The Bingham County news. [volume] (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1918-1930, 1921-08-19


dering whether the great Thomas A.
Edison himself could answer three
questions without refreshing his
mind beforehand. Suppose l asked
him, "Who wrote ole Black JoeT
Where was 1t written2 Under what
circumstances did the old darkey
Joe begin his enviable careerT' writes
Monroe Reid in the New York World.
The Bowery is inseparable from
New York City; we all know odds
and ends Of one sort or another about
the Bowery. But how many people,
either passing along the Bowery or
walking up Fifth Avenue or River
side Drive, are acquainted with the
fact that "Ole Black joe" the wonder
full old darkey song with the pathetic
refrain, I'm comm, I'm comm" was
thought out, created and set to music
at No. Is Bowery by lonely, hungry,
poverty-stricken genius named Stephen
Collins Foster2
I listened to the laundering ele-
waited overhead; I smiled at the cleo
trio trolleys, the big motor trucks, the
automobiles, and tried to think back
to the Civil War days, when homeless,
comfortless Steve Foster rOamed the
Bowery and peddled songs for few
dollars. And here was No. Is, where
he spent his last few days before he
died, forlorn, unknown. at Bellevue
Hospital.
No. 10, indeed, but instead Of caba-
ret and music hall, quick lunch
restaurant, managed by Fuerst
Brothers, occupies the ground floor.
I entered and accosted the "boss," one
Of the brothers. The tables were most
Of them in use. My straw hat looked
strangely out Of place.
Hello" said 1, socially. "Say, do
you know Of a man named Foster who
lived here long, long time agoT
They Knew.
"Yep," replied Mr.. Fuerst, "a song
writer, wasn't he? A reporter was
round here once to find out about this
chap. Sent Teller to take photo,
too, cause this chap lived here. Wrote
old Black joe and a lot of niger
ditties."
Where did he sleep?" 1 asked.
"What kind of place was this back
in 1852"
"He slept upstairs in furnished
room. They boarded here then, and
downstairs was eatin' place and dance
hall"
l proceeded up a flight of stairs to
interview the manager of the Lanier
Hotel, which boosted rooms for 20
cents. The first floor contained three
sections. In front nearest the win
dows facing the Bowery was the as
sembly hall for hotel visitors The
manager inhabited wooden box Of
flee which separated the "rooms" from
the assembly hall.
"How long have you been here7"
inquired.
mot long," said Manager Bertram
MacDermott II been in charge three
months now. Been here about four
years."
know anything about the author
of those old songs, Way Down Upon
the Swanee Ribber,' My Old Ken
lucky Home and ole Black Joe? 2
Foster lived here way back in the
early CO.'S"
"Oh, yes" affirmed MacDermott
drawing. "I'm from Kentucky my
self: I'm Southerner and know all
those old darkey songs. Nowadays
they don't write any more good dit
ties. l used to write the sentimental
ones myself. Been in every State In
the Union. Say, where dye reckon
could send any If wrote emp
advised the aspiring poet and
again introduced Foster.
"What was this hotel like back at
that time? Hasn't the place been re-
modelled since then? Does any one
remember the musician who wrote
ole Black joe in this hOuse?"
"Well, course it's all been improved
Tore down the walls, rr instance
and put up these here wood'n par.
titions for rooms. Besides folks keep
comm and goin," explained MacDer-
mott. "Sixty years Is a long while
ago."
$50 you don't know where poor
Foster slept, eh?'
SIN one Of the tOrn-dOwn rooms. Ye
see, they've always had lodgings here
with eating places downstairs-caba
ret and that sort Of thing"
"All four floors belong to the no
tel?"
EYES, sir, and every one fixed ur
with rows Of these wood'n rooms, just
like this"
Tells Of His Death.
Downstairs on the Bowery sidewalk
encountered an old fellow standing II
crowd of lOafers.
Mister" said !. "d'you happier
to know anything about Foster, The
chap who wrote that old negro song
ole Black JoeY"
"Eh?" said the old fellow, turning
quizzically toward me. He showed hi: