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Pioneer Preachers -
That
Nevada has produced men of note in every walk of life, goes without
contradiction, for their names are inscribed on the walls of fame and
finance; in civil and political life; in the world of letters and the
annals of crime; on charity's scroll in the first and largest and most
notable contributions to that noblest charity of all the Sanitary Fund,
that administered alike to the victims of war, whether in blue or gray;
and last and greatest of all, the meek followers of Christ, in all the
sects and creeds known to Christendom. Her clergy has numbered amongst
them, those who have achieved lasting fame while quietly plodding the path
of righteousness in perilous pioneer days, and who have received their
reward with becoming meekness, that enables them to wear well the honors
so worthily won. At the head of the list we may be pardoned in naming
among the earliest of the pioneers, Bishop Whitaker; Father Manogue; the
eloquent preacher politician, Hammond; Reno's favorite, Jenvey; and we may
be excused for loss of memory in not naming others whose devotion entitles
them to be inscribed on the roll of Christian martyrs. Their minds were
developed here, where natural surroundings, desert perils and privations,
bring man nearer to. God; and where freedom of opinion and man's natural
independence expand the mind to the utmost limits of admiration for the
handiwork of God and nature. In consequence, liberal views have developed
in the minds of some, and this may have been at variance with orthodox
teachings; nevertheless, such divines have made friends with the masses,
and if any ever betrayed evidence of mortal weakness, a generous public
was ever ready to clasp his hand in warmer grips of friendship and
palliate any shortcoming on the broad grounds that "man's a man for a
that."
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Frontier preacher by, Christian Schussele,
1862
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Among
the popular preachers in the State, and who especially endeared himself to
the pioneers of the eastern and central part of it, was one that many yet
remember as genial Parson Kelly. He was skilled in his calling, scholarly
and eloquent, and added a vein of life and jollity to every social
gathering. True, he was sometimes restored to clerical dignity by the firm
but gentle admonition of his devout and devoted wife, whose simple
reproof, couched in the one word, "Samuel P," would return his countenance
to the gravity demanded of his calling. But, everybody liked him; the rich
cultivated him; the sick took cheer from his presence; the giddy gave
cheerfully to the contribution box; the best liked him none the less, and
the sports would have him bury their dead. Not a driver on the central
stage lines but preferred him to any one else on the box outside, and that
genial wag, Tom Reilley, who drove in to the last "home station" many
years ago, used his strongest words of admiration when he said "Kelly was
a lizard."
But,
Kelly's popularity led him into politics, and to give him a position that
would prove congenial to his tastes, he was elected State Superintendent
of Public Schools and moved to the capitol. Then, the greatest misfortune
that falls to man, befell him, and the death of his good wife checked his
ambitions. At the close of his term, he drifted, perhaps unwisely into
journalism, and became a hard worked reporter on the
San
Francisco
newspapers, at a time when stirring political changes called forth steady
toil that soon became drudgery. He banished grief in the exactions of the
new life and worked with a will to serve his new masters. Suddenly, he
dropped the pencil and with his only child departed for the east, to end
his life in the placid pursuit of his early calling in the quiet eddy of
his old home. What led to his sudden resolve may be inferred by his old
Nevada
friends in the following: He was met by an old friend in
San
Francisco
just after the election for the adoption of the new constitution.
Reporters had been hard worked in gathering returns, and Kelly told his
friend of the fatigue.
"Well," said the friend, "you were of course paid extra for the extra
work?"
"No,
not a bit of it," said the former parson.
"What," said his friend, "after being up so many nights, did not the rich
proprietor of the leading daily pay you handsomely?"
Kelley's look of disgust over the treatment would require an artist to
portray on canvas, but there was no mistaking the tone with which he
replied: "Naw. They didn't even say beer."
Article in the Reno Evening Gazette,
July 16 , 1891.
Poker Against Prayer -
Many years ago, worn out with the activity of life in the
Nevada
mining camps, my doctor recommended a trip to southern
California.
It was long before the "boom" and
Los Angeles
was a sleepy, Mexican town, and its old Sonora town with its adobe houses
and tile roofs, and the dark-eyed Senoras with their picturesque costumes,
was charming, but thoroughly Mexican. It was before the advent of
railroads and the favorite route for reaching there was by steamer from
San
Francisco.
At that place a comrade joined me, who was searching new fields for
business; but he was timid about ocean travel and only consented to the
ocean route after some urging. Preparations were hurried to catch the
steamer, but his fears were so great that he neglected some matters, to
make his will before sailing, as he had no faith in escaping the perils of
the deep.
I
joked him on his timidity, while admiring his grit in deliberately facing
what he sincerely believed was sure death. The voyage was uneventful to
Santa Barbara, where we disembarked and awaited the next steamer to
Los Angeles.
The interim was spent in viewing the sights of that old mission town that
was just then awakening from the sleepy lethargy of placid existence of a
century, and the transition then taking place was fascinating to anyone
that was a close observer. Four days were passed pleasantly and on the
fifth, the old steamer Orizaba, from
San
Francisco
southbound, moored to the wharf, discharged cargo during the day, and in
the evening left port in a dense fog. We were promptly on board, but found
a crowded ship, and were compelled to accept any accommodations offered. A
mattress on the saloon deck or at best on a locker was all that could be
promised, and so we wandered over the ship like tramps, homeless, but at
home everywhere.
 As
the ship steamed down the channel the fog thickened, the speed was
slackened, and the fog whistle sounded its doleful but startling warnings
with distressing regularity every minute. My friend was seriously alarmed
and questioned everyone upon the prospects. The night was black -- one
could not see across the ship's deck. A heavy swell caused the vessel to
plunge as though going to the bottom, and when the whistle sounded its
muffled shriek, as the vessel plunged downward, it seemed like a last
goodbye. My friend was so seriously alarmed that his actions were painful
to witness. He clung to me like a child, and I could not compose him. Some
others showed fright and that made him hopeless of ever reaching terra
firma. I tried to quiet his nerves from a private flask, but his stomach
was worse disturbed than his nerves, and his sick grimace at the smell of
the contents punctuated his refusal with a positiveness that was
unanswerable. The cigar case met the same refusal. He would not sit down,
nor go to bed, and he couldn't stand up without holding on to something,
and so he clung to me like a frightened child. His distress was pitiful
and yet I hadn't the courage to cuss him. I was at my wit's end, when
stumbling with him into the upper saloon, a reckless young drummer
challenged anyone for a game of draw poker. I accepted promptly, in hopes
of diverting my friend from contemplating a watery grave, and soon I was
raking in the drummer's coin, for he played recklessly and out of luck.
The stack in front of me grew to respectable proportions. My friend became
absorbed in the game and forgot the fog whistle. Then, luck turned and
slowly my accumulations drifted across the table. The drummer got even and
proposed larger stakes, to which I demurred and the game closed. The fog
had raised a little, the whistle had ceased its doleful warnings; the
machinery was working rapidly and the vessel was increasing its speed.
My
friend had forgotten his fright and was composed for a good night's rest
by the excitement of the poker game, and I was forced to the conclusion
that in this instance, at least, poker was more efficacious than prayer.
Article in the Reno Evening Gazette,
June 27, 1891
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