One of the nice things people tell of Judge Mayer, who served the counties of Clinton, Cameron and Elk as president judge for almost forty years, is of the deep sympathy he showed when Attorney Henry Harvey fell dead in the court room. Harvey had been a law student in the judge’s office, and he felt a fatherly interest in the young man. He was proud of his achievements and successes at the bar, and was pleased when the local Republicans spoke of Harvey as a candidate for the high office of Governor of the great State of Pennsylvania. The judge much regretted the conditions that robbed his pupil of the high honor, but still looked ahead and hoped the honor might still hover near and select Mr. Harvey later on.
The judge knew what disappointment tasted like, for, being a Democrat in a Republican state, is what barred him from the Supreme bench. But he deemed the honor, at the expense of his honest political convictions, to be hollow and empty.
But one unfortunate day the man for whom he had seen such a brilliant future was fatally stricken in court. Harvey was addressing the jury in an important case, and was even more brilliant than usual, when suddenly he threw up his arms and staggered backward into the arms of R. C. Quiggle, calling to a physician sitting near him: “Doctor, I am sick.”
These were the last words uttered by the man of whom such a brilliant future had been predicted. When all was over, and the dead attorney lay cold in front of the jury, the venerable judge broke down and wept like a tender-hearted woman.
People who had come to look upon Charles A. Mayer as a stern and relentless judge, never dreamed of such a display of affection and sympathy. The judge had revealed his humane and tender side to the people, and they admired the new man far above the old one. After adjourning court, he stood with a bunch of attorneys and court officials discussing the tragical end of his friend, and out on the streets the people were discussing the affair, and to each new man who joined the crowds of startled citizens, some one would say: “The judge wept like a child when Harvey died.”
The writer of these lines was attending a relative’s funeral on that day, and when a man came to the funeral who had been in court when the tragical death occurred, and was telling a bunch of men standing outside the home and waiting for the services to begin, he did not forget to add: “Judge Mayer cried like a loving father when he saw that his friend was dead.”
And all over the country the news of Attorney Harvey’s death was whispered in awed tones, and always in connection with the death of Harvey was told the story of the judge’s tears.
It gave the people a peep into the real man behind the legal mask, and they admired the real man far above the legal sternness which the profession forced upon the judge. A man always gains in power and admiration when he shows evidence of a sympathetic heart. Abraham Lincoln’s tears of sympathy stand out as liquid diamonds upon his official record, never to be washed away while his beloved name remains on the pages of American history. The world may malign him and wrongly accuse him of many things, but those tears of sympathy are out of reach of human hands or slanderous tongues, and the crown of his earthly glory will always sparkle in the light of his illustrious name as indelible stars, forever polished by the love the American people retain for the man.
So, too, do the judge’s tears stand out above all his other good qualities, and command respect and admiration from his bitterest enemies. They can never be forgotten. Though he is dead and in his grave, the tears shed by loving friends will be forgotten by the world, while yet his own tears of sympathy remain like drops of dew to keep his memory fresh and green in the hearts of all those who know of the tender and sympathetic side of the judge.