Reno — a Book of Short Stories and Information

by Lilyan Stratton

Now why the nickname "Barney," you will ask. Thereby hangs a tale!

While working in the telegraph office, Tom Morau became infused with some of the electricity which charged the instruments, or so it seemed anyway. Now there were no less than four boys in that office who answered to the name of "Tom." So you may imagine, can't you, what, stampede there was every time the chief operator called "Tom." But don't imagine our Tom ever let anyone else get ahead of him. Although he was the youngest and probably the least in requisition, he was always "Johnny on the spot" before any of the Toms. To solve this dilemma which was first considered a joke but later developed into an unmitigated nuisance, the chief operator eventually said to Moran, "Say, Tom, in future you're Barney."

Under the tutelage of Thomas L. Bellam, who took a great interest in him, he did three years of general study. This whetted his appetite for more, and he consequently landed in Chicago and took a course at the Chicago College of Law. But not till several years later did he take his final degree and start practicing. Now our wandering little Irish boy is District Judge of Washoe County.

How seldom it is that we find anyone whose name is a real symbol of his temperament or profession. Often Mr. Stone will be a weak mollycoddle; Mr. Sharp, a phlegmatic butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth sort of individual, or Mr. Strong, an "acute dyspeptic."

Somehow, the gentleman in question, August Frohlich, seems to have been a little more fortunate in that respect, for Frohlich in German means "merry," and I have yet to find a man who is more devil-may-care or happy-go-lucky, in spite of all his family responsibilities, than Mr. August Frohlich.

He was born in California, and at the age of seventeen found himself the sole supporter of himself and his mother. Since then he has held in turn almost every known variety of commercial position. Acting first as a fruit rancher, he then developed a passion for mining, at the same time pursuing a business course. When next we see him, he is exchanging smiles and general goods over the counter, his popularity winning for him afterwards the position of Postmaster and agent for Wells Fargo & Company at Crescent Mills. But he was young and restless, like so many of us have been, in one way or another, and two years are a long time. After running a stage line, doing a little bookkeeping and a few other odd jobs of the kind, he came to Reno and settled down for another two years to study at the University. And so on. The scene kept changing with kaleidoscopic rapidity until finally he found a congenial position in the Washoe County Bank, with the position of Receiving Teller. Political ambitions then began to take possession of this ever-progressive man, and he—was elected a Republican member of the 25th Legislature from Washoe County, receiving the highest vote of any of the twenty-seven candidates. In recognition of his ability, he was elected Speaker of the Assembly which was evenly divided, there being twenty-four Republicans and twenty-four Democrats, with one Independent. In his campaign for Speaker, the only promise he made was for a square deal. The proof that he had redeemed his promise was evidenced by his being re-elected Speaker of the Special Session which was held the following year. He was Director of the Reno Commercial Club, and surely the club spirit must be strong within him when you stop to think that he is a Mason, Elk, Moose, Druid, Woodman, and is active in the Y.M.C.A. At the present compilation, Mr. Frohlich is the owner of the Commercial Steel Company.

I have recently been told by a lady who is prominent in social affairs that his great function when a benefit of any kind is given in town, is to try to drown the unmelodious clatter of the dishwashing with his fine vibrant tenor.

Mr. Frohlich certainly enjoys popularity; his good humor and pleasing personality account for that, and thus Reno can surely be proud of such a bachelor, who all these years has defied lassoing.

"Railroad Day," the big day when Reno was put on the map, was also Norcross Day, for the day when the first Pacific train passed through this town was the one when little Frank Norcross passed into our mundane existence to take his place—with the rest of us mortals: when so to say little Frank was "put on the map." His parents had come out to California as far back as 1850, Norcross' father being engaged in mining, lumbering and farming.

Frank Norcross had his preliminary education at Huffakers, and had early evinced a literary turn of mind when as a comparative youth he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts. Twenty years later the University conferred upon him the honorary degree of Doctor of Law. He served a full term as County Surveyor of Washoe County and attended to Reno's old-fashioned lights, trimming them as he went along, no matter how severe the cold. One consolation he probably had was that unlike the other pedestrians he had an opportunity to warm those frozen finger tips. No mean advantage, I should judge, when the mercury sinks to zero and lower.