Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1900-06-02
80. 80. A. -. .."..A.....
STRONG IN DEATH"
Copyright, 1900, by ERIN Udrdmdn


'.''v'...'V'... V'...''V'...''V .".V'....'v'
His was the not unusual story of the
young man, smart, active, Industrious, Il
good story teller. n jolly companion, fond
If his fellow man and Il drink with him.
Added to rhs, Frank Morrison belonged
% the most exclusive company in the
volunteer fire organization. When he
became i'll, the doctor came to see him ut
The truckhousc. 1t was his only home.
He was Il bachelor, and he "bunked'
here from n choice.
His illness was of the long, lingering
kind. He would get better and sit out in
the sun in front of the door for days and
sit up with tile boys" in the truckhousc
mt night. 1t was roStCring, hard
drinking company of young men, as so
many of the volunteer companies were.
Then Morrison would get bad spell"
and the physician would order him to
bed again. Sometimes ne lay there for
weeks at a time. lie began to get dis
Outraged.
The boys" were very kind to him.
All his money was gone, but he never
lacked for anything lie wanted, and the
truck company was responsible for the
doctors ILLS and the expenses c. nurs-
ing. He got to thinking about al these
things while he lay there alone. He re-
allied that he was a dependent. Brood
ing over this. he came to the conclusion
finally that he was no more than Il char
ity pauper. a burden to his friends and
no good to himself
He had some cause for real regrets,
too. as he reviewed his life. He saw
wasted opportunities at every stage. For
the sake of being "a good fellow" he
had sacrificed all the social ties that were
about him when lie joined ''the Hooks"
He said bitterly to himself that there
wasn't a decent woman in the city whom
he could call his friend. His mother was
dead: that was one cause for cOngratula-
ton. She never would know that her
irstborn was SO far away from the sim
pie, peaceful, honest life that his coun-
try training and his mothers love and
watchfulncSs had started him out on.
He was useless incumbrance on the
earth, he decided.
Then the thought came, Why not end
the whole miserable failure that he had
made of life? Why not make room in
the world for better man?
When once the thought of suicide
takes possession of Respondent man,
his broodingS become almost a pleasure.
When Morrison had pitied himself for a
week in this kind of self communion, the
taking of his life seemed the most nat
ural and proper thing in the world to do.
The river ran at the foot of the street,
only Il block away from the truckhousc.
One night about s o'clock he was alone
in the house, and he turned down the
gas, closed and locked the door and start
ed down toward the water.
His mind was fully made up. There
was no hcSitancy when he came to the
edge of the pier. The water did not
appeal to him as looking inviting or wei
coming: neither did it look rcpellant. 1t
was the means he had decided upon long
ago-it seemed to him it was ages ago
to blot out the particular atom of hui
mainly that he represented. But he
stopped on the edge of the pier and took
off his coat and hat.
He no more could have told you why
he did this than could any other hope
less soul that chooses death by drown
ing explains why it is the most natural
thing in the world to throw off some gar
ment before taking the fatal plunge. It
is so. 1t is done in every such attempt ut
suicide that the police and coroncrs in
New York and in every other city on this
continent ever investigate.
Morrison laid his coat, neatly folded
on the stringpiece and placed his hat on
the pile. Then he walked to the edge,
and as he balanced there between earth
and eternity the great fire bell in the
truckhouse tower began to peal and
clang.
1t had been his call to duty, the one
great must" command that his whole
hnino had rccnonIp1 TO for ten or n dOZ-
en- years. His ears were constantly on
the alert to hear its order. He had run
from reception, leaving n dancing part
ner in the middle of a ballroom alone,
when the tower bell sounded. He had
droppcd the ledger, the wincGlass, the
half tasted meal when he heard that bell.
With one bound he gathered up the
coat and hat and was on his way back
to the truckhousc with flying feet. He
had the door opened and the rope run
out from the truck by the time Il half
dozen other of the fircmcn came dashing
up from as many directions.
They looked at the sick man curiousy,
but there was no time for comment. The
Trojan Hooks never had been beaten to
fire. and they must not be now, if it
took blood and even life to get there
first.
The run was a long one, but the laurcls
of the old company were preserved. And
flor this is true story Frank Morrison
drank beer with the boys when all had
returned to the house that night and
pledged himself to he a well man again.
Today he is an estimable citizen of tho
same town. and he told me this story
himself-Ncw York Press.