I have great respect for the newspaper crews who produced newspapers with handset type. As a journalism student at Kansas State University, my introductory course was one that dealt with the history of printing and the various methods used.The instructor was an old man in poor health. He knew his material but when the class met I prayed he wouldn’t keel over dead in our presence.
Professor Byron Ellis required each of his students learn how to handset type. In the lab portion of the class, we composed things like business cards and advertisements and printed our work.
At the time I thought it a terrible waste of time as mechanical typesetters had been invented before my parents were born. I incorrectly certain, I would never be asked to handset type. I’ve since developed an appreciation for the class and believe it would be a suitable class for today’s students provided qualified instructors could be found.
With that said, I want to express my admiration for the early publishers of our local newspapers. Many were true craftsmen. This weekend, while looking through a newspaper published in Nuckolls County in 1894, I came upon the following story printed under the headline “Stranger than Fiction.” How a printer-journalist found time to write and handset the story, I will never know. The story reminded me of the flights of immagination many may have experienced Friday night when they sought remote parking places far from the clutter of electric lights and stared into the darkness, hoping to see the Northern Lights. What else did they see or imagine? For their effort, some were rewarded with spectacular color photos. I’m sorry the photos won’t reproduce well in a black and white newspaper. I’m sure all returned home long after bedtime with stories they will remember.
The story from May 15,1894, issue of the Nelson Gazette follows:
The night was dark. The black clouds rose majestically from the northwest. The forked lightnings played in the heavens as they flashed across space. The terrible thunder pealed forth as though all the elements were at war and this, their onslaught.
From the south there comes one mounted on the finery steed. See him approach cautiously the small wood that skirts the stream before him. Now he reins his charger as he descends toward the bridge; cautiously he finds his way across and emerges from the deep gloom of the woods.
Having passed through safely, a smile of satisfaction and triumph plays on his once set features. Nearer and nearer moves the clouds from the northwest, the lightning flashes brightly and becomes more terrific. The thunder rolls and echoes from hill to valley with a deep and ominous sound.
Who would venture out on such a night as this?
What could entice one to leave his home facing all this danger?
Could it be the meeting of friends near and dear that have been separated for years? Could it be that our hero was bent on some great robbery that made him smile in anticipation of ill acquired wealth?
See how he plies both whip and spur to his lagging steed. What can it mean? Why this peril?
Nearer he approaches town, how steady he sits in his saddle, as the now close thunder causes his horse to reel and fret. Now he slackens his speed, slowly he approaches his destination. No one has seen him.
He alights from his horse and ties it securely. Now he produces a key already prepared for the lock. He approaches the door, slowly and cautiously he turns the key. The door turns noiselessly upon its hinges. With one bound he passes it unseen and unharmed.
God forbid there should be any blood shed.
It was Mack Gourlay riding his bow-legged pony to Nelson, after supper upon his first visit to the new postoffice.
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