Archive for October 28th, 2011

Vet of Local Battle Dies

October 28, 2011

Image of the Charles M. Pratt mansion,  ‘Seamoor’ from the Old Long Island blog.


90-Year-Old Soldier Observed 71st Wedding Anniversary August 3.

Glen Cove, L.I., Oct. 31. — George Washington Dickinson, veteran of Kilpatrick’s 2nd New York light cavalry in the Civil war, died of pneumonia Monday at his home on the Pratt estate here. He was ninety years old. His wife, Sarah Carpenter Dickinson, died last August 17, two weeks after the couple had celebrated their seventy-first anniversary. Mr. Dickinson had served for thirty-five years as caretaker of the Charles M. Pratt estate, making his home in a cottage in the twenty-six acre park surrounding the family’s mausoleum.

Mr. Dickinson, who became ill last Wednesday was born in Oyster Bay, L.I., on March 10, 1843, the son of Susan Dove and Albert Dickinson. When Mr. Dickinson was nineteen years old he married Sarah Carpenter, daughter of a Long Island family, and two weeks later, on August 18, 1862, left his bride to go to war.

Mr. Dickinson saw service at Gettysburg and Bull Run and with the armies of the Potomac and Shenandoah. He was wounded twice, held in Libby prison and returned home on parole the day Lincoln was assassinated. The aged man often attributed his robust health to his out-of-doors job on the estate, where he arose at 6:30 a.m. each day and passed the remainder of the daylight hours in tasks about the estate.

In addition to holding the record of being seventy-one years married, Mr. Dickinson boasted another record — the friendship of the oldest and best man on Long Island. He is Andrew Carpenter, brother of the bride, now in his early nineties.

The Gettysburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Oct 31, 1933

Dry Bill – Bye, Bye, Booze

October 28, 2011

Miami News: Two were shot in the first raid on a New York saloon under the Volstead act. The other patrons were half shot.

Ada Weekly News (Ada, Oklahoma) Nov 20, 1919


Posing as prohibition agents, six men forced their way into the home of Joseph Wolff, former wholesale liquor dealer at Chicago, blew open a vault in the basement and carried away 100 cases of 20-year-old whisky.


In defiance of the laws against combinations  in restraint of trade, to say nothing of the Volstead act, bootleggers of Spokane, Wash., have organized to boost the price of liquor.


Overpowering three guards and smashing down the doors, a gang of liquor robbers, believed to have numbered 30, escaped with 2,100 gallons of whisky from a warehouse at Burkittsville, Md.

Boyden Reporter (Boyden, Iowa) Mar 16, 1922

Old Ben.

(From Cincinnati Enquirer.)

Each night, for more than 40 years,
He drank a couple of good beers.
He never would exceed that number,
He said that beer promoted slumber;
It was a tonic, so he said,
And to him it was liquid bread.
He said that whisky poisoned men,
He was against it, was Old Ben.
So he went out and voted dry,
To kill the bourbon and the rye.
He killed the whisky, but, oh, dear!
He also found he’d killed his beer.
He needed beer, and he was sad,
For there was no beer to be had.
*     *     *     *     *
Now in a cell we hear him groan —
For Old Ben tried to make his own.
Man’s first trouble was an apple in the garden.
Now its peaches on the roof garden. R.R.

Syracuse Herald (Syracuse, New York) Jun 28, 1920

More Truth Than Poetry

By James J. Montague.
(Copyright, 1920, by the Bell Syndicate, Inc.)

The Disaster.
(Apologies to the Late James T. Fields.)

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul was at the bar,
For the splendid floating palace
Hadn’t traveled very far.

‘Tis a fearful thing on shipboard
To be preyed upon by thirst,
and to hear the Captain’s warning,
“Pass the three mile limit first.”

Strong men twitched, with nervous fingers
At the buttons on their coats,
Women, gulped to ease the yearning
Of their parched and panting throats.

So we watched the idle steward
With one eye upon the clock,
When we heard below the grinding
And a sudden, dreadful shock.

And so slowly on the billows
We began to dip and lift,
“All is off,” the Captain shouted.
The propeller’s broke adrift.

But the Captain’s little daughter,
Who’d been looking at the log,
Cried: “We’ve passed the three mile limit,
We’ve been drifting through the fog.”

Then we kissed the little maiden,
Life again became worth while,
And we all were nicely jingled,
‘Ere we’d logged another mile.

Syracuse Herald (Syracuse, New York) Jun 28, 1920