VIRGIL G. EATON Sprague's Journal of Maine History Vol. VI Nov. Dec. 1918, Jan. 1919 No. 3 page 82-86 VIRGIL G. EATON Virgil G. Eaton, one of the ablest newspaper men that Maine has ever produced, was born in Prospect, Maine, June 25, 1850, and died in South Brewer, Maine, July 13, 1917. For many years the writer enjoyed his friendship and was sad- dened by his departure from this life. His character was unique in many ways but admirable and lovable in every Way. His writings charmed and interested all. His delightful descriptions of birds and bird life will long be remembered by many Maine people. The following tribute to his memory is from the pen of Sam F. Conner, himself one of the bright and well known writers in Maine newspaper circles today. It is a true and beautiful picture of the man: To most of the telegraph editors who read the brief Associated Press dispatch out of Bangor, Friday, announcing the death of Virgil G. Eaton at his home in South Brewer it meant simply the passing of another old- tinier of the newspaper game. To a few of the men now helping to make newspapers and to a great many others who are no longer at the work it caused a tightening sensation around the heart and in not a few cases, I am proud to say, tears welled up to the eyes, for "Virg" Eaton was one of those who when he made friends-which he did wherever he went-made them for life and held them by the subtle, indescribable something that makes true friendship; the thing that holds regardless of the number of miles and years which have separated the personal association. Virgil G. Eaton, and I do not say "Mr. Virgil G. Eaton," for if there was one thing he detested it was that little two-letter prefix, is the last of a galaxy of writers which made the old Boston Globe famous; one of the last of a band of newspaper men who made the Globe a producer of men who could both get news and then write it. But two of these are left in active service in Maine today; they are Lawrence T. Smyth of the Bangor Daily News and our own Arthur G. Staples of the journal. Holman Day, you know, has quit the ranks of the reporter. These men do not write the choppy, brief statement of facts which is the present day vogue in newspaper writing; they tell the story, but paint a picture of it. That was what Eaton always did. There was nothing matter-of-fact or com- monplace in what he wrote. He sparkled and glowed and stuck out either with humor or pathos. He never was dull; he couldn't be if he tried. For the past dozen years Virgil Eaton had not been active in newspaper work and the last half dozen had lived in retirement at his farm in South Brewer, writing occasional articles for Boston, New York papers, the Lewiston journal and for magazines. His health has been constantly failing and his friends have, for the past year, realized that his time here was limited. Before going into the newspaper business he had a varied career. He went abroad for a bit and sonic of his experiences there would make interest- ing copy. He never wrote of them; never used them as the foundation for a story. That was one of his peculiarities, he never drew on his own experi- ences to furnish material for his pen, depending entirely upon observations of what others did for his plots and ideas. He gathered his education, or rather the foundation for it, for his great education was obtained in the school of experience and travel, in the public schools of Prospect and at the Eastern Maine seminary at Bucksport. In those student days lie attracted attention. He was both the pride and despair of the seminary authorities. This information I obtained not from him, but from the late Henry E. Wing of Lewiston, who was a schoolmate of his there. Eaton's ability to assimilate lessons and to think tip practical jokes kept the teachers busy. After leaving the seminary he taught school for a while and then decided to go into newspaper work he did not call it journalism. Nothing, aroused his ire quicker than to refer to him as a jour- nalist. He never cared for the title "editor." To be a good reporter was the one thing he aspired to and in this, tho he never admitted it, he succeeded. His first job was with the Globe in Boston. At that time the Globe was lot the great newspaper it is today. Col. Taylor was building it up. For a time Eaton was assigned to district work. His efforts there attracted atten- tion, but, it was not until one day when he was sent out to do a story on a storm that his reputation was established. That storm story was different. Boston had never read anything like it. It started talk and Virgil Eaton duty as a district man. From that time on his rise was rapid. It would be impossible to tell half the big stories which he did. The stunts which he put thru were astonishing, especially when it is recalled that the telephone was not used as it is today. Sporting men of the old, old days will recall the great battle between Ike Weir, the Belfast Spider, and Heverland, but they never knew how close the Globe came to being beaten on that yarn. The fight was pulled off in secret and -a rival paper was in on the proposition. The Globe got a tip but too late to rush men to the fight. Eaton was assigned to get the story. In company with a stenographer he haunted the railroad station where those returning from the bout must arrive in Boston. When the fight crowd came in he got one of them, a veteran authority on boxing, took him to a cafe and while they ate the sporting man described the fight, round by round and blow by blow. This was taken down by the stenographer, who rushed back to the office, transcribed it and it went into the paper that morning. While the stenographer was doing his work, Eaton wrote a picturesque I cad describing the scenes of the battle. The story could have been but little better had the Globe been able to get a man to the bout. At that time Eaton was doing special work for the New York Herald, in Boston. He wired them a story of the fight. The Herald's appreciation took the form of a personal compliment from James Gordon Bennett, the gift of a diamond stick pin and a substantial bonus. in cash. It also brought Eaton the offer of one of the biggest assignments which the Herald ever gave a man. He declined to accept it because he believed it belonged to another man. That shows his sense of fair play. I note that the 'story sent out of Bangor says that Eaton toured the world with General Grant. He may have; but for twelve years I was closely associated with him and for the last dozen years have seen him frequently. He never boasted or bragged of his work, the things he told came out in the course of conversation and what I am writing today is the putting to- gether of fragments of conversation covering a period from 1892 to, last November. In that time I never beard of his going with Grant. He did tour Europe with Blaine. That, I think, was what was meant. Probably the biggest job Eaton ever did in Maine was, many years ago, when he came down into York County from the Globe and exposed the tramp scandal. This was where certain officials were in a deal with tramps to arrest them, send them to jail for brief terms, dividing the fees with the ramps. It was a gold mine while it lasted, but Eaton, disguised as a hobo, got the yarn and the jig was up. His sense of humor was as large as he and he was a veritable giant His black eyes would twinkle at anything on that line even tho a joke be on himself. Probably no story which he ever wrote gave him so much satis- faction as one telling of the devastation of Maine forests by the cutting Of fir for use at Christmas. The Department of Agriculture took it tip and got very excited before the absurdity of the thing was really discovered. For many years he wrote regularly for the Sunday New York Sun. His stories were fiction, but in the form of news. There were tales of bears and Of fish and of all sorts of things. He it was who originated the story of bears in northern Maine climbing telegraph poles and pulling down the wires in their efforts to find the honey in the poles, the buzz of the wire causing them to think a hive of wild bees were in the poles. An English magazine took this tip and illustrated the article. In 1889, when the electric railroad was put in operation in Bangor Eaton wrote a story for the Daily News which created great excitement. He related the dangers and benefits of riding on the cars. As a result of it every sufferer from rheumatics and other -diseases who could do so piled on tile cars and rode to be cured by the wonderful electricity which escaped from the motors. At the same time everybody who had a watch was greatly disturbed as to the effect of this escaping current on the time pieces. He wrote for many of the leading magazines articles of a scientific nature as well a, fiction. His grasp of affairs and of general knowledge was wonderful. He never forgot a thing once he read it. His Political foresight was wonderful and his judgment of men could not have been exceeded. His style of writing was peculiar, yet charming. It Ought to have reminded one of Dickens, yet it was only at times that it did. it should have for Dickens was his favorite author. He made a rule to the very last to read Dickens thru and thru once each year. At the cheerful old farmhouse in South Brewer where he lived Eaton had a collection of gifts, from desks to binoculars which he had received as tokens of appreciation from newspapers and others for service rendered. He loved books and yet not in the way that others do. He loved them as books, not as a show, and had hundreds of them. In no way can I better illustrate what I mean than by the following incident: Some years ago I was looking tip a matter and it became necessary to secure certain informa- tion, which it seemed only Eaton could provide. I drove down to his farm and stated my case. He listened and then said: "Why, I've got just the book you want, come up to my library and I'll get it for you." With that he led the way tip into the attic, where stood great numbers of flour barrels, each one filled with books. Walking to one Of them he dug down and drew forth The volume he wanted. All his books were stored that way, instead of on shelves, yet he know in exactly which barrel each book was. He needed no index to find the volume desired on any subject or at any time. Of Virgil G. Eaton it can be said: He was one of the most delightful of men, absolutely loyal to his paper and his friends, who forgot his enemies remembered only those he loved. PAN IN MEMORIAM, VIRGIL G. EATON Stalwart and massive, so ruggedly strong His proportions suggested a big native pine, Towering through cycles, impressively long, Above all his fellows, this great Pan of mine. Sterling and orthodox, sound to the core, His reeds never piped a demagogue lay, And nothing, I think, ever tickled him more Than to startle a dreamer out of his way. Conservative? Yes, a trifle, perhaps; You see, old things always suited him best, Old friends and old inns, old roads and old maps, Penobscot better than anywhere West. The hollyhocks there by the old cottage door, The bluets and buttercups down by the spring Will miss their companion and lover of yore, And so will each bird he ever heard sing. This is the reason we liked him so well, He was real as the turf upon which we tread. He knew every Herb, every sprig in the dell, The haunts by the wood-folk most frequented. The vain and the heedless, who care not for rhyme, For Nature's sweet lessons may scoff at them still, But some of us yet love posies and thyme- In "Poordock" and "over to Perkins' mill." Portland. Eugene Edwards. (c) 1998 Tina Vickery Courtesy of the Androscoggin Historical Society ************************************************* * * * * NOTICE: Printing the files within by non-commercial individuals and libraries is encouraged, as long as all notices and submitter information is included. Any other use, including copying files to other sites requires permission from the submitters PRIOR to uploading to any other sites. 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