Thursday, 13 September 2012

1903-12-05



Away back more than half a century ago, some of the enterprising merchants of Hamilton were liberal advertisers, and believing that the more prominent the advertisements, the more benefit they could derive, they had them set in double column, with large display type. The readers of the Spectator did not take kindly to what they called the disfigurements of their favorite journal, so remonstrances went pouring in to the editor Mr. Smiley, and even threats were made that if the obnoxious double column ads were not dropped out, there would be a material falling off in the subscription list. The merchants who wanted the double column ads learned from this tempest in a tea pot that the subscribers were not only reading their display ads, but from the increase in the number of their customers, they were having telling effects. The confrontation between the advertiser and the reader became so warm that Mr. Smiley was driven to his wit’s end to harmonize both. As a compromise, the advertisements were limited to double columns of three inches in length, and two dry goods firms told the Spectator readers that they had to sell in as brief a manner as possible in order to get a visible pica line as an eye catcher! The firms were McKeand, Bell and Co., and James W. Inman. The other firms were too timid to go more than the single column width for fear of arousing a spirit of animosity in the kickers. The double column merchants declared they would not advertise unless they could get the space they wanted; and the readers threatened to bestow their patronage on the Gazette or The Journal and Express. Mr. Smiley knew that if his large circulation – which was not more than 1,000 – was cut down and many subscribers transferred their support to one of the other papers, he would lose his advertisers. It was the same half a century ago as it is now, the newspaper with the largest circulation got the cream of commercial advertisement. This accounts for the great demand made today on the advertising columns of the Spectator. The merchants know it has the largest circulation; and that the paper goes into thousands of families in Hamilton where its esteemed contemporaries are unknown. To get back to the old-time kickers, Mr. Smiley was betwixt the devil and the deep sea; but, finally, this got so hot that to appease the wrath of hi subscribers, he published a notice that after a certain date, no more double column ads would be allowed to disfigure the pages of the Spectator, and he stuck to it for several years. The merchants who had been using double columns gracefully consented to help Mr. Smiley out of his dilemma, and in the next issue – the Spectator was only published semi-weekly then – both of them had single column ads and more space.

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          Merchants nowadays are not satisfied with double columns; they want a quarter, a half, or a whole page, and every line tells the story to the buyer of the place to go for a certain line of goods. In the old days a merchant could contract for a small space in the paper by the year. In the spring he could announce goods suitable for that season, and the same ad would run for weeks till it was time to talk up summer goods, and so on for fall and winter, making about four changes in the paper, excepting that now and then the spirit would move them to make an extra strike at Christmas. To look over a copy of the Spectator of a half century ago, one could almost get a complete directory of the business men of Hamilton. Rarely did one try to hide his hat under a bushel. The lawyers and doctors did not think it unprofessional to tender their services through advertising columns; nowadays it is considered unprofessional to put an ad in the paper, but the professional gentlemen are always eager to get their names connected with some case that may bring them prestige. Dr. Sawbone would deem it unprofessional to advertise that he is ready to cut open all customers and remove their vermiform appendix with neatness and dispatch, but when he performs some skillful operation in surgery, or has been successful in bringing a patient through a severe case of typhoid, he is ready to tell his story to a newspaper reporter, and his eyes glisten with pleasure when he reads how neatly the young man has written it up.

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          Look carefully through the pages of the Spectator from now on till Christmas, and there you will see how the merchants of the present day do things. If the old readers were to return to this world and see the display ads they would certainly never get over the shock when only two little ones raised such a commotion half a century ago. The men who set the ads must be artists, else they never diversify the display, giving each ad an individuality unknown in the days when there were only a few sizes of clarendon and gothics and full face for the printer to work into shape. However, the papers always looked neat in the old days of single column ads and only one headline to each reading article. The old-time editor was a holy terror in emphasizing his meaning with small caps and italics. All this passed away with the introduction of the linotype, and no matter how bitter an editor wants to make his articles, one would never know his real feelings as now uttering in mild-faced roman type. When Robert Smiley, of the Spectator, and Solo9mon Brega, of the Journal, got to splattering each other with printer’s ink, how the italics would fly. H. B. Bull, the editor of the Gazette, was a mild-mannered gentleman who could never be aroused into any journalistic fits of passion, and the result was that The Gazette, after years of struggling against fate, passed in its checks. The editor of the Journal got a government job and the paper was merged into the Banner, which later became the Times. Mr. Smiley laid deep the foundation for the Spectator. He came to Hamilton in 1846, with a Washington hand press and a few fonts of type, started a semi-weekly, which became a daily early in the forties. Fortune smiled upon him from the first, and when he died in 1855, he left a prosperous printing house with steam presses and all the modern type and machinery of the day. He owned the building on the corner of Main and Hughson streets and built “Smiley’s Castle,” now occupied by T. H. Pratt. In less than ten years, he amassed what was considered a competence in those days when men and women lived frugally, and $25,ooo to $30,000 was quite a fortune.

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          The Hamilton cemetery was originally owned by the Church of England – that was when that church ruled in Upper Canada, as the Catholic church ruled in Lower Canada. It was the days of clergy reserves and glebe ands, when Presbyterians and Methodists also slipped into the public treasury for slices of the fat. On the evening of July 10, 1848, the council, at the close of a long and tortuous session, finally passed a resolution for the purchase of the burial ground from the church wardens, the condition beiong that Sir Allan Macnab, who had become the nominal owner, without purchase, of 46 acres of what was known as the Ordinance reserve, adjoining the cemetery, should transfer his license of occupation to the city. Sir Allan also had control of an additional portion of the reserve, and this the council instructed the mayor to secure possession of. The population was small in 1848, and nearly every church had its own graveyard, so that the number of internments in the new cemetery did not began to make much of a showing till the cholera broke out in 1854. From that time on down to the present rarely has a day passed that the endless procession has not been moving out York street.

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          The tavern keepers in the old days had a cheerful way about them when inviting customers to partake of their hospitality. Dennis Nelligan had a tavern on the court house square early in the forties to which he gave the title of the Munster Hotel, probably in honor of his birthplace in old Ireland. He was burned out in 1847, and being ready for business in January, 1848, he advertised to the world as follows : “The proprietor of this house feels grateful for the patronage which he has received under various circumstances. When compelled by fire to abandon his well-known stand, his supporters did not forget him. He has now the satisfaction to announce that occupies a splendid brick building, erected on the old site, where he is prepared to give a hearty welcome to the public. From the stable to the bar, everything will be found well-finished and in good order.

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          The first suspension bridge across Niagara river was formally opened for traffic on the fourth of July, 1848. It was for foot passengers only. It may be interesting for young people to know that, as a preliminary, to get the first cable across the river a string was attached to the tail of a kite, and with this string a larger rope was pulled across, and finally the first strand of the cable. There were sixteen cables in the construction of the bridge, the number of strands in each cable being 600. The ultimate tension of the cables was 6,500 tons. The span of the bridge was 800 feet, and the whole weight of the bridge was 650 tons. The men engaged in the construction were carried in a basket on a single wire cable. Fancy a man 230 feet above the river, rocking in the wind as it blew the iron basket to and fro, and working in this way for weeks and months till the framework was ready for the plank footing. And yet not an accident occurred nor a life was lost. The bridge was looked upon as te most sublime work of art on the continent of America; and it was even a greater attraction to tourists than the falls. There are few people still living in Hamilton who remember the first bridge, and the tremor they felt in crossing it. It is impossible to convey an idea of the grandeur of the bridge as presented at the time. The world has become accustomed to greater things, and the number of suspension bridges built across the Niagara river since then, each more ponderous than the other, would make the first one appear commonplace now. Imagine a foot bridge, 800 feet in length, hung in the air at a height of 230 feet over a vast body of water rushing through the narrow gorge at the rate of thirty miles an hour. To one below the bridge, it looked like a strip of paper, suspended by a cobweb. When the wind was strong, which was generally the case at any point along the river, the frail, gossamer-looking structure swayed to and fro as if ready to start from its fastenings. But there was no danger. Men and women passed over it with a feeling of perfect safety, while the head of the timid looker-on would whirl in fear. The first person who crossed the bridge after it was completed was Mr. Elliott, the builder; and when his wife saw him reach the Canadian end she followed. Hundreds went to the Falls to see the great wonder of the nineteenth century, but few had the courage to walk across the bridge at first.

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