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T H E P R A I R I E C A P
I T A L
Ye Scribe
IT WAS the day of personal journalism. It was the day of partisan journalism. The great figures of Horace Greeley and Marse Henry Watterson dominated the professional scene. If you saw it in the paper it was probably true, but it was possible that you saw it because the editor thought it was good for you to see it there. The editor was no mere commentator on events from which he stood aloof. He was himself the most fiery of partisans and the most eloquent of advocates. He was first of all the partisan of his town. He never tired of pointing out the advantages of his "city" or of predicting its glorious future. Every movement for the improvement, which mostly meant the enlargement of the town, was sure of his vehement support. He was willing tell and did tell a waiting and palpitating universe,
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that for brains and beauty, for material and moral superiority,
his town, his Prairie Capital, was as a city set upon a hill. In
politics, he was even more a warrior for a Cause. He was not
content to record what other men said or thought of public events
or candidates for office. His paper took a stand and led the way
for defeat or victory. His relations with his contemporary of the
tripod were frequently strained. Personal encounters such as
marked a much earlier period of journalism never took place in
Lincoln, but sometimes the weapons of vituperation were
employed.
The new capital was an attractive field for
journalism as for every thing else. But it was less fertile for
the editor than some others found it to be. Many papers have been
started in the town. all save one of the pioneer period have
fallen by the wayside. Journalistic wreckage has been great.
The newspaper plant was by comparison with
modern methods pathetically meager. It was before the days of the
power press. It was before the days of the linotype. Press paper
was imperfect and the small supply of type was used until it was
all but used up. It was all set by hand. The hobo printer was
everywhere in evidence. He saw the country by tramping from one
print shop to the next. He appeared without warning and got a job.
He often left without notice and left the paper in the lurch. More
often than not he was a skilled compositor. The
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editor, though, could and did turn his hand to every part of
the job. He would write his stuff, set it up, ink the press, and
if necessary deliver the paper. The compelling tradition of the
sanctum, "the paper must appear." was seldom violated.
Whether the editor was his own reporter or had a
helper to gather news, the style of the news column was different
from that of the editorial. This latter was likely to have some
elegance of diction with an occasional classic allusion. The
former, as to the local events at least, was marked by a
liveliness and humor all its own. There were no classified
announcements of birth or deaths. but announcements of these
events were more definite as to personalities. The proud father
was "setting up the cigars," and so "was doing as well as could be
expected." Or the late lamented had joined "the silent majority."
Indeed nobody died. They "passed away," "answered the call," "the
grim reaper" took them. So far as the scribe was concerned there
were few "men" and no "women" in town; only "gentlemen" and
"ladies." Once in a long time a man might break his "leg". But no
"Lady" ever did more than "fracture a lower limb" "It" was only a
pronoun. "Contact" and "conference" had not been made into verbs.
It was a time of fettered speech.
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Lawyers
IT WAS inevitable, of course, that the Prairie Capital should attract a strong bar. The legal profession had always been and for that matter still is, the direct and certain avenue to public eminence. When the new state was admitted to the Union, with all its future to make, it offered a most attractive field for the exercise of legal training, and for official preferment. The capital was the seat not only of the minor tribunals of its county and district, but also of the Supreme appellate court of Nebraska. and, periodically, of the Federal courts as well. The ordinary course of business with the various departments of the state government called for the services of the lawyer. It was apparent that there would be a lot of lawyer's work to be done. The result was a bar not only numerically important, but in the mental
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and professional qualifications the equal of any. Among its
members were to be found men who could and did, meet and deal
successfully with the greatest legal questions and
responsibilities. Many of them were in the course of time elevated
to the bench. Many more of them filled other important offices.
Some of them reached national distinction. The record is one to
justify professional pride.
There probably has been less change in the field
of legal practice and procedure than in any other. Save in minor
details the courts still function in 1930 as they did in 1870 and
1880. Legal fundamentalism, the prestige of precedent, the deep
professional conservatism of the bar, have combined to produce a
condition of stasis in the forms and processes of law. But the
externals of the court and of the lawyer's office have changed.
From the first, of course, the Supreme Court has held its sittings
in the State House, but it was nearly twenty years before
Lancaster county had its own Court House. The courts sat in
various temporary and makeshift quarters. Just before the present
Court House was built, the courts were quartered in the McMurtry
block on Eleventh street. Judge Dundy held his court in the
Federal building, now the city hall. The minor tribunals of the
justices of the peace usually were held in the offices of the
incumbent justice. The lawyers were housed, like the doctors, in
upstairs rooms about the town. There were no "stenogs" and no
typewriters. Papers were drawn laboriously in long hand, or
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copied front the records in pen and ink. The lawyer was his own
janitor and carried in his own coal and often forgot to carry out
his own ashes. Like the doctor, in many cases he was known by his
professional attire. It was the day of "speaking" and the lawyer
was the natural "speaker" for all occasions. The Fourth of July
would often scatter the local bar all over the state to deliver
their patriotic orations. The British lion slunk trembling to his
lair before their impassioned periods. The American eagle screamed
till he lost his voice.
The courts still draw their somewhat morbid
spectators. In the old days an important trial was a real show.
The changes and chances of the unfolding evidence were followed
with delight by large audiences. The skill and the eloquence of
the contending advocates were admired and would have been
applauded if judicial dignity had permitted. Many a lad, now
eminent at the bar or on the bench, had his ambition to be a great
lawyer, fired by hearing Whedon or Lamberson, Lamb or Harwood,
Mason or Marquette contending for the mastery. The lawyer was
truly a Prominent Citizen: the judge was a venerated official.
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Visiting Firemen
WHEN
the hostess of the sucker trap, alias night club, calls for a
great hand for the "visiting fireman" at the moment staring
goggle-eyed in the glare of the baby spotlight, she is giving him
the razz. But she may not be aware of the full irony of her words.
Time was when the visiting fireman was a personage, a thrice
honored guest to whom all hearts were open and from whom no honor
was withheld. In his day he was very much what Bobby Jones or
Johnny Doeg are now. Before the days of football towns rooted for
their Hose Teams.
The Prairie Capital was no exception. It, too.
had its hose teams, the chiefest of which was the Fitzgeralds.
They took their name from John Fitzgerald, railroad builder and
millionaire, who probably subsidized them to the end that they
might dis-
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play their splendid uniforms, their glittering hose carts and
their golden speaking trumpets. It is not recorded that they and
their kind ever put out many fires. But they were extremely
effective at starting the fires of local enthusiasm whenever a
hose team tournament was held. This was a real sporting event. The
game was to see which contestant could attach a hose and run a
measured distance in the shortest time. On one great day the
Fitzgeralds covered themselves (and their town) with glory by
winning the state meet. On a still greater day they ran off with
the national championship at New Orleans. When they came home, the
band turned out.
In a figurative sense, the town met many
visiting firemen. The capital saw pass a long procession of state
officials; governors, judges, legislators from all parts of the
state. While in office they lived in the town on terms of friendly
familiarity with its people. Many of them became well known
figures in the life of the town. Many of them after their tour of
official duty made the town their home. The University and the
other schools of the community brought increasing numbers of young
folks each year. (In 1930 the number is many thousands). These
too, filled a very definite place in the life of the town. From
these, and like contacts, added to those of the constantly
expanding commercial interests of the place, Lincoln has come to
have a more definite knowledge of the state and its people, than
is often the case with cities whose interest is merely commer-
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cial. With that knowledge has grown a liking for these visitors. The city has developed an awareness of its place as the capital belonging in a very real sense, to all the people of all the state. These people, on their part, have shown that they like their capital city. Ancient rivalries have not, indeed, wholly vanished, but they have weakened. Their place has been taken by a cordiality of public relations that is one of the chief charms of the Prairie Capital.
