The pavements were wet and slippery and caution had to be exercised. The engines, trucks and wagons taking part were lined up in Main Street above Tupper with instructions to keep well apart and avoid full-out racing. The heavy trucks had to be cautious in their speed. The horses did not dash with full vim and vigor at all points either, but there were many excellent bursts of speed. The perilous asphalt was cleared along the course shortly before 8:30 and everybody was kept back of the curb. Whoever thought of the feature was a genius for touching a popular chord and for having an eye for the spectacular. There was danger to the affair to be sure and it was undoubtedly that unpredictable element which caught on to the public fancy so strongly.
From the start to the finish of the run the distance was a little over a mile. Everything was in readiness, and Chief McConnell’s automobile shot away at 8:30 o’clock to the second to the sound of clang! clang! clang! People stood in the rain and yelled wildly as the horses galloped by. The crowd ignored the soaking just to view the unusual sight of a full contingent of fire apparatus powered by both engine and equine on a wild race to the finish. The horse-drawn wagon of Assistant Chief Murphy followed right after McConnell’s automobile. Murphy was determined not to be left by the automobile if it was within the power of horseflesh to keep up.
Murphy’s gong clanged as loudly as that of McConnell’s ahead. The horse spread out with long, rapid strides. Down to Genesee Street he kept his nose poked close to McConnell’s smoke-belching machine. It was a thrilling sight, and absorbed in it the people seemed to forget that there was still more careening steel and stampeding hooves on the way. They cheered and went wild.
Good horseflesh and exemplary effort were no match for machine steadiness or speed, and after Genesee Street was passed the automobile drew steadily away until at the finish it was fully two blocks in the lead. As if to show its superiority, the automobile passed Exchange Street in a flash, swept almost to the foot, then turned and met Murphy’s finish.
Clang! Clang! again rang out up the street and with a roar the rest of the apparatus came on. A hose wagon and engine No. 1 were first, followed in order by truck No. 2, engine No. 7, chemical No. 1, engine No. 13, truck No. 7, chemical No. 3, and engine No. 1.
Engine No. 9, which was substituted in place of engine No. 10 in Perry Street so that the downtown section of the city would not be left unprotected in case of a real alarm of fire came in last. This was all the apparatus which would normally respond to a first alarm from Exchange and Main Streets, with the exception of a water tower, the fire tugboats, and engine No. 8 from Chicago Street.
Driver Brandt of engine No. 9 sent his three horses by Shelton Square at a gallop, which thrilled the crowd and brought him hearty cheers. The very earth shook under the hoofs of his team.
Chief McConnell’s time in passing from Tupper Street past Exchange Street was 3:57, which is not to be compared with the speed with which he has gone to fires. The entire time consumed in the run was about five minutes.
The owners of the rubberneck automobile in Shelton Square took advantage of those who were in the background by offering them a chance to see the fun by selling them seats in the automobile from which they could look over the heads of those in front.
With clatter and clang, the array had swept down the street like banshees. The people applauded and cheered and since there was no mishap another happy memory is added to Old Home Week which can be told in the future to the credit of the successful way in which the great show was carried through.
That same evening a crusade against false mustaches was started by the police. Ten young men who mingled with the facial adornments were gathered in and told to remove them lest they be charged with violation of section No. 452 of the penal code which forbids any sort of a disguise in crowds.
“We cannot afford to take any chances with these disguises,” said Chief Regan. “A clever crook might take advantage of a false mustache and escape the vigilance of the police and detectives.”
Fraternal and Irish Day
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Following the fire apparatus race, Friday night’s illuminated parade of civic, fraternal and secret societies was the biggest and best event of its kind ever seen in the city. Fully 20,000 men marched with flags, banners, uniforms and other regalia. The waving plumes, the glittering swords, helmets and other equipment, the varied colors of the suits and the clever drilling under the brilliant glow of the rainbow arcade incited great enthusiasm in the great crowds that turned out to see it.
Buffalo Lodge B. P. O. Elks without doubt made the hit of the parade. The Elks went in for the grotesque in their parade features, and while that put them out of the prize winnings, they kept the vast throngs entertained and elicited the greatest applause of any organization in line.
The Elks’ division was headed by a float representing a stage in which a continuous black-face act was performed all along the line of march. The float was equipped with an organ and was lit up with acetylene gas. The minstrels did their work well and kept the grandstand occupants cheering by singing You’ll Have To Wait Till My Ship Comes In and I Would Like To Marry You, interspersing their songs with dances.
Behind the minstrels were Elks members riding mules adorned with imitation elk horns. Three clowns did tumbling acts in and out among them, one having a trick fox terrier at the end of a ship’s cable. The three human clowns and the one canine clown elicited much applause. They were followed by a float in which there was an enormous, majestic actual elk with a span of antlers that must have measured seven feet upon which a terrified baby girl was seated. A half dozen women occupied the float, a magnificent affair lit up with 400 electric lights, and threw purple and white carnations to the enthusiastic throngs along the sidewalks.
The Wearing of the Green was played by the band marching with the Ancient Order Of Hibernians who were the largest group in the parade with 668 marchers. They were followed by the Polish Societies, Italian Societies, The Woodmen of the World, Electric City Council No. 7, The Knights of St. John, The National Protective Legion, and many others. The line of march was two and a half miles long, too long really for the short parade route. Thousands who lined up never got to see the entire parade.
Corinne, the celebrated singer who was playing at Shea’s Theater that evening, battled for an hour to get across Main Street from her hotel to the theater for her performance. She finally had to be rescued by stage manager John Malloy. Corinne entreated the crowds from Lafayette Square all the way to Swan Street to allow her passage but nobody saw it her way. The parade was in full swing, spectators jealously guarded their hard-won places and her entreaties fell on deaf ears. Malloy tried to cross Main with a flying wedge of stagehands from the opposite side, but found it impossible. He then went down to Quay Street, crossed over at that point, and found Corinne. He retreated with his prize over the same circuitous route and got Corinne to the stage in time for her performance.
In Delaware Park a jolly, fun-loving and well-behaved crowd of 20,000 people saw the free display of fireworks. There was nothing paltry or stingy about the pyrotechnics either. 20,000 people at the grounds and half again as many came out onto the streets in the district immediately adjacent. All were enthralled with the aerial extravaganza.
At the moment the first rocket tore upward there was a cheer and a roar of applause from the assembled multitude. As a sort of preliminary bombardment a few aerial bombs were exploded amid gasps from the grown-up folk and shrieks of delight from the children.
The big Welcome piece—50 feet high and 25 feet wide—showed a full-sized bison outlined in fire. A cheer swept over the multitude when this was set off and all Old Homers who heard it must have thrilled with pleasure at the cordiality it bespoke: Welcome Home.
Sergeant Elrich and fifteen men had a difficult time keeping people back to the line and out of the way of the three break shells said to be the largest ever set off in Buffalo. But once the patrolmen succeeded in getting the crowd back, keeping or
der was a comparatively easy task.
For fireworks, the night was ideal. There was no moon and the stars hardly pierced the mantle of cloud and smoke which hung over the field. These conditions only served to accentuate the contrast when the fiery projectiles shot skyward. Comets, shooting stars and rockets by the hundreds sizzled, whizzed and boomed, lighting at times for a brief moment the awe-struck upward-turned faces of the ten acres of captivated spectators who had gathered to witness them.
The banner piece of the night, Niagara Falls In Fire, was a pouring spray of molten liquid shot through with multicolored projectiles. The smoke transfigured in the glare into a cloud of mist not unlike that of the true Niagara, creating much enthusiasm. The insistent cannonading lasted for an hour, but the cloud battalions never wavered. Poured aloft they seemed to mock the fiery bombardment from below.
With one final brilliant flash of fireworks the show’s last rocket exploded high above. Thereafter darkness finally settled over the happy homeward-heading multitudes.
Saturday September 7, 1907
Old Home Week
Children’s and German Day
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“We Made the British Think There Was No Place Like Home!” was the inscription on a banner borne in the float of Saint Francis Xavier School of Black Rock. The Black Rock boys were in reference to the 1813 Battle of Black Rock, in which the local citizenry fought bitterly against the invading British troops’ murderous rampage upon the Niagara Frontier’s men, women and children, and the destruction of their village, now a thriving Buffalo neighborhood.
The Syrian Children’s float followed and was among the most beautiful. It contained some of the most costly decorations in the entire parade. It was the float of Saint John Maron’s school, the Syrian school of this city. The pupils dressed in their national garb. They occupied a tent, common in Oriental countries, gaily decorated with costly rugs, tapestry and other Oriental products of the loom.
The Children’s Parade was vast and included marchers from every school in the city: public schools, parochial, grammar, trade schools, and orphan asylum schools. Each had a float reenacting scenes from American history, national or local. The girls of Saint Joachim’s School marched in red, white, and blue and arranged themselves as a living American flag. Nurses carried babies in their arms in the Saint Mary’s Infant Asylum float represented by gaily decorated automobiles and carriages. It was followed by the floats of the Saint Vincent’s orphan asylum, Father Baker’s orphan asylum and Saint Joseph’s orphan asylum. Mothers in the crowd looked upon the sight of all these unwanted children with sadness and pity.
The themes of the floats were dizzying in their number and variety, from the depiction of Quaker persecution on one to a reenactment of Paul Revere’s Ride on another, to an Indian tribe with full-sized teepee and a working campfire on yet another. The boys of School 17 dressed as American soldiers in circa 1813 uniforms and marched in formation. An immigrant train of covered wagons pulled by teams of horses was the entry for School 61. The week had been a success beyond anyone’s hopes or plans. In less than three months and for only $65,000—much of the money raised by the Buffalo Express’ appeals to its readers—the city had pulled together and left more than one hundred thousand duly impressed Old Homers to spread the word across the nation that this was one city that certainly knew how to stage a celebration without equal.
Sunday September 7, 1907
Old Home Week
The Finale
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Newly supplied with fresh souvenirs the street peddlers finally got in their licks. They were surprised at how many visitors waited until leaving town before they stocked up on Old Home Week badges, pin-backs, postcards, Views Of Buffalo booklets, canes, tops, flags, cups, pennants, streamers, buffalo-head casts, bison clocks, bison letter openers, bison match safes, medallions and more. Sales were so brisk that the frenzy at their stores and stands compared favorably to the stock exchange during a panic. All the department stores did a rousing business as well, setting an all-time record for sales, and most were kept open late every night until midnight and later to accommodate the masses.
On the last stroke of twelve on the big clock at City Hall on Sunday night, eight days after they were turned on, the lights of the colonnade were switched off and Buffalo’s tremendously successful carnival came to a close. At least 75,000 slow-strolling pedestrians and hundreds of automobiles took a final last look at the spectacle on Sunday evening.
Among them were the Alderman and his family in the company of his brother’s brood, as Jim Sullivan was still on detective duty and couldn’t join in. The flowing tide of humanity was beautifully dressed, wide-eyed and weary from all the fun and excitement of the previous unforgettable week. Absorbing the last few particles of celebration before everyone went back to their normal lives the next day, it was clear that no one wanted it to end, even though it must.
Each of the elder Sullivan children was required to physically grasp their younger assigned charge so as not to be separated in the vast crowd. John Jr. chafed at holding brother Thomas’ hand, so Thomas’ hand on his shoulder with a firm grasp of his collar substituted. Johnny rebelled, attempting to dash off in whatever direction caught his attention, but Thomas held tight.
“Can’t we have a Dr. Pepper now?” Mildred whined, unhappy with her father’s’ policy that the children could not eat or drink while on display. The female siblings all ogled the dresses, hats and fancy bumbershoots of the women and scanned the crowd for handsome males to admire even as their stomachs growled.
Numerous individuals stopped the Alderman to congratulate him, pay their respects, or ask favors. Unable—or more truthfully, unwilling—to ever take off his alderman’s hat, JP politely engaged each one to the frustrated disgruntlement of his wife and children. Hannah pulled Annie aside and suggested they allow the Alderman to bask in his limelight while they take the children off and enjoy whatever time they had left together. Annie knew from the outset that any public family foray involving the alderman would have to be more business than pleasure, and demurred with a resigned shrug.
Hanna gathered together her three. As the Alderman held court on the corner of Court and Main she smiled insincerely and waved goodbye at him, happy to be rid of the pompous ass. Hanna’s children bid goodbye to their sad-faced cousins, trapped in their inconvenient role of showcase family. Annie turned edgy at losing the extra hands that had helped corral her youngest. Her evening’s fun was over, such as it was.
Within five minutes Hannah and her three offspring were laughing and joking, the kids making wicked fun of certain badly dressed or unfortunately deformed individuals. Hanna’s half-hearted protests put little damper on their merriment. They bought popcorn and Hebrew National frankfurters. They crunched Necco Wafers and sipped Coca-Cola, and paused at Shelton Square to watch the fascinating parade of humanity flow past as they snacked, freed from the rigidity of the Alderman’s entourage. Even though ten-year-old David had school the following day, Hannah fully realized that this was a once-in-a-lifetime evening. Their all being together like this was so absolutely precious to her. Jim Jr. was twenty-two. Nellie was twenty-one. They were grown already, and this might be the last time all four of them could do something like this as a family, having fun in this way. And so they strolled and laughed, window-shopped and ate and ogled until the very last trolley departed downtown for Hamburg Street.
A band played in the reviewing stand at Lafayette Square and would continue until the lights went out at midnight. A few hundred persons sat and listened. Shortly before 11 o’clock, Morphy, who was known for singing lustily “to beat the band” wandered down the street. Alderman Sullivan got a glimpse of him.
“Looks like you’ll have to sing, Morphy” said Sullivan.
“I can’t! I got no voice left. I just abandoned the Germans at Teutonia Park,” Morphy protested.
“There’s seven Dutchmen looking up at you—looky there,” said Sullivan pointing to
the little group standing in the street. “I’m Irish and all the coppers there in front are Irish. What more do you want?”
So, Morphy consented to sing. The street cars and automobiles ceased to move as a large crowd gathered to listen. Nothing could get by. One streetcar made the attempt, followed by an automobile. Sergeant O’Brien, in command in the third precinct, threw up both his hands and shouted, “Is it to kill the people you would? Let your cars stand still!” Morphy continued to sing as the band accompanied him on “Tim Toolan, The Stout Man From Tipperary,” and the crowd did yell when Morphy gave them the signal for the chorus. He would still be singing yet if the crowd had anything to do with it, but after two songs he gathered up his music and departed. “Me voice is givin’ out!” he responded to the objectors.
The dealers in clappers, canes, caps and other novelties and souvenirs were hard pressed toward the close. With the thinning out of the crowd shortly after 10 o’clock their wares were offered at half-price and later on at any old price. Some hawkers tried to introduce tin horns and were meeting with success until the rain began to drip at 9 o’clock. By 10 o’clock it had not more than just wet the pavement. Half an hour later umbrellas were raised, and by 11 o’clock there was quite a drizzle. It had the effect of sending folks home, packed tight in the streetcars. Only policemen yet worked at that point. There was a policeman every ten feet along Main street, in place to keep things running smoothly. The cops were also determined in carrying out to the end the order issued by Chief Regan to nip the first signs of rowdyism in the bud. There was no occasion. A cluster of men or women would congregate here and there in the street and a policeman would step up and say “Move along, please. I know you’re doing no harm, but a blockade in the crowd may cause trouble.” The people moved. It was a gathering which was in circulation continually and whose only desire in being was to belong in the throng.
Murderers, Scoundrels and Ragamuffins Page 38