A Hole in Chicago

1895

Experience of a Traveler Who Went Driving In the Windy City.

"Whatever may be said of New York's streets as to their uncleanliness," said a traveler, "can be more than matched by that city of sooty faces and soiled linen, Chicago, and the streets there are afflicted with more things than more dirt. I was out driving there one winter night with a Chicagoan, who was showing me the sights. The horse, a spirited hackney, was bowling along at a pretty good clip. The vehicle was one of those two wheeled affairs which hoist the occupants about five foot from the roadway. My friend and I were engaged in conversation, when all of a sudden there was a mighty crash. The wheel alongside me gave a thump and a bump, I was thrown in the air about two feet, my hat was jammed over my eyes and my glasses flew off my nose. When I landed, my companion fell on top of me, completely knocking out what little breath I had left. Fortunately he kept a good hold on the reins, for the horse had taken fright and was running away.

"It took about five minutes to stop the horse and remove the memories of the incident from his mind. I have them still in mine. After I had recovered my glasses from the bottom of the carriage and got my collar into position, likewise my internal organs, I inquired what in the name of something quite profane it was that we ran into.

"'Oh,' replied my friend, 'only a fire.'

"'Fire be hanged,' said I. 'How could a fire throw us around like that? I didn't see any fire anywhere.'

" 'Well, you don't understand Chicago yet,' said my friend. 'You see, we are now driving on a wood pavement. This part of the town is not populated with the richest class of persons. Sometimes they go broke, to use a colloquial term, and firewood gets low. When the bin is empty and the thrifty laborer finds that it is a case of having a fire at the city's expense or going cold, he generally chooses the former. He then waits for nightfall, and with a crowbar and pickax goes out and digs up a couple of yards of the street and lugs it home. The wood is always covered with tar and makes the finest kind of firewood. It was one of the holes left by one of those enterprising fellows that we fell into.'

"I said nothing more, but merely ached and thought it over." — New York Sun.

Drumming Long Ago

1895

A VETERAN ON THE EARLY DAYS OF SELLING GOODS BY SAMPLE.

Tales of the Times When Canalboats Were Best Means of Transportation — Nothing the Wonderful Growth of Many Western Cities.

"I believe I was the first drummer who went west from New England,” said John B. Curtis of the firm of Curtis & Son, and I am very sure that I was one of the first. I made my first long western trip 44 years ago, and I've just returned from a trip that took me to the Pacific coast.

"I sometimes wonder, when I meet the busy, pushing drummers of today, the men who are used to rapid traveling, the best of hotels and good living generally, I sometimes wonder what they would if they were suddenly put back and made to do as we had to 50 years ago or a little less. Some of the poorest of them would give up their job, but I think that the rest would stick to it and make a success of the business, just as we did in those days.

"Nearly 50 years ago, when the business of selling goods by samples was in its infancy and when the drummer had but just been discovered, we were compelled to make slow trips and of course not many of them in a year. Then it took about three weeks to go from Portland to Chicago, and dealers ordered goods enough to last six months. Then the drummer had to endure many privations, but we were a hardy set and were content with a little — that is, if we could get plenty of orders. The villages were miles and miles apart then, and yet we in some way felt the coming commercial importance of many of them and knew that we must keep in with the men who were trying to build up a trade under what seemed many times to be disheartening circumstances.

"I have passed hundreds of nights camping out when on long trips, with only a blanket for a covering and the ground for a bed. We, who drummed trade in the west then in behalf of eastern houses, didn't mind that, but we did object to the rattlesnake sometimes. It did not pay to have then get too familiar. We were happy when we could travel by canalboat or by steamboat, but the dreadful western stages were what tried our patience.

"Time and time again, but for the fact that my samples and baggage had to be carried, I should have preferred to walk and could have beaten the stages under ordinary circumstances. Many times I did walk, but it was beside the stage, with a rail on my shoulder, ready to help pry the stage itself out of the mud.

"In those days canals were the best. The canalboats would make from two to three miles an hour, but if the time was long the stories told by the captain and passengers were commonly good. The beds were bunks, but they fed us well — that is, as things went then.

"Of course the ordinary everyday meal of the drummer of today, the meal he's inclined to grumble at, would have seemed a Thanksgiving feast to us. We expected little, and commonly got it. Still, as I said, we were content, and even happy, if only business was good.

"The drummers of today won't see the startling changes we have seen who began back nearly 50 years ago. Of course the old time drummers who traveled in New England saw less of the rough and tumble of life than we who went west, and who struck out boldly for trading posts that we were destined in many cases to see grow to be great cities. Still I never went through any of the thrilling experiences people tell of as a part of the life then, and I am inclined to think that adventures come to those who seek for them.

"We made long trips in those days, longer than most drummers would think of taking now, for then one man had to do all he could and cover as much ground as possible. Forty-three years ago I went from Portland to New York, then by canal to Philadelphia, from there to Pittsburg by canal, from there to St. Louis by boat, down the Ohio and up the Mississippi, and from St. Louis to St. Paul by boat.

"In those days St. Paul was but a trading post. There were a few business houses, but I saw a sight then that no man will ever see there again. It seemed to me that there were at least 1,000 Indians at the post trading their furs. They brought them in curiously constructed ox carts, made without the use of a scrap of iron, the wheels a section of a tree, and drawn by one ox lashed to the poles. They were a drunken crowd, all but a few, who seemed to be a committee appointed to keep sober and to see to it that others were not cheated. Sometimes the crowd would give a yell that fairly seemed to take the roof off.

"I went to the falls of St. Anthony and looked at the surroundings. Where Minneapolis now stands there was not a single building. When I was there last, I went to the falls, and as I looked at the great cities I wondered if it was possible that I could have been there before they were built. It seems strange and almost beyond comprehension that my business career could have antedated those cities and even the commercial importance of Chicago itself, but so it is, and I am still a vigorous man."

"You spoke of having visited Chicago 44 years ago, Mr. Curtis. What sort of a place was it then?"

"Then there was but one railroad, a small local affair, rather contemptuously called the milk route. I went there from Buffalo by boat and was five days on the way. I tried to do a little business every time we stopped to wood up on the way, and, in fact, we drummers had that system on the route from St. Louis to St. Paul and along the canals," replied Mr. Curtis.

"I reached Chicago Saturday night and put up at a wooden hotel on Lake street, near where the Tremont house now stands.

"In those days Chicago had but few brick buildings, and the wooden ones were seldom more than two stories high. In fact, I am unable to recall a single building more than two stories high. There was not a sidewalk, except on Lake street, and that was of wood, and the water came up through with almost every step. Steamboats and stages brought people there, and about the most interesting sight was old Fort Dearborn, with doors and log sides pierced with balls. There was not a foot of paved street in all Chicago when I first struck the place, and yet even then — and it was the time of small things — there was that same belief in Chicago and the same dash and push that you see now in that great city.

"The drummers of today are bright fellows, but I can't help thinking if we had slower trade we had better times in the days when we thought three miles an hour by canalboat good time and were content to trudge along behind a stagecoach and not say a word if only our samples were taken through in safety." — Boston Globe.

It's Nice to Get Up in the Mornin' When You've Got a Talking Clock!

1920

There's an epidemic of talking clocks in the country. Chicago and Philadelphia are the first to be afflicted and it's said that the disease may spread.

Vincent Pinto of Philadelphia has what, to all appearances, is a staid old grandfather's clock, but at times it does things that would surprise, if not shock, all of the younger clocks.

During the early morning hours, it behaves as other clocks have from the time of the first grandfather's. But at 6 it changes. First it booms out the hours — Bong — bong — bong — bong — bong — bong — then it shouts, being heard thruout the house:

"Six o'clock and time to get up."

Mrs. Vincent and her daughter Rose obey and an hour later the clock shouts up the stairs to Pinto and his son: "Breakfast is ready. Hurry down."

Warns Men of Their Work.

"Off to work, now it's time," the clock warns the men of the family at 7:30 and at 9 a. m. it informs Mrs. Pinto, "It's time to go to your marketing."

And so it goes, all day long, that nobody in the house may forget any duties. At 11 o'clock at night the clock, imitating Pinto's voice in its deepest and sternest tones, says:

"Time to go home, young man, it's 11 o'clock; time to go home."

Miss Rose's "young man" gets his hat and goes.

Pinto and his son built the clock and installed the talking apparatus after eleven months' work. Pinto made his own records, and he can change the clock's conversation whenever he wishes. It is rumored he sometimes stops the talking apparatus on Sundays and other days when he is at home.

Here's the Chicago Edition.

But Oscar Lindholm of Chicago, a machinist, declares that the Philadelphia clock is an infringement on a patent that he obtained six months ago. Lindholm has patented an alarm clock that yells instead of ringing.

The invention can be adjusted to an ordinary phonograph and the record is made to wake you in the manner that best suits your tastes and nationality.

If you're an ex-service man you may be delighted to hear the old familiar strains of "You gotta get up, you gotta get up, you gotta get up in the morning."

Or if you happen to be Scotch you can have the song that Harry Lauder made famous — "Oh, it's nice to get up in the mor-r-rning, but it's better to lie a-bed!"

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 5.

Own Home Is Lost By "Home Mender"

1920 (Click graphic for bigger)

MRS. DANIEL F. SULLIVAN AND HER WAIFS.

Don't for a moment think that the babies in the arms of Mrs. Daniel F. Sullivan in the above picture are all the "family" of "waifs" she has adopted. No, no! These are just all she could hold of the scores of infants she has made happy in her luxurious home. But now Mrs. Sullivan faces the loss of that home thru the alleged desertion of her husband. She is suing for divorce and alimony on those grounds.

WOMEN WHO HELPED WAIFS DESERTED BY MATE.

Is Now Alone After Having Helped Needy of City for Three Years.

One, who for three years has made the homes of others bright and cheerful, today finds herself without a home.

Hungry urchins and needy families came to her when in distress and found solace and food.

And now Mrs. Daniel L. Sullivan of Chicago has lost her own home in the process.

She established the fact when she filed action for divorce against her wealthy husband, who was first interested in her charitable project and then bored to distraction and desertion.

It was in seeking for a suitable memorial for her son, McKenzie Lowndes, that Mrs. Sullivan decided to bring the suffering children of poor parents into the beautiful Sullivan home in Chicago. She began with five and there were times when she had fifty.

She Made Them Happy.

They were fed, dressed well, given toys and medical attention and when they were quite happy Mrs. Sullivan usually took steps to return them to their own home, made materially comfortable for their home-coming.

Mrs. Sullivan began plans to make it a permanent institution, encouraged by thousands of letters commending her work or thanking her for priceless aid to individuals. Her husband was worth nearly a half million dollars, the home was ideally located and fitted for the charity and the routine of "trouble seeking" had been established. Families in misery knew where to apply.

Then, just as the organization was to be enlarged and the work amplified, Mrs. Sullivan received a telephone message from her husband to have dinner with him. She kept the appointment and waited for hours, but when she finally returned to her home she found a note pinned to her dresser in which Mr. Sullivan explained that he had left the house forever.

Three times thereafter Mr. Sullivan returned for brief visits, but for a year he has not even communicated with his wife.

Mr. Sullivan went away for the last time late in 1918.

Foundlings Brought Her Trouble.

Mrs. Sullivan states in her bill of particulars that she was married at Milwaukee, Aug. 21, 1911, and that for years she lived very happily with her husband. The beginning of their troubles came one year after Mrs. Sullivan had taken in the first foundling in the endeavor which subsequently made her known and loved thruout the poor sections of the city.

The plan for making the memorial a charity on a great scale has failed with the absence of Mr. Sullivan, but "the mender of broken homes" is still active in a limited sphere along the same lines proposed at the time of her own problem's development.

In her action Mrs. Sullivan will ask substantial alimony, contending that her husband is worth at least $300,000 and has an income of not less than $30,000 a year.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 4.

Man Gets Hour Off From His Work and Slays Rival for Love of Wife

1920

A growing coldness on the part of his wife roused the detective instinct in Achie C. Vance, watchman at a factory in a Chicago suburb. He decided another man was the explanation. Watching the back porch of his home thru a knothole in his barn of evenings when he was supposed to be at work, he found that Mrs. Vance regularly costumed herself in her best and went strolling. He shadowed her and saw that she generally met O. L. Vannier.

A few nights ago Vance laid off work for an hour and killed Vannier.

Tells of Shadowing.

He told the story in a cell at the Harvey jail. His wife occupies a cell close by.

"Saturday night I followed her as usual. As usual, I saw her meet Vannier. He is 30; I am 48.

"I had arranged with another watchman at the plant, Warren Dopkins, to sub more me until I had attended to my personal affairs.

"That night I hid behind trees and heard every word they said. I heard her say to him: 'Gee, I sure do love you.' And he told her the same. Then I went up and asked them what they meant.

Other Man Runs.

"Vannier started to run. You see, I had warned him to keep away from my wife. I drew my revolver and shot once in the air. I only intended to arrest him. I shot two more times. He dropped. I thought I was shooting in the air. But he had a bullet thru his body.

"Of course, I helped him all I could. I put him and my wife in a taxicab and took them to Dr. T. A. Noble. Then I reported back to my job and telephoned the police chief, James E. Tomlinson, he could get me when he wished."

Vannier died without regaining consciousness.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 2.

Note: The article as printed has Vance's name as "Achie," and we might hazard a guess that it could be Archie instead. I only saw one other article on this incident and that article used initials, "A. C. Vance." That other article says, "The shooting took place on the prairies near One Hundred and Fifty-fifth boulevard and Vine street at 12:20 in the morning." — Van Wert Daily Bulletin, Van Wert, Ohio, Aug. 2, 1920, p. 1, for that detail.

Lloyd and Fellow Reds Get Prison

1920

ALL TWENTY ARE CONVICTED OF REVOLT PLOT.

Penitentiary and Fines Meted Out to Millionaire Agitator and Comrades.

William Bross Lloyd and his nineteen fellow advocates of a "dictatorship of the proletariat" were found guilty of sedition in Chicago by a jury in Judge Oscar Hebel's court.

All were sentenced to imprisonment. Some received jail sentences. Others — including Lloyd — were sentenced to the penitentiary, some for one year and others for an indeterminate sentence of from one to five years.

In addition to prison terms, Lloyd and two others were fined $2,000 and two were fined $1,000 each.

The reading of the verdict found the defendants not unprepared. They had expected conviction, and when the first verdict was read finding Lloyd guilty, all made brave attempts to smile. Some succeeded. As each in his turn heard his fate, a look of nervousness appeared, hut soon thoughts of "martyrdom" apparently drove away the glooms. During the polling of the jury they seemed unconcerned.

The defendants and the penalties inflicted follow:

Prison Sentences and $2,000 Fine.

William Bross Lloyd, Winnetka millionaire, sergeant-at-arms in Communist Labor party convention, organizer, backer and leading spirit in the "movement."

Ludwig Lore, New York, editor of Class Struggle; helped draft constitution.

Arthur Proctor, Chicago, owner of Clarion book store, meeting place of radicals; member of county committee.

Prison Sentence and $1,000 Fine.

Max Deddacht, San Francisco, Cal.; member of the National executive and platform committee.

Jack Carney, Duluth, Minn.; member of National executive committee, editor and publisher of Truth.

Indeterminate Prison Sentences.

L. E. Katterfield, Dighton, Kan.; brains of organization, national organizer, practically prepared party's platform.

Edgar Owens, Moline, Ill.; State secretary; helped draft constitution.

L. K. England, Moline, Ill.; member of State committee.

Niels Kjar, Chicago; member of National executive committee and Cook County propaganda committee.

One Year in Penitentiary.

Samuel F. Hankin.

Morris A. Stollar, Chicago; member of county executive committee.

James A. Meissinger, Chicago; member county executive committee.

Charles Krumbein, Chicago; member of county executive committee.

Samuel Ash, Chicago, lawyer; one of organizers.

One Year in the County Jail.

Perry Shipman, Rock Island, Ill.; member of State committee.

Dr. Oscar J. Brown, De Kalb, Ill.; organizer, delegate to National convention and member of platform committee.

Edwin Firth, Indianapolis, Ind.; national delegate and organizer.

Dr. Karl F. Sandberg, Chicago; organizer and delegate to national convention.

Niels J. Christensen, delegate to national convention and member international relations committee.

John Vogel.

Plea of Prosecutor.

In his closing address Frank Comeford, special prosecutor, told the jurors that their verdict would answer the question in the first line of "The Star Spangled Banner."

"The people are waiting for your verdict," he said. "At another time the People waited to see if the flag of the United States had come down. They will wait tonight to see if you, the jury, hauls down the Stars and Stripes.

"If you find these defendants innocent in view of the uncontradicted testimony, then tear down the picture of Washington from this courtroom and put up the picture of Lenin; go to Springfield and tumble over the monument to Lincoln and in its place put Trotsky in marble; haul down the American flag from this courthouse and hoist the red flag; blot out from the memories of our children the National anthems and teach them to sing the 'Red International;' scrap our Constitution; clean Arlington of its headstone and build a new National cemetery; remove the dust of the anarchists from Waldheim and the dust of Czolgoscz from Buffalo; gather the dust of Benedict Arnold and build a new National cemetery."

The trial of Lloyd and his associates began May 10. Fifty-two court days were occupied in the selection of a jury.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 2.

Serves 55 Years As Convict

1920

So What's a Mere Sixty Days to Man With That Record?

Frank Hood, 78 years old, heard Judge Hugh R. Stewart of Chicago sentence him to sixty days in the house of correction and grinned.

"It's easy for me to take," he told the court. "I've done time in every big prison in the country. My total time behind the bars is fifty-five years. Sixty days is a cinch."

He was found guilty of stealing a suit of clothing.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 2.

Airplane Is Stolen, Then, Given Up by Two Flying Burglars

1920

The first airplane theft in Chicago has occurred at Checkerboard Field.

The field hangars are not extensively guarded. So there was no interference to the two men who arrived at the flying field at daybreak and opened a hangar where a Standard plane was housed.

The pair trundled the plane around so that its nose pointed into the wind. Evidently both understood flying. One climbed into the pilot's seat, while the other turned the propeller and primed the motor.

Then at the shout of "contact" the switch was on and the blades spun into action.

The man who had cranked got into the forward cockpit and with a roar the Standard sped across the ground and skimmed into the air.

Two or three sleepy mechanics who had watched the take-off suddenly realized what was taking place. A telephone call was put in for officials of the field.

An hour afterward several ships had taken the air and from extreme altitudes the pilots were searching with glasses for the stolen plane.

But later in the day the missing machine was found. The would-be thieves had been forced to land four miles from Checkerboard Field. The men had stripped the plane of instruments, valued at several hundred dollars.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 1.

"Poor and Old and Only in Way," Song of Music Master Was Prophecy

1920

Years ago Carl Raymond, the old music master of Chicago, wrote a song by this name:

"I'm Poor and Old, and Only in the Way."

Today Raymond is poor and old and he says he's only in the way. His home is wherever he hangs his hat. He has had riches and fame; now he has but memories. Sometimes he plays the piano in a little restaurant on a Chicago avenue.

Just now he's in the county hospital — broke and friendless. Weakly reclining on a hospital bed, he repeated words from one of his songs:

As we walk down the street,
How, how often do we meet
Some poor old man whose life is naught but woes;
And with age his form is bent,
In his pockets not a cent,
And for shelter he does not know where to go.
With relations by the score
Who turn him from their door
And, sneering, in the street just pass him by;
If you ask why 'tis done,
He'll answer you and say:
"I'm poor and old and only in the way."

As the old fellow's voice died away he said sadly: "That's my life in a nutshell. I never thought when I wrote those words that some day I would apply them to myself."

Raymond was born eighty-one years ago in the shadow of Bunker Hill monument, the son of a banker. At 16 he enlisted in the Mexican War. After peace was declared he became an intermittent correspondent for the New York Herald. Then came the Civil War and he joined the colors again. In 1857 he came to Chicago. All this time he was writing songs — hundreds of them, including "Just One Girl," "There Are No Friends but the Old Friends" and "Passing Away Beyond the Clouds."

"But now I'm thru," he said sadly. "You see, I'm poor and old and only in the way."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 1.

Ask Woman Lawyer Act As Prosecutor

1916

BARNES MURDER CASE STIRS SUFFRAGISTS.

Truth and Justice Are Sought When Woman Is Tried for Killing Husband.

When State's Attorney Hoyne returns to Chicago he will find a petition from representative women in Chicago requesting that he appoint a special woman prosecutor to try Mrs. Iva Williams Barnes for the killing of her husband.

This proposition, which Mr. Hoyne and his secretary, Edward Fleming, are said to have considered even before the women took up the question of the petition, might break the chain of "not guilty" verdicts that since 1907 has freed nearly twenty Chicago women accused of murder.

The late State's Attorney Wayman said it was impossible to convict a woman of murder in Cook County. Mr. Hoyne has secured but one conviction of a woman, and that was contested. There is a feeling that a subtle sympathy extends to a woman who is being prosecuted by a man. There is also a belief that with a woman prosecutor there would be more nearly an even attempt at justice.

So keenly is the situation felt, the delegates to the National Suffrage convention at Atlantic City, N. J., discussed the question in their recent session. Mrs. Catherine Waugh McCulloch, president of the Woman's Bar Association of Chicago, said there would be no difficulty in appointing a woman to prosecute Mrs. Barnes. Mrs. McCulloch is regarded highly in the legal profession.

She Would Seek Truth.

"It would be a woman prosecutor's duty to investigate the case thoroly and make every effort to establish the truth. I am anxious to know more of the facts in the case. If I got real interested, I might volunteer my services, tho I don't do criminal work," Mrs. McCulloch is quoted as saying.

"As president of the Woman's Bar Association, I should like to see a woman prosecutor, as well as a woman in the office of the city attorney and the corporation counsel. I have no doubt that if a woman is appointed in this case she will do the work conscientiously and efficiently.

"I should like also to see the jury made up half of women and the other half men. Every fundamental law says we shall be tried by a jury of our peers. A woman who is being tried by a jury of men is not being tried by her peers. If the woman on trial is cute and handsome and of the adventuress type the jurymen are apt to be unusually lenient." While there is a possibility that a woman may be chosen to prosecute Mrs. Barnes, it should be stated that several women lawyers have volunteered to defend the confessed slayer When she is brought to trial.

"Human Gadfly" Blamed.

A human gadfly, gossiping and meddling, is blamed as the agent that inoculated Barnes with the poison of jealousy that ended with his death.

The gadfly is a woman. Her name is being withheld. She was a neighbor of the Barnes' household at 356 East Fifty-eighth street. She is bring sought as a witness by the police and agents of the coroner.

Mrs. Barnes occupies a cell in the county jail. Her moods change from bursts of the most violent anger toward these whom she blames for her predicament and of love for the memory of the man she admits she slew. The removal of her husband's body to Warners, N. Y., for burial she resented deeply. She pleaded for the right to bury the body, where she may rest beside it.

In the meantime Ellis A. Barnes, brother of the victim, employed Attorney Joseph Burres and the Turner Detective Agency to assist the prosecution of Mrs. Barnes for the murder of her husband. Detectives were sent to Mishawaka, Ind., Mrs. Barnes' former home. Inquiry will be made into her former marriage, upon which subject she has been silent until now.

A fortune, estimated from $20,000 to $40,000, left by James R. Barnes, will provide the defense fund for his slayer. Under the law the widow, Mrs. Iva Williams Barnes is entitled to at least one-third of the estate.

Wife Confesses Her Act.

A confession was wrung from Mrs. Barnes in the Hyde Park police station, where she was held before being taken to the county jail. She had been subjected to a severe cross-examination from 9 o'clock Tuesday to 2:30 o'clock the next morning, and she had but four hours' sleep.

"Yes, I shot him," she finally admitted.

Her narrative, given as she wept hysterically, sets forth the claim that her husband, who was suing her for divorce and whom she loved deeply, had scoffed at a reconciliation, had berated, cursed and then attempted to choke her.

In desperation and in fear of physical injury, she said, she drew a revolver concealed in a pocket of her coat and opened fire. They were walking in a public park. After the first shot, she told the police, she remembers only that she intended to carry the revolver away, but instead threw it near the prostrate form of her dead husband.

Attorney Guenther, for Mrs. Barnes, made a statement in which he pictured her as a hard-working, long-suffering and much-abused wife. She went to meet her husband on the night of his death, Mr. Guenther said, in the full expectation that it meant a reconciliation. She was happy, he said, because she loved her husband.

"He was twice her age," continued the attorney. "She followed his commands as a child minds a parent, never questioning but what he was always right. Barnes leaves a fortune of about $40,000. Every dollar he owned his wife helped earn for him. When they were married he didn't have a shoe-string.

"Barnes had an income of $7,500 before his death. He received $383 a month. Yet he made his wife live in a $37 flat, do all her own housework, her washing, mending, ironing, scrubbing, darning.

"He wanted to get rid of her. After her trouble with a bartender, Barnes refused to listen to the true story of her innocence and filed suit for divorce."

Tells of Parrot Episode.

Mrs. Barnes told of the "parrot" episode that had wrecked her life. After the man Shellheimer (the bartender) had caught the parrot for her, a few weeks ago, she said, she started home, for she expected her husband any moment. Shellheimer asked permission to go up into her apartment to wash his hands. Her reply, she said, was "You certainly may not," and not "you may." But he went anyhow.

It was only a short time before her husband came up the front stairs and passed on into the kitchen. The bartender was there in his shirt sleeves. He ran to the front door and escaped. Mrs. Barnes said the bartender attempted to attack her. Her husband disbelieved her story, and ceased to live with her. He told a friend that the bartender came from his wife's bedroom in his shirt sleeves.

"My husband blackened my eyes with his blows and pushed me down the stairs after the man," she said. "I grabbed his hat, and he kept calling me to give him his hat, not to break it, and in my agony even then I thought, 'See, he cares more for his hat than for me!' as he didn't seem to notice how badly I was bruised and broken. I have the scar on my shoulder yet where he struck me. The wound was three inches long.

"Then, when he started choking me, my head was thrown on one side and one of my hands was free. I reached down and pulled off my slipper and struck him with the heel on the head and made a large open wound.

"Jim was a coward, altho I loved him, and I am not going to tell of other abuses I had. I am trying to forget them now."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 4.

"Lost" Gems Are Recovered

1916

Package of Valuables Turns Up in St. Paul Postoffice.

ST. PAUL, Minnesota — A few days ago a St. Paul woman gave a Chicago hotel clerk an envelope containing jewels valued at $1,500, $200 in currency and a $50 draft to be placed in the hotel safe over night. The contents of the envelope have now been returned to the woman by Otto Raths, St. Paul postmaster.

When the valuables were called for at the Chicago hotel they could not be found. The clerk to whom they had been given had started on a two-weeks vacation. The woman stormed at the hotel management but didn't get any trace of her valuables. When she asked for her bill she found on it an item for "postage 4 cents."

The clerk had affixed the stamps and the valuables had been sent to St. Paul. The envelope was badly torn on its arrival here and postal clerks puzzled over the strange manner of shipping valuables until the woman appeared, claimed the shipment and explained its cause. Why they were sent here has not been explained.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 11.

The "False Alarm Fiend" and His Deadly Joke

(Click graphic for bigger.)

Chicago, 1916

More Firemen Killed and Maimed Responding to Calls of Mischievous Adults and Children Than in Going to Real Fires — St. Louis Fire-fighters Find One in Eight Alarms Are Fictitious — How Jack O'Connor Was Killed

The practical joker is always with us, and while the world may sometimes cry, "The joker is dead — long live the joker," it has long been acknowledged that the human zero in chronic deviltry is the chap who sends in a false alarm just to see the boys or "hosses" run. These hopeless boneheads are constantly bobbing up in nearly every community in our land, with results that sometimes land them in deep trouble or cause them to part with more or less of their precious dollars as penalty for their indulgence in a foolish and sometimes tragic amusement. However, a good, stiff monetary fine, or a term behind jail bars, seldom fails to cure the city or village cut-up of all further desire to "monkey" with fire alarm box, telephone or any other means of sending the fire lads on a hazardous run when no reason for it exists further than the silly joker's ambition to startle the public.

A St. Louis paper has found it quite necessary to take up this subject, and with good reasons, as the "false alarm fiend" seems to have carried his deadly joke far beyond the limit of tolerance in that city, with the result that lives have been lost and much human and mechanical energy expended for naught.

At 11:15 o'clock on the night of Aug. 8 some person, perhaps bibulous and certainly with a perverted sense of humor, observed a fire alarm box at Natural Bridge road and Sophia avenue, says the Post-Dispatch. At once he conceived the outlines of what appeared to be a brilliant joke. He walked up to the box, broke the glass in its front and pressed on a lever. Then, perhaps, he chuckled and walked to a safe spot and waited to see the fun.

Most of the firemen of Engine Company No. 31 were in their bunks when the alarm came in. They sprang to their places. The horses flew to their positions and, when the automatic harness fell, pawed impatiently to be away.

John O'Connor, a fine, stalwart, courageous man. sprang to the driver's seat and reached for the reins. One of them dropped. As he tried to recover it, the horses lunged and he fell headfirst to the floor, where he lay all crumpled up. Somebody pulled him to one side, another driver took his place, the engine went on its way.

Then a doctor came and looked at Jack O'Connor. Jack was dead, with a broken neck.

It is interesting to wonder whether the man who pulled the hook enjoyed his joke. It is interesting also to speculate on the nature of the mental make-up of such a man — whether it permits him to feel that he is guilty of Jack O'Connor's death.

"Hooks" in Bad Wreck.

It was a similar "joke" that sent Hook and Ladder Company No. 15 to Euclid and Cote Brilliante avenues on the night of July 4. The truck collided with a street car at Euclid. Captain Farrell and Firemen A. Gradell and J. Haberstroh were thrown to the ground and so cruelly mangled that they are not yet able to return to duty.

Capt. John Detwiler lay on a bed of suffering for 67 days, early in 1914, with both arms and his nose broken and his back badly wrenched because another idiot turned in a false alarm from Klemm street and Flora boulevard. Fireman George Harbaugh was out of service for 53 days with a fractured skull and Fireman E. Sedivec was out 30 days with a wrenched back from the same accident, a collision between their truck and a street car.

On the night of Nov. 7, 1915, Edward A. Murphy, a citizen, was run over by a fire truck responding to a false alarm, and was sent to the city hospital with both legs broken.

On the night of Dec. 5, 1915, Lieut. William Haas of Engine Company No. 11 was thrown from his wagon when responding to a false alarm and was severely injured.

On the night of July 27 last, G. Wadsack, a fireman, was badly hurt when the truck on which he was riding, after a false alarm, struck a tree.

In every one of these affairs, honest, decent, law-abiding men, trying to do their perilous duty for the public, were hurt because of a quirk in the brain of some other person. It is part of a fireman's job to take risks, but he has risks enough, heaven knows, in his regular work without having these added to them.

When Firemen Get Sore.

"You see, it is this way," one of them said to the writer recently. "We know we are taking chances all the time. You never hear a holler from us, tho, when we get hurt at a fire or going to one. It's when some fool turns in a false alarm and an accident smashes up some of our fellows that we get sore. Whoever sent Jack O'Connor to his death, for instance, is a murderer, pure and simple, in our eyes. It'll go hard some of these days with one of those guys if the boys ever get him dead to rights."

Every man from the Chief on down to the newest hostler in the department believes that there is a strange and especial danger in going to false alarms. They declare that their records prove it. It is comparatively rare, they say, that there is a collision or an upset in going to an actual fire.

The number of false alarms turned in is simply amazing. The total from Jan. 1, 1913, to Aug. 1, 1916, was 1,934, an average of a little more than 45 a month. Last year one out of every eight alarms recorded was a false one. The smallest number in any month was 20 for August, 1914, and the largest was 72, for November, 1913. Thus far in the current year the smallest number was 35, for April, while January and February each had 41.

There is a popular impression that most of these alarms are turned in by children. This is not true, according to Chief Henderson. Most of them, the Chief says, are turned in by men and particularly by men who drive various kinds of delivery wagons late at night. One of these sees a box, the Chief declares, turns in an alarm, drives on a block or so and waits to see what happens. The streets usually are deserted at the time, they are not detected at their work and consequently escape all punishment. The law provides a maximum penalty of imprisonment in the penitentiary for this offense, yet it is rarely inflicted because it is hard to obtain evidence for an arrest, to say nothing of conviction.

Children Sometimes "Jokers.”

Children are caught more frequently. They are invariably turned over to the Juvenile Court and an official of the Fire Department takes a hand in the prosecution. Whenever it is found to be a case merely of prankishness, the matter is usually ended by a stiff reprimand and by a recommendation that a parent of the child administer a sound spanking. This recommendation is generally followed and the result, Chief Henderson says, in most cases is salutary.

"It is with adults that the real trouble comes," the Chief added. "If we could only get the public to realize the enormity of the offense and to look upon the man who turns in a false alarm as an individual dangerous to the public welfare, who ought at once to be surrendered to the authorities, we could soon break up the practice.

Most of the serious accidents to trucks going to fires come from collisions with street cars. City ordinances require that when the bells of the fire engines are heard, motormen must stop their cars and drivers of all vehicles must draw up to the nearest curb and stop. Most of the motormen do this, the Chief says. Some of them do not but try to beat the engines across a street intersection.

"The United Railways, as a corporation, invariably cooperate with us," the Chief explained. "Some of the individual motormen do not. They usually advance the plea that, shut up in their vestibules, they did not hear the bells. It is often hard to disprove this. When we can do so, the street car company always fires the man and he cannot get his job back again. As a general thing, we have little trouble with motorists. They nearly always give us right of way when they can."

Want Better Traffic Regulations.

Most firemen believe that the traffic regulations of St. Louis for such emergencies are antiquated and insufficient. Altho our ordinances require all cars and autos to stop when the fire engines are coming, they are not rigidly obeyed as they are in other cities — in New York for instance. There the law says that traffic shall stop and it does stop. However, there are three or four traffic policemen on all corners in congested districts to see that it does.

Kansas City and other towns also have an admirable arrangement to stop traffic in congested districts. There on downtown corners are electric gongs. As soon as engines are started these gongs begin ringing, much like the bells at block signals on certain railroads. This is a signal to clear the thorofare, and the fire engines have an open road for minutes before they actually appear.

Chief Henderson has tried to get a similar arrangement authorized by the St. Louis Board of Aldermen. It would cost about $30,000 if electricity is furnished free by public service corporations, and our city lawmakers have not seen fit to incur the expense.

"If we had such gong signals, tho," the chief declared, "I would rather put them at places outside the downtown district. Really we have very few accidents downtown. They usually happen out in the quiet neighborhoods, late at night.

"I'll tell you what our worst trouble is, tho, and it's going to cost St. Louis a big conflagration some day. It is the congestion of traffic on downtown streets, where autos are parked. Some of these days we are going to have a fire on a street where it will take us half an hour or maybe more to get these cars out of our way, and by the time we have got a place cleared to work in the fire will be out of our control. A loss of five minutes getting to a fire is likely at any time to mean two or three additional hours getting the fire under control."

Some Motormen Are Reckless.

Curiously enough, many of the drivers of fire wagons believe that most collisions are really unavoidable accidents. "The bust-up usually comes so quick you don't know what has happened or how," one of them said, "until somebody is pouring water in your face and bringing you to. We always try to get the horses under control when we approach a street car crossing and most of the motormen do the best they can. But sometimes you are going along at a good clip and a street car is going at a good clip and before either you or the motorman realizes the danger — zowie!

"We are always afraid of the motorman who tries to beat us to the crossing. Maybe he is a minute or two behind schedule or is trying to get to the end of the line a minute or two before so he can stop for a bit of lunch. There is usually a bunch of excited people on the corner. Some of them motion to us to come on and maybe some of them motion to the motorman that he can make it. The law says he oughtn't to try to make it, but he goes ahead anyhow — there always are a few fools like that — and then it happens!

"The public could do a lot of good and save a lot of danger in these cases if it could only be properly educated. If a few of these reckless motormen were reported to the street car company once in a while, it would stop such foolishness. Understand, we haven't any quarrel with the motor men in general. Most of them try to obey the law and help us out all they can. It's the occasional fellow that takes a chance who makes all the trouble.

Public Should Help, Say Firemen.

"Maybe I feel pretty strongly about this, but it's a serious matter for us fellows. You just put it into your paper that if the public will cooperate with us in this matter and, above all, help us put the false alarm fiend out of business, we'll be satisfied."

Policemen, as a rule, cooperate with firemen in every way possible. Chief Henderson says he has never made a request of one at a fire without getting immediate and satisfactory response. However, strict enforcement of the rules requiring street cars and autoists to stop at the approach of a fire engine has always been lax and there have been few arrests and prosecutions.

The new parking ordinance for automobiles is proving helpful in keeping some of the downtown streets clear, altho the fire fighters would like to see it extended until no autos were left in the streets without drivers in charge of them.

They Had Better Watch Out.

Ten times in the last five days false alarms of fire have been sent in from the alarm box at Fifty-eighth street and South Wabash avenue. Last night, says the Chicago Journal, when Engine Company No. 51 arrived at the corner, its members questioned a little girl standing at the curbing.

"'Stubby' McGovern and 'Billy' Barry did it," she said. "They do it most every day and then they run away and hide.

"Stubby" and "Billy" are 8 or 9 years old. A policeman will talk to them today.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 12.

Ends Long Hike

1919

Man Walks From Chicago to Lynn, Mass., in 22 Days.

BOSTON, Massachusetts — Michael Doyle, the champion pedestrian of Lynn and one of the best known walkers in New England, has completed his walk from Chicago to Lynn, covering the distance in twenty-two days and eighteen hours. His friends declare that he made the distance in a few hours less than the record made several years ago by Weston.

When Doyle arrived in Lynn no one was about to greet him. His friends had expected him to reach the city later and had waited up to give him a reception. When he arrived he visited a barber shop and then repaired to his home for rest. He completed the last leg of his long hike from North Brookfield, Mass., to Lynn, a distance of sixty-seven miles, between noon and morning.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 10.

Chicago Women Who Swim

1901

The white marble swimming pool of the Chicago Woman's Athletic club is one of the most largely patronized places in that town now that warm weather is approaching. During the morning hours the bath is in constant use, and here may be seen many of the leaders of Chicago's swell set, arrayed in gorgeous spring style bathing gowns, doing aquatic "stunts" copied from the mermaids. The most skillful of all these fair swimmers is Miss Stella Amick, the swimming instructor. At some time during every morning the women pupils all sit around the edge of the pool with their feet hanging in the water and watch Miss Amick while she performs tricks which would make even the fishes stare, if there were any there.

Among her accomplishments is her ability to float on her side, which, it is said, not one person in a hundred can do. She can entirely submerge herself and walk on the bottom of the pool One of her diving specialties is called the sea lion," because, instead of pointing her hands over her head in the usual manner, she keeps her arms the side. And when it comes to somersault in the water she can outdo even the small boy on terra firma. Among her more humorous performances is her imitation of a starfish, when her arms and legs revolve in rapid succession about her body, and her imitation of a bicycle scorcher, only the head in strained position being out of the water, while the pedaling motions are made by climbing, as were, through the water.

An Awful Mix-up

1920

By W. D. Boyce (W. D. Boyce's Talks)

Two years ago, when the United States was in the middle of our active part of the European war, the railroads of the United States became so disorganized and inefficient and the service so rotten that the Government had to take them over in order to save the day. Now, when things are getting back to normal again, it is stated that the railroads will be returned to their owners about March 1. Prior to the Government taking them over, the railroads had to do their own financing and prepare for the payment of interest on bonds and dividends on stocks as well as provide for the upkeep, repairs and new equipment. The facts are that they paid out all they took in during the year in interest on bonds and dividends on stock in order to keep up the fictitious values of bonds and stocks. As a result they let the railroads run down so much they were in no condition to supply the needs of the country at the time that the Government took them over.

Now the Government has spent a billion dollars or more on the railroads and has increased freight rates 50 per cent and the railroad officials, if not the stockholders, are glad to get them back. Some of the railroads, however, seem to be disturbed concerning their return and predict they will not get back the same baby that they turned in to the Government hospital. This the cartoonist for The Saturday Blade has tried to show on page 1 this week.

It is a very serious question whether the railroads should be owned by the Government or be restored to private ownership. Private owners have had the chance to demonstrate in times of peace what they could do with the railroads. They had the same opportunity in times of war and made an absolute failure of it. Now they will get the roads back in times of peace, but with a dividend guarantee which will require another big boost in freight and passenger rates. The public will have another chance to watch the operation of railroads by private owners in times of peace, and, unless I miss my guess, after a thoro trial they will insist that the Government take over the roads permanently.

No doubt many things which the railroads should have done under Government operation they did not do. Remember that the Government was obliged to keep at the head of the road those officials who had been at the head of them under private ownership. There is more than a suspicion that many of them did not care to do their best in operating them because they wanted the roads returned to private ownership and if a good showing was made they never would be handed back. Now we will be in the position of Finnegan and it may be a case of "On again, off again, on again, strike again."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 6.

Mazdaznan Leader Nabbed In Chicago

1920

Sun Cult's "Little Master" on Way to Coast to Answer Charges of Children

Ottoman Zar Adusht Hanisch, the "Little Master" of the Mazdaznan cult, was arrested upon his recent arrival in Chicago and his enforced return to Los Angeles to answer serious criminal charges broke up the "feast of Gahanbar," a celebration of which by his Chicago followers was planned from midnight Christmas eve to the last minute of the year.

And he hadn't any idea, up to the moment of his arrest, of going in that direction. On the contrary, he had intended to sail for Europe in a few days, with Zurich as his objective.

But then the "Little Master" hadn't much to do with the journey. His fate was fashioned by a Los Angeles grand jury and by Lieut. Charles A. Jones of the police force of that city.

On June 14, 1918, the grand jury secretly voted ten indictments against Hanisch after hearing serious charges. Several of the complainants are children, girls as well as boys, ranging in ages from 11 to 15 years.

The Los Angeles police have been looking for Hanisch ever since. They learned that his real name is Otto Zachariah Hanisch, that he is a Russian, that his father is Richard Hanisch, a Milwaukee music teacher, and the fugitive had been lecturing under the name of Dr. Ken Wilson.

Well Known in Chicago

Chicago knows Hanisch well. He maintained his temple for years at 3016 Lake Park avenue. His disciples lived on fruits, nuts, vegetables, garlic, dewdrops, violets and sunshine, and danced alone — when they danced — breathing rhythmically and deeply, and greeting each other at every turn with "Hail to thee! Ten thousand hails!"

Hanisch got a lot of notoriety out of the "Billy" Lindsay case. "Billy's" mother, Elizabeth H. Lindsay, was a member of the cult. The boy was kept in the "terrestrial temple" and fed on white grapes and beer, it was said.

Wealthy relatives in Chicago and Pittsburgh cooperated with the Juvenile Court authorities to save the boy. Hanisch was taken into court, but the boy and his mother fled.

Seized Near Coal Bin

The Lindsay case, however, led to an investigation of the cult, and it was found the sex idea predominated. Hanisch sent an alleged obscene book by express to another State, and on March 4, 1912, a raid was made on the temple and he was arrested. He was found, in all his silken glory, wedged into a niche near the coal bin in the basement.

He was convicted of sending obscene literature in interstate commerce, fined $2,500 and sent to the bridewell for six months. The literature in question was his book of "Inner Studies," which sold for anywhere from $10 to $50, according to the wealth of him who bought it.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 1.

Chicago Chief's Automobile Ran Amuck

1910

CHICAGO. — An exhibition that appeared to be a cross between an imitation of a bucking broncho and a runaway train was given by Assistant Chief of Police Schuettler's red touring car in front of the temporary city hall on Randolph street one morning a few days ago.

While John Upton, chauffeur, was cranking the machine he was surprised to see it start backward. He made a wild dash for the brake, but the auto got away from him. It swept backward at increasing speed, crashed into a Milwaukee avenue car, swung completely around, and, heading west, went over the curbstone and knocked down several signs. It was heading for the basement door of a building at 211 Randolph street, but suddenly changed its mind and plunged off down the street.

"Upton chased the runaway to Franklin street, where he succeeded in getting control of the brakes. His victory was applauded loudly by a crowd of pedestrians who had fled to places of safety in near-by stores when the auto headed down the street.

Chauffeur Upton doesn't think the auto itself is to be blamed for "running amuck." In a written report to the assistant chief, Upton gives it as his professional opinion that while he was cranking the machine, somebody released the brakes and gave her full speed backward, just to see what would happen.

Upton had driven the assistant chief from his home, 3453 Bosworth avenue, to the temporary city hall. The auto was stopped on the south side of the street, heading east. The engine had "gone dead," and after Mr. Schuettler had stepped out the chauffeur started the cranking process. Then the excitement began.

In the early part of its surprising career the auto was chased by Chauffeur Upton, Sergt. Denman, Patrolman Quirk and a dozen pedestrians. When the machine buckled the curb and described an arc back into the street, the pedestrians concluded that they had had enough and fled for shelter. Upton and the bluecoats ran around in circles for a few moments, and then the bluecoats, too, turned the responsibility over to Upton and left the scene with much enthusiasm.

Old War Horses

1905

These old horses never forget the calls, no matter how long it has been since they last heard them.

One day some years ago, when I was passing an open lot in the outskirts of Chicago, I found a boy trying to play an old cornet, says a writer in Forest and Stream. While the boy and I were at work on the cornet, an old negro ash hauler came along driving an animal that had once been a good horse, but was now only a collection of skin and bones. The horse stopped when he heard us and stuck up his ears. I came to the conclusion that be had been a cavalry horse and asked the old negro where he had got him. "From a farmer," he said. I could not find a "U.S." on the horse; he had probably been discharged so long ago that his brand had been worn off. But taking the cornet I sounded the stable call, and the horse began to dance.

"Hold fast to your lines, now, uncle," I warned the old negro. "I am going to make that old horse do some of the fastest running he has ever done since he left the cavalry." Then, beginning with the call for the gallop, I next sounded the charge, and the old plug went plunging up the road at his fastest gait, dragging his wagon after him. I gave him the recall next, and he came down to a walk, much to the relief of the old negro. He said that this was the first time he had over seen the horse run. He had never been able to get him to go faster than a slow walk before. "You don't feed him well enough to get him to do much running," I told him. "That horse, when he did have to run, got his twelve pounds of corn and all the hay he could eat every day."

Teacher Refuses Tribute to Santa Claus

1910

By Samuel Parker of Chicago

During the recent holiday season a teacher in one of the Chicago public schools was subjected to not a little criticism for refusing to pay tribute to the Santa Claus myth, declaring it to be wrong morally to teach a child a falsehood or to tell the child anything as a truth which it would discover to be false later on.

Instead of being a target for thoughtless ridicule that teacher should command the respect of every teacher and parent who conscientiously regards the moral training of children. The holiest thing this side of heaven is the faith of a little child and he who carelessly or purposely abuses it perpetrates a wrong from which the abused child seldom fully recovers. If parents and friends would sidetrack the heathen myth and bestow their endearing gifts in their own names the dear children would be just as happy and escape the shock of falsehood and deception at the hands of those who ought to love them too well to expose them to such danger.


Romance of the Future

"Do you see that cloud? It was behind one just like that that I first kissed you." — Town and Country.

Flying Bicycle Given Test; It Works Great

1915

Latest Air Traveler Is Triumph of Chicagoan's Genius — Goes by Foot Power or Motor

Now comes the bicycle of the air — a noiseless and engineless flying machine operated by foot and hand power.

A. C. McClaughry of Chicago, son of former Warden I. W. McClaughry of the Federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kan., discovered the craft and its inventor in a basement on the Northwest Side of the city. The identity of the inventor is kept secret. McClaughry is now interested with the inventor in the welfare of the new type of flying craft. He has brought the matter to the official attention of army officers in the Federal building, and before representatives of foreign governments.

Col. H. O. S. Heistand, adjutant general of the central department, turned McClaughry over to M. A. Loosley, master signal electrician of the army, who will inspect the new craft. McClaughry said the first one tried out by the inventor was a success, but that it was torn down and a new one is now being built, which will soon be ready for official tests.

"There is no doubt but that we have a flying machine that can be operated without any power other than that produced by foot and hand and that the craft can be sold dirt cheap," said McClaughry.

The inventor figures that one of the machines can be put up for less than $500, and that in quantities they can even be turned out for $200 each. The craft, for which patents are now pending is operated much like the old fashioned bicycle. A farmer boy can take one of them and he and his lady friend can saunter away thru the air as easily as they can travel on land in an automobile.

"If one wishes he can buy a $50 motor and use it to alternate with foot and hand. In his first test the inventor remained in the air more than half an hour and traveled at a speed of forty miles an hour."

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 9.