Each older sibling was assigned complete responsibility for a younger sibling and no siblings were allowed to become separated from their charge or to go off on their own under any circumstances. None of this was new to anyone as it had always been standard procedure for the family when out in public.
They saw that getting close to the reviewing stand was nigh on impossible for the tight crush of spectators entrenched there, especially for the entire extended family. The Sullivans had pledged to keep an eye out for their Saulter and Nugent cousins who they had arranged to meet there, but the enormous crowd and the dim light made locating them impossible. The milling throng was growing huge and boisterous and Annie began having second thoughts about being there at all. She nervously nagged the children to stay together. She could not entirely relax and enjoy the event because she was so preoccupied, which is what happens to mothers who have had babies taken from them. The kids on the other hand were enthralled and energized by the crowds, the noise and the joviality. The colonnades, painted in white faux marbre, trailed down Main Street as far as the eye could see as the throng awaited the spectacular reveal. Street fakers located themselves at several corners and did a rumbling business in squawkers, tin horns, rattle-drums and other noise-producing devices. Petty fireworks were also sold.
Some feather dusters known to the trade as “ticklers” surreptitiously appeared, and 10 year old Junior asked his preoccupied mother for permission to buy one. Distractedly, she said yes. Junior had been charged to the oversee of eldest son Thomas who knew full well what the little prankster had in mind. Junior paid two cents for a tickler and for the rest of the event amused himself and Thomas by maneuvering the feather in the subdued light to brush against the necks, ears, cheeks and any bare arms of the tightly assembled crowd. The boys laughed quietly each time one of their victims swatted at the insect they thought was annoying them. The fun ended when Johnny made the mistake of turning his attentions to his own mother, who grabbed the tickler away from him and uttered the stern phrase every boy-child has heard since the caveman days: “Wait until I tell your father after we get you home, young man!”
Not barring the Elks Convention week, not barring the Pan-American Exposition, not barring even the night of the day when President McKinley was shot when the streets downtown were thronged with people brandishing hangman’s nooses surging toward police headquarters where the assassin was confined—not barring any other crowd, the mass that turned out on Main Street to see the Old Home Week Illumination was the largest Buffalo had ever witnessed.
Hannah spotted Chief Regan. She was impressed by how the huge crowd parted upon his approach, his physical size being as much a factor as his immense popularity. Regan was celebrated for his sense of fairness upon his taking command of the city. When tens of thousands had stormed Police Headquarters the night President McKinley was shot wanting to lynch the assassin, Mike Reagan appeared out front on the steps, and announced to the throng why they needed to call a stop to their madness and return to their homes.
“Lynch him, hang him!” was the cry. A number of men held nooses high in the air to illustrate their intention. Alone, Captain Regan stepped from the building and confronted the crowds.
“G’way,” he shouted. “What do you mean anyway by comin’ around here like this? Clear out or I’ll call out the reserves!”
Regan managed to hold the enormous mob at bay while Czolgosz was secreted out the building through a rear exit and spirited over to the jail, and later to the penitentiary. While this escape was in progress Regan convinced the mob that the man they were seeking was not in the station. He had set up the distraction brilliantly. The crowd was slowly dispersed when mounted police and reserves from outlying stations arrived. Order was quickly restored.
Regan made his way through the vast celebrating throng slowly, keeping watch, soliciting respect, keeping the populace happy. Such was the condition along Main Street from Exchange to Chippewa for the hour between 9 o’clock and 10. It filled the sidewalks from curb to wall, and the roadway from curb to curb. There was barely room for the street cars to crawl. And for about half an hour no vehicles could pass through Main Street for many blocks north and south from the central point of interest, the grand reviewing stand at Lafayette Square. The police turned them off into side streets—a long unbroken line of automobiles and carriages.
By 9 o’clock the jam in front of the reviewing stand was solid. No person had elbow room nor could move. This was the hour that festival President Clawson was scheduled to throw the switch that would light the colonnade that stretched the full mile from Chippewa to Exchange streets.
The reviewing stand with its white columns marking off its eleven huge sections, each column surmounted by a white eagle and a streamer-laden flagstaff, displayed rows of festooned wires studded with many-colored electric bulbs. Its ornamental plaster front was decorated with bison heads and gay drapings presenting an imposing appearance. The vision inspired many to go in search of the ticket-sellers who still had some grandstand seats for sale at $5 apiece. The expensive grandstand ticket would be good for the entire week’s upcoming events.
Below the reviewing stand within and intermingling with the scene of lights and gay colors the mass of humanity was in itself a festive gathering. Except for the street cars and automobiles and other vehicles which brought probably half of the mass downtown, seemingly every foot of space was filled in with men, women and children who gaped, gazed and glanced in all directions.
The crowd in front of the stand had eyes on the group in the stand. President John L. Clawson was in the center, while Judge Stern, Oliver G. LaReau, Alderman John P. Sullivan and other members of the Old Home Week executive committee surrounded him.
Clawson stood to address the immense crowd with a few official words, but the shuffling, chatter, rattle-drums and firecrackers made it impossible for him to be heard beyond the third row. So finally in mid-sentence he gave up, waved his hands in resignation, and simply threw the switch.
Simultaneously fourteen men stationed at groups of columns at other points up and down Main Street threw on other switches, and the dazzling splendor of the colonnade illumination burst upon the anticipating throng. In perfect unison the 50 snow-white columns surmounted with the flaming torch of “Welcome Home” were lit ablaze. The lights flamed and sparkled like illuminated emeralds, rubies and sapphires in a glare of electric splendor.
The scene, viewed from either end of the mile-long colonnade, was awe-inspiring. At the near end the huge round white shafts rose from their immaculate block pedestals till they towered high above the head. Decked with flags and streamers of many colors and designs at their middles, looped with necklaces of glowing beads in the form of small parti-colored electric bulbs near the tops, their crests surmounted each by a basket containing a brilliant nosegay in the shape of 100 similar bulbs drooping from long stems, these columns, at close range, presented suggestions of carnival grandeur.
As the eyes of the crowd followed them up and down the street block after block linked by long chains of variegated lights and garlanded with fresh mountain laurel, the pillars shortened and the lane narrowed until, at the far end, they converged into a seemingly solid mass of white marble and jewels and draperies of many colors. The full effect recalled vividly the splendor of the illumination of Buffalo’s Pan-American Exposition of 1901.
Adding to the brilliancy of the colonnade scheme of illumination were myriads of other electric lights, arc and incandescent, in globes and bulbs, in the hundreds of permanent or temporary signs projecting from, resting against, or surmounting the buildings along both sides of the street. The centerpiece of the whole artistic and original scheme of light—the front of the beautifully decorated reviewing stand, from the flagstaffs on the roof to the balustrade on front of the lower row of seats—blossomed into a bower of stately beauty. Already 500 citizens had thus far paid a premium for the thousand available places in the stand, from which the spectacle was joyfully abs
orbed.
At first, the crowd was momentarily bedazzled speechless. Their initial expression was simply a low murmur. The murmur grew in volume for several seconds and then exploded into a burst of cheers that ranged up and down the street for blocks. Automobiles chorused their horns, folks blew tin horns with election night vigor and small boys whistled their loudest.
“Say president, was it worth the trouble?” smiled Alderman Sullivan, when the applause subsided.
“Oh, this is grand!” replied Mr. Clawson. “This pleases me right down to the ground!” he said, pointing to the solid phalanx of people stretched as far as the eye could follow it. Buffalo Mayor Adam, just returned from a sojourn in his native Scotland that day, had been among the pedestrians. He moved up and down the stretch of colonnade. When he came back to the grandstand his face beamed with pleasure.
“I am delighted” he said, enthusiastically. “It is beautiful. The crowd is simply immense. I am glad to have returned in time for Old Home Week. Our city should be proud. It is ready. Our visitors are welcome. Now for a week of solid pleasure!”
In spite of its bigness it was an orderly crowd. There was laughter, prattle and general good nature, but very little rowdiness. Wherever any sign of it seemed it might appear, the police promptly squelched it. A force of about 40 policemen under captains Notter and Laughlin had charge of the street.
“If a man attempted to give the right hand of welcome to this crowd, he would break his arm before he got over the crossing,” remarked a stout man who was wedged in the vortex in front of the grandstand. Everybody within hearing laughed, and the laugh must have been contagious, for it spread through Main street faster than the lights in response to President Clawson’s button. The fascination of being in a crowd which appealed to all Americans kept everybody pleasant. At 10 o’clock there had not been a single arrest on Main street, and the police said that Old Home Week “was just like eating pie” so far as handling crowds went.
A woman narrowly escaped being struck by an automobile at Mohawk Street. She lost temper for the moment. “If I were running Old Home Week I would wipe them things off the map!” she bellowed. And just as quickly she was caught up in the general laugh again. Police Sergeant Ed Simon volunteered to hand a timid woman across the street, and after she had clutched his arm he set out boldly. He arrived at the opposite side of the street and turned to accept thanks. The woman was not there but his coat sleeve was badly wrenched. One woman of the many who ventured into the press wearing French heels had a sad experience. One of her shoe strings became untied and before she could get to an opening to retie it, the shoe had been swept away. She had to go home with only one shoe.
It was surprising then just how quickly the huge crowd melted away. After it had feasted its eyes on the illumination up and down the street it seemed satisfied. There was a general feeling that old Buffalo was creditably prepared to receive her company of Old Home Weekers. Contented, the crowd began to disburse.
Annie and Hannah had been satisfied even earlier than the masses and although their children complained loudly when they were instructed to head back to the streetcar before they’d finished their fun, nonetheless they all obediently marched in lockstep with their departing Commanding Generals.
The Rainbow Falls
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Taking advantage of the waves of visitors arriving in Buffalo for Old Home Week, nearby Niagara Falls’ city officials decided upon the very same night as Buffalo’s Main Street colonnade illumination to stage their own rival Grand Illumination.
Niagara Falls was seen for the first time that night under electric light when the gigantic scintillator below the bank on the Canadian side near the Horseshoe Falls was switched on. It was a spectacle of rare magnificence. A brilliant shaft of light was shot into the sky to initially signal that the scintillator was functioning properly. Crowds from the streets at the south end hurried to the park. Hotel corridors were soon entirely deserted. The multitude competed for every point of vantage. Even the frighteningly risky Prospect Point precipice—not even two feet away from the thundering deadly American Falls itself—was jammed solid. Both sides of the Niagara Gorge were lined with people in the thousands. The mighty effulgence of light swept over the crest of the rushing torrent and lit not just the deepest recesses of the cliff, but even the tiniest shrubs that clung to it.
Twice during the evening a perfect Aurora Borealis was formed. The wonderful combination of colors was magical in grandeur as it penetrated the clouds of spray that settled in the gorge. Every tint, from the softest violet to the most delicate orange to emerald green and the bolder red and yellow were projected upon the cataract.
The cliff battery was not yet in operation and only fifteen lights of the gorge battery were operating, yet the exhibition was one of such beauty that one could scarcely comprehend the fullness of the display once the entire scintillator would be employed in force.
It was a warm night and the crowds that cried out in wonder and astonishment at the beauty of the color display luxuriated in the cooling mists bathed in hues never before seen there. Buffalo’s newspapers heralded this novel addition to the Falls’ attractions but were not just a little unhappy with the obvious timing of the event, deliberately chosen to steal attention away from the city’s meticulously scheduled Grand Week.
Monday September 2, 1907
Old Home Week
The Crowds Arrive
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On Monday, Labor Day, the dedication of the Verdi monument with its spectacular parade of uniformed Italians, the aquatic sports including the rowing regatta on the Erie Canal, the flight of pigeons, the dizzying tight-wire performances daringly carried out high above Main Street, an airship ascension, band concerts in the main squares, the golf, polo and tennis tournaments, and, lastly, but most attractive of all to many, the illumination of the colonnade—these were some of the features apart from the Labor Day holiday proper that helped to fill out a day of splendid enjoyment for all visitors. Even the grandest expectations of the railroad men were exceeded in the human invasion. From early morning until midnight and even after, trains came into the several stations loaded to the guards. Specials were run on many of the roads, while on all of them the regulars carried additional cars. Each car was crammed full, in many instances the aisles as well as the seats being filled.
The Lehigh Valley, Erie, and Lackawanna stations must have received at least 10,000 newcomers, while the New York Central station, which receives the passengers from a dozen different lines broke all single-day records since the Pan American Exposition.
“We’ve had at least 20,000 passengers come in this afternoon alone,” said Stationmaster Gordon Allyn. “Between Labor Day in particular and Old Home Week in general, we expected crowds, but not such crowds as this!”
From the Buffalo Courier:
Stuart, the aerial king, the wire-walker, gave a thrilling demonstration of his ability to keep his balance a hundred feet above terra firma yesterday afternoon. He walked from the roof of the Genesee Hotel at Genesee and Main streets, to the opposite side of the street, then returned after posing for five minutes over the wire in the center of the street just as easily as though he were on the ground.
Five thousand persons witnessed this performance. All stood aghast—breathlessly watching for the result of the performance. Stuart did his wire-walking stunt yesterday under difficult conditions. There was a strong wind blowing. He had trouble keeping his balance which made the event all the more spectacular and which enthused the crowd. A twelve-year-old boy fell in a faint when Stuart was going through his performance in mid-air. The lad was frightened at the spectacular feature that was introduced by the Home Week committee. He was taken to the Red Cross Hospital in West Genesee Street where he soon revived.
10,000 persons on the Ferry Street circus grounds viewed the Labor Day fireworks display with an additional 10,000 doing likewise at Luna Park. Every theater was packed and side streets filled with overflow cro
wds. Main Street was peopled so thickly that it seemed as if the entire population of the city as well as every Old Home visitor had descended upon it.
Labor Day evening marked the biggest crowd Buffalo had ever seen on her main thoroughfares in a single night, not even barring the previous Saturday’s illumination ceremony. Within the limits of the mile-long Luminous Lane the rows of humanity followed each other so closely that folks had to mince their steps. To cut through the crowd crosswise was almost impossible. One had to wait long and struggle hard. Outside the wire restraining lines the crowds overflowed into the carriageway and mingled with a triple row of automobiles, cars and carriages, which end-to-end stretched the length of the colonnade.
These carriages and automobiles transported additional thousands. The congestion of vehicles was paralyzing. And while these myriads of folks were amassed downtown other thousands were newly pouring out of the railroad cars and from terminals that berthed the steamships from up the Great Lakes.
Tuesday September 3, 1907
Old Home Week
The Firemen’s Parade
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On Tuesday morning, September 3rd, a vast cross section of Buffalo’s populace turned out to view the spectacle of the thousands of heroes that comprised the marchers in the Firemen’s Parade—in addition to the estimated 76,000 visitors from out of town present that day.
Hardly less interesting than the pageant itself was the throng of spectators. Both sidewalks on Main Street from Exchange to Goodell, the turning point in the route of march, were filled with men, women and children anywhere from six to fifteen rows deep. In spots the jam was so great that it was hardly possible for a person to squeeze his way up or down the walk where it would have taken a battering ram to drive a passage crosswise through it to the curbside.
Murderers, Scoundrels and Ragamuffins Page 34