Doug WaltersBy Doug Walters
First published in January/February, 2008, Volume 5, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
A Miscreant Abroad:
Edwin H. Porter, Lecturer
Or
God Bless Thee, Ink-Stained Pygmy!
The snowfall has bound me indoors today, Reader. The entire city seems similarly afflicted. The Borden sisters, at last report, were weathering the current blast safely and warmly ensconced in the French Street domicile.
The sole escapee (of any repute that is to say) would be friend Porter, who’s off somewhere up the country on a lecture tour, doing his level best to promote interest in his little tome The Fall River Tragedy, whose nature and subject I needn’t go into, since, of course the whole of the known world has by now heard of the infamies perpetrated upon the elder Bordens the 4th day of August in the year 1892.
I had a Western Union telegraph slip from Porter just a few days back reporting that the tour was going well and his lectures were quite well-received, “especially by an audience at the Hartford Lyceum.”
Now Reader, I do not for the world wish to cast aspersions upon the claims of a famous author and friend, but this here is a flat-out whopper that simply cannot pass by unmolested. The Hartford Courant of Wednesday last carried an account of friend Porter’s Lyceum appearance that at the very least suggests that the author of said telegraph message was nowhere near the Hartford Lyceum on the night in question—or has a questionable perception of reality at best.
The Courant scribbler is the best teller of the truth it seems:
“Last night at the Hartford Lyceum saw newspaper reporter and author Edwin H. Porter come to town for a lecture. Mr. Porter, a noted scribe on the staff of Mr. George Buffinton’s Daily Globe of Fall River, Massachusetts, had come to talk about his new book The Fall River Tragedy, which is touted as the first history of the Borden murders, that infamous affair which news readers throughout New England will undoubtedly recall. Readers might also recall that the youngest Borden daughter was subsequently arrested, tried, and acquitted on charges of lethal molestation of her father and stepmother with a humble hatchet.”
“Mr. Porter hadn’t got very far along in his lecturing (indeed had just mentioned the name of Mr. James Walsh, a local photographic practitioner responsible for pictures of the crime scene, the house and so forth) when a small ruckus started in the back of the room. A gentleman’s voice suddenly cried out: ‘Lizzie Borden took an axe, gave her mother forty whacks.’ We all know the blessed story. Take yourself and ye blasted history book and go back to Massachusetts, ye d—carpet-bagging weasel! We’ve got troubles enough of our own right here.’
“The speaker, subsequently identified as Mr. Burt (“Bulldog”) Wesson, then fired a volley of assorted missiles toward the offender. The barrage consisted largely of fruits and vegetables, some of which were a bit overly ripe to say the least.
“Local readers will know Mr. Wesson as an importer of off-season fruits and vegetables. Not usually a foul-tempered feller, Wesson does a rather brisk business from his headquarters in nearby Horton’s Purchase.
“Several of the Wesson-fired projectiles struck their mark squarely, it’s sad to say. The most notable injuries were done ‘by a beefsteak tomato about two months gone, judging by the stench and the mess on that poor man’s face after the splot,’ said one witness who was apparently a bit too close for nasal comfort, and ‘one of the most godawful-looking bananas I ever did see—partly hard it was, like a rock nearly on the one end, while the other was…oh, just a foul, stinking mess.’
“Mr. Burt (“Bulldog”) Wesson’s target, the noted author and lecturer Porter, was hustled away, cleaned up, and given a shot of whiskey for his nerves along with a ticket on the next train out of Hartford—which in itself was possibly a greater curative for his nervous sufferings than the shot of whiskey.”
The Courant dispatch concluded by noting that Mr. Burt (“Bulldog”) Wesson of nearby Horton’s Purchase was duly restrained, detained and booked on a charge of ‘general miscreantical behavior,’ for which he was fined $3.75 before being released and permitted to return to Horton’s Purchase on his own recognizance.
I must remember to see that there’s no fruit in plain sight during our next game of whist. Whoppers he may tell, but he is a good feller, or tries to be.
Little good it does, but here amongst the banked-up snow today I find myself considering the plight of the wandering Porter. I have never heard him speak on the topic officially although he certainly has yammered on and on about one or another aspect of the case or the family itself privately over games of whist now for several months. Of course it’s impossible to tell, but the thought comes to mind that perhaps all the feller needs is a decent introduction—nothing approaching Barnumesque nonsense you understand, but something a bit different than the method he seems to be using presently.
It’s a pity that the old Bard of Concord no longer breathes among us—that one who set a humble water-crossing, a horse-riding patriot silversmith and a simple village businessman into the pages of immortality with but a few strokes of the pen. Why, with those accomplishments as proof, just imagine what that Longfellow feller could do for friend Porter in the way of public introductions!
Perhaps he might work in something like…?
Up under yon nearby flowering tree
The ink-stained pygmy stands;
With beady eyes he surveys the scene,
A pencil clutched in his hand.
Hark!
The vile word “Murder” assaulted his ears
But a few short minutes ago.
Like steel he stood, the pygmy—
Resolved that the public must know!
So by yonder tree he stood,
Cooly surveying the scene
As a crowd did gather—
Some worked up a lather
While others stood silent,
Their faces a sickly green;
All hail the ink-stained pygmy,
In his battered suit and shoes.
God bless Thee, ink-stained pygmy—
Thou fearless bringer of news!
With any luck at all, friend Porter will improve at his public speaking—or with better luck I suppose that should be. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye out. His tour schedule listed the Boston Athenaeum…tomorrow, that is. I wish friend Porter best of luck, of course, but in the meantime will keep an eye on the Boston newspapers!
