“I Am Tired of this Life, I Want to Die.”

February 24, 2017 § Leave a comment

Chapter Two: Rash Acts

Cora May Sloan

On Saturday evening, May 13, 1882, when a group of Austin printers on an excursion bound for San Antonio stopped at Kyle for refreshments they might have noticed an engaging young girl, about 16 or 17 years of age, attending to them at the refreshment stand. Those who did were somewhat astonished when they learned a few days later of her death – brought about by her own premeditated act. Her name was Cora May Sloan. Sometime during Sunday morning, and in consequence of some family matters, the girl received a slight chastisement (or perhaps only a correction) from her father, which made her very angry. Later in the morning she had an engagement with a young man in the neighborhood, to take a stroll. When the young man failed to meet his appointment the girl went to his residence to ascertain the cause of his not coming.

The young man not being at home, she asked the father if he (the son) was not going to keep his engagement with her; the father informed her that he did not know. She then asked him where his son was, and he replied that he thought he had gone out on the prairie somewhere. The girl upon hearing this immediately retraced her steps home and upon arriving there sat down and wrote a note giving her reasons for committing the rash act which caused her death. She put the note where it would be found and then took a large dose of strychnine. She was buried on May 15. From the wording of the note which she left, she must have written it in a fit of anger, as the language used was extremely harsh and bitter.

William G. Smith

On Christmas Day 1883, a tall, slender and handsome young man, age 23 years, William G. Smith, a native of Waco and well known in Austin, married at Meridian, Bosque County, a variety actress named Lizzie Mack, between 18 and 19 years old, a blonde with melting blue eyes, golden hair, seductive smiles, plump figure and blandishing manners.

Young Smith’s parents were wealthy and owned considerable property in Waco at their deaths. Will, who was “wild,” became infatuated with Lizzie, the daughter of Annie Mack, who ran a variety show in Waco, near the toll bridge where Smith was employed. They eloped and went to Meridian, and their elopement and marriage created considerable sensation in the Waco society circles at the time.

Lizzie, who appeared before the foot lights as the favorite of several variety theaters, finally came to the vaudeville show in San Antonio, where she attracted many admirers and succeeded in arousing the intense jealousy of her liege lord. He threatened to kill himself frequently, and they quarreled many times over the fact that she had ceased to care for him, but had cast the witchery of her smile over other admirers.

She finally wrote him a note announcing her intention of abandoning him, and requesting him to forget her as she had forgotten him. He then commenced to write her notes, telling her that he was going to kill himself, that she had murdered him as much as if she had taken a pistol and blown his brains out herself. He said he could not live after she had ceased to love him, and forgave her and gave her his blessing. He wanted her when he was dead to telegraph to his brother Bob in Waco, who would send after his body.

On Saturday, March 17, 1884, he purchased ten cents worth of morphine from Ragsdale, the druggist, and recorded his name in the poison book. Ragsdale had asked him if he knew the dose, he told Ragsdale he only wanted a small quantity.

Sunday he came back to Ragsdale, and as there was nothing suspicious in his actions, Ragsdale sold him 25 cents worth more. He got 8 grains of morphine from Ragsdale and 25 cents worth of cigars.

He then went to his room, where he and his wife had a quarrel and he told her he would commit suicide, poured a white powder into a glass and started to drinking, but before he could do so she struck the chalice from his lips and the glass fell to the floor and was broke into fragments.

He then cried, quarreled and went off again. On his return, he told her he had taken poison and she became scared and started off to send for a doctor. This was about five o’clock Sunday evening.

As she started he told her he was only fooling and wanted to find out if she still cared for him. His wife, however, thought it best to send for a doctor anyway, and told Mr. August Loux to go after one. Loux thought he was trying to worry here, and did not think that Smith had taken the deadly narcotic. Smith finally persuaded his wife that he had not taken the morphine, and sent her off to Market street to fit up another room which they had rented.

A Mrs. Flagg, one of the lodgers at the same house, suspected something wrong after Smith’s wife had gone, and she went to his room, when, looking into the door, she saw him sleeping with his hand to his face, but his face was very much discolored, breathing heavy and stentorious. He also groaned.

Flagg called to her husband, he went to Smith and tried to arouse him, but failed. Flagg and Loux both went for a doctor. Flagg brought the renowned Doctor George Cupples about half an hour later. Doctor Cupples said Smith was too far gone to be saved, but he would do his best, and administered strophine hypodermically, and afterwards Doctor Julius Braunagel assisted Doctor Cupples. Both worked faithfully. The antidote had a slight effect, produced partial restoration, but he died about 8 o’clock.

His family at Waco were appraised by telegraph of his rash act. A dispatch was received Monday from Bob Smith, the brother of the deceased, another from Mr. Sturgis, announcing that the former was on his way to San Antonio take charge of the remains. The brother of the deceased arrived Monday night, and took the body to Waco, passing through Austin on the 11 o’clock train. A large number of the friends of the deceased went to the station to pay respect to the remains as they passed through the city.

 

“I Am Tired of this Life, I Want to Die.”

February 23, 2017 § Leave a comment

Chapter One.

Ellen Leary, a young woman, known to the frequenters of the first ward as Willie Summers, committed suicide by taking morphine early in the morning of October 25, 1881. She was an inmate of a house kept by Katie Franklin, and was discovered about 6 o’clock in the morning to be under the influence of a powerful narcotic, and in spite of all the physicians who had been summoned could do, she died at half past 10 o’clock.

Justice Tegener held an inquest and the jury, after hearing all the evidence, returned a verdict of death from the effects of morphine administered by her own hand. Willie Summers was not the girl’s name and there was a bit of history connected with her downfall that was distressing. She was buried the next morning from the residence of Katie Franklin, corner of Cedar and Guadalupe streets.

About four years earlier Willie was made drunk, and at the time she asserted that she was drugged at a celebration held at Pressler’s Garden, by two young men of this city. It was then she was led astray, and flung into a life over all the horizon of which one only sees the black cloud of despair. An outcast from the world, an exile from the light of home, she for four long years lived amid the wild reveling of a career, the wretchedness of which was unspeakable, and the horrors of which at last wrung from her crushed heart the piteous wail, “I am tired of this life, I want to die.”

A few hours after this expression fell from her lips she took the fatal drug that ended her existence. The men who led her astray and blighted her young life, and left her to drift out upon the wild, turbulent sea of a dissolute life, were never be punished in this world. Under the peculiar laws of modern society, they never were. It’s the poor betrayed girl allured by glittering promises and money – these men had, and now have money – that suffers. The social evil was assuming terrific proportions all over the world, and some law had to be passed to check it, one that would strike with no uncertain touch the men who patronized and encouraged the evil.

She was discovered by her “boarders,” the misses Willie Gibson and Pearl Levy, well-known young ladies of the town, at their residence. Coroner Tegener ruled her death as due to poisoning, noting that she was but 20 years of age, and that her real name was Ellen Leary.

 

James W. Hall, a well-known Austin florist, “Shuffled Off The Mortal Coil” on March 11, 1884. Tired of Earth and its temptations, he sought the consequences of the Other World.

Hall was one of Austin’s best known characters. Hall. He was somewhat eccentric in his conduct but withal he was a man for whom nearly all who knew him had a kindly feeling, for he was social and generous to a fault and not many men had fewer enemies than he. He was a native of Tennessee and came to Austin when a mere lad. He was his 38th year when he died.

He was a florist by profession and one of the most skillful in the South. His reputation in this regard was as wide as the continent and a time of his demise he had orders from parties in the north to gather ten thousand Texas plants for them; 5,000 different varieties to be gathered for one man. Such was the general standing of the man who committed suicide Sunday morning in this city.

He had been drinking nearly all night and perhaps indulging in other dissipations until his mind was so completely unstrung that he had little or no control of himself. About 7 clock he had his uncle M.P. Hall, on the Avenue and the uncle began to upbraid him for being out all night, saying he ought to have been at home with his family.

“Yes, uncle,” he replied, “it is a shame for me to do as I have done and I am going to stop it.” He then asked his uncle to go to a drug store and get him some morphine. His uncle asked him why he did not get it himself. The reply was that he did not believe the druggists would let him have any.

The uncle then asked him what he wanted with the drug, and he told him he was tired of living and wanted to kill himself. The uncle told him he would not assist him to get poison for such a purpose, and tried to induce him to go home with him and get a strong cup of coffee. He then told his uncle that he did not intend to kill himself, but simply wanted a little to make him sleep.

The uncle thought it best to go with him and see that he got a small dose, so they went together to Samostz’s drug store but it was closed. They went across to the new drug store of Morris and Company, where Simpson’s shooting gallery was, and this they found closed also. The uncle tried again to persuade him to go home with him and get a cup of coffee, saying it would do him more good than the morphine. ”

No,” he replied, “I’m going to kill myself. I will find the drug somewhere, and with it in my worthless life.”

His uncle says he had heard him talk that way before, and he did not surmise he had any such intentions, notwithstanding he shook hands with him and bade him goodbye, saying as he did so it would be the last time he would see him. Where he got the drug that no one seems to know, but in some manner he procured morphine, and took a very heavy dose of the stuff.

About 8 o’clock Sunday morning Col. Bob Russell, the attorney, was walking down Congress Avenue and saw a man drop to the sidewalk near the Gold Room saloon. He came up see him and saw it was Mr. Hall. He called the police and the man was taken to his home, which is on the street car line not far from Col. Driskill’s.

Doctor Wooten was summoned, who at once detected the morphine poisoning, and applied all the antidotes known to science, but the effects of the drug had gone too far, and he died after lying in a comatose state for some time. He has been in the habit of using morphine for a considerable time, and many of his friends said he did not really intend to take enough to kill them.

His declarations to the contrary would seem to show that the poison was used with suicidal intent. He was married and had quite a family. It is said he was very kind and domestic in his own relations and really loved his wife and children. He was also an industrious man, seldom idle except when spreeing, made money easily, and had a large number of valuable contracts at the time of his death, and there was no reason seemingly for the rash act, yet he tried to get the dishwasher at the Gold Room to buy the drug early the evening before, saying he intended to kill himself with it.

His funeral was largely attended. It is one of the saddest things in all human conduct to contemplate, the taking of life with one’s own hand, particularly a young man of only 38 years in a position where the lines of life would lead him, if he would but follow them, into happiness for himself and those depending on him. But the best of men commit suicide, some intentionally to produce death, the most of them without so intending — few there are who do not hasten death by their own hand in one way or another.

City of Mush

February 1, 2017 § Leave a comment

January 18th 1878:

The beautiful mud

Oh, the mud, the mud, the beautiful mud,

how our feet go down with a sickening thud

into the slippery, slimy slush

that fills the streets of the city of mush.

It lies on the crossings, it covers each walk,

It forms the chief topic of gossip and talk.

It bespatters the person from ankles to nose

And dooms to disgrace all our favorite clothes.

Don’t talk about storms that shutter whole fleets.

The sea has no peril like mud in the street.

It discounts the smallpox, and makes us profane

while we flounder in puddles and struggle in vain.

I could live in a land where rattlesnakes creep,

Could smile amid perils far out on the Deep.

Could be happy where troubles rush in like a flood,

anywhere, anywhere out of the mud.

Where Am I?

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