in Oswego, New York, in 1864 at the age of twenty Lynch’s entrepreneurial spirit emerged as he opened a retail grocery store on Seneca Street. He conducted his grocery business for nine years  but was not satisfied with the results.  Lynch always kept his eye and mind open for new business opportunities, and soon he became convinced a new chance was to be had in strawberries.

In 1863, Morris Pierce brought a few quarts of strawberries to a local Oswego market to sell. They were “gazed at as a curiosity by hundreds of persons and sold at one cent per berry.” This initial sale established market demand in Oswego for the delicious berries, and soon other cultivators were growing strawberries in the region.

In 1873, Lynch decided to join the strawberry race, and launched a new produce business, cultivating and selling strawberries in Oswego, and beyond. He became largely instrumental in building up the well-known Oswego strawberry industry, and eventually emerged as one of its two leading producers. He was noted as the first strawberry producer to send a shipment of berries by rail in a refrigerated car in 1888.  Lynch sent his shipments to New York City, Philadelphia, and Newark via the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad (DL&WRR), using rail distribution to reach a broader market, and his berries gained popularity for their unique attributes, noted for “possessing a flavor and solidity unequalled”.

Lynch’s main competitor was J. Heagerty, and it was noted there was “active competition in buying” between the two. By 1894, over 15,000 36-quart crates were shipped from Oswego to the market, that now expanded to the Boston area as well. The wholesale price was nine cents per quart, which represented a $50,000 annual industry for Oswego – roughly $1.5 million in value in today’s dollars.

As he was advancing in business, Lynch also found time for a personal life.  In 1870, at the age of 28, he married.  His bride was Ellen Wing, 20, a resident of Oswego who had been born in Ireland.   The couple would go on to have ten children over the next 21 years, of whom nine would live to maturity.  In time Lynch would house this growing family in a spacious home on Oswego’s East Eighth Street, one featuring six bedrooms and three baths. Shown here, the building is still used a residence.

As he entered his 30s, Lynch already was an experienced entrepreneur with a reputation as a “man of energy and enterprise” and considered “experienced and reliable in his business dealings”. The strawberry business was going well. With a growing family to house and feed, however, he may not have been content with profitability and looked around for other opportunities.  He found one in selling whiskey.

In 1882, Lynch formed a partnership with Edward V. Mitchell to operate a wholesale liquor store on West First Street in Oswego, purchasing the business from Mitchell’s father for $16,000.  Mitchell apparently was not a great partner, as it was noted he “did not give the attention to the business that it demanded.” Moreover, during the years of their relationship, Mitchell drew out more than $14,000 for his personal use, a large portion of which was used in betting and maintaining fast horses.

Although Lynch himself was interested in owning and racing horses and had won some recognition for his track successes,  Mitchell’s vices eventually became too much.  In June 1892, the pair agreed to end their partnership.  Lynch’s share  bought out for $5,000, paid by Mitchell’s father.  Although the local press wrote that Lynch was retiring from the liquor trade, in fact, he was not done selling whiskey.  In July 1892, just a month later, the press reported the launch of his new business, with the headline “Mr. Lynch Will Go It Alone”. 

With aggressive efforts similar to those he had brought to marketing strawberries, by August 1892, Lynch had obtained a saloon license and eleven days later secured a contract to become the exclusive Oswego distributor for Imperial Beer. Soon after he travelled by horse and wagon as far as Cincinnati and Louisville to establish partnerships with distillers and liquor distributors. His objective, Lynch announced, was to secure “the best line of goods” to merchandise.

The Oswego Palladiam frequently provided updates of John K. Lynch’s business (he was also a frequent advertiser) “J.K. Lynch, the liquor dealer, is driving about town with his  new delivery wagon. The horses and wagon both present a fine appearance.” Just a year after his opening the Oswego Chamber of Commerce in its annual publication recognized Lynch’s success in a “relatively short time,” noting that “his business extends throughout Central and Western New York and portions of Pennsylvania and New Jersey.”  The Chamber write-up also cited the size of Lynch’s store and basement warehouse, the quality of his stock and the efficiency of his staff which included two “on the road” representatives. 

Lynch was the distributor for many popular liquors from his 101 East First Street business location, including advertising a substantial array of  national brands, among them:  Ryes: Old Horsey, Mount Vernon, Guckenheimer, Finch’s, Old Overholt. Bourbons: Meadow Run, Old Kentucky, A. Kellar, Lenox, Hanning, Chimney Corner.  Blends: Old Mountain, Mechanics Club, Hawthorne, Silver Creek, Monogram.  

He also offered his own house brands, including  “Monte Carlo,” “JKL & Sons Bourbon” and “Lynch’s Malt.” His flagship label was “Lynch’s Golden Wedding Whiskey,”  said to be made by “wedding” five whiskeys, primarily bourbon and rye, into one distinct blend.  The label was a direct aping of the most popular “wedding” whiskey of the time,  Finch’s Golden Wedding.  Lynch’s version is believed even to have used a similar bottle style.

Much of Lynch’s “house” whiskey came in ceramic jugs ranging in size from half gallons to full gallons and larger.  Shown here are examples of his containers.  At top left is an example of a “scratch jug” in which the label has been directly scratched into the brown Albany slip glaze.  This was considered the most primitive way of advertising the origin of the contents.  Many Eastern distillers and dealers, Lynch included, preferred a cursive over-glaze labeling method shown right above and below.  After a jug had been partially fired, a label would be applied with a special stylus, often using a cobalt blue “ink.”  Because script was done by hand and by various pottery workers, no two jugs look exactly alike.  Today collectors find this a valuable trait.

 

By 1913, Lynch’s business was thriving and expanding. He purchased a large bottling plant across the road from his liquor house. It allowed him to bottle Crown Beer under his own label, advertising as the “local agent” for Bartels Brewing Company, the Syracuse brewery that produced it.   As shown here, bottles bearing the embossing of “John K. Lynch” can be found in both amber and clear.   He also advertising vigorously in newspapers and periodicals and through shot glasses bearing his name and brands.  In turn the local press celebrated Lynch with a caricature and a verse:

As he aged, Lynch could look to a career that, as one newspaper put it: “In business and in a social way,  he has been prominent for many years, and as to know him was to like him, his friends were legion….He was a liberal contributor to charity and to every cause that would tend to the improvement of Oswego.”  He could also bask in the affection of his many children, their spouses and a host of grandchildren.  The marvelous family photograph below, likely taken at Christmas 1914, shows a grandfatherly Lynch, age 70, sitting with a toddler on his lap while across the room, Grandmother Ellen, holds two.  What pride he must have felt to be surrounded by so handsome a family.

Thought to be in good health by acquaintances, news in February 1916 that Lynch was ill with pneumonia came as a surprise in Oswego, turning to shock two days later when he succumbed to his illness at age 72.  After a funeral Mass at his parish church, Lynch was buried in St. Peter’s Cemetery.  Surrounding his burial site today are the graves of his widow, Ellen, their son, John Patrick Jr. and other family members.

Until his 1916 death, Lynch had operated his liquor house for 30 years.  Along the way his son John Kennedy Lynch Jr., had joined his father in business, After his father’s death, Lynch Jr. continued to operate the business under the same name.  He had only five more years before National Prohibition was imposed on January 1, 1920, a devastating blow for the alcohol manufacturing, distribution and retail industry.

Shown here, despite Prohibition Lynch Jr. tried to keep the business going. In January 1920, he was reported offering to sell his whiskey for medicinal purposes, still legal with a doctor’s prescription. Local drama erupted over this issue. Druggists in Oswego had refused to put whiskey on their shelves. Local doctors, after posting a $1,000 bond, had obtained permits to prescribe whiskey as a medicinal.  With no drugstores providing it, however, their patients had no place to obtain spirits. Doctors and druggists both were decried for “passing the buck.”

 

Lynch Jr. stepped up to announce he had applied to the Collector of Internal Revenue for a permit to wholesale liquor for non-beverage purposes. Local press reported that Lynch had fifty barrels of whiskey in bond, “which by the way would have netted him a profit of about $20,000, had the the war-time prohibition ban been lifted.” The whiskey cost him about $1.50 per gallon to produce, and the tax on non-beverage liquor added an additional $2.20 per gallon. Lynch Jr. estimated he could sell his whiskey for medicinal purposes for “around $2 per quart” ($8.00 per gallon).  It appears his request was denied buy authorities and after 35 years in the liquor trade, the Lynch liquor house closed its doors permanently.

Lynch Jr., like his father, was well connected socially and politically. The local press credited him with being responsible for bringing then presidential candidate, Franklin D Roosevelt, to Oswego for a campaign stop.  He also served a term on the Oswego Board of Health and subsequently was named City Chamberlain, a highly responsible post.  As Chamberlain, Lynch Jr. collected all taxes, water and sewer charges and other fees and rentals owed the city.  He also was charged with enforcing the collection of delinquent property taxes and liens due the city and responsible for receiving, holding and disbursing city funds.

Lynch Jr. also had a private life.  In April 1922, he married Helen Genevieve Troll, who was described in the press as “a charming and accomplished young woman, a talented musician, and possessed of many graces and a winsome personality which has endeared her to a wide circle of friends.”  Over the next 15 years they would have four children.

In 1921,Lynch Jr. decided to apply his well-honed business skills to a new product — the automobile.   Aggressive in business like his father, in April 1921 he launched a new  auto dealership, called the J. K. Lynch Sales Company. The first vehicle he offered was the Republic Truck, somewhat ironically a vehicle commonly used pre-Prohibition to transport beer.  In 1923, Lynch Jr. also became a dealer for the popular Willys-Knight Overland, built in Toledo, Ohio, then one of the nation’s largest automobile manufacturers.  Although Prohibition ended in 1934, Lynch Jr. declined to re-enter the whiskey trade, well satisfied to sell motor vehicles.

Notes: Rick Lynch, co-author of this post, and his wife Gia in 2020 founded Everwild Spirits, a craft bourbon distillery and bistro in downtown Sandusky, Ohio. Keeping alive the Lynch family tradition, the couple feature their own brands of whiskey, including “Seeker’s Wheated Bourbon.”  The establishment also offers other beverages, appetizers and desserts.  I also am indebted to Rick’s mother, Judy Lynch, for her help in filling in and correcting details of the family story.

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Who was Robert W. Service, that he should be considered the poet laureate of the saloon?   Why would an English-born bank clerk, wannabe cowboy, and California bordello go-fer be so honored?  The answer lies in Service, shown here, having written what is arguably the best loved, most quoted, verse in the English language set in a drinking establishment.  The poem is “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” and the site was the Malamute Saloon.

Service, whose 148th birthday was celebrated on January 16 of this year, began life in Preston, Lancashire, moving to Scotland as a child where eventually he was employed in a Scottish bank.  Struck with wanderlust, when he was 21 he traveled to British Columbia, Canada, reputedly sporting a Buffalo Bill outfit and dreaming of becoming a cowboy.  Service drifted around North America, living in Mexico and the American West, then returned to Canada where he found work as a teller in a Vancouver bank.

All the time Service was writing verses.  It was only when his bank sent him to the Whitehorse branch in the Yukon, however, that he found his true calling.  Whitehorse was a frontier town, less than ten years old.  Located on the Yukon River, the settlement had begun as a camp for prospectors on their way to join the Klondike Gold Rush of the late 1890s.  In Whitehorse, Service lived in a rustic forest cabin outside town.  Although the mining fever had subsided and mired in the dull world of banking, the poet wannabe listened avidly to stories of earlier wild and rowdy times and dreamed of having participated.

Returning from a walk one night, Service heard the sounds of revelry from a saloon, and the phrase, “A bunch of the boys were whooping it up” popped into his head. Inspired, he ran to write it down (reputedly almost being shot for a burglar).  By the next morning “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” was complete:

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;

The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;

Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,

And watching his luck was his light-o’-love, the lady that’s known as Lou.

This poem has inspired many illustrations, re-printings and even motion pictures since it was written well more than a century ago.  My Father, for whom it was a favorite piece of verse, could recite it from memory, often with dramatic embellishments.  In a low growl he would intone the final words of the avenging stranger who had entered the saloon:  “But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I’ll bet my poke they’re true,That one of you is a hound of hell . . .and that one is Dan McGrew.”  No matter how many times I heard him recite that line, it never failed to give me goosebumps.

It was Service’s father who was responsible for his poetic fame.   When Robert had collected enough poems he sent them to his elder then living in Toronto.  He wanted a few booklets published for friends. Instead, His father, sensing their worth, gave them to a local publisher who also saw their commercial value and printed them as “Songs of a Sourdough.”  The American version was issued as “The Spell of the Yukon.”

Service’s book was an instant hit with the public, eventually meriting multiple printings in the United States, Canada and England.  The London publisher went through 23 printings by 1910 and 13 more by 1917.  The verses eventually earned in excess of $100,000 (equivalent to $2.5 million today).  “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” was printed solo and became the basis of two early motion pictures, as shown below.

Service’s poetic works never achieved literary approval and were often disdained by the critics.  He himself called them simply “verse.”  During his 84 years, Service published novels, articles and many more poems, but it was the burst of creativity that he achieved in a two month period in Whitehorse that has caused him to be quoted and remembered year after year.  It is amazing how quickly he composed his verses.  

He said about “Dan McGrew”: “For it came so easy to me in my excited state that I was amazed at my facility. It was as if someone was whispering in my ear.” (Remember this was after someone had tried to shoot him.)  Service continued: “As I wrote stanza after stanza, the story seemed to evolve itself. It was a marvelous experience. Before I crawled into my bed at five in the morning, my ballad was in the bag.”

Although Service in other works occasionally characterized saloons as places of camaraderie, they usually were pictured in more dismal terms.  An example is his verse entitled “New Years Eve,” telling the story of a down-and-out alcoholic seeking to cage drinks on December 31 in a New York City “watering hole”: “They’re playing a tune in McGuffy’s saloon, and its cheery and bright in there….I’ll just go over and slip inside — I mustn’t give way to despair.”

Once inside and starving, the man hallucinates about a past joyous New Year’s Eve filled with love and music.  At midnight amid the celebrating, saloon patrons attempting to rouse the derelict discover he has died.

In his latter years Service and his wife lived in France where his poetry took a much more upbeat tone.  The Paris bistro, a near equivalent of a saloon as a hangout, was a favorite subject that he celebrated in verse after verse.  Living comfortably from the proceeds of his pen, Service died in France in September 1858 at the age of 85.  Shown below is his grave monument in the village cemetery at Lancieux, Brittany.  Should you visit, be sure to hurry afterward to a local bistro and raise a glass to The Poet Laureate of the Saloon.

Note:   The Malamute Saloon, depicted above, was not the site of the poem but just the reverse.  Erected circa 1906, the name was inspired by Service’s offering.  My guess is that the word “malamute,” a native Yukon sled dog, appealed to the poet for its alliteration.  Located in Ester, Alaska, eight miles west of Fairbanks, the saloon remains a popular tourist attraction.

In the pre-Prohibition era, it was not unusual for distillers and dealers to conscript the familiar figure of Uncle Sam to merchandise their whiskeys. Shown below are examples of trade cards and newspaper ads exploiting the old gentleman’s image in the cause of selling liquor.

There was a good reason to enlist Sam: In 1897 after a Congressional investigation uncovered massive counterfeiting and adulteration of whiskey nationwide, the Bottle in Bond Act was passed and signed into law by President Grover Cleveland. It permitted the marketing of whiskey that would be sealed in bonded warehouses and and sold under proprietary names with a guarantee of integrity from the United States Government.

“Bottled in bond” or “bonded” whiskey was (and still is) whiskey that was produced according to the guidelines set forth in that more-than-century-old statute. The requirements are: 1) whiskey must be stored in a federally bonded warehouse for at least four years before bottling; 2) it must be legally defined straight whiskey and distilled in a single season by a single distillery, and 3) it must be bottled at one hundred proof (50% alcohol).

The government then certifies that the whiskey was bottled at this proof; it also vouches for the aging period. The federal guarantee is symbolized by sealing the whiskey with a green strip stamp on each bottle. In exchange for meeting all these requirements, distillers do not pay taxes on their whiskey until it is bottled and removed from the warehouse for sale. Treasury agents are assigned to distillery warehouses to insure the rules are followed.

In a day when trust in government ran higher than today, the federal guarantee was seen as something to be exploited in merchandising by canny whiskey men. How better to take advantage of “bottled-in-bond” than by appropriating the national symbol?   Roll out Uncle Sam!

A W.H. McBrayer trade card depicted the opportunity in vivid colors. Uncle Sam stands in front of a bonded warehouse, key in hand, as workers withdraw crates of Cedar Brook Hand Made Sour Mash Whiskey. A second Cedar Brook ad has the old gent and his key riding a flying bottle of whiskey and the motto: “Way above everything on earth.” This Lawrenceville, Kentucky, distillery was founded in the late 19th Century by Judge W. H. McBrayer. After his death in 1887, the Judge’s estate went to his grandchildren and their father, D. L. Moore, ran the distillery. The Kentucky Whiskey Trust bought the plant about 1900 and under various managements continued production until Prohibition.

A trade card from the Thompson Straight Whiskey Co. of Louisville, shows us Uncle Sam “Catching the Fakir.” He is peeking through a door leading to a workroom in which a whiskey “rectifier” is pouring a number of suspicious ingredients, represented by bottles on the wall, into a stoneware container. The inference is that Sam will arrest the fakir. Thompson also tells us: “ Uncle Sam says: The Label must tell the truth so always read carefully the label.”  Thompson was in business from 1910 to 1918. The company used the brand names: “Country Club”, “Forelock”, “Lucky Stone”, “Old Kentucky”, “Old Medicinal Corn”, “Old Mountain Corn”, “Thompson Old Reserve”, “Thompson Select”, “Thompson Straight”, “Very Old Special”, and “White Bird Gin.”

Steinhart Bros. in an 1890s ad portrayed a distinguished looking Uncle Sam pointing to one of the many brands they featured as wholesale liquor dealers. It is “Roxbury Rye,” a Maryland-made whiskey of which they had purchased an entire years supply. This firm was highly successful and grew to have outlets in many sections of the Big Apple. Founded in 1872 Steinhardt Bros. succumbed with Prohibition.

The trade card of Uncle Sam holding some bottled-in-bond whiskey in glass containers with one hand and a wooden barrel with the other is presumably from the R. Mathewson Company of Chattanooga. Little appears in normal sources but my surmise is that this brand was produced by the Rufus Rose family of “Four Roses” fame during a brief period 1907-1910 when son Rudolph moved their distillery from Atlanta to Chattanooga. “ R. Mathewson” was Rufus’ first initial and middle name.

The Clarke Brothers, Charles and Chauncey, inherited a distillery business founded in 1862 by their father in Peoria, Illinois, After his death they incorporated the company under their own names. For a time following the passage of the Bottle in Bond Act, they claimed that their whiskey was distilled by the U.S. Government. Probably warned off that approach they subsequently featured Uncle Sam in their advertising, emphasizing, more factually, that the Feds had set a seal on every bottle.

Guckenheimer Distilling of Pennsylvania often alluded to the bottled-in-bond character of its whiskey. In one ad Uncle Sam is shown holding a scale to demonstrate that Guckenheimer Pure Rye Whiskey has a balance of quality and purity.  A second ad claims that “Uncle Sam stands behind it,” an outright falsehood since bonding was in no way a guarantee of whiskey quality or safety. This Pittsburgh firm was founded by Asher Guckenheimer in 1857. His liquor became a leading national brand after winning top prize at the 1893 Colombian Exposition in Chicago. Following his death family members carried on the business for several years after Prohibition until 1923.

The final example deviates from the mantra of “Uncle Sam guarantees whiskey quality.” The image advertises “Five Jacks” brand from I. Michelson & Bros. of Cincinnati. It is trying to make the point that their whiskey is one “for All Nations.” Uncle Sam is leading the way for Britain’s John Bull, others dressed in national clothing, and a donkey to endorse it. The Michelsons, whiskey blenders and distributors, were in business from 1898 until 1918.

Today we are accustomed to seeing Uncle Sam represented in a number of poses, both commercial and patriotic. Since Prohibition, however, the old gentleman has been strikingly absent from whiskey merchandising even though “bottled-in-bond” has continued unabated.

Note:  More complete profiles of these whiskey organizations may be found on this website:  McBrayer, Oct. 2, 2011; Steinhardt, Oct 1, 2012; Clarke, June 20, 2011; Guckenheimer, April 15, 2012, and Michelson, April 11, 2015.

In 1975, during three months working in New York City,  I ventured over to McSorley’s Old Ale House for lunch, having read Joseph Mitchell’s well-known book on the saloon.   At the time I was aware of the several paintings of the famous watering hole by New York artist, John French Sloan,  I was unaware then, however, that a number of Sloan’s artist contemporaries also had memorialized John McSorley’s iconic saloon.

First, a bit about Sloan (1871-1951).  He is best known for his urban genre scenes and ability to capture the essence of neighborhood life in Gotham City.  Sloan, shown here, has been called “the premier artist of the Ashcan School who painted the inexhaustible energy and life of New York City during the first decades of the twentieth century.”  As shown above and in paintings below, McSorley’s not only was his regular drinking establishment but a favorite scene to paint.  Above is Sloan’s “McSorley’s Bar, 1912.”

In a painting called “McSorley’s Cats,”  Sloan captured John McSorley, the founder of the saloon at 15 East Seventh Street, in scene with the owner’s rat-catching pet cats.  Shown right, McSorley had arrived in America in 1851 at the age of 18.  The date on which he started his saloon is in dispute.  McSorley gave it as 1854 but others date it to 1865.  As shown below, Sloan also could capture quiet moments as in “McSorley’s Back Room.”

Sloan’s fellow Ashcan School member, George Luks (1867-1933), also painted a scene at McSorley’s.  Known for his depiction of New York City life, Luks’s work typifies the real-life scenes painted by the Ashcan School artists.  At McSorleys, as shown below, the artist has captured figures at the bar, one smoking, the other reading a newspaper.  Behind them a bartender is at work.

Reginald Marsh (1898-1954) was an American painter born in Paris, most notable for his depictions of life in New York City in the 1920s and 1930s. Jobless men are subjects that appear repeatedly throughout his work.  He often worked in pen and ink and in ink wash drawings.  Here he has captured a scene in McSorley’s where a gent likely down on his luck has stopped for a beer and is trying to warm up in New York’s frigid winter by hugging the saloon stove.

Perhaps the most unusual artist to paint the interior of McSorleys was Childe Hassam.  Frederick Childe Hassam (1859 – 1935) was an American Impressionist painter, noted for his landscape and coastal pictures.  After living in France for some years, Hassam and his wife returned to the United States in 1889, taking residence in New York City. Hassam began to paint urban scenes, often using a palette of blacks and browns (considered “forbidden colors” by some Impressionists) to create his paintings.  This is evident in the dark hues Hassam used in his image of a lone drinker at McSorley’s bar.

Another artist who chose McSorley’s was Louis George Bouché (1896 – 1969), an American painter with whom I was earlier unfamiliar. Very little has been written about him.  Born in New York City, Bouché spent many years abroad and returned to teach at the Art Student’s League in New York.  A friend of Reginald Marsh, his art is not easily categorized.  Below he has captured the McSorley bar scene somewhat as Sloan had done earlier.

The cartoon of McSorley’s below is by Don Freeman (1908-1978), a student of Sloan at the Art Student’s League.  Freeman was known for carrying a sketchbook with him wherever he went. His images depicted New York City, the faces of the people he observed on the streets, and citizens down on their luck.  His pen and ink drawing here depicted some well known McSorley customers.  Note that Freeman included the potbellied stove and the cats.

My memory of lunch at McSorley’s is hazy.  I remember having a corned beef sandwich on rye that was mediocre and a glass of ale that was good.  The place seemed a bit dark and dingy, and with my historical interest satisfied, I never went back.  Below is a photo of the saloon interior as it looks today.  The bar, clock, stove, light fixtures — appear as they did in the past.  One major change:  A female bartender.  Women were not allowed in McSorley’s until August 10, 1970 and it took a lawsuit to force their admittance.

 

In the days before National Prohibition when women, at least respectable women, were barred from saloons, proprietors felt free to distribute trade cards advertising their establishments that often included “double entrendre” messages, often provided in verse.  Shown here are offerings from watering holes across America and reaching into Mexico.

The first example comes from Becker’s Saloon in Reno, Nevada, a place where one might get a limburger cheese sandwich and a beer for 15 cents.  It was located in the Becker Building on Reno’s Commercial Row and held the saloon, a restaurant and a card playing center.  Its trade card depicted a comely woman with a monkey shaking hands with a farm boy and reads:

The boys all like Mary, and

Like her monkey too,

And when they play so 

Nice with it, what can 

Mary do?

The 1911 city directory of Springfield, Illinois, lists almost three full pages of saloons, indicating that the competition for customers among them must have been fierce.  That may explain the number of trade cards from that city that carried suggestive poetry.   Zimmerman & Co. called its place The “Budweiser,” a designation that suggests a “tied” saloon, that is, one that served only a single kind of beer in return for financial support from a brewer.  Its “poem” read:

With fond regret I now remember,

Those happy days of youthful fun,

When all my limbs were lithe and limber, 

Did I say all?  Yes all but one.

Those glorious days have ceased forever,

The happy days of youthful fun,

All limbs are daily growing stiffer

Did I say all?  Yes all but one.

Another saloon was the Sullivan Bar on Springfield’s North Sixth Street.  But Sullivan was not there.  Instead the proprietor was another Irishman named William Greenhalgh.  Noting that Sullivan’s “thirst parlor” also had “rooms in connection” a question arises about what additional activities might have been going on there.  The verse on the card back side may give a clue:

Tis said that in these days of progress and push,

That ONE bird in the hand is worth TWO in the bush;

But the summer girls says, if birdie will stand,

ONE bird in her bush is worth TWO in her hand.

William J. Cordier, the cravated chap shown above and proprietor of the Schlitz Forum & Cafe, right down the street from Sullivan’s in Springfield, felt compelled to issue two risqué’ cards.  One of them contains eight suggestive quatrains, of which the following are two:

Here’s to the girl that dresses in the sailor hat,

Pink shirtwaist and white cravat,

Patent leather shoes and blue parasol,

And a little brown spot that pays for them all.

Here’s to the girl that dresses in black,

She alway looks neat and never looks slack,

But when she kisses, she kisses so sweet,

She makes things stand that have no feet.

Cordier also issued a second card that featured a story in verse about a fly that intrudes into a grocery store and, after defecating on a piece of ham, proceeds to elude the storekeeper and then:

When he had done his deadly work

He flew right over to the lady clerk

And up her leg he took a stroll

And took bath in her hole.

Proprieties deteriorate further in subsequent stanzas until the fly meets an untimely — and unseemly — death.

 

Tommy Sookiasian, an Armenian, was proprietor of a saloon in Juarez, Mexico, a short distance over the Rio Grande River from El Paso, Texas.  He issued a trade card that, while ostensibly involving cattle and their tails is meant to remind us of the deterioration in the male organ of generation as the years take their toll.  Tommy’s was a bar and cafe featuring a fish menu but also sold wholesale liquor.

Contemplating the unusual name of “The Humorist Saloon,” perhaps it was the proprietor,  T. E. Tobin,  depicted on the trade card, who fancied himself a funny man.  His St. Louis watering hole seems never to have closed, being open”night and day.”  His rhyme on the reverse while not having sexual overtones, was laced with profanity, as per the stanza that follows:

Beer is a beverage,

That works upon the mind;

It makes men and women talk,

When they are not inclined.

It works like a figure,

And works without a rule,

And make people think they are smart

When they are a G—D—d Fool.

This is just a small sample of the artistic achievements contributed to the American poetic lexicon by the Nation’s saloonkeepers.   Their verse seldom receives attention, particularly in literary (as opposed to drinking) circles.  I am happy to remedy that omission here.