Books: Reno

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So far, Mr. Wingfield has not found it necessary to take advantage of
the liberal divorce laws of the State: his beautiful home, charming
and accomplished wife, and lovely children account for that.

Somehow Mr. Wingfield's experience in Nevada and the gold mines brings
to my mind a poem from Robert W. Service's "Spell of the Yukon," of
which I am very fond:

"This is the law of the Yukon,
and ever she makes it plain;
Send not your foolish and feeble;
send me your strong and your sane--
Strong for the red rage of battle;
sane, for I harry them sore;
Send me men grit for the combat;
men who are grit to the core...."

It would be difficult to name a citizen of Nevada more popular with
his fellow-men or enjoying to a greater degree the confidence and
trust of those with whom he is associated than H. J. Gosse, proprietor
and manager of the Riverside Hotel of Reno.

The colony has a real friend in H. J. Gosse, who is certainly an
exponent of joy, giving optimism to the lonely wanderer who may find
himself domiciled under the roof of the Riverside Hotel where the
splendid personality of this old pioneer reigns supreme.

Mr. Gosse's parents crossed the plains with an ox-team from New
Orleans to California way back in '49. In 1862 the family moved to
Silver City, then a lively mining town.

[Illustration: Riverside Hotel, Nevada]

The subject of this sketch went to school in Virginia City and later
attended the Golden Gate Academy in Oakland, California. Like other
young men, he followed various vocations and in 1896 he purchased the
Riverside Hotel, which he has successfully conducted ever since. Under
his management the hotel has continued to be the leading hotel in the
city, and in 1901 the present large brick structure was erected.

In 1888 Mr. Gosse was united in marriage with Miss Josephine M. Mudd,
a native of California. In politics Mr. Gosse is a Republican. He is a
member of the Improved Order of Red Men, and has filled all the chairs
in the local Tribe and is Past Grand Sachem of the State of Nevada. He
is also a Mason, being a member of the lodge chapter, commandery and
the shrine. He is an active member of the B.P.O.E. No. 597, of Reno,
and was instrumental in organizing the Lodge. In recognition of his
services, he has been made an honorary life member and is a member of
the Grand Lodge of the United States.

Mr. Gosse's only son was among the first to answer his country's call
when the United States entered into the World War in 1917; he died in
his country's service a few months later....

No pictures of the picturesque West would be complete which did not
depict in the foreground the fine, handsome figure of Nevada's
erstwhile "Sentinel in Chief": former State Police Superintendent,
Captain J. P. Donnelley.

The Captain and his wife were among the very first friends I made when
I arrived in Reno. Since then we have become more and more intimate,
and my admiration and appreciation of them both grow keener, if such
is possible, the longer I know them.

Almost as interesting as the history of Nevada itself is the excited
checkered career of this man, who at an early date left his native
State of California where he had risen from the ranks of private to
Adjutant of the 10th Battalion Infantry Guards and had sought in
preference the dangers and hardships of rugged Nevada. Here he became
deputy sheriff and chairman of the Republican Central Committee of
Esmeralda County, to succeed Captain Cox as Superintendent of the
State Police in 1911.

In the same year there was a spurt of unusual liveliness from the
Indian quarter. Several white men were killed, and it was Captain
Donnelley who was selected to head one of the posses and risk the
brunt of the battle. The Captain's scrapbook, which he was kind enough
to let me look over, revealed many an interesting incident, and one
would never think when talking to him that this genial, humorous, kind
faced man was every inch a soldier and a hero. The combination strikes
me as wonderfully illustrative of what real culture and civilization
can do for a man. He fights, not for the love of fighting, from a
savage hankering after blood, but because it is for the good of
humanity in general that he should fight, and therefore that he does
well.

A large reward had been offered for the capture of those Indian
desperadoes and of the several posses that had been sent out Captain
Donnelley and his brave band were the only "lucky devils," and escaped
with their scalps.

In appreciation of his fine work the citizens passed a resolution to
send the following letter to the Captain:

"To the Nevada State Police and to Captain Donnelley, Privates Buck
and Stone, and Sergeant Newgard: "Gentlemen:-

"As a Committee of One I am directed by the citizens of Surprise
Valley, this county, by a resolution passed by the citizens last week,
to express to you gentlemen the thanks we so deeply owe you for your
efficient and loyal services rendered in the interest of public
justice in the running down of the Indian renegade murderers of our
citizens in Nevada.

"We cannot begin to express the same by words of tongue or pen and our
feelings coming from the heart must be left to better speakers and
writers than myself.

"Be assured of our great thanks, and should occasion require we will
endeavor to make good in payment.

"Very sincerely yours,

"(Signed) H. E. SMITH, Sheriff."

[Illustration: Captain J. P. Donnelly Former State Police
Superintendent]

In 1912 there were some very serious disturbances in the copper mines
in Ely. Martial law was declared; Captain Donnelley was delegated to
go down to quell the disorder, and in a remarkably short time peace
and order were restored. His success was due in a great measure to his
magnetic personality, for the Captain is very popular and makes
staunch friends wherever he goes.

One of the greatest assets a man can have is the right sort of a wife.
Mrs. Donnelley, once a divorcee, is both charming and interesting. She
is a woman of culture, has traveled extensively and is interested in
all the social problems of the day. When the Red Cross Chapter was
organized in Reno she was asked to take charge of the workroom, which
originally started with two and now boasts of a working force of
between thirty to forty ladies. Without her efficient aid, little
progress would have been made.

Both the Captain and his wife are exceptionally fond of children and
animals, and they tell the following amusing incident about one of the
Captain's birthdays. One fine afternoon, out of a clear sky, seventeen
youngsters of every conceivable size and shape, marched in upon Mrs.
Donnelley, and announced the fact that they had come to celebrate
Captain Donnelley's birthday. Thereupon they held aloft three monster
cakes which they had brought along to demolish in case the Captain did
not have birthday cakes any more. After the rather surprised lady of
the house had ransacked the neighborhood for some fruit and ice cream
to help the cake along and practically no vestige of the feast
remained, the unsuspecting Captain came upon the scene. There was a
rush and a scamper and a babel of voices shouted out, "Oh, Captain
Donnelley, we're having such a good time at your birthday party!"

Orpheus and his lute, David and his harp, Donnelley and his dog! These
are inseparable associations, and so fine and historic an animal is
"Brownie" that the newspapers devote write-ups to him just as if he
were a regular celebrity or something like that. He is now guarding
the chicks on a ranch and is making a dandy truant officer, so the
Captain tells me.

The Captain is a thinker, too. A short time ago he wrote a series of
articles for the Reno Gazette, dealing with psychology. I was
particularly impressed with a fact which he made to stand out clearly
above all others and which would vitally affect society as a whole if
it were to be universally carried out. It is the substitution of an
indeterminate sentence for the definite one which now prevails. "No
judge can determine in advance when a prisoner is fit to return to the
community," he says; and in the same way we release the inmates of an
insane hospital as soon as we think them sufficiently recovered, he
believes we should release the criminal as soon as experts pronounce
him fit to resume his relations with society.

The following is a copy of the verses which the Captain thought would
help his co-workers to do things right:

"Did you tackle the trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful,
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven heart and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it;
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it.

"You're beaten to earth; well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face,
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye.
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight, and why.

"And though you be done to death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you've played your part in the world of men,
Why, the critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?"

And now we come to a pure Sagebrush Son who first announced himself
into the family midst only a few miles away from Virginia City, Judge
Langdon. His father had been a true pioneer of the Comstock Lodge, and
so Frank was born with a "golden" spoon in his mouth.

However that may be, he went to school at Gold Hill, thence to St.
Mary's College and finally passed the bar examination in 1886. Then he
came back to Nevada, post haste, and established a law office in
Virginia City and there he is to this day. Not for long, however, did
he remain a private practitioner. He soon became a member of the
Assembly, and District Attorney of his home County and subsequently
was elected Judge of the County of Storey. And thereby hangs a
"story."

While the Judge was on the bench a felonious murder was committed.
Preston and Smith were the criminals arraigned before the courts, and
Frank P. Langdon their Judge. Originally the trial had come up in
Hawthorne, Seat of Esmeralda County, and when in the midst of the case
the County Seat was changed the case was naturally transferred.
Feeling ran very high, for the prisoners had many friends, and several
anonymous letters, bearing a fear-inspiring skull and cross-bones
sketched in blood-red ink, did the young Judge handle: needless to say
without any fear or trepidation! A son of the sagebrush knows no fear!

At last the day for the final decision came. Some of those I have met
who were present in the court room tell me that the atmosphere was
highly charged and that many expected to see the Judge get a rough
deal. But calmly, in clear ringing tones, he boldly stated his
convictions, irrespective of the direst results that might follow; yet
nothing happened. The men were condemned and the Judge is still
residing in Virginia City, happy with his wife and six lively
children.

Not only through the popular ditty have the Blue Ridge Mountains of
Virginia become famous: their own natural beauty is sufficient to
render them beloved by all those who have had the opportunity to see
them or live amongst them. But it is also under the blue shadows of
those Virginia peaks that many a good man was born and it is therefore
a great tribute to Nevada, I think, that Judge Sanders has permanently
made his home under the purple and gray shadows of the Sagebrush
slopes.

He had been deputy clerk and librarian of the Supreme Court of
Virginia, and during this time had taken advantage of the lore with
which he came in contact to study the ways and byways of the law. Like
unto hosts of others, for him too the Comstock Lode had proved a
magnet, and in 1904 he hit the trail for Virginia City, Nevada. Then
he trailed on, attracted by the Manhattan boom, and finally landed in
Tonopah, the great silver camp. By this time he had begun to be known
as a "big fighter" in the law world. His famous speech on the
"Prospector" attracted considerable attention, and Nevada's sons soon
found out that they had a real man in their midst. He was elected
District Attorney of Nye County, and there never was a man more free
from political prejudice or more ready to give every applicant to the
Courts of Justice a fair and square deal. Cattle rustlers quaked and
trembled at the name of Sanders as did I. W. W.'s; surrounding States
never felt so very kindly disposed toward the Judge, as it was he who
in a great measure was responsible for exterminating this disturbing
element, or rather dumping it into other States, since it proved
inexterminable.

Judge Sanders is married to a Wisconsin girl and has his home at
Carson City, Nevada.

Dick Stoddard is a Reno boy through and through, and although his
middle name is Cross, it certainly has nothing to do with his
disposition, for he is most entertaining and genial. As a youth he
attended the High School and the University, after a time taking the
civil service. Then in the service of the railroad proper, he wandered
around the coast for about four years.

Not content with this mission in life, he entered the law offices of a
prominent firm of attorneys where he imbibed all the legal wisdom he
could, supplementing his practical experience by theoretical study. In
1903, behold our Judge, a full-fledged advocate; in 1905 he was
elected City Attorney for Reno. It was during his term that Reno's
streets were first paved, the new City Hall built and the Truckee's
banks spanned by the Virginia Street bridge.

A rather amusing story is told of how "they,"--his friends,--"put one
over" on Dick, the "putting over," however, being to their mutual
advantage.

The Judge, or rather Attorney, as he was then, had one of those "off"
spells that all of us have at times. He had sniffed his fill of musty
legal parchment for the time, and he decided that he would prefer a
sniff of the sea-weed and brine; that he needed a tonic arid that no
better could be found than "Ozone." So he packed his grip, gave his
friends the "slip," as one might say, and skipped off to a California
resort. And while this revered City Attorney was vigorously breasting
the Pacific billows, and enjoying cooling breezes that brought in
their wake reminiscences of Honolulu, and other lands that enchant the
senses, his friends at home saw to it that Dick Stoddard got the title
of "General" hitched onto his title of Attorney.

During his generalship there were several interesting "spats" between
the Inter-state Commerce Commission and the railroads, but Attorney-
General Stoddard was the right man at the right time, and I assure you
that the State didn't have to suffer.

Judge Moran is another original son of Erin who has adopted Nevada and
has been adopted by her. One could hardly say that he was born with a
golden spoon in his mouth, for "Barney" Moran had anything but the
"life of Riley" in his early years. Up and up he has moved along the
checker-board, however, until now he has become a "knight," a real
knight, for many a human being would still be in sore distress were it
not for the Judge's kind heart and sympathetic understanding in the
divorce court. Some have dubbed him "Papa" Moran; he is so fatherly
they say. And as of course it is no sin to kiss a father, it has
happened that some of the highly strung victims have ventured to
embrace Papa after he pronounced those all-meaning words, "judgment
for the plaintiff."

When he was only ten years of age, both his parents passed away and so
about four years afterwards he crossed the "herring pond" in quest of
a life of adventure. As far as variety is concerned, he had plenty of
it, and some to spare, and it is all those hard knocks that have
helped him to understand human nature as he does. Over in Cleveland he
attended night school while working during the day as a machine-shop
apprentice. Not finding this "job" quite to his liking, he tried
tending the "traps" or doors underground in some of the coal mines.
Soon his fancy changed again, and we find him engaged as a water boy
on one of the railroads. "Tick, tick;-tick tick-tick," signaled the
telegraph, and it was not long before young Moran became proficient
enough to take a job as an operator.

Now why the nickname "Barney," you will ask. Thereby hangs a tale!

While working in the telegraph office, Tom Morau became infused with
some of the electricity which charged the instruments, or so it seemed
anyway. Now there were no less than four boys in that office who
answered to the name of "Tom." So you may imagine, can't you, what,
stampede there was every time the chief operator called "Tom." But
don't imagine our Tom ever let anyone else get ahead of him. Although
he was the youngest and probably the least in requisition, he was
always "Johnny on the spot" before any of the Toms. To solve this
dilemma which was first considered a joke but later developed into an
unmitigated nuisance, the chief operator eventually said to Moran,
"Say, Tom, in future you're Barney."

Under the tutelage of Thomas L. Bellam, who took a great interest in
him, he did three years of general study. This whetted his appetite
for more, and he consequently landed in Chicago and took a course at
the Chicago College of Law. But not till several years later did he
take his final degree and start practicing. Now our wandering little
Irish boy is District Judge of Washoe County.

How seldom it is that we find anyone whose name is a real symbol of
his temperament or profession. Often Mr. Stone will be a weak
mollycoddle; Mr. Sharp, a phlegmatic butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth
sort of individual, or Mr. Strong, an "acute dyspeptic."

Somehow, the gentleman in question, August Frohlich, seems to have
been a little more fortunate in that respect, for Frohlich in German
means "merry," and I have yet to find a man who is more devil-may-care
or happy-go-lucky, in spite of all his family responsibilities, than
Mr. August Frohlich.

He was born in California, and at the age of seventeen found himself
the sole supporter of himself and his mother. Since then he has held
in turn almost every known variety of commercial position. Acting
first as a fruit rancher, he then developed a passion for mining, at
the same time pursuing a business course. When next we see him, he is
exchanging smiles and general goods over the counter, his popularity
winning for him afterwards the position of Postmaster and agent for
Wells Fargo & Company at Crescent Mills. But he was young and
restless, like so many of us have been, in one way or another, and two
years are a long time. After running a stage line, doing a little
bookkeeping and a few other odd jobs of the kind, he came to Reno and
settled down for another two years to study at the University. And so
on. The scene kept changing with kaleidoscopic rapidity until finally
he found a congenial position in the Washoe County Bank, with the
position of Receiving Teller. Political ambitions then began to take
possession of this ever-progressive man, and he--was elected a
Republican member of the 25th Legislature from Washoe County,
receiving the highest vote of any of the twenty-seven candidates. In
recognition of his ability, he was elected Speaker of the Assembly
which was evenly divided, there being twenty-four Republicans and
twenty-four Democrats, with one Independent. In his campaign for
Speaker, the only promise he made was for a square deal. The proof
that he had redeemed his promise was evidenced by his being re-elected
Speaker of the Special Session which was held the following year. He
was Director of the Reno Commercial Club, and surely the club spirit
must be strong within him when you stop to think that he is a Mason,
Elk, Moose, Druid, Woodman, and is active in the Y.M.C.A. At the
present compilation, Mr. Frohlich is the owner of the Commercial Steel
Company.

I have recently been told by a lady who is prominent in social affairs
that his great function when a benefit of any kind is given in town,
is to try to drown the unmelodious clatter of the dishwashing with his
fine vibrant tenor.

Mr. Frohlich certainly enjoys popularity; his good humor and pleasing
personality account for that, and thus Reno can surely be proud of
such a bachelor, who all these years has defied lassoing.

"Railroad Day," the big day when Reno was put on the map, was also
Norcross Day, for the day when the first Pacific train passed through
this town was the one when little Frank Norcross passed into our
mundane existence to take his place--with the rest of us mortals: when
so to say little Frank was "put on the map." His parents had come out
to California as far back as 1850, Norcross' father being engaged in
mining, lumbering and farming.

Frank Norcross had his preliminary education at Huffakers, and had
early evinced a literary turn of mind when as a comparative youth he
received the degree of Bachelor of Arts. Twenty years later the
University conferred upon him the honorary degree of Doctor of Law. He
served a full term as County Surveyor of Washoe County and attended to
Reno's old-fashioned lights, trimming them as he went along, no matter
how severe the cold. One consolation he probably had was that unlike
the other pedestrians he had an opportunity to warm those frozen
finger tips. No mean advantage, I should judge, when the mercury sinks
to zero and lower.

He taught in a local school for a year or so, then did some newspaper
work for the Journal and Gazette and finally ended by practicing law,
having graduated from the University of Georgetown in 1894. After
that, promotion came easily. When he had been in succession District
Attorney of Washoe County and Supreme Judge, he served for two years
as Chief Justice, and so great was his popularity that he was re-
elected without any opposition.

A very interesting fact about the Judge is that he won a thousand
dollar cash prize offered by the "National Magazine" of Boston, for
the best article in support of Colonel Roosevelt for a second elective
term. But then, he was a great friend and admirer of the Colonel's and
it evidently came to him easily.

It was mainly through his efforts that the Reno Free Library was
established, for he had always been interested in educational
opportunities. Apparently he had some difficulty, too, in persuading
Andrew Carnegie that Reno was actually an inhabited town, and
habitable at that. "Andy," like so many other Easterners, was a little
skeptical on that score, thinking probably that the divorcees would
not want a free library, and surely according to fame or rather
notoriety, there was nothing else of any note or significance in Reno
but divorcees, with the exception perhaps of the lawyers, and they no
doubt had all the law books they needed!

Besides being a great lawyer, the Judge is also a good patriot, for he
was a captain of the National Guard and took considerable interest in
the State Militia affairs.

Judge Norcross is a member of several brotherhoods and societies,
among them the Nevada State Council of the National Civic Federation
of which he is chairman, and the Committee of One Hundred of the New
York University "Hall of Fame," the business of which it is to decide
upon those who are to wake up over night and find themselves famous.

Among the prominent Nevada citizens of the early mining days, are
"Lucky Baldwin," C. C. Goodwin, James G. Fair, John W. Mackay, Marcus
Daly and Mark Twain. Those who have not already done so would, I am
sure, enjoy reading Mark Twain's "Roughing It." In this book he tells
many interesting and amusing stories of his experiences in Nevada
mining camps. I quote him as follows: "I went to Humboldt District
when it was new; I became largely interested in the 'Alba Neuva' and
other claims with gorgeous names, and was rich again in prospect. I
owned vast mining property there. I would not have sold out for less
than $400,000 at that time, but I will now. Finally I walked home--200
miles--partly for exercise, and partly because stage fare was
expensive."

Again he says: "Perhaps you remember that celebrated 'North Ophir.' I
bought that mine. You could take it out in lumps as large as a
filbert, but when it was discovered that those lumps were melted half
dollars, and hardly melted at that, a painful case of 'salting' was
apparent, and the undersigned journeyed to the poorhouse again."

The following is one of the tragic incidents in the mining game. I
think it must have been such an instance that caused the origin of the
Western slang phrase-"Out of Luck."

"I paid assessments on 'Hale and Norcross' until they sold me out, and
I had to take in washing for a living, and the next month the infamous
stock went up to $7- a foot.

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