Not only through the popular ditty have the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia become famous: their own natural beauty is sufficient to render them beloved by all those who have had the opportunity to see them or live amongst them. But it is also under the blue shadows of those Virginia peaks that many a good man was born and it is therefore a great tribute to Nevada, I think, that Judge Sanders has permanently made his home under the purple and gray shadows of the Sagebrush slopes.
He had been deputy clerk and librarian of the Supreme Court of Virginia, and during this time had taken advantage of the lore with which he came in contact to study the ways and byways of the law. Like unto hosts of others, for him too the Comstock Lode had proved a magnet, and in 1904 he hit the trail for Virginia City, Nevada. Then he trailed on, attracted by the Manhattan boom, and finally landed in Tonopah, the great silver camp. By this time he had begun to be known as a "big fighter" in the law world. His famous speech on the "Prospector" attracted considerable attention, and Nevada's sons soon found out that they had a real man in their midst. He was elected District Attorney of Nye County, and there never was a man more free from political prejudice or more ready to give every applicant to the Courts of Justice a fair and square deal. Cattle rustlers quaked and trembled at the name of Sanders as did I. W. W.'s; surrounding States never felt so very kindly disposed toward the Judge, as it was he who in a great measure was responsible for exterminating this disturbing element, or rather dumping it into other States, since it proved inexterminable.
Judge Sanders is married to a Wisconsin girl and has his home at
Carson City, Nevada.
Dick Stoddard is a Reno boy through and through, and although his middle name is Cross, it certainly has nothing to do with his disposition, for he is most entertaining and genial. As a youth he attended the High School and the University, after a time taking the civil service. Then in the service of the railroad proper, he wandered around the coast for about four years.
Not content with this mission in life, he entered the law offices of a prominent firm of attorneys where he imbibed all the legal wisdom he could, supplementing his practical experience by theoretical study. In 1903, behold our Judge, a full-fledged advocate; in 1905 he was elected City Attorney for Reno. It was during his term that Reno's streets were first paved, the new City Hall built and the Truckee's banks spanned by the Virginia Street bridge.
A rather amusing story is told of how "they,"—his friends,—"put one over" on Dick, the "putting over," however, being to their mutual advantage.
The Judge, or rather Attorney, as he was then, had one of those "off" spells that all of us have at times. He had sniffed his fill of musty legal parchment for the time, and he decided that he would prefer a sniff of the sea-weed and brine; that he needed a tonic arid that no better could be found than "Ozone." So he packed his grip, gave his friends the "slip," as one might say, and skipped off to a California resort. And while this revered City Attorney was vigorously breasting the Pacific billows, and enjoying cooling breezes that brought in their wake reminiscences of Honolulu, and other lands that enchant the senses, his friends at home saw to it that Dick Stoddard got the title of "General" hitched onto his title of Attorney.
During his generalship there were several interesting "spats" between the Inter-state Commerce Commission and the railroads, but Attorney- General Stoddard was the right man at the right time, and I assure you that the State didn't have to suffer.
Judge Moran is another original son of Erin who has adopted Nevada and has been adopted by her. One could hardly say that he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, for "Barney" Moran had anything but the "life of Riley" in his early years. Up and up he has moved along the checker-board, however, until now he has become a "knight," a real knight, for many a human being would still be in sore distress were it not for the Judge's kind heart and sympathetic understanding in the divorce court. Some have dubbed him "Papa" Moran; he is so fatherly they say. And as of course it is no sin to kiss a father, it has happened that some of the highly strung victims have ventured to embrace Papa after he pronounced those all-meaning words, "judgment for the plaintiff."
When he was only ten years of age, both his parents passed away and so about four years afterwards he crossed the "herring pond" in quest of a life of adventure. As far as variety is concerned, he had plenty of it, and some to spare, and it is all those hard knocks that have helped him to understand human nature as he does. Over in Cleveland he attended night school while working during the day as a machine-shop apprentice. Not finding this "job" quite to his liking, he tried tending the "traps" or doors underground in some of the coal mines. Soon his fancy changed again, and we find him engaged as a water boy on one of the railroads. "Tick, tick;-tick tick-tick," signaled the telegraph, and it was not long before young Moran became proficient enough to take a job as an operator.