University of Nevada, Las Vegas

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EulogyTORiley Grannanis imprinted a picture that will ever "hang in memory's hall," of a day in April, 1908, when he stood at the bier of a friend in a tawdry theatre back of a bar-room in Rawhide, clad in the rough garb of a miner, facing the flotsam and jetsam of the west, and brought tears to the eyes of this hardened crowd of men and women with his somewhat embittered comments on life, pronounced over the cold clay of Riley Grannan.Picture, if you can, the scene in that little cubby-hole of a vaudeville theatre in the rear of a saloon, where the body had been conveyed on an express wagon. Around the bier was grouped a rough, unkempt crew, differing but little from those that Bret Harte saw at Poker Flat and Roaring Camp; or that climbed the Chilkoot Pass to the Klondyke, and that may be seen today at any other camp in the West. Miners in high boots, just as they came from their work; girls from the dance-halls, gamblers, floaters—men from anywhere and everywhere and from every walk of life, all gathered together and brought to a common level by the call of gold.The scene was dramatic and impressive. The speaker, with his own wrecked life inspiring him, touched gently upon the waywardness of his friend and spoke generously of his better attributes. At times his own eyes were dim with unshed tears and his voice broke and quavered with emotion. With one hand resting upon the rude coffin some miner had made and looking down at the silent form he said:PAGE EIGHT




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