Johnson - Mit - Montgomery InGenWeb Project

The possibilities of human life are seldom more forcefully exemplified than in the career of Dave and Mit Johnson. A few years ago they had plenty of money, and with that supplemental possession, plenty of friends. Saturday they were unceremoniously bundled into a hack and taken out to the poor house to end their miserable lives within its walls—to die unwept, unhonored and unsung.  The Johnson boys were raised in Crawfordsville, their father being a shoemaker, famous for his work in the early years of the town. Mit and Dave were just come to man’s estate when the gold fever broke out and they joined in the mad rush to California. They were among the early arrivals and made a big pile in placer mining. Later, with the money they had amassed, they purchased a promising claim and invested large sums in buying machinery to operate the mine. A large force of men, employed at a heavy expense, worked long and faithfully, but the mine did not prove the bonanza it had promised and when it was closed the brothers were practically penniless. They separated and struck for new fields and in a few years Mit arrived in Crawfordsville with seven or eight thousand dollars he had managed to accumulate in his work. His health was somewhat impaired, too greatly to permit of his continuing the arduous work of mining and he accordingly entered the only business of which he had any knowledge—the saloon business. He and George Driscol entered partnership and were soon operating the crack saloon of western Indiana. They bought the large building just south of the city hall and it was fitted up in elegant style. Costly fixtures of all kinds, an outlay of several thousand dollars for pool and billiard tables alone, and a large cellar stored with the best of liquors. They did a driving business and simply piled money up. Johnson was a liberal man, always contributing to every seeker for charity, and he was imposed upon, as such men always are; but his business prospered and he was popular all over town, his many acts of kindness and his upright dealings causing people to forget his vocation. Finally Driscol died and Johnson purchased his business. He owned the building and its costly contents, and had by far a larger trade than any other saloon in Crawfordsville. His star was at its zenith and while it thus prospered with him, Dave returned from the west, broken in fortune. Mit, like a good brother, took him in and then the seeds of ruin were sown. Dave was reckless and he scattered the accumulations of his brother to the winds. For a while the big trade continued, but as Dave came more and more to the front in the business, patronage fell off. The dissipation of the property, however, did not cease, and to make a long story short, the day finally came when all was gone. It has not been so very long ago and most people here well remember it. Since the then brothers have lived from hand to mouth—like paupers here of late. They roomed in one of the garrets over Manson’s grocery and a few days ago both were taken down sick. The attention of the trustee was called to their condition and as there was nothing else to be done, he ordered their removal to the poor house.

They went together, paupers in health and purse, and when the end comes it will come as a relief to them.