Old Sport Campana (1836-1906)

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By Davy Crockett

In 1889, “Old Sport” Peter Napoleon Campana (1836-1905) returned home to Bridgeport, Connecticut, after his four-month trip to California. His celebrity status had increased because of news stories across the country about how he beat up the unscrupulous race manager, Frank W. Hall (1860-1923). During his ten-year ultrarunning career thus far, he had competed in at least 42 races, including 24 six-day races. As he did each summer, Campana took time away from racing, but frequently made appearances at local sporting events, including foot races.

New book! Old Sport Campana: Ultrarunning’s Most Popular and Amusing 19^th Century Runner. As I researched for these podcast episodes, I realized that I had enough content for an entire amusing and interesting book. This episode previews chapter eight of the book. To read the entire story of Old Sport, get my new book on Amazon.

In July 1889, a policeman, George A. Parker (1853-1926), took a bet to walk from Hartford, Connecticut to New Haven, Connecticut and back, 72 miles in 26 hours. He walked with a young man, Fred Robertson. They finished at Dwight Mitchell’s Saloon in 24.5 hours. “There was quite a crowd in the saloon awaiting the coming of the pedestrians. Conspicuous among them, both on account of his appearance and his senile garrulity, was Old Sport Campana. This old, broken-down warhorse wanted to bet he could cover the distance in sixteen hours. Then he took several turns up and down the long room to show his skill as a pedestrian.” He found no takers of his bet. Parker and Robertson received quite an ovation.

Campana published a boxing challenge to the world. “I, Napoleon Campana, alias Old Sport, hereby challenge any man in the world 61 years of age, to fight to a finish, London prize ring rules, for the sum of $500 a side. If this challenge is not accepted, I claim for myself the title of champion of the world.” No one took up the wager, so he must have become the champion boxer of the world. He next issued a challenge to race any man over 60 years in a 100-mile race. Campana was actually 52 years old. It would not have been a fair race.

It September 1889, Campana announced that he was in training for his “farewell race in America,” a six-day twelve-hours-per-day race to be held at the Polo Rink in New Haven, Connecticut. Would it really be the last race of his career? He was asked how he made a living. He replied, “I don’t work for a living young feller.” He demanded $250 from the race manager, James L. Meenan, to start in the race but was refused. He left the rink in disgust.

Campana returned later as a spectator and sent a gift to his Connecticut rival, Alfred Elson (1836-1900), who was in the race and was the same age as Campana. It was a cabbage with $5 rolled inside it. “Elson declined to carry the cabbage around the rink, so Sport stuck it on the end of a board and dogged him around the track, holding the cabbage over Elson’s head.”

The Street Peddler

In October 1889, Campana was hired to sell peanuts at the Danbury, Connecticut Far by Orin L. Bronson (1827-1909). Sales went very well. Bronson claimed that Campana skipped out of town with all the money and intended to have him arrested if he could find him. Campana went to Winstead, Connecticut, where he competed in a five-hour race and came in third with 19 miles. In December 1889, he was seen watching a ten-mile walking race in New Haven.

Campana was a sly businessman where the saying “buyer beware,” really meant something. In early January 1890, he dropped into a Bridgeport saloon and exhibited his fruit. He made a sale for 50 lemons. “While he counted the fruit and placed it in a basket belonging to the purchaser, the old man kept up a rambling talk about his races in the past. He kept his tongue moving at a lively rate until he had counted out 50 lemons. He then received his money with a smile and a ‘God bless you, mister,’ and left the place singing a popular song.” Later in the day, the buyer, the bartender, removed a paper wrapping one of the pieces of fruit and discovered that it was an apple. Nearly all the fruit in the basket turned out to be apples, with only about a dozen lemons.

Skipped a Waterbury Connecticut Race

In January 1890, Campana was asked why he wasn’t competing in a race in nearby Waterbury. He explained that the race director, Maloney, had come to recruit him for the race. He asked Campana what he wanted. “I told him I wanted a suit of clothes, not like the clothes he had on, but a suit to walk in. He said I could have anything I wanted and told me to meet him at the train depot on Monday.” Maloney publicized that Campana would be in the race, but he was a no-show at the train station. “Why that Maloney wanted me to go to Waterbury and advertise his walking match. That was all he cared about. But the fellow knows now that the old man ain’t no fool and won’t spoil his reputation for a few dollars. Yes, mister, Old Sport is poor, but honest.”

Jumping Off a Freight Train

In February 1890, Campana was injured when he jumped from a moving freight train in Bridgeport and experienced a bad fall. He had been obviously using trains like a tramp to move from town to town. “To the first sympathetic group he could find, Sport expressed his indignation at the outrageous conduct of the train in failing to stop for him and also displaying the abrasions on his injured limb.” He was mostly upset at a patch of skin that had been taken off over the tattoos of his boxing heroes, including boxer, John L. Sullivan (1858-1918). He said, “What an awful thing it would have been if I had lost my leg with the names of the three acknowledged champions of the world upon it. The other leg I wouldn’t have cared so much about, but to have the names of the three champions cut off by the doctor would have broken my heart.”

Off to Chicago

Campana claimed that he wanted to go do business at the Chicago World’s Fair, that would open three years later, in 1893. A separation from his wife was probably a major motivating factor in leaving Connecticut. He began his trip west three years early, and on the way voluntarily spent the night locked up at the Lancaster, Pennsylvania police station, because he had no money. He alleged he was abandoned by his financial backers in Philadelphia.

A month later, in April 1890, in Cleveland, Ohio, he was again arrested for drunkenness and confined to a brutal workhouse. While there, he caught his hand in a machine and lost two and a half fingers. The workhouse had a reputation of being the most brutal around.

75-hour Race in Chicago, Illinois

After a year away from competing in an ultra-distance race, he arrived in Chicago, Illinois and started in a 75-hour race at 8:30 p.m., on May 21, 1890, held at the Second Regiment Armory. “Campana was a familiar figure. He looked like an Egyptian mummy with a bald head and a plush nose and he wore a suit of red underwear. He had a placard on his breast for a chest-protector, on which was lettered: ‘Old Sport Campana, the Apollo Belvedere of Sawdust.’” (That was a marble sculpture that depicted the Greek god Apollo. It stands in the Vatican.) He proclaimed he would win or die on the track.

Campana started out fast as usual but slowed down later in the evening into 19^th place. “The Old Sport really made a spurt during the evening. Somebody gave him a bunch of flowers, and the old man girded up his loins and ran a lap or two nearly as fast as the best of them. Then a boy in the gallery yelled: ‘Say, Bridgeport, you’ve dropped a calk! (cleat on a shoe).’ Then the old man went back to sleepwalking.” Campana, “with tattered autographs of friends on his calves” finished in second place, ten miles behind the winner, Tom Cox (1859-1903), with 271 miles. Campana had only slept for three hours during the race.

The event was poorly attended and lost money. “Campana’s share of the gate receipts will not be enough to enable him to retire and he will continue to sell chewing gum at so much per chew.” In August 1890, he was spotted still in Chicago, training with George Connor (1863-) of England, who was living in New York City. “The two endeavored to arrange a pedestrian contest in Chicago, in hopes of realizing sufficient funds to enable them to reach home without walking.”

Six-Day Race in Detroit, Michigan

Detroit was an epicenter for several six-day races in 1890. William “Billy” Crawford announced that with a summer’s rest, another six-day race would be scheduled during Detroit’s Exposition week in September 1890. His planned race was backed by “a number of Detroit capitalists.” By August, excitement grew. “In many ways the coming six-day race will be by all odds the most remarkable ever seen in Detroit or anywhere else.”

Campana went to Detroit to compete. The day preceding the race, the runners paraded through the city, led by the Detroit Military band, to much fanfare. They were dressed in “natty dusters and hats and carried canes.”

On Monday, August 31, 1890, Labor Day, twenty-seven runners came out onto the track right after midnight, each wearing a certain color to help the spectators learn their names. Campana was dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. The starter yelled, “Boys, are you ready? Then go!”

Campana reached 100 miles during the first 24 hours, tied for eleventh place. “He covers ground remarkably well, considering his age and the fantastic garb he wears.” In 48 hours, he reached 175 miles and climbed into seventh place. He was three miles ahead of his training partner, George Connor, who was half his age. He needed to reach 475 miles in order to share in the winnings. Some of his friends from New York City planned to award him with a nice purse of money if he succeeded.

After three days, he reached 253 miles, 35 miles behind the leader, Frank Hart. “Campana made a speech about every three hours. It was the same in every case, and was to the effect that he has defeated seventeen champions and would whip a few more before the race closed.” He climbed into sixth place after the fourth day, with 335 miles. On the fifth day, Campana quit, a rarity for him, after 375 miles. His feet were so sore, he could no longer walk on them. Hart won with only 475 miles.

Six-Day Race in St. Louis, Missouri

Campana stayed in the Midwest and made his way to St. Louis, Missouri for a six-day race at the end of 1890, held over the Christmas holiday. Fourteen runners began on December 22, 1890, on a small track, seventeen laps to the mile. It was the first time for those in St. Louis to witness Campana and the following exaggeration was published to introduce him. “No walking race would be complete without Old Sport Campana. He has been competing in six-day contests since they came into existence and has never been known to remain out of a race.”

The race was held in Clark‘s Natatorium, one of the most popular places in the city. It featured a 5,600 square-foot open-air swimming pool, surrounded by spectator seating. It was used for swimming lessons, swimming races, and eventually six-day foot races. During the winters, the Natatorium needed to be used for other attractions, like bicycle and running races. This was the first six-day race held in that building and established the Natatorium as the center place for six-day races during the 1890s.

The Start

Campana quickly made a good impression on the crowd. “He was cheered when he completed his first mile, and after it was completed, he entered upon his usual ‘clownish’ tricks to the amusement of the assemble multitude. He is carrying less weight than any of the other contestants, as there is little but skin and bones to the old man. He is not even burdened with any hair. Clad in a light balbriggan shirt and drawers, with the words ‘Old Sport’ in red letters, and wearing over his costume an abbreviated pair of loose muslin pantaloons, the old campaigner presented a strange sight as he galloped around the ring. His features are thin and prominent, and he has been eating constantly ever since the walk commenced. And the old man has been talking as constantly as he has been eating. His face is a study as he eats, talks, and walks all at the same time. Every once in a while, he breaks into a run and then the crowd cheers him lustily.”

Day Two

By the second day, Campana was doing “remarkably well,” in fourth place, with 155 miles in 38 hours, less than twenty miles behind the lead. “The old man took off his walking shoes and trotted around the sawdust ring in his socks and then pulled those off and tried going in his bare feet. His occasional spurts never fail to bring forth applause from the audience. If he should hold out and secure a place, it will break the bookmakers, for tremendously long odds have been laid against him doing so.”

Christmas Day

On Christmas Day 1890, curious spectators came out to watch Campana. “He appeared in a new costume and the old man showed no signs of weakening. He was a great favorite with the audience, who frequently showered change at him. He was in a dog trot half the time, but when he lapsed into a walk, his gait was slow. His chances of lasting through the race seemed fair, although he will not cover 500 miles.”

For excitement, George Cartwright (1848-1928), who had dropped out of the race, came back for a side-show 20-mile race against Peter Hegelman (1864-1944). But before that race, Cartwright went around the building, badmouthing the main event and its manager, Ralph Johnson. “He and Johnson exchanged words and then came to blows. In the scrimmage, the long-distance runner had his eyes blacked, and he was ejected from the building.”

The Final Days

On the fifth day, Campana continued to work hard in fifth place. He was at a serious disadvantage compared to the other runners. “The old man had no trainer and not even a tent in which to sleep. Some boys had fun with him and gave him a little more beer than he should have taken, in his exhausted condition. Sport became even more talkative than usual and, in every lap, would make several stops to talk to the crowd. He also sang his celebrated song about Sullivan. His work is really phenomenal for a man of 62 years of age (actually 54).”

Campana reached a very respectable 450 miles in fifth place. He finished his race with several hours to go and then spent the rest of his time entertaining the crowd. He failed to make the required 500 miles to share in the gate receipts. But on the last day, he was the freshest man on the track and did not appear to be exhausted.

Campana stayed around after the race. “The old man had taken considerable St. Louis beer aboard and was very enthusiastic on the subject of St. Louis and St. Louisans. Instead of going to a hotel, he slept in the cot that had been used by Manager Johnson and stayed there until morning when he was sent to a hotel.”

About 17,000 people watched the race during the week. The race was a financial success for Manager Johnson, who made a profit of $2,000, although he received criticism for broken financial promises. Campana did not receive anything from the race. “He probably got more money thrown to him by the crowd than any of the contestants. If he had not gotten drunk, the old man would undoubtedly have done much better. He sent $175 home to his wife, Jennie, at Bridgeport, Connecticut, as a Christmas gift, and it is believed that he had about $500 thrown to him by the people. That was probably why the old man thought St. Louis was the greatest place on earth.”

Six-Day Race in Minneapolis, Minnesota

There was no long rest for Campana. He quickly made his way to Minnesota for the next six-day race to be held just four weeks later. Minneapolis became a hotbed for pedestrianism and would put on at least five six-day races in the coming years, and Campana made a deep impression on the city. Several prominent runners, including Frank Hart (1856-1908), Norman Taylor (1830-1911), Gus Guererro (1854-1914), would make the city their new home.

The race was scheduled for the large Washington Rink. It was thought to be the largest skating rink in America at that time, but recently had not been used as much, except for political speeches. A couple of weeks before the event, carpenters began the transformation of the rink into a pedestrian arena. “The clang of carpenters’ hammers and the nerve-tearing screeching of a dozen workmen’s saws have set the old building’s heart to throbbing again, and for a week anyway, the ‘good old days’ will be restored.” Campana made his training headquarters in nearby St. Paul until the rink was ready to be run in.

Campana Promotes Himself

A long article about Campana was published in the Minneapolis Daily Times. “Campana has long been the clown of the sawdust track and is known to every professional pedestrian the world over. He claims to be 62 years old and looks the part. He is quite a singer and great talker.” He claimed that he had walked to Minnesota all the way from Chicago. He strongly denied arriving on the fast freight train.

“For the last fifteen years Campana has been a funny card in six-day matches. He was the circus end of the walks contested at Madison Square Garden. He is a little, comical looking man, with a deep valley in his face under his cheek bones, and a big chin and nose so near each other that Mr. Campana is in danger of having them singed if he smokes a cigar more than halfway down. He wears four-days’ old whiskers and is a plain dresser. He might be 35 years old, or 50, or 60. He says he was born 62 years ago.”

Campana was interviewed at a downtown restaurant and had no problem talking about himself. “I’m a dead-game ‘Sport’ and wouldn’t sell my reputation for $50,000. Why, they talk about me in Egypt. I have made 75,000 miles in 30 years.” He showed the reporters all the tattoos on his body, including the name of his wife, Jennie Dalton Campana. “She is my wife. I think a good deal of her. She used to train me in my big matches. I am poor and respectable. I’m a hustler from Hustlerville, and if I didn’t make so much noise about myself, you never would hear of me.”

On the day before the race, all the runners were resting except for Campana, “who continued to shatter the atmosphere with his arms and tell everybody he chanced to meet that he had been acquainted with every man with a drop of sporting blood in his veins since the days of Yankee Sullivan.”

The Start

The race, with twenty-three starters, had a rare Tuesday morning start, at 12:05 a.m., on January 27, 1891, in front of about 2,500 people, including a large black contingent to cheer on their favorite runner, Frank Hart. Campana’s pre-race marketing effort paid off. “Old Sport was given volley after volley of enthusiastic outbursts when he appeared attired in a snow-white uniform. Across his chest in blue letters appeared the name, ‘Old Sport.’”

The field of runners were sent on their way by the local sheriff in a black slouch hat. “Old Sport Campana, with his head on one side and a wrinkle in his legs, struggled manfully along near the rear, and was cheered by the crowd.” Fourteen runners reached at least 100 miles during the first 24 hours, including Campana.

Day Two

On the second day, Campana still looked fresh. “He talked to everyone, ‘roasted’ his attendants, and pleased the crowd fully.” Other times, he sang songs for the crowd. He received a telegram from President Benjamin Harrison (1833-1901) that read, “Make 500 miles and I will give you a lifelong job in the lighthouse in Chicago.” Campana claimed that when he was a schoolteacher, Harrison was a student in his school. (Strange, because Harrison was three years older than Campana). He also received a telegram from his hero, boxer, John L. Sullivan (1858-1918), who wrote: “Make 500 miles and I will give you $500 and pay your travel expenses back to Boston.” Campana read that telegram from a chair in the center of the rink and received huge applause.

Day Three

On the third evening, Campana was one of the center attractions. “One of the features was the singing of a song by Old Sport Campana, who caught the audience just right. The old-timer seemed pretty fresh and followed up his song by making a spurt. He declared that he intended to be ‘in at the death.’”

Remaining Days

Campana reached 320 miles in four days and was in sixth place. “Sport explained that he would have made a bigger score yesterday but that he lost nine miles in the early morning fog. He thought the nine miles must be on the river somewhere. His antics continue to afford amusement to the crowd which throngs the rink from morning till night.” His friends asked him to make a speech. “He pledged himself to make, if he again visited the city, a better race than the remarkable one he had already done.”

As the race neared its conclusion, it was written, “Old Sport Campana was on the track more than any man in the race. He made lots of sport for the spectators yesterday. He gathered in a pocketful of silver dollars too. Three admirers gave him $10 each, while several gave him $50. He certainly is a character. Those who have ever seen him will never forget him. He is alone worth the price of admission.” On the closing night, he climbed up on the judges’ stand and sang a song about Sullivan. He received applause for five minutes and the race manager gave him $25 of gold.

At the finish, Campana reached 405 miles, in sixth place. George Cartwright (1848-1928) won with 524 miles. “As the men left the track at the finish, each was honored with a rousing cheer. Then they were called upon the press stand, each in turn introduced to the audience, then handsome bouquets were presented to them all, and each ran around the track with his floral display while the orchestra played a national air appropriate to their nativity or parentage.”

Six-Day Race in St. Paul, Minnesota

There was no rest for the weary. Many other runners, including Campana, went to St. Paul and started a six-day twelve-hours-per-day race just two weeks later in Lowry Arcade.

The audience eagerly awaited his performance and self-aggrandizing pronouncements. “Some people may have imagined that yesterday’s windstorm was the result of atmospheric disturbances. Not so. It was all attributable to the fact that on the morning train. Old Sport Campana blew in to take his place on the sawdust track at the Arcade in the six-day race. With a wild whoop, as he passed out of the Union depot doors, Old Sport declared that he was a sure winner of the race. ‘Some of these ducks think I’m not in it. I’ll show ‘em that Sport is on deck yes. I’ll bet any part of a $1,000 that I’m as good as third at the finish.’

The race began on February 24, 1891. Campana did well on the first 12-hour day, reaching 60 miles, in eighth place. “Campana, in whose attenuated frame there lies concealed more of the vigor of youth than would seem possible, kept going in his peculiar gait, a cross between that of a lame dog and a strunghalt mule, but got over the grounds surprisingly. Here is a man sixty-two odd years old, holding his own with the young ones in creditable style. His method of locomotion is entirely the reverse of graceful, but it counts, and Old Sport swears he will be in at the death.”

The audience appreciated his effort. “It is quite the fad for visitors to throw their loose change at Old Sport and then see him make a lively lap or two.” For the second day, he was consistent and covered another 58 miles in twelve hours. On the third day, he covered 53 miles. “Old Sport jogs along nicely but finds time to stop now and then and do a jig for the delectation of the visitors.”

Campana finished with 323 miles in sixth place. The race management admitted that he was paid a salary. All the runners spoke very highly of how the race was conducted.

Peddling in Chicago

A month later, in April 1891, it was reported that Campana was peddling chewing gum around sporting resorts in Chicago, Illinois. Gum was becoming more and more popular. William Wrigley Jr. (1861-1932) entered the business with his famous gums. False reporting stated that Campana had been greatly failing and was “a wreck of his former self.” Chicago didn’t understand that he always went back to his peddling once his race season was over and always looked like a wreck.

Many people from Chicago were generous to him. “Very few of those that he approaches allow him to go away empty handed. Altogether too frequently, they are inclined to tell the barkeeper to ‘set em up’ for the ex-pedestrian, and as a result Old Sport often gets a bigger load than he can comfortably carry and is compelled to postpone his gum peddling until another day.” They were so certain that after 48 career ultra-distance races, he would never be seen on the track again. The sad news of his false downfall went out all over the country, including back to his hometown in Connecticut.

Race from Chicago to Omaha

In May 1891, C. J. Stephens, “a long-distance pedestrian” was hired by the Chicago Herald to walk 500 miles from Chicago to Omaha, Nebraska, in nine days to advertise the newspaper. He was promised $1,000 if he succeeded. Another company, a wet goods house in Chicago, got in the game and sponsored Campana to beat Stephens. “Stephens was joined by Old Sport Campana, dressed in gaudy colored tights and wearing upon his card the words, ‘The House of David.’ The two were racing and Campana was confident he would win.

The plan was to walk on railroad tracks the entire way. The first 75 miles were accomplished in 19 hours. “Stephens tried to get away from Campana, but the elderly person had a watch placed in his room and whenever his younger foeman tried to get away in the night, he found a tottering shadow following him.” After a couple days Campana was close on the heels of Stephens “who is doing some tall hustling to hold his own with the time-worn pedestrian.” Stephens kept Campana in his sight until mile 77, when Old Sport pressed far ahead.

At Boone, Iowa, Campana had walked/ran 55 miles since morning and held a commanding 55-mile lead over Stephens. “Campana was footsore, but determined and confident. He ate his supper and went to bed for an hour, resuming his journey at 9 p.m.” He would take naps alongside the railroad track and would leave a chalk mark to tell which way to run when he woke up.

“Shortly after 9 a.m. on May 19, 1891, a slender, wiry-built, elderly man, with black tights and a red cap, hurried off the Council Bluffs bridge, and followed by a crowd of spectators, made for a saloon.” Campana completed the 500-mile journey in eight days and twenty-two hours. “Old sport, when he arrived, he was tolerably well-pickled in whisky, which he had drunk to keep him up on the way. He drank an enormous amount and attributes his success to that factor largely.” Stephens had stumbled on a railroad trestle in Iowa, sprained an ankle, and had to give up the race. He came in by train.

Campana certainly convinced the public that the reports that he was a wrecked man were false. This was one of the most famous accomplishments of his running career. However, Stephens claimed that Campana cheated. “He had not held to the railroad track but had taken short cuts along wagon roads and turnpikes and was riding whenever he had an opportunity.” Stephens’ progress had been reported from station to station by telegraph. “Campana declared that he followed the line of the Chicago & Northwestern train tracks right through, despite the assertions of Stephens and his trainer, Pendergast, to the contrary. He was sent out by a few Chicago sportsmen simply to beat Stephens, and he swore he would accomplish it by at least a day.” Campana later claimed that he had run the distance in seven days, two hours, which may have been his moving time.

Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part One
Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Two
Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Three
Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Four
Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Five
Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Six
Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Seven

Sources:

Hartford Courant (Connecticut), Jul 6, Oct 26, 1889
The Waterbury Democrat (Connecticut), Jul 11, 1889, Jan 4, Feb 20, Aug 2, 1890
The Morning Journal-Courier (Connecticut), Sep 14, 1889
The Meriden Daily Republican (Connecticut), Sep 19, 1889, Jan 20, 1890
The Journal (Meriden, Connecticut), Sep 23, 30, Oct 21, 1889, Mar 10, Apr 10, Aug 2, 1890
The Day (New London, Connecticut), Sep 23, 1889
The Buffalo Sunday Morning News (New York), Sep 1, 1889
The Brooklyn Daily Times (New York), Sep 7, 1889, May 22, 1890
The Brooklyn Citizen (New York), May 26, 1889
The Inter Ocean (Chicago, Illinois), May 22, 1890
The Rock Island Argus (Illinois), May 22, 1890
Chicago Tribune (Illinois), May 24-25, Dec 23, 1890
The Champaign Daily Gazette (Illinois), May 26, 1890
Detroit Free Press (Michigan), Aug 30, Sep 2-6, 1890
Louis Post-Dispatch (Missouri), Dec 22-29, 1890
Louis Globe-Democrat (Missouri), Dec 23, 1890
The Minneapolis Journal (Minnesota), Jan 6, 1891
Minneapolis Daily Times (Minnesota), Jan 18-19, 28-30, Feb 2, Mar 2, 1891
Star Tribune (Minneapolis, Minnesota), Jan 22, 27-28, 31, 1891
The Saint Paul Globe (Minnesota), Jan 26-28, Feb 22-28, Mar 4, 1891
The Kansas City Star (Missouri), Mar 30, 1891
Grand Rapids Herald (Michigan), Apr 3, 1891
Wilkes-Barre Times Leader (Pennsylvania), May 13, 1891
The Boston Globe (Massachusetts), May 14, 1891
The Buffalo Times (New York), May 16, 1891
The Sioux City Journal (Iowa), May 17, 1891
Evening World-Herald (Omaha, Nebraska), May 19, 1891
Omaha Daily Bee (Nebraska), May 19-20, 1891
The Lincoln Evening Call (Nebraska), May 20, 1891

174: Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Seven