, 1884-02-20
THE DEAD JOURNALIST.
The New York Press Clubs Burial
of DR.. John b Wood---Tal-
mage's Tribute.


luty kuOW Lu5 VchEy bIctD1 Jul y II III
gardens Of existence.
1 thought Of the patient heroism OF the
vast army OF writer's who toll on year after
year nameless. when at the funeral OF Dr..
John B. Wood the other day. He had done
Newspaper work for thirty years. and had been
unusually successful as he was unusually able.
Yet the great public heard OF him first
when it heard Of his death. He had served 1t
faithfully and well for a lifetime, but his
identity was lost in -ths machine press,' the
present system of journalism which. John
swinton most truly says, makes writer's as
nameless as convicts."
He had finished his work, and 1t had boon
good, yet he was utterly unknown TO the
world he had ministered 70. In death as In
life, be was surrounded only by his fellow
workers, the fow who knew him and loved
him. And who could have nobler compan.
ionshipi Tho men Of brains bowed at his
bier-<he men whose thought daily flashes
round the world, shaping. building, teaching
the mind of the multitude.
This journalists funeral was unlike all
other funerals, yet most impressive. Like
his life It was without pretenss, It was
genuine. 1t was held In tho rooms of
the Press club, of which he had
been twice president, and where he spent
much of both his working and leisure time
recently.
The little parlor was somber with black
drapings, against which lowered columns
Of white fowers-those pallid and odorou.
tributes which affection bestows upon the
dead.
What man Of equal Importance In any
other profession or business would have had
so simple and unconventional a funeralf Any
rich man, no matter how little no had been
loved, would nave had posthumous honon
moro extravagnt- Even tho newspapers OF
this city. with one exception, recorded his
death with cold brevity. The Richmond Wal
State notices this and asks IL there is no
fraternity In journalismf II tho death and
loss of every man who lends his talents to
the press must DO hidden from sight like his
name, as was the fate Of poor Woodi
DR.. Wood-the title had been given him
by his fellow workers as an expression Of ia
miliarity-was carried TO his grave by the
loving hands Of his brother journalists, and
laid IN the Press club lot.
They entered the rooms with soft step and
saddened faces. The dead man had lived the
gospel of kindness, and they loved him
What a collection of interesting Individual
tiles They were the people whose thought
feeds the great machine we call the press.
among them a dozen or more women.
These journalistic mourners were men
whose faces had strength and character in
every feature. Their eyes had seen life as II
Is. and known its strange and dishesrtenins
phases They were manly men, rugged, not reg
ular, of feature. as people Of mind always are.
Individual in dress, too; that is, their clothing,
though not differing in cut or form from that
OF all other civilized men on this hemisphere,
was without the fashion-plate perfection
which Is as inseparable from the attire of the
vain and empty-headed tailor-made man a
his vanity. A few carried an air of being
more at home in the hot-house atmosphere OF
s~ociety's parlor than In journalistic work
shops, but they were by no means the intel.
lectually great Of the assembly.
Men who had worked with DR.. Wood when
he was q printer, and men who had been be-
side him at the editorial ~desk-young mon,
old men, well known men, and unknown men
were there. Even the Chinese editor was
present
As Mr.. Talmags uttered the brief but
touching oulogy over the coffin, more than
one bronzed and DISCIPLINED chesk was wet
with tears.
Tho dead journalist was only 81 years old,
but his hair and full beard were snow-white.
He looked like a high priest or patriarch.
overwork had aged him. Mr.. Talmage said:
II eyes were half e~xtinguished by mid.
night industry. These white hairs are not
frosts OF age, but the frozen sweat OF toll"
Elo iOoI " u ny u huRc hCClutuJp the
result, perhaps, Of his defective eye-sight.
Between IL and l o'clock on Sunday night
while walking on pier No. 3of North river,
he fell into the Icy water. Though lmme-
diately rescued no died within IN hour from
shock and exposure. He was collecting
material for an article on Midnight on the
Wharves of New York" when death met
him.
Only four days before, when talking with
ms In tie rooms vi the Press club, ne re-
marked that there WA no placs in the United
States as safe ut all hours OF the night as the
streets OF New York city. A man or woman,
be thought. could go almost anywhere at any
hour without danger. Yet. In less than a
week, hs was to die at midnight by an acct
dent in the streets of this big city. II
DR.. Wood had earned the name of the
-Great American Condenser, +" by developing
a talent for eliminating superfuous words
packing much nows into little space
Strengthening manuscript" in tho vernaculaI
OF the office.
Mr.. Talmage Is a poor orator. but
his tribute to the dead writer was
most beautiful and appropriate. Among
other things be said:
abr. Wood was n martyr to American
Journalism. He was one of that largo mum.
Der OF men who, under the impersonality OF
newspapers, do a vast amount Vt labor for
which they got inadequate recognition.
His heart as well as his bead, was in his
work. He was not a cold dissecter of news.
/ have often seon him take Off his spectaclss
and wipe the tears at some story Of suffering
or injustice. He had a princely heart. and
often forgot that he had not n princely for.
tuna II he had $40 In his pocket and he
saw a brother journalist in need. he would
do one OF two things either give him half
mr. Ofva him nil Thera VIVA no holt mr. bar m