No one who has ever had much to do with mining can keep out of that fascinating business very long. When I returned to San Francisco from Havilah, it was my solemn intention to abandon mining forever thereafter and confine my efforts to what was known as “legitimate business,” whatever that may be; I have never found out. But I hadn’t more than barely got my bearings before I began to make casual incursions in a sly way into the old field of endeavor, and thus had a personal and financial acquaintance with, I think, all of the heroic figures who created the vast deep-mining industry of the far West.
Only one of these big men has lasted down to our own time. J. B. Haggin[A] still lives at his home in Lexington, Ky., at a great age—90 or more—and until recently in the enjoyment of good health. A story used to be current in San Francisco that in the early pioneer days Haggin was a devotee of play at the El Dorado and Union. One night, so the narrative runs, after successive losses he borrowed $100, to win or take the gambler’s last alternative. But he had no occasion for the latter. He stood calm and imperturbable as the hundred became a thousand, and then tens of thousands, while a circle of mute, white-faced gamblers stood fascinated at his luck, until the proprietor, in a voice that showed no tremor, quietly announced the bank closed for the night. The story goes on to say that Mr. Haggin never touched a card from that day forth. All of this I have only on hearsay. Mr. Haggin lives to tell whether it is true or false.
[A] Since the above was written, Mr. Haggin died.
J. B. HAGGIN
Successful miner and a true financial genius
But if he abandoned gambling in one direction, he took it up in another. In the mining industry he was a plunger, par excellence. I do not mean that he invested recklessly or without mature investigation, but when he once made up his mind, a few millions, more or less, never moved him from his purpose. The broad, liberal way he played the game had more to do with the development of the West than perhaps anything else.
Haggin had nothing in common with good fellowship. He was always silent, sober and cold. But under it all he must have had a heart. He was the only one I ever knew who remembered the men who helped to give him wealth. Every man, without exception, who rendered Haggin faithful, efficient service, he made rich. And he was very loyal to his friends. In these days—and other days—when men of power exhaust the energies of their subordinates and then toss them without concern on the scrap pile, like so many sucked-out oranges, and treat their business associates just a shade better, an example such as Haggin gave ought not to be overlooked.