Major Clough had brought along from Sabetha his foreman, George Fabrick, to get out the first few issues. Then, after Fabrick had gone back to Sabetha, a printer came over from Falls City—but Will Allen played pool most of the time while here. Allen stayed ten weeks, went home for a visit, and failed to come back. Then the “Devil” took over. It was as simple—and raw—as that.
The Spectator passed through several ownerships — Lawyer F. M. Jeffries, Don Perry, John Stowell, Curt and Marie (Polly) Shuemaker. I worked for all the separate owners—but there was a time between Jeffries and Perry that publication was suspended for over a year. The newspaper business in small towns was not very remunerative in those days. To keep going, the publisher often had to take up side lines, but Jeffries rather overdid the matter—and failed, even then. He made a pretense of keeping up his law practice, taught the Hayden school, walked three miles out and back, and, after a few week’s help from me, tried to do all the mechanical work, with only the help of his inexperienced wife.
The ownership had reverted back to Wolfley, and so remained, camouflaged, through the Perry regime, which also was of short duration. Perry was a good newspaperman — when sober—having conducted the Seneca Courier-Democrat for a number of years. Jake Cober, also of Seneca, was his first printer here.
One evening Don Perry came rushing up to the office—-that is, moving as swiftly as he could make the stairs, in his cups, otherwise very drunk, saying, “They are after me — I want to make you safe.” I had drawn no wages, and the amount due me was $127.00. He grabbed up a piece of yellow scratch paper and penciled a due bill for the amount, and said, “There now, my patient friend, you’re safe—that’s as good as gold,” with emphasis. And the surprising thing is that, though he could not have paid cash for another half-pint of booze, that yellow memento, regarded worthless, was indeed good as gold. But the payment would have fallen on my friend Wolfley—and that might have complicated matters between us. I decided to forget it—and went to Centralia to work for Bill Granger. And The Spectator went into suspension again.