Baltimore Evening Sun (22 March 1913): 6.
Say what you will against the Hon. Eugene O’Dunne, you got to admit Baltimore is sort of dull and mushy when he is laid up.--Adv.
The Hon. George Frick, returning from a tour of the Eastern Shore, reports enormous enthusiasm for the Hon. the super-Mahon throughout that fat and smiling region. The Hon. Mr. Frick, who is editor of the Democratic Telegram, the super-Mahon’s false whiskers, went to the Shore to spy out the land. He comes back with news that the Shoremen are practically unanimous in their advocacy of the super-Mahon’s candidacy for the United States Senate. There is scarcely a town between the Elk and the Virginia line without its alert and fast-growing Preston Club. The Shoremen will not rest content until they have drafted into the service of the State of Maryland those singular and superb talents that have served Baltimore with such benevolent assiduity, and the Hon. Paving Bob Padgett with even more, and the Calvert Bank with still more.
At Centreville the Hon. Mr. Frick addressed the largest public meeting in the history of the town. Every mention of the super-Mahon’s name was greeted with stupendous roars and clapper-clawing, and there was scarcely less applause when the learned speaker mentioned the Hon. Sonny Mahon the Hon. Daniel Joseph Loden, the Hon. Trauty Trautfelter, the Hon. McCay McCoy and other members and oleati of the Royal Family. When a portrait of the Hon. Paving Bob Padgett was thrown upon the screen, and the history of the case against the ex-sheriffs was rehearsed, the huzzahs were so loud that farmers came galloping in from miles around. A picture of the Padgett asphalt plant, with the Hon. the super-Mahon standing before it, also provoked deafening clamor.
At Snow Hill, the home of the Hon. John Walter Smith, the Hon. Mr. Frick was received by a committee consisting of the chief of police, the Mayor, the officers of the local Lodge of Elks and the resident clergy. He addressed four different meetings in one evening and was handed a bouquet of roses and violets by the children of the public school. The hon. gent., in appreciation of these courtesies, offered the town a hand-painted oil painting of the super-Mahon, and it now hangs in the lobby of the City Hall. One of the main streets has been renamed Preston avenue and a life-size marble statue of the super-Mahon has been ordered from a firm of Wilmington stonecutters. It will depict him in the white chemise and dogskin sandals of a martyr and wearing a zinc halo set with turquoises.
At Pocomoke City the Hon. Mr. Frick was serenaded at his hotel by the Pocomoke Silver Cornet Band. The meeting following was attended by 8,000 persons, and all of them signed the Harry petition. At Salisbury the Mayor and City Council passed resolutions calling upon the super-Mahon to enter the race at once, as a public duty and to save Maryland. Of the 768 children born in the town since January 1 last 396 have been christened either Harry or Harriet. At Crisfield all business was suspended during the orator’s visit and the school children gathered in the public square and sang the following hymn to the tune of “Maryland, My Maryland”:
Come down, and save the Eastern Shore, Super-Mahon, O super-Mahon! Come down, come down from Baltimore, Super-Mahon, O super-Mahon! To thee we open wide our door, To thee we lift a deaf’ning roar, To thee, our peerless conqueror, Super-Mahon, O super-Mahon!
And so in all the other Shore towns. The super-Mahon’s heroic achievements in Baltimore have aroused and inflamed the rural voters. They worship his imperial visage. They revere and stand in awe of his flabbergasting genius. They will join his League of Maryland Municipalities by the thousand.
Sign the Harry petition and die happy! Join the Anti-Cigarette League and shame Anderson! Cover your garbage can!
The Hot Towel of yesterday printed a cartoon showing the Hon. the Archangel Harry as a spinx, i. e., as a lithocaput, or stonehead. Whether this is to be taken as evidence of a falling out between greased and greaser, or as mere evidence of a desire to please the stoneheads of the ward clubs--here we are upon a difficult problem. But it may be pertinent to observe, in passing, that the Towel has exhibited little of its old-time ardor of late. True enough, it wept over the Hon. William Luke Marbury’s heterodoxy when he threw his hat into the ring, but that destructive service to the Hon. Mr. Harry has not been accompanied by any very active valeting of a positive sort. No great bombs and spit-devils of goose-grease have exploded over the Rathaus. No ecstatic, rapturous oiling of the gills has delighted connoisseurs. The Long Toms on the roof have hurled no awful projectiles of graphite and cocoa-butter, oleomargarine and mayonnaise, bears-grease and sauce tartare, kerosense and whale-blubber. Not a single Niagara of unguents has splashed upon that lofty and red-hot brow.
Why? Wherefor? Warum? I’m sure I don’t know. Is it because the Archangel incubates a plan to take the city advertising from the Towel and put it in the Aristidean Municipal Journal, as announced by the Sunpaper and other licentious prints? Is it because he dreams of translating the German Journal into the vulgate and making it his personal organ, his private greaser? Is it because the Towel’s artillery has broken down, cracked and leaking through excess of practice? Or is it, perchance, because the Archangel bellows “Enough!” declares an armistice, runs up the yellow flag, pauses to wring the butter out of his locks? Let Aristides tell us in the Municipal Journal. The mystery makes gossip in the kaifs. We outsiders can’t solve it.
The boomers! The boomers! Oh, let them snort and puff! And damned be that foul boomicide who first cries, Hold! Enough!
What has become, by tie way, of the Moral Education Play Society? At last accounts it was preparing an elaborate production of “Ten Nights in a Barroom,” with the Hon. William H. Anderson as Little Pansy, the child wine-bibber, and a pack of real boozebounds. But no more is heard of that benign undertaking. And then there is the super-Mahon’s kosher Charter Commission. What has gobbled it? The last time I heard anything definite about it the super- Mahon had recruited two Honorary Pallbearers and was hot on the trail of a third. But no more!
The more you hear that them stuffers are going to be tried, the more you hear they ain’t been tried yet.--Adv.