Hustler Leaves But
Will Be Remembered
People die and are forgotten—some of them. Newspapers die
and are forgotten—some of them. The French
Broad Hustler is about to die, for it has been sold. These are its last
words, for even its name will be changed, but it will not be forgotten.
This paper was born in the mountains and came to
Hendersonville many, many years ago. It came to Henderson quite different from
the Hendersonville of today—a quiet, a beautiful village with a row of great
trees down its always calm Main street, disturbed not by the discordant honking
of many motor cars. A quaint and very small street car, drawn by a pair of
sedate brown mules, ran from its owner’s home on Main street to the station.
The fare was 5 cents, which you deposited in a box at the front end of the car,
where it was under the driver’s eye. “Jim” Rickman was a leading merchant and
“Old Jim” Waldrop sold real estate. His office was in a little brown building
where they are now excavating for a new bank and the sign over the door read
“Smith and Waldrop.” Captain toms was the village capitalist and the old
Virginia House stood where now the million dollar bank has its home. Colonel
S.V. Pickens was a familiar figure on streets less crowded than today and Dr.
Few practiced his profession.
A crushed stone walk, not the easiest to travel, ran the
length of Main street and when the town came to improve, long and serious was
the discussion of the startling innovation. The school system—well, the school
system was somewhat different from what it is today, and the board of trade,
father of the present efficient organization, was working hard for the good of
the town. The meetings were held in the commissioners’ room in the court house,
and sometimes the lights would go out, and sometimes there would be but a very
small handful of the faithful present, but always were there present “Jim”
Waldrop and the other—W.A. Smith. And it seems that while Time has worked many
changes here, has sent some on a journey and is responsible for many queer
things, it seems that Time has touched “Bill” Smith most lightly of all. In
those days there was the same vehemence, the same optimism, the same
determination in this builder of Hendersonville that there is today. Some of
these board of trade meetings were mighty interesting.
It was at one of these gatherings that the decision was
reached to advertise Hendersonville. The work on the first town booklet was all
done in the Hustler office and all of the boys were proud of that work. On the cover
of that little booklet were two gates open. This was printed in gold. It
suggested, it is needless to say, that the gates to Hendersonville, the gates
of opportunity, were wide open. Yes, it was sure some nifty piece of job
printing, not at all the same class with the new town booklets of many colors
and wonderful pictures.
Well, it would be possible to go on and talk forever about
that Hustler office of those days and
that most beautiful village of those days. But ever since then, and before then
for that matter, the Hustler has always been telling everyone just how fine a town
its home town was and just how proud it was to live in such a town. Editorially
and locally it has printed many miles of words of the good things to be found
here, and of the other things it has printed but very few words, indeed. In
this respect it is like Judge Pace—may his shadow never grow less and may he
continue to preside as clerk of the Henderson County Superior court until that
day comes when a new and much larger county court house will be required, which
will be some little time. As to its politics—well, M.L. Shipman has always been
editor of The Hustler. In the face of
difficulties of which the outside world has had no conception. The Hustler has always kept the faith.
The devil says, and so many unwise suggestions come from the
devil, that before the old Hustler dies he would like to see it tell the plain,
unvarnished truth about some things. He says he would like to see a wedding
written up as it should be—with the bridegroom played up in the headlines and
the bride dismissed as an “also present.” But the devil is of an impetuous disposition
with a love for flowers, as all who enter the Hustler office may see. For those struggling plants in an
interesting variety of tin cans are the devil’s and even has he planted flowers
alongside the building and facing an alley! But a devil is a devil, always.
There was a devil in the old Hustler
office, on Main Street in the building owned by Mrs. Forrest. The power there
was a gasoline engine of uncertain temperament at best and the devil
experimented with the engine and there was no paper for several days.
But this is about all the Merg will be able to stand. This,
therefore, is the last issue of The Hustler with which M.L. Shipman and T.R.
Barrows will be connected. They were connected with it years ago, went apart
and came together for a few weeks pending this final change. Mr. Shipman is the
Commissioner of Labor and Printing. Mr. Barrows will be connected with the
paper in dim sort of way for awhile, when, sometime in the fall, probably, he
will assume his duties as publicity man for the Asheville board of trade.
No comments:
Post a Comment