The San Francisco call., 1896-06-21
Little Emile Crapuchette
AWoke Last Monday
to Fame.
Kind-Hearted People Who Read
"The Sunday Call "Showered
Gifts Upon Him.
Now He Has Paints and Pencils and
Crayons Galore, and Time to
Follow His Bent.

Emile Crapuchette, artist, aged years,
awoke last Monday morning to find him
self famous. The SUNDAY CALL had told
his story to the world, aud the baby genius
who for months had been scratching up the
vhitewashed walls of the Folsom-street
laundry with outlines of bird and beast
and human being, the little boy whose pa
rents could afford him neither pencil nor
paper and whose natural bent was at
length discovered when he chose the side
walk for studio; Emile, who was with
out patrons or friends in his pursuit OF art;
who had so long had no one to watch his
patient efforts except the fuZzy-coated dog
that he had caricatured; the infantile art
ist awoke to find himself no longer bound
down by restrictions of poverty that had
seemed to bar the way to an otherwise
certain celebrity. THE SUNDAY CALL had
told all about the discouraging conditions
that surround him and had Ventured the
remark that, if Emile Crapuchette could
be accorded a fraction of the advantages
that had been enjoyed by Charles Dana
Gibson in his childhood, the San Fran
cisco prodigy at 20 years of age would out
rank in the field OF illustration the man
who charmed the country with his pen
sketches of the typical American girl. And
if Emile Crapuchette lives to see day
when his work with pen or crayon or
brush shall demand high figures on the
market, he may thank that Sunday article
for directing the public eye to him at the
dawning of his career and putting him on
the road to success.
Never were there such large gatherings
in front of the French laundry at 1907 Fol
som street as on Monday last. Never had
so many inquiries been made concerning
the baby arust. Nine. Crapuchette cannot
read English, but neighbor translated
for her the story in The CALL, and madame
ran and snatched up her little son and
almost smothered him with kisses and
caresses Really, Nine. Crapuchette had
never appreciated En- lies peculiar gifts
until the newspaper conveyed to her the
intelligence that her son was an
artist Ten days ago the madame would
have objected to a band of Ioiterers
blocking up the entrance to the laun-
dry. Now she smiles approvingly at
the patronizing looks of the inter
ested witnesses of her sons etchings,
and the larger the crowd the more pleased
she appears. But there is further cause
for pleasure than the mere gathering OF
the curiously inclined.
Emile's story had been read in homes
of plenty, with the result that on Monday
morning gifts from generous and kind
hearts came pouring in. Last Monday
was TO Emile something akin to what
Christmas is to fortunate children, who
have beautiful surprises to gladden. them
and make the day memorable.
Ten days ago Emile Crapuchette had
no pencil nor paper. All he had was some
chalk and some charcoal. The little artist
was poor then. You should see his pos
sessions now. He is the richest boy on
Folsom street and the most envied. Be-
fore Nine Crapuchette had a customer to
head the list of the week liveried driver
sprang down from the seat of a handsome
carriage and glancing up at the laundry
number walked right in and found Emile
making pictures or the floor.
1--WE found him, 1 guess" exclaimed
the coachman, and he laid fine big box
on the child's knees. That's for the art
ist; paints, 1 think" Before Nine. Crapu-
che,te could peek into the box and thank
the stranger he had said good-day and his
horses we're trotting away in gay style.
The box had paints in plenty and
brushes coarse and fine, and tiny bowls in
which to mix the paints, and it was all so
nice and rich-looking that mother and
son could hardly believe their eyes.
One after another came messengers from
this family and that family, and one
brought paper and one brought drawing
books; another left a package of colored
crayons; another parcel of drawing
pencils; and when the day was done
Emile had supplies enough to stock a
small art-store.
Nine. Crapuchette was compelled to
give up whole shelf to Emile's bundles
and boxes of precious things.
On Wednesday a numerous party of
French people called to see the boy won
der and one of the party brought along a
copy OF the French paper and delighted
monsieur and madame with reading of
The CALLS article as it was translated into
the native tongue of Emile's parents.
Ten days ago Emile was kept busy for
hours peeling potatoes and scraping car
rots and shelling peas. Now the boys
parents allow him to make pictures DUR
ing all the time be desires from morning
till night.
Last Thursday the crowd was so great in
front of the laundry that the fat police
man on the beat in the neighborhood,
catching sight of the throng from dis
tance, concluded that small riot was
brewing. At double-quick pace he bore
down on the assem5lage, and, drawing
his club, he forced his way into the center
of the crowd to find that all eyes, so far as
possible, were bent on baby figure draw
ing pictures on the sidewalk. Emile was
giving a public exhibition.
"Gangway here, gentlemen yelled the
officer. The crowd swayed a little, but
didn't move along very far. "And so
you're the cause OF all this business, are
your cried the policeman, whose idea of
art was probably confined to the art of
swinging club. Emile looked up, smil-
ingly, and pointed to the locomotive
sketched in crayon in front of him.
"The walks dirty enough without you
making it worse" exclaimed the cultured
man in blue and brass, and with that he
gathered Emile under his arm and carried
him into the laundry. Then the fat enemy