Salt Lake evening Democrat. [volume] (Salt Lake City, Utah) 1885-1887, 1885-03-06
UNCLE REMUS.
Some Amusing Incidents in the Life of
the Georgia Story Teller.

Mr.. Joseph c. Harris, gentleman of the
most unassuming character and brilliant
attainments. He has fiery hair, but in
spite of that he is so diffident that all
sorts of ruses have to be resorted to In
order to get him into the presence OF a
stranger. The history of Mr.. Harris is
most interesting. When boy he was a
printers devil attached to an obscure
paper somewhere in Georgia. Frequently
there appeared in the little paper para
graphs that were so replete with merit
that they attracted widespread attention.
Nobody in the office knew whence they
came, as they were not written by the
editor, nor anybody else that could be
discovered. The interest in the mysteri-
GUS paragraphs became so great that an
organized effort was made to trace out
their source. For some time the task
proved fruitless one, but at last it was
discovered that the little red-headed,
bare-footed devil was setting them up and
composing them as he proceeded with his
type-setting He was charged with the
authorship of the strangely beautiful
paragraphs, and in great CONSERVATION he
acknowledged the corn. Subsequently
young Harris was offered a position on
the Savannah NeWS, and he became the
state news editor of that paper.
In 1870 he left Savannah to escape the
yellow fever, and, coming to Atlanta, he
stopped at hotel and wrote on the regis
ter: ~. c. Harris, wife, two children
and bilious nurse" He soon found
employment on the Constitution. At
thaat time Mr.. Samuel Small was en-
gagged in writing the famous "Old Si''
papers, that were a great feature of the
Constitution. One Saturday night Mr..
| Small was seized with the collie, or some
thing of that sort, and there was no ''Old
SIP ready for Sundays paper. There was
hi of time It was a dead sure
thing that Mr.. Small could not possibly
recover-that is, in time to dish up any
thing for Sundays paper. So the editor
asked Mr.. Harris if he couldn't get up an
cold 81" article that night. One of the
habits of editors is to jump at the con-
clusion that reporter can do anything at
a moments notice, and they often par
alyzed their subordinates by making just
such diabolical breaks at them as the
one that the able editor of the ConStitu-
ton fired at Mr.. Harris. OF course, it was
the simplest thing in the world for a man
to step, without warning suddenly, and
precipitately into the shoes of another
man who had spent years in the labor of
erecting widespread reputation in a
most difficult line of special writing. To
be sure it was-with copper. Very
well. Mr.. Harris, as soon as he could
fetch his breath, undertook to explain
the impossibility of filling the assign
ment. He squirmed like hooked eel at
a clam-bake, but he was doomed. In ut
ter desperation, and with the firm de-
termination of numbering his family and
committing suicide as soon as he could
escape, he plunged into the frightful task.
Fully satisfied that he would make a
mess of it, he stipulated that he should be
permitted to substitute Uncle Remus for
Old ST, in order that he might not for
ever disgrace Mr.. Small. He swore that
if anybody undertook to monkey with
the article, and attempted to ring in Old
81 on him after his effusion was in type
he would burn the Office, and the whole
gang should go to the devil together, he
himself at the head of the procession.
Thus was Uncle Remus born of the inn
agination of Joe Harris, sired by Sam
Smal's collie. Mr.. Small, by the way,
went off and studied for the ministry.
Mr. Harris reputation is really forced
on him. His work drives him. He would
quit work to-day if his friends would let
him. He is making $1,000 year, and
style. When he got his home built, the
L, h. b l,,xr 60,
hound puppies and a hive of bees. He is
now surrounded by Jersey cattle, English
mastiffs, and poultry. He absolutely
never goes into society. He-has accepted
but one invitation to dinner since he has
been in Atlanta, and that was at the
house of his warm friend and admirer,
Mr.. Grady, one of the proprietors of the
Constitution. Joe Harris is loved by his
associates, and almost revered by the
people of Atlanta. He would be well
coined most heartily at any social gather
ing, but his inordinate diffidence is so
well understood that he is spared the en-
barrassment that further invitations i'm
plant. He is so modest and has so little
confidence in his abilities as a writer,
that every time he receives a letter from
one of his publishers he opens it in the
full conviction that it is an order for him
to quit writing. But instead he always
finds a check inclosed or a request for
more of his stories.
A short time ago Harris went to New
York to see about the illustration of one
of his stories. Ballard Smith and num-
Der of the other newspaper men there
heard that he was in town. They got up
grand banquet for him, and a com
mittee appointed for the purpose captured
him and escorted him to the hotel where
the feast was spread. As they neared
the hostelry, it flashed upon the mind of
Joe that he was to be made the victim of
a dinner party. Instantly that he re-
allied the dreadful situation, he broke
away, leaving his friends petrifed with
and ran for the Desbrosses
street ferry, crossed the river, hoped on
the first train out, and never stopped I'M
til he landed in Atlanta. He telegraphed |
for his baggage, which of course he left |
in New York in his wild flight. This is
TO inform his New York friends that Joe |
is pegging away at his desk in Atlanta, |
grinding out stories at the rate of a mile |
minute, happy if he can only escape |
from the kindly attentions of well-mean-
ing friends.
During recent frosty night, which
suddenly succeeded rainy and sloppy
day, young man of Belfast, Me-, met
with a singular catastrophe. He went