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Hellraisers Journal – Sunday October 11, 1903
Cripple Creek District, Colorado – Victor Daily Record Kidnapped
Report of Emma F. Langdon of Victor, Colorado:
The Victor Daily Record Kidnapped.
Tuesday night Sept. 29, at 11:05, the busiest hour on a morning paper, the Victor Daily Record, which had espoused the cause of the striking miners, was raided by the militia, and the entire force at work was “captured.” The linotypes were humming, ‘‘catching the elevator” on every line, the foreman was fuming and “rushing,” proofs, for “first side down” and first “forms” must go to “press” at 11:30. Suddenly the door of the composing room flew open and in stalked Tom McClelland with the air of a “conquering hero,” followed by a file of yaping yokels dressed in the garb of soldiers and armed to the teeth. “Halt!” yelled the fierce Tom. “Ground arms!” “Fix bayonets!” “guard the entrances!”
“What the h——!” says the foreman, “having a fit?”
The operators merely shifted quids, “brought down” a period and ‘‘sent in” the line.
“Private——— step forward!” roared “Thomas of the shining tin,” “identify the force!’’ A long, lank specimen of the genius homo, red headed, with a scraggly, three week’s growth of red fuzz that might have developed into red whiskers, had the soil from which they sprouted been fertile, shuffled from the ranks and in a hang-dog manner pointed his grimy finger at the foreman and the two linotype operators. This aforesaid specimen had been in the office the night before and had claimed to be a printer; and from his conversation he might have been at some time a janitor in a “print shop” or roller washer in a press room—but printer—oh, no. He was informed in plain, understandable English that if he had business to make it known, if not, conversation was a waste of time. He left and the “force’’ all said, “we’re spotted for the ‘bull pen’ sure.”
“You’re all prisoners of war!” bellowed Thomas, but the “mills” kept “turning over.” ‘Get up!” hissed the major of majestic mein.
“Who the —— are you?” calmly gurgled one of the operators.
“I’m Major Thomas E. McClelland, of the Colorado National guard!”
“Oh, my! does it hurt so very much?” In pitying accents from the operator, my husband [Charles G. Langdon].
“Sergeant seize that man!” gasped Thomas of the guard.
The “sergeant” pushed a wicked looking bayonet towards the operator’s neck and he had to “send in” a “short line.”
Mr. Kyner, the managing editor, then stepped into the composing room and asked what was wanted. McClelland stated that he had arrested the “force” and wanted him, too. ‘‘All right,’ said Mr. Kyner, “I guess you have me.”
“Me too.” said Mr. Sweet, the circulator.
That’s all,” said the “genius homo.”
“Well, it’s a clean sweep,” said Mr. Kyner, “May I telephone my wife?”
“You’ll have to hurry,” quoth pompous Mac.
“Who’ll get out the paper?” asked Richmond, the foreman.
“McClelland laughed and said, ‘“‘We’ll send printers down from the camp and get it out for you.”
“Oh no you won’t,” said Richmond, “It takes printers, and printers don’t bunch in your corral.”
With that the Record force was marched to the “bull pen” under an “honorary” guard of two companies of infantry, two troops of cavalry and, perhaps, the gatling gun, (late of Wyoming.)
At that time I was at home in bed and Mrs. Kyner came to my home and rapped at the door. I opened the door and she asked me if I had heard the latest. I replied that I evidently had not, and she informed me of the arrest of the Record force, and asked, “What shall we do?”
“Do!” said I, “get out the paper of course.” “Just the thing,” said plucky Mrs. Kyner. “I’ll notify Mr. Miller,” and away she flew in the darkness. We realized instantly that a strong effort had been made to suppress the liberty of the press, and determined forthwith that the entire military force of Colorado should not keep the Record from making its appearance as usual.
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