Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-12-09
OLD SAM GOLDEN.
The Aged MOnOngaheIa Porter is saddened
-He BewaiIs the Fate of the Famous

The Aged hIOnOngaheIa Porter il saddened
He BewaiIs the Fate Of the Famous
House.
One of the most humble and unpretentious
of the employees Of the Monongahela House
was not temporarily dismissed by the pro-
prietors after the fire of last week. Were he
let 90 the old house would 90 into deeper
sorrow and desolation than that now hang
ing about it. He is part Of the Monon-
| gahela, and it is a part of him.
| No one has visited that historic hotel who
has not seen the venerable sable face and
agile form of Uncle Samuel Golden, the
porter. Nobody knows how old Uncle Sam
| is. He does not know himself. His years
are probably almost as many as those of the
| typical Uncle Sam whom all Americans love.
In rare. moments of reminiscence he tells
| his friends of an incident of his boyhood
and that alone must serve to approximate
his age. He was born slave in Virginia.
When he was well-grown lad, perhaps II
or 10 years old, his master took him with
him on trip to Washington That city
had just been built. 1t was only rising from
the waste lands along the Potomac. The
boy went with his master to see the Presi-
dent. 1t was an era in the young slaves
life and was deeply scared into his memory.
The President was Thomas Jefferson, who
entered upon that Office over 88 years ago,
and went out over 80 years ago. Uncle Sam
will not go further than this to give the in
quirer clue to his age.
He has been employed at the Mononga-
hela House over 40 years. A few more
circles of the sun and his term of service
will be ftly described by his name. For
few years he had been at the st. Charles,
which is even an older hotel, perhaps the
oldest now standing in this city.
Uncle Sam received shock by the fire.
It was disaster to his dearest friend, and
seemed stab at his own life. But every
day since the fatal Thursday he has gone to
the building. He could not stay away. He
has walked through the dlsmantled halls
and corridors and walked away again. He
was there again yesterday, solemn visaged
and thoughtful, his daughter by his side
Last evening a reporter went to see Mr..
Golden at his home on Fulton street. It is
a comfortable home, and all about it, out
and in, is tidy, cozy and domestic. A
graceful balcony hangs upon the front, and
a stairway leads 10 it at one side. Inside.
the visitor is struck by the elegance of all
the furnishings. It is home of taste and
refinement, and the evidences of the pres
ence of a careful housekeepe are every
where discernible.
When Mr.. Golden was called he came
tripping down the stairs with the quick step
of boy. He looks like man of go years,
instead of 80 or more. He has scarcely any
stoop to his shoulders. His hair shows lit
tie gray. His short mustache is just the
least bit grizzled. His black eyes still
CLEAN with the keen glance of his early
years. It was told him that the reporter
desired some memories of his younger days
and some tales of the Monongahela House
in the period Of its youthful prime. The
old man shook his head sad and slow. SIT
would do no good" he said, gazing fast
upon the hearth rug; sit would do no good.
Mr.. Lyon is dead. Mr.. John Crossan is
dead, and Mr.. James Crossan, his father, is
dead. All the old people are gone. 1t
wouldn't do any good.
Urging and pleading would not move
him. He could not bring himself to speak
of the old but sad memories, nor would he
give reason for his reticence. The reason
was, perhaps, too near to his inner and
secret affections. "Many great men came
there" was all he would yield, "but can
not go over their names. 1t is no use. The |
names are all in the old books. From the |
beginning I have kept the registers, and |
the names are all there"
Then his visitor said something about the !
talk that the old house might be torn down |
to the ground, and a modern, new-fangled |
block put up. At once his soul was up in |
arms. "Not bit of it, he said, and his |
black eyes sparkled. "They'n not tear it
down. Mrs. Crossan wouldn't listen to
such a thing. Mr.. Miller wouldn't think
of such thing, either. oh no, there's no
danger of that. Why, the house is Just as
sound as dollar, as sound as dollar. On
the outside you wouldn't know there had |
been fire in it. except that one little bit in
the corner toward the bridge. When Mr..
Lyon put that house up he put it
up to stand. The ceilings are l
all that are hurt, and they can
just scrape those ceilings off and put new |
ones on. And they can put in better cell
ings now, too. They have kind of plaster
now that has no lime in it It comes in
bags, and it'll stick to that smooth door
there. They used some of it last summer in
the fixing they did. The dining rooms are
all right. You say there are uneven places
in some of the halls. That isn't because the
building has been settling any. That was
done once when Mr.. Lyon had the iron front
the house too long. That amt nothing
The house is Just as sound as q dollar.
Don't know it well, every inch of it?
tIt's too bad about that fire, too bad.
Just after the fixing up last summer. But
they didn't fix any in that part where the
fire was. I've seen many fire in the house
that was mastered. but this one got the up
per hand of US. The trouble was we didn't |
have the appliances that we had in the old
days. Mr.. Lyon had things fixed so with
water pipes and hose all over the house that
a fire could be put out mighty quick"
Mr.. Golden said the origin of the irewas
a mystery to him; there never had been any
fire kept near where the confagration
started; he could not understand it. He |
was again urged to tell some yarns of the
past, but he would not. Some time maybe
YOU will" the reporter said. "Well, may
be-" he said, with a CHEEKY laugh, as he
babe the visitor good night.