The Chronicle was informed of the situation, and the telegraph editor, who was also city editor and writer of heavy editorials, came to the telegraph office to discuss some way of obtaining some press dispatches.
“You can’t expect to get any dispatches without a wire, and there is absolutely no use hoping to get one tonight,” was the report made to the editor, who was very much chagrined. He said he was up against it and he could not get out a paper unless he had some telegraph news, and what was he to do? He declined allowing the office to be closed up till the regular time, hoping against hope that the wire might come up.
It seemed cruel to keep a person from enjoying himself on the occasion of the nation’s Independence day, but there was nothing to do but to remain on duty. Every half hour the editor would drop in to ascertain the prospect and it was really pitiful to observe how disappointed he was.
It grew on till 8 o’clock, with no change in the condition of the wire.
Hank Cowan, an interesting character, a fine operator, but given to drink, stepped into the office to borrow four bits.
“Come, Hank, I’ll make it a dollar if you’ll give me a lift for an hour.”
“All right,” replied Hank, “tell me what to do for I need a dollar pretty badly tonight.”
Connection was made from the manager’s private office to the Chicago table and I began calling St. Louis.
“Take that fellow, Hank,” was the next order, and Cowan sat down at the wire.
I was doing the manipulating at the key in the manager’s office and said, “Here, you are, I’ve a bunch of press reports for you.”