This Was My Pottsville: Life and Crimes During the Gilded Age

P A R T I 

CHAPTER 1 

A TIME TO CELEBRATE

It was grandest of times; I can vouch for it, as I was there in those early years employed as a young cub reporter for the Miners Journal Newspaper. Getting the newspaper job meant so much to me as I wanted to make my family so proud. I wouldn’t have to work in the mines or the rolling mills as my father and uncles had. Boy! My first real job in my native Pottsville, the rising star in the state, was icing on the cake. You are interested in hearing about the centennial, so that is where I will start. I remember 1906 as if it was only yesterday.

My parents were some of the earliest settlers. From stories that were told to me, when the 19th century dawned upon the wilderness which covered the treasures of coal hidden in the hills of Schuylkill County, there was only one single dwelling built by a pioneer family within the area now referred to as Pottsville. This simple, lonely log house stood down in the valley where the mill on Mauch Chunk Street was later constructed. If I had a map, then I would show you. About the time of the Revolutionary War, Indians murdered the white settlers, supposedly on a Sunday morning when the family rested from normal chores. Two children were murdered there with the parents. I think the last name was Nieman.

My family did not go back that far, that’s for sure. I never heard of a family member having trouble with Indians. You say that you are working on a history of the city and were told that I know a lot about this place? Well, you are correct. I remember the good, the bad and the indifferent. I am a walking encyclopedia on the city’s history even though I don’t look like one. People say that anyone who has my appearance probably knows nothing. They are wrong.

As I mentioned, I’ll start with the good times that I remember. I am referring to Old Home Week. Let me tell you about that special time, day by day. Damn, they were good times here in the coal region. I also know a lot about the city’s dark side, it’s underbelly. I can tell you about a most bizarre murder that occurred when I was a young man. Yes indeed, bizarre it was. I covered that story too. That happened several years later after the centennial. You will just have to wait. That murder is a part of the town’s lost history and I will recount it for you, as long as I get to tell you about everything else about the city. Everything and maybe even some more than you would like to know. I don’t get many visitors anymore. I am glad you called on me. Let me begin with my story.

No time to think about anything sorrowful or worrisome. It was a time to celebrate!

On weekends Pottsville, a town nestled within seven hills, was one of the preferred Schuylkill county towns to visit, whether you were an anthracite coal miner or a highly educated professional. From all indications, the town and county seat, located in the southern anthracite coalfield of Pennsylvania, was beloved by all ethnic groups and economic classes. It certainly had competition, as another popular county town to visit was Shenandoah located in the middle anthracite coalfield, fifteen miles to the north of Pottsville.

On most Saturdays Pottsville swelled with its visitors, including the miners who spent their precious free time and precious meager earnings on all that the town had to offer. Coal mining was hard, dangerous work. In the late 19th century some observers estimated that three miners were killed every other day in the anthracite fields. When the weekend arrived, mere survival was a good enough reason for a miner to celebrate. The town of Pottsville offered saloons, gambling, restaurants, theatres, dance halls and the many stores that lined Centre Street, the business district located in the heart of the town. While Pottsville offered more than forty-four saloons, hundreds more were found in other parts of the county. So the saloons were not the main attraction by any means. Alcohol was plentiful in Schuylkill County, which had a population of approximately 200,000 and an estimated 1100 saloons serving refreshments to its drinking men (most saloons being off-limits to the ladies). By comparison, Philadelphia, the largest city in the state, had 1700 saloons for a population of two million. Many complain that the saloon licenses in the coal region were given out too freely, and the quality of life was being hurt.

However, that was the way it was back then, in 1906, the centennial year.

The Pennsylvania Centre Turnpike was not the first large-scale road system in the state, as turnpikes dated back as far as the 1700’s. The Centre Turnpike was chartered in 1805, connecting Reading to the southeast with Sunbury seventy-five miles to the northwest. In between those two communities the roadway went through an area, later known as Pottsville, and Centre Street, was Potts-ville’s main thoroughfare.

As acknowledged, the weekends generally attracted throngs of people but in September 1906, the centennial year, the crowds increased beyond anyone’s imagination. Pottsville, the small town mid-way on the old Centre Turnpike, was celebrating its one hundredth anniversary with weeklong festivities occurring the first week of September. At the same time young George Simon, Jr. was beginning his middle year at the public high school.

Did you hear about the episode involving the young Simon boy?

That curious remark would be echoed throughout Pottsville in just three short years.

CHAPTER 2 

SUNDAY

My father came to Pottsville from the Reading area just before the Civil War. He first stayed at White Horse Hotel, which had been constructed in 1818, on the present site of the Necho Allen Hotel. He was not an educated man, and sought out employment at the Rolling Mills in the Fishbach section of the town. He worked there as well as for the Sparks & Parker Foundry, located on East Norwegian Street. He also did some coal mining later in Yorkville; he certainly was not a lazy man.

Now I will tell you about the events that occurred during Old Home Week on Sunday. Are you a religious man? I used to be. I had been married in St. John the Baptist German Catholic Church. My wife was a German girlfrom Yorkville. Father Frederick Longinus performed the ceremony. They don’t make priests like that anymore. My wife and I attended Mass every Sunday and every Holy Day of Obligation, but after my wife filed for divorce, I drifted to a few of the other local churches. For a time I spent a lot of time at the Christian Science Church on West Market Street. Lately I go to the Salvation Army, but I have no allegiance to anyone or anything.

I like to read a lot, as you can see from my extensive library. From my appearance you may think I am not well read, but don’t be deceived. Look at my mind and hear me out. Let me continue with the events that occurred on the Lord’s Day during Old Home Week.

Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord; and by Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of Thy only Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen.

That solemn prayer and other similar ones were heard through out Pottsville as the evening church services in all the houses of worship were formally commemorating the founding of the town; with raucous celebrations set to officially begin at the stroke of midnight. When ended, the crowds of churchgoers joined those who did not attend the liturgical ceremonies, and together they all proceeded downtown to the heart of Centre Street. Yes, it was raining outside but the light shower failed to dampen anyone’s spirits. By eleven o’clock, one hour before the festivities were to begin, the swarm of celebrants was on the verge of being considered uncontrollable by some eyewitnesses. However order prevailed that night of nights.

At approximately 11:30 P.M. the rain lessened to merely a nuisance drizzle, and at the stroke of midnight, the electrical current for the decorative illuminations, all strung up high along the streets, was switched on. Along Centre Street, as well as the adjoining streets, the decorations brightened the night sky, dazzling the multitudes that have gathered, almost as ifyou could hear one mighty, collective and wondrous Aah coming from the community.

Yahoo! Yahoo! Yahoo!

Whoopee!

Harrah!

Hip Hip Hurray!

The shrieks of celebration from the estimated crowd of 30,000 quickly filled the moist air, accompanied by the clanging of cowbells and other merriment makers.

At that same instant, the melodious Third Brigade Band appeared on Centre Street, marching in perfect step formation forward to the Centennial Committee’s Headquarters.

Forward! March! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!

Look out world! The celebrations had officially begun!

The Third Brigade Band, in full blue uniform, triumphantly headed towards Garfield Square, accompanied by approximately twenty-five lamp boys who carried the illumination permitting the musicians to read their sheet music. Some of the lads were wet and disheveled from the light rain, reminding some passersby of breaker boys—those youngsters who sorted the coal from the rock as it flowed down the chutes at the nearby collieries. To be picked as a lamp boy for the centennial celebration was indeed a great honor, and these boys were very proud to be selected, despite the ragged appearances of many of them, now wet with the fallen rain and coated with the dust from the streets.

Boys will be boys, whether it was 1906 or 1955.

Located five blocks west of Centre Street, this town square, re-named after President James Garfield, served as the center of most patriotic celebrations since 1891, the year when the Soldiers and Sailors Monument was erected to honor the local military heroes. The Band, in the glow provided by the energetic lamp boys, continued to the Square, playing one upbeat march after another. The crowds along the way, unremittingly cheer, clap and holler.

Pottsville is one hundred years young!

Hip! Hip! Hurray!

Professor Frederic Gerhard was the brilliant conductor of the beloved Third Brigade Band that was a part of Pottsville’s one hundred year old history. In 1864, this handsome and rugged musician was born at Hummelstown, a Pennsylvania Dutch town located near the state capital of Harrisburg. His early years had been spent in the northern parts of Schuylkill County.

In 1875, young Fred could be spotted as a black-faced, begrimed breaker boy living outside of Shenandoah. Where he got his first violin, no one knows, but he could be seen practicing the dainty instrument, with his slate bruised hands, after his hours of long hard labor. At age nineteen, he came to Pottsville and began employment in the foundry of the Philadelphia and Reading Coal & Iron Company. While working those long hours, he never took his mind off of his true passion and his unfulfilled aspirations, that of becoming an accomplished musician and a conductor of classical compositions.

In his evenings Gerhard devoted himself to this true love, the study of music. When he thought he was at least competent, he began playing in several local theatre orchestras. His musical talent astounded nearly everyone that had heard him. Soon he made a decision to leave the foundry, plunging himself into the new world of his dreams. He would be a professional musician, and strive to become the finest in all of Pottsville and its neighboring towns and villages. It certainly took courage to make that decision and give up his job security. By 1906 it is apparent that he has fulfilled his childhood dream.

I will prove my talent to the world and make the most beautiful music that Pottsville has ever or will ever hear, Gerhard would repeatedly tell his friends and relatives, who all believed in him.

In 1889, Gerhard traveled to New York City where he spent a year studying music theory, playing the violin under the tutelage of Dr. Eugene Thayer (an early American organ virtuoso and composer of organ music), and Gustav Dan-nreuther, founder of the Beethoven String Quartet. All the while he longed to return to his beloved Pottsville, as the big city life was not for him.

After his homecoming to the coal region the following year, he was elected leader of the Third Brigade Band, which was founded in 1879 as a military band, and composed entirely of Pottsville men. Besides acting as its leader, Professor Gerhard organized his symphony orchestra as well as a string quartet. In order to support himself, he spends considerable time instructing students in piano and violin. Having music lessons taught by Gerhard quickly became a status symbol to the local population. Lessons by Gerhard meant first-class musical education.

That was a little clumsy, but if you practice at least one hour every day, you will master the first movement of the Mozart G minor, Gerhard could be heard telling many a student, firmly believing that practice, practice and more practice made perfect.

On the streets of Pottsville, the energetic musicians, collectively known as the Third Brigade Band, now marching in perfect unison for the opening celebration had appeared in numerous historic events over the years. For instance, during the Homestead Strike of 1892, the band entertained the National Guard that was stationed outside of Pittsburgh. The Guard was sent there by Governor Patterson to keep peace between the strikers and the management. After their departure from the camp, the band visited the office of Henry C. Frick, the fabulously wealthy coke king and steel magnate where they played a musical number for him. Shortly after the Pottsville band serenaded him, an attempt was made on Frick’s life, resulting in a serious, but non-fatal, gunshot wound. The would-be assassin was Alexander Berkman, the partner and lover of the notorious anarchist, Emma Goldman. Berkman had been wrestled to the ground, and his captors noticed that his face appeared suspicious.

Open your mouth! What do you have in your jaw?

Candy, Berkman defiantly answered.

After the prisoner was properly secured, it was discovered that Berkman had a dynamite cartridge in his mouth.

On their way back to Pottsville, the band members, who had avoided the attempted assassination by minutes, were startled to hear about the terrible gas explosion that occurred in their neighboring Yorkville. The deadly blast claimed the lives of several friends, and neighbors, and the musicians immediately volunteered their services at the funerals.

Yes, the Third Brigade Band become, over time, the historic heartbeat of Pottsville. This heartbeat was heard at many joyous occasions outside of Pottsville and Schuylkill County as well, making the band Pottsville’s ambassadors of goodwill. Many astute followers of the band say that their finest playing was heard at the numerous inaugurations of American Presidents and Pennsylvania