Back on national radio for real today, so that was fun. Every Tuesday, 4:40 CST, your Hugh Hewitt show. Clean-up end of show light ’n’ bright guy. Neer know what’s coming - it’s just one baseball thrown at my head after the other, and I have to either dodge or step back and hit it. I did most of the show walking around in the bedroom and bathroom. Now I have to sit, because the network requires video. Fine! Now I will have a weekly parade of coffee cups.
This was the Cup of the Week This Week:

It’s an Atlantic 85-class lifeboat. I regret to inform you that I do not have current data for its location; my source puts it here, five days ago.

As far as I can tell, she was the owner of a local house of some importance, and donated it to the National Trust.

That is the story behind my coffee cup. Oh, you say, that's not the whole story! Where did you get it?

I think it's possible I'm the only person in town who supports the Anne Tranmer. But when you think about it, almost everyone's cup cabinet contains something unique and possibly rare. That doesn't mean it's worth anything, except to you. My favorite coffee cups have a meaning that might seem odd to someone else; my least-used has the most emotional connection; my most frequently used means nothing at all.

So share your mug stories! Worst, best, faves, etc.

 

 

It’s . . . it's what? We always start by saying "It's (year)" but I guess the Albion publisher figured everyone knew what year it was.

It's 1896, and it's the first proud edition of a new paper to serve the town of Albion. (Note, written after doing some research: jaw, dropped. As you'll see.)

All hail G. MONTE CRISTO BUMP!

A jape at the publisher's expense, a bit of levity for this inaugural offering.

Another local paper is offering congrats, I think - although who knows if it's made up, as well.

More hurrahs pour in:

I don't think this sentence has been uttered before: I do believe that Gay Bump was giving Brother Baird a taste of the mustard.

   
  They did not intend to pack the first edition with breaking news and hot breathless scoops.
   

The editors explain the letter:

You do wonder how this went down with the advertisers, don't you? Well, be assured that they are serious in their endeavor.

I understand how typos slip in, but they got the name of their paper wrong.

Now we get into the issues of the day, and parse the disparate views on contentious issues.

I don't think this tells where they stand on the silver matter, does it.

"Hey, we should have some news. Why don't you ankle over to the hotel and see who checked in."

"All those names spelled correctly?"

"Sure. I suppose. Who's going to care if they're not."

Palmer Journal, May 3, 1917:

Many of our readers will be grieved to learn that Harry Schickedantz died as the result of a stroke of paralysis at his home in St. Paul last Thursday.

Mr. Schickedantz had been prominent in business circles for the past thirty-three years and perhaps had as many warm personal friends as any man in the town.

Schick, not Scheck. And that's St. Paul, Nebraska.

   
 

Peppy lines to attract the advertisers' eyes, and amuse the readers. It will improve your morals, The Critic.

Fall in line and boom
   

   
 

If we can put two and two together, the first ad suggests that Monte Cristo Bump was in fact J. J., local businessman.

He would die in Albion in 1907, having knocked around here and there and accumulating a set of adventures recounted here, in his obituary. His wanderings included a stint in Deadwood.

   

I was curious if he showed up in the Deadwood papers, and he did, in the Black Hills Weekly Pioneer.

And here my jaw dropped.

Monte Cristo Bump was a juror on the first trial of the man who murdered Wild Bill Hickok.

 

That will do for today. Except, of course, for the Decades Project update, and the Miscellany and Outtakes at the Substack. Thank you for your patronage, and I'll see you tomorrow.