In 1899 when they started the
Blue Pencil Club, the men were a bunch of rambunctious, though well-established, writers.
They rented some rooms on
Spruce Street in lower Manhattan. Around the corner, the row of buildings that housed
the city’s newspapers reached to the sky with a gold
dome and towers.
The club was a mess, though: The floor, when covered
at all, was carpeted with sawdust. The ceiling decorations were mostly cobwebs.
. . The furnishings consisted of bare
tables, tubs, beer kegs, a telephone and a bar.*
From time to time, police busted the members for lack of
a liquor license. But who had the heart to penalize such rollicking consumers
of theater, literature, and Chinese culture?
Purveyors of wit that has, 117 years later,
lost some of its luster, they joyously took down Tammany Hall, pompous
publishers, and business titans.
But it should be noted they
were rather smug themselves.
The point of the club was to
have a good time, and to publish the Blue
Pencil Magazine which they packed with doggerel, drawings, and tales
ridiculous and fantastic.
Blue Pencil Magazine, cover of first issue |
And the names of these men?
They were Billy Burgundy and
Mickey Finn (pseudonyms) and Billy Fales.
And there was Forman, the pince nez’d scion of one of Brooklyn’s first families who got his start when the legendary Irish editor of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Thomas Kinsella, sent the lad to San Francisco in 1877 to cover an anti-immigrant uprising fomented by a labor leader named Denis Kearney.
And there was Forman, the pince nez’d scion of one of Brooklyn’s first families who got his start when the legendary Irish editor of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Thomas Kinsella, sent the lad to San Francisco in 1877 to cover an anti-immigrant uprising fomented by a labor leader named Denis Kearney.
Advertising card for cigarettes featuring Allan Forman |
Forman ended up reporting on
the Sand Lot riot, a three-night rampage during which four Chinese men were
killed. He went on to write about theater, manners and the like. For 25 years,
he edited The Journalist, the
nation’s first magazine for writers and editors.
His essay,
“How to Eat an Orange,” which appeared in Northwest
Magazine in 1890, was well-received as they used to say.
As for Billy Burgundy! Why would
anyone named Oliver Victor Limerick need a pen name?
A Mississippi native who
trained to be an allopath, Limerick was an incorrigible joker. He came to New
York to edit a medical journal. After a while, he decided that he would rather
write stories than practice medicine.
Limerick’s amusing advice
column, “Billy Burgundy’s Balm for Burdened Bosoms,” and his books,
such as Billy Burgundy’s Tales in
Toothsome Slang, satirized romance:
Percival was the confidential valve in the
Borated Talcum Powder Trust, and drew down a voluptuous salary for his services
in behalf of the Chafe-Allaying Industry. . .
Ernest Jarrold appeared on the frontispiece of the February 1901 issue of Blue Pencil Magazine. |
Then there was Mickey Finn, a.k.a.
Ernest Jarrold, an Englishman who had been hanging around Newspaper Row for
years, contributing short stories to The New
York Evening Sun, Harper’s Weekly and other magazines. He often poked at
Irish immigrants.
And there
was Billy Fales – of whom his friends wrote:
Brave,
brilliant Billy! No man or woman ever heard from his lips of the great grief
that paralyzed his ambition and made a wreck of his career, for there was no
yesterday on his calendar,
and
He
often said that life was a joke and he generally appeared to make this epigram
the maxim of his career.
A poet, essayist, diplomat,
attorney, and adventurer, Fales bore the nickname “the Encyclopedia.” Married
thrice, indifferent father of two sons, he caroused Manhattan, eating and
drinking heavily.
Chow Chop Suey at Mong Sing Wah in Chinatown, the spaghetti at Maria Da Prato’s on MacDougal Street, the oyster stalls at Fulton Market, and the Lomo de Puerco con Platanos at Braguglia & Carreno on Broadway; Billy loved it all.
Chow Chop Suey at Mong Sing Wah in Chinatown, the spaghetti at Maria Da Prato’s on MacDougal Street, the oyster stalls at Fulton Market, and the Lomo de Puerco con Platanos at Braguglia & Carreno on Broadway; Billy loved it all.
Artist's sketch of "Spaghetti Night" at Maria del Prato's |
He steered the members of the
Blue Pencil Club through the night, returning at dawn to his home on Pineapple
Street in Brooklyn Heights.
Through the Hourglass: Blue Pencil Boys
*See posts on William E. S. Fales, 2/1/17 + 1/25/17 & about his mother, Imogene C. Fales, 5/25/16; also post on Allan Forman, March 22, 2017.
*See posts on William E. S. Fales, 2/1/17 + 1/25/17 & about his mother, Imogene C. Fales, 5/25/16; also post on Allan Forman, March 22, 2017.
It so hard to get a handle on how it was the consumer of these magazines read them. The wit seems so heavy-handed. Almost like bad television that was to come 50 years later.
ReplyDeleteAnd still, the notion that you could start a magazine about this and that and make enough to live on...
"Why would anyone named Oliver Victor Limerick need a pen name?" Now, that's a great line.