Mike Donovan; the making of a man

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Early Years 17

II. In School and Army 27

Chapter I Early Years

Here are the incidents of Mike Donovan's remarkable career and his reminiscences of many wellknown men. Written by his friend and admirer Marshall Stillman, as an affectionate tribute to a dear friend and talented instructor in the manly art of self-defense. He considers Mike Donovan one of the most exceptional and interesting characters he has ever met.

Mike Donovan was made Instructor Emeritus of the New York Athletic Club. The Board of Governors generously and affectionately voted him a sufficient stipend to keep him in comfort during his last days.

His wife, who was so great an influence for good, was the beloved mother of twelve children, of whom nine are living. They were well brought up and are now succeeding in life.

Recently Mrs. Donovan passed on, but she still lives in the hearts of those that knew her,

The Professor was surrounded with a devoted family that loved him. Mark the contrast between his late life and the sad conditions of his early youth. What must strike the reader most forcibly is the wonder of it all. Wonder that such a character could spring from such adverse conditions and influences.

The evening Mike and I selected for the telling of his tale, he met me at my downtown club where we could talk without fear of interruption.

Before he arrived I cautioned the hall boy to be sure Prof. Donovan was escorted to the room where I was and to take good care of him.

*'Yes, sir/' came the ready answer. "We'll take care of him. We want to see what kind of a man he looks like.''

As a reward for the boys, when the Professor was announced, I came down to meet him and introduced all the attendants who had crowded near the door.

Mike shook hands with them all and said : "Well, boys, here I am, you don't see much." A good laugh followed and the broad smile of welcome that greeted the Professor was assurance of his immediately filling the bill of their expectations. With quick Irish sagacity he said, looking them all over : "Yes, all good Irish boys. Nothing like the Irish boys." This sally evidently confirmed the cordial admiration and all was well.

As Mike sat in an easy chair in a cozy corner of

EARLY YEARS 19

the club library, running over the history of his life, the thought occurred to me time and again what a miracle it was that he should be there with me; comfortable, happy and prospered; wasting no time in regrets for the past and facing the future with a brave Irish heart that has never been conquered by fear. A noble exponent of all that is manly, clean and Christian. A devout Roman Catholic. A firm believer in the Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of Man. A Christian of the highest type.

Yes, I wondered; and you too, good reader, will also wonder, when you learn of the incidents of this remarkable career. If perchance you have no God you will feel a stirring within yourself, a heart's desire to know and be known to some power outside yourself that will give you comfort in your hours of trial and protection in your moments of need.

Mike's faith was that of a little child, sweet and simple and full of the joy of living and knowing. Mike's good mother established this faith within him that through the changes of his life never sfeemed to desert him. Although at times in touch with the rubbish of humanity this jewel of a simple child-faith in God ever showed forth in his manly character and protected him in his moments of peril.

Through the leading of this protecting Guide, he selected the life partner of his joys and trials, taking as his beloved wife one who in her sweet and strong motherly way was as extraordinary a woman as he a man.

Mike lighted a cigar and with his finely formed head moving at times in emphasis to his remarks, he commenced his reminiscence. I wish every good reader of these articles could have heard the tale from his own lips; as my retelling of this history could not possibly interest the reader as much as would the engaging manner of this grand old man. He said very simply and earnestly, '*Now, Marshall, I will, of course, pass over the dark spots. I cannot tell them in the presence of this young lady" (referring to the stenographer). The stenographer and I laughed. "Well,'' I said, "if they are not too dark let 'em go. We want everything of interest." "All right," said Mike, "here goes."

"I was born in Chicago, September 27th, 1847, ^^ Irish parentage. My grandparents were among the earliest settlers of Chicago.

"My mother was a lovely woman, beautiful and with a skin as fair and soft as a lily. We kept a dairy, and were in a fair way of becoming rich, owing to the good management and frugality of my mother. Then she died.

"I was about seven years of age. My father, who did not understand the nature of a lively but good-tempered boy, treated me wretchedly, and as my brothers and sisters, who were all older than I, left the house as soon after my mother's death as they possibly could, I was left alone with my father.

EARLY YEARS 2t

He at last left me, after selling all his holdings, and wandered away to New Orleans, leaving me in the care of an aunt who lived in the country.

"My aunt was a fine type of woman: religious, and a good woman. She treated me all right, but my uncle and I couldn't get along. He didn't understand me. I suppose I was mischievous and bothered him. Anyway, we didn't agree, and I made up my mind to run away. I was then eight years of age, without a cent in the world, so I started to work for strangers. I was ill treated by these people, and went from one place to another, working on farms during harvest time and being expected to do a man's work.

''I remember at one place I had seven boils on my back, and, oh, how they did pain me and how I did want my mother to comfort me and take care of me. I tell you, it makes me feel like crying to think of it. To imagine one of my dear children thrown out in the world the way I was and subjected to the sorrows and sufferings that I had to endure makes me feel very sad.

"The wife of the farmer for whom I was working was a kind woman. She put cream over my back and laid a cloth next my skin. But I had to go to work with the men every day and pitch hay, and do just as they did.

"After the harvest time was over, I decided to hunt up my only brother, Jerry, who was in Chicago. He was ten years older than I and always liked me and I liked him.

"I was some fifty miles from Chicago without a cent in my pocket, as all I got out of the farmers for whom I worked was my board and washing, and the boils on my back, which were the result of the poor food. How to get to Chicago was the question. I thought of the canal. My former experience of beating it on the railroad when I first ran away rather cooled my desire to tackle that again.

"Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you about the first time I ran away from my aimt's where my father left me.

"I wanted to go to Chicago to find my brother Jerry, and went down to the railroad and got aboard a train going in the wrong direction. Poor little kid, only eight years of age, and without a penny in the world.

"The conductor put me off at the next station. I waited for hours for another train, boarded it, and was again put off at the next station. But I was happy. I felt all the time I was getting nearer my brother Jerry.

"Then I tackled a freight train, and, sneaking between the cars, I rode on the bumpers for miles and miles. Just think of it — only eight years of age and riding in a place like that. The good Lord took care of me or I would never be here to tell you this tale.''

EARLY YEARS 23

['^Yes/' I thought, "the Good Lord was surely your protector and the spirit of that good mother was over that boy and doing her utmost." The passage from Scripture occurred to me : "The eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and his ears are open unto their prayers." The heart's desire, which is true prayer, was always pure and strong in Mike's nature. He couldn't help it. His nature was so simple and unaffected, with a keen sense of honor, fair dealing both for himself and to others, and cleanliness of thought, he couldn't possibly desire anything but what was good. The pure in heart see God, and Mike was pure in heart.]

Mike lit a fresh cigar and continued his story:

"Well, after traveling all those miles on that freight train, I finally landed about five miles from my aunt's home, where I originally started. I was no nearer my brother Jerry. You see how ignorant and helpless I was. I didn't know which way was north or south. I felt blue but not discouraged. "You know, it's hard to down the Irish." [The stenographer being Irish, and there being Irish blood in my veins, we all three laughed heartily and agreed. The laugh was not so much occasioned by the statement as the delightfully refreshing manner of putting it.]

"I set to work," continued Mike, "to scheme how I could beat my way to Chicago. I thought of the canal. I went there and hung around thinking up some plan to help me on my way.

"I saw a pair of horses being driven into a stable by one of the canal men, and, noticing they were all covered with mud, I said to the man, *Say, Mister, I want to go to Chicago, and if I clean your horses will you take me as far as you go ?'

'* 'Sure,' said the driver. *Git on the job and I'll see you git there all right/

"Gee, but I felt good about that. I started right in, and how I worked on those horses. It took me tv/o hours of hardest kind of work to get them into shape, but after emptying the last pail of dirty water, I felt fine and hunted up my newly found friend.

"I asked a man who was around the stable where I could find the driver of that team I had been cleaning, saying that he was going to take me to Chicago. 'Say, sonny,' replied the man, 'don't you believe it. That man can't take you. He is nothing but the driver of that team and could only take you walking. He's been asleep for the last couple of hours that you've been workin', and if you don't git out of here he'll give you a licking when he comes down.'

"You can imagine how I felt. Cry? Oh, my, how I cried ! But I was too proud to cry in front of him. I went away and got behind the barn and, leaning up against the side, I cried as if my heart would break.

"Well, I had to get to Chicago, so, after drying my eyes, I started to walk. I didn't know how far

EARLY YEARS 25

it was, but I thought it would take me a lifetime to make the distance. So when I met with a canal boat going the same way, I asked the boss of the boat — this time I made sure he was the boss — if I could do anything for him, as I wanted to get to Chicago.

" 'Can you pump?'

'' 'Sure/

*' 'Come on then, kid/

"I jumped aboard, and how I did pump! It was a leaky old boat, and about as fast as I pumped, the water ran in. After pumping an awfully long time, I said :

" "^Say, Mister, Fm tired. This old boat is just as full of water as when I commenced. I can't pump any more/

" 'Well, then, get the hell out of this !'

"That was all the thanks I got. So, as I noticed I could walk faster than the boat could go, I started to beat it to Chicago. It must have been at least forty miles that I walked.

"On my way I begged something to eat. I remember one old woman was very kind to me. She gave me my dinner and let me sleep with one of her sons.

"In the morning she gave me a bully breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee, and, by golly! I felt fine.

"I walked that day with a light heart, and, on arriving at Chicago, I hunted up a sporting house where a friend of my brother's told me I would find him. Pat McBride was his name. I remember him well.

"Jerry was very much surprised to see me. He was kind to me and took good care of me, but shortly afterwards he was compelled to go to New Orleans.''

That finished the first evening's installment of the story.

As we left the Club we received a cheery goodnight from all the attendants, and I could easily see that in the future I would be considered one of Ihe distinguished members.

Chapter II

On the occasion of the next meeting the Professor remarked to me, "Why, the more I think over my Hfe, the more I can see it was nothing but fight, fight all the way through. It seems as if I fought with everybody/'

"Well, Mike," said I, "you are making yourself to appear a pretty quarrelsome character. You never fought with me."

"Oh, well, no; I don't mean I fought with my friends. Of course I wouldn't fight with them.-'

Wouldn't fight with them, thought I? I just guess you wouldn't. Bless your dear old loyal heart. And the remembrance of a certain incident in good old Mike's acquaintance with me came clearly to my mind.

It must have been some twenty years ago. We had known each other and been friends for about t^n years. I was attending a testimonial given Mike in the Madison Square Garden. It was during the time when it was the custom to give exhibitions for the benefit of a few prominent fighting men of that period.

«7

The Garden was well filled. Many boxers of more or less renown appeared and sparred threeround bouts with their partners..

Billy Edwards sparred with Mike. It was a good go, as Billy never faked in a match. He always hit hard and was very fast. Being lighter than Mike, the Professor was compelled to step lively, as he couldn't get back at Billy too hard.

It was an enjoyable evening. After it was over, and many friends in the audience had met and shaken hands — most men attending sporting events in those days seemed to know one another — I lingered in the thinning crowd, thinking I might get an opportunity to congratulate Mike.

As I stood waiting, chatting with some acquaintance, Denny Butler, Mike's brother-in-law, rushed up to me and said: '^You are just the man. Come with me. We're having trouble with Mike. We can't do anything with him."

It seems that Mike, who was always so full of life and energy, had been given a drink or two, and while under the least influence of alcohol, coul^ never retain his mental poise. Mike was in a pretty ugly mood, owing to the fact that he felt that the tough crowd in his dressing room was trying to get the money that had been given to him as receipts for the night's entertainment.

When I came into the room, there was Mike, with his back to the wall, fire in his eye, fists ready to strike, and, withal, rather a terrifying spectacle.

The crowd in front of him seemed in no mood to retreat, and it is just likely Mike's suspicions were properly grounded.

As I approached, he lowered his guard and said : ^'Marshall, these men want to take me away with them. I know what they want to do. They want to rob me.''

I said : "Mike, you come with me. Til take you home all right."

"I'll go with you, my boy, but not with these dirty loafers."

So, with my arm affectionately placed in his arm, we pushed our way through the crowd, and, taking a cab, reached his house in good shape.

Mike always trusted his friends, but was suspicious of untried acquaintances.

And who could blame him ? It seems to me that if my early life were comprised of similar experiences to those he had passed through, I, too, would have been suspicious, and even more so.

After the Professor had taken his easy chair, and lighted his cigar, he again started his most fascinating tale.

"Let me see. Where did I leave off?" The promptings being given him from the notes of the stenographer, he proceeded :

"Yes. When my brother Jerry left for New Orleans I felt pretty bad. But I knew he had to go. So I had to make the best of it. He did what he could for me and left me in the care of my uncle,

Owen Sullivan, who was a good but eccentric man and, on occasions, very cruel to me.

^*I remember receiving the worst beating of my life from his hands.

"He was connected with the Fire Department On one occasion when there was a fire in Chicago — it being a very cold day — ^he told me to build a fire in the stove for the men so that it would be comfortable for them when they returned. I did as he told me, and then went home to bed.

"The following morning Uncle Owen called me into the stable near the Fire House. He locked the door and beat me with a whip so hard and cruelly that the foreman of the Fire House broke down the door, and, stopping him, told my uncle he ought to be hanged for beating a boy like that.

"It seems that some money had been taken from the pockets of the firemen during their absence at the fire. My uncle accused me of the theft, and because I would not admit it he beat me frightfully.

"I told him, *I didn't do it. You can kill me, for I will never say I did — for I didn't'

"I was then about twelve years old.

"After I had recovered from the effects of the beating I did a little detective work on my own account.

"I noticed a certain boy, who was the brother of the assistant engineer, smoking a new meerschaum pipe. I asked him where he got that pipe. His answer was not ready, neither did I like his looks.

I discovered he had been spending money freely in the candy stores. Finally, I accused him of stealing the money out of the pockets of the firemen. He admitted it.

"My uncle learned of the facts, but never spoke to me about the matter. I left him. I wouldn't remain with such a man.

*'I beat my way on freight trains, and finally located with some farmers named Adams, where I worked during 1858-59 and 60, and then returned to Chicago.

"My school life was not a very long one, but it was a stormy one. There were very few Irish boys going to school with me. Although I was a good-natured boy, I would not stand teasing. If any one called me 'Mickie,' in a teasing way, I'd fight. When I was mad a good fist fight was the only thing that would satisfy me. I gloried in it. Poking any fun at my Irish descent meant fight.

"I had a keen sense of fairness. One day the teacher told me to take my seat. I was after a boy who had taken my cap.

I will if you'll make him give me my cap.' 'You take your seat.' ^Not until I get my cap.'

The teacher started for me, and I saw where I was going to be roughly handled, so bang, smash, I hit the teacher on the nose and one in the stomach. I was a husky boy for my age, and the blow§ it (• must have hurt, for the teacher quit. He returned to his desk and proceeded with the lessons.

"The next day when going into the school I happened to notice under the front stoop some newly cut hickory switches. There were about a dozen of them. I concluded I had better beat it than have the teacher beat me. So I hustled across the fields, and never went back to that school.

**My life was full of fight from the cradle to the time I quit the ring, and even after that I had a few. You remember one of the last ones I had. I had been spending the evening with you. You remember you wanted me to meet some Irish friends of yours from out of town.

"After we parted from you, we went into Jimmy Wakely's and had a small beer for a nightcap. At the bar was standing a member of the club, an old pupil of mine.

"He had been drinking heavily, and just as I came in he seemed to have vertigo. I caught him in my arms, and, leading him to a chair, I stood over him to see what could be done.

"At that moment three husky-looking fellows opened the door, and, coming over to where we were, one of them said : 'Look out for that gray-haired old sucker. He'll pick your pockets/

"Well, you know, I couldn't stand for that. I punched him in the stomach and knocked him down. No sooner down than he was up again and went at me. This time I copped him on the jaw. Down he went again, and again up and at me. I was ready for him that time, and I tell you the blow I hit him he'll remember. That time he stayed down.

'*It was all done so quickly that the other two men made no attempt to get into the fight, and it was just as well for them they didn't, for the bartender was a friend of mine and was waiting behind the bar with a club. He told me that afterwards. He didn't interfere at first, as he saw I was equal to the tough. He said that was the third night those same men had been in, and each night they had tried to pick a fight One of them got it that night, and he got what he deserved.

"Yes, my school life was full of fighting— but I made many friends.

"You see, I was Irish, and there were few Irish in the country where I was at that time. There were two boys I remember well. Joe Drake and Jesse Drake, brothers. They were Southerners. They were good friends of mine, but like all boys we had lots of fights together. Fight and make up and that way. Their father was a nice man. He was a trustee of the school.

"One day I licked a Dutchman. He called me *Mickie.' I was freckled-faced, and I guess I must have looked the part. I ran for him and caught him at the door of his father's tavern, where he had tripped on the door-still. He got up and we had it hot and heavy. Nobody was around, and I licked him well. His hollering at last brought his mother, who rushed at me with a broomstick.

"I ran back to school as fast as I could, and she after me. She came right in and saw the teacher.

"Old man Hartman was also a trustee.

"I was called up before the Board. The Board seemed to be divided whether I should be expelled or not. It depended on old man Drake. He got up and said:

" ^My boys have had many a fight with young Donovan. Yes, and been licked, too. But I like the spirit of the boy. He's a good square boy. All boys fight. I wouldn't give anything for a boy who wouldn't fight.'

"That settled it — they didn't fire me. I got better acquainted with young Hartman after that. He had a good-looking sister. She was a nice girl and I liked her. I liked girls; they were so gentle and nice. So diflferent from boys.

"I remember Freddie Siegle at Hale's Corners. He was German, and a small boy. Many a fight I had with him. I remember licking an English boy named Harris. He was a fat boy. He made fun of the Irish.

"My schooling didn't amount to much. I finally quit when I was about fourteen.

"On July 5th, 1862, I enlisted in the army — in the infantry. I was then fourteen years old — wouldn't be fifteen until September.

"Think of it! Nothing but a kid." [Yes; I did think of it. I could see Mike with his stout Irish heart filled with enthusiasm when he saw his elders getting ready for the fight. I imagine it was onlynecessary to use the word *^fight'' with Mike and that brought his signature. The great importance of preserving the Union undoubtedly did not penetrate into the consciousness of the venturesome lad.]

"The first duty my regiment was appointed to was fighting the guerrillas at Bird's Point, Columbus, Kentucky, Paducah, and other points on the Mississippi.

"Fighting this dirty crowd merely got our hand in trim for the many serious battles that were to follow.

"In 1863 we went down to help reinforce Grant at Chattanooga.

"It is hardly necessary for me to go into detail concerning the various battles I was in. The events of the late war are so well known that I will not bother; you with matters of general information.

"Nothing really very exciting happened to me during the war. It was fight and wait and fight and march until we were mustered out.

"It was a shame we had to fight those people. The Johnnies were a bully lot of fellows. They thought they were right, but they have since found out they were wrong. It was a pity they couldn't have seen that at first.

"The army was full of youngsters — young kids of the same age as I.

"In 1864 ^y regiment joined Sherman's command in his march to the sea — the Atlanta campaign.

''We had many tough fights, and any one who tells you that soldiers have no fear when going into battle is not telling the truth.

"I don't mind fists or flying brick-bats, but when they commence to shoot lead and iron around — it gives you a queer feeling.

''When you're charging and yelling you forget yourself in the excitement of the moment. You w^ant to get there just as quickly as you can. Of course, when you are fighting close you don't think of much either; but at most other times you are thinking of home and mother. You feel sure you are going to be killed. You always realize there is danger.

"There were not many Irish in my regiment, and I was called upon to fight with my fists a number of times. These fights were nothing out of the ordinary. Most of them were easy.

"One time I remember I angered the cook. We had a treat of Irish potatoes. The only potatoes we could get were the sweet potatoes. So when we found out we were to have Irish potatoes it caused some excitement.

"In my anxiety to get one before they were served in the regular way I angered the cook, and the fellow threw a knife at me that he happened to have in his hand. It struck me on the inside of the leg, pretty near the hip. The blade cut me quite deep. The son-of-a-gun might have killed me ; but he was sorry for it, and in a few days I was all right, and the cook and I were good friends.

"There was one little incident that will show you what boys will do. What pranks they will be up to.

*The night before the battle at Newhope Church the Eastern fellows were chucking dice. They had a big pot of money in front of them, and three of us got together and we decided to raid them.

''We rushed in and stampeded them. They thought the Johnnies were after them. We got all the money — about two hundred dollars — and we divided it amongst ourselves. The next day one of these boys was killed. I remember the feeling that came over me. Maybe it was a sin and he hadn't been forgiven.

"At this point Johnston was relieved, and Hood became Commander of the Confederate troops. Johnston was very unpopular and was called by some a traitor.

"About this time I was relieved, too — relieved from going on the firing line, and, you 'betcher,' I was glad. Never mind how much you like fighting, the firing line is no joke. As Sherman said, 'War is hell !' and on the firing lines, at times, you would think hell had broken loose. So when one day in front of Atlanta the Assistant to the Commissary General was riding by my company street, happening to see me, he took me for his orderly, I was mighty glad.