Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1920-10-22
NEVER TO RETURN

T THE wayside on the upper Wissa-
\ hickon n great scar. partly obliteratcd
by grass and young undcrbrush and some
scattered stones of an old foundation, marks
the site of what in gladder days than these
was celebrated in the horsy world as the
Lotus Inn. Even q great many people Of
this generation will dimly remember the
place as it appeared in the days Of its pow
erty and decline. There was a balcony with
honeysuckles where an ancient black waiter
who once had been n slave spread chicken
and waflcs every day for twenty five years.
In an earlier time the fastest horses OF the
town took their owners to the Lotus Inn in
every season Of the year. There was a bar,
Of course, and extensive stables. There was
singing and high iinks. To the upper Wis
sahickon the smart set of old used to 90 for
the sort Of diversion that now is to be found
in the cabarets. Came motorcars and the
edict of the Park Commission which shut
them off the one drive that led to the old inn.
Horses became rassc The honeysuckle bal
cony was empty. and ono day. after years OF
hard times. the Lotus Inn was closed and
abandoned to the elements.
Some hecting memories of the life In which
the old place figured so prominently will be
recalled by the death Of jim Gallagher, the
of real eminence. The four wheeler with
it's philosophical attendant was the symbol
of an age that has just closed. 1t was an
age when political clubs marched in OIL
cloth capes. when victory at the polls often
went to the man who could hit hardest with
his fists, when most public men knew how
to drink heavily and had pride In that
knowledge Before taXiCabS. world wars,
jazz and stockngless music shows came the
all night cabby. who looked down from his
box like an exalted philosopher upon the
gas lit streets and knew how to understand
the men and women who passed therein
when life was n great deal more frank and
far less pretentous than it is now.
If no man can be hero to his valet, no
man could be n hero to his cabman. For
the cabby of old was not only person of
utility. He was guide. philosopher and
even friend to many Of the great Of the
community. He had leisure to observe. lie
knew everything and everybody. and he
didn't ask pay for his knowledge. He
vas not incorporated and the police did not
regulate him. He slept in the daytime, as
a rule. and went out at night to move with
the high and low rollers of his period.
Nowadays an automatic device restrains
the cabby from any act of charity or friend
lineSs and clock inexorably writes down
the minutes allotted to those who ride with
him. But in another day the lcabby had
time to talk. time to take an unhappy man
home without thought of the fare, and time
to be in many ways chivalrous gentleman.
1t used to be said of Jim Gallagher that
he knew as much about the inside doings
of the politicians as any man in Philadel-
pha, and that hidden behind his brass but
tons and cached under his hat there was
knowledge that might have brought distress
to more than one lordly household. That
knowledge died with Jim.
The old fashioned cabby has joined the
Indians. Progress has urged him steadily
toward the sunset, and now he has vanished
from all the streets of the land never to re
turn. He lived in days that were often
rough and unthinking. But, sophisticated
as he was, jim Gallagher could not look
about him in these days without amaze
ment. Il got out Of the business and of
the street." he used to say. The pace got
too fast for me altogether