One Man Short—Just As It Has Ever Been

To delve into the story of John Kelly Stevens, I may as well do what I often find myself doing while researching: jump right into the middle of it all.

In John Kelly’s case, the middle might as well be the point at which he was appointed to his position as a patrolman for the city of Fort Wayne, Indiana. While that event happened relatively late in his life—he became a policeman at the age of forty, hardly a career change choice most men nowadays would have made at that stage in life—it became what defined him to the family that followed him.

As I’ve mentioned before, there is precious little that has been passed down through the family to give descendants an idea of what the man was really like. Other than the oral tradition, most of what I share with you about this man is material I’ve found in the last twenty years, either through online research or through “snail mail” correspondence and visits to Fort Wayne.

One week after John Kelly’s fortieth birthday, the Fort Wayne newspapers inserted his name in the front page narrative, thereby telling the city he was among the chosen: he had been appointed a patrolman.

I say “newspapers” because there was more than one side to this revelation on May 22, 1896. We’ll start with the more demure Fort Wayne News, and move on from there tomorrow to dissect the more histrionic version put forward by the Fort Wayne Journal-Gazette.

You will perhaps be left with questions after reading the excerpt from this first article, but be patient. Let the thing unfold in its own time. What a mess we have just jumped into the middle of will soon be obvious to you—all providing us with that glorious turmoil more benignly christened “context.”

A little debriefing is in order before I send you, innocent, in among the lions:

First, John Kelly was never (at least to my knowledge at this point) a “railroad man,” let alone an “ex-railroad man.” He did have in-laws who worked in the Pennsylvania shop, but every mention I’ve read about his own former position indicated he was a moulder with a place called the Bass Foundry.

Perhaps it was the association between the manufacturer and the railroads that caused newspaper reporters to short-circuit and call John Kelly a railroad man. After all, the foundry not only became one of Fort Wayne’s largest employers, but also a leading manufacturer of railroad wheels.

To confuse the issue, the very history of the Bass Foundry wound itself around the Pennsylvania shop—first being founded by Sion Bass and William Jones and located on the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne and Chicago line, then actually being sold to the railroad, an 1857 exchange which eventually grew into what was called the Pennsylvania shop. Following that, another Bass (John) formed a partnership, leased the plant, then sold it, then later bought out the interests of one of the new partners, and eventually ended up being sole owner of what, by John Kelly Stevens’ time years later, was known as the Bass Foundry and Machine Works.

Now, if you are as confused as you have a right to be, perhaps we shan’t be too rough on those newspaper reporters and their inaccuracies back in 1896. Here’s the Fort Wayne News’ version of the event:

Twenty-Two Men Up

Only Three Selected--The Doings in Police Circles

There was twenty-two applicants before the board of safety last night. These men have all filed applicants for appointment on the police force. It was expected that the board would appoint four of this number to succeed Buechner, Bowers, Tanner and Lamb, discharged. The hungry were disappointed however, as only three men were selected. The successful applicants were Patrick Murphy, an ex-policeman; John K. Stevens, an ex-railroad man and John Pageler, a medical student and chemist. Pageler is a single man, the others are married. They are all democrats. The force is at present one man short, just as it has been ever since Officer Hardendorf resigned. The vacancy will be filled soon.