Judge, 1884-07-12 · page 5 of 16
Judge — July 12, 1884 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous serial story mocking the notorious brutality of railroad baggage handlers in the late 19th century. The protagonist, "good Deacon Jones," a rural character, travels to New York City during peak summer season with a carefully packed trunk. Upon arrival, his trunk has been destroyed—literally reduced to "kindling wood"—by baggage handlers' careless treatment. The satire targets the railroad industry's indifference to passenger luggage damage. Jones attempts repeatedly to recover or protect his trunk, eventually resorting to dropping it from a depot roof in desperation. The dark humor culminates in his death and burial "in the baggage smasher's corner in the cemetery"—suggesting baggage handlers were essentially murderers of travelers' possessions and peace of mind. This reflects genuine public complaint about railroad service standards during the era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE JUDGE. The Baffled Baggage Smasher. OR THE ASTOUNDING ADVENTURES OF DEA- CON JONES’ NEW TRUNK, Wnex Deacon Jones had accumulated a few hundred dollars, by the eale of garden and the like, he concluded that he like to see a little city life, and started for New Y dingly. The unhappy man had selected the summer season for his quite oblivious of the fact that town Jd be empty—however full he might be —and that everyone who was anyone would be moving nght in the opposite direction. Ile also was ignorant of or had forgetten the fact t the tide of summer travel was at its height, and that the best trained and most experienced bs employ of the various would be at their respective po anxious to crush any article in the luggage out of all semblance of humanity at & moment's notice. Ignorant of all this, good Deacon Jones packed his ancient box and gaily started for the depot. He reached the depot ; so did histrank. He took a ticket for lis deati- nation and checked his trunk to the same point. He reached his destination, but his trunk—ah, where was it? Was this little mass of inferior kindling wood, this battered of total wreck, the comparatively neat and handsome trunk which the old woman had packed so carefully for him at home. One by one, familiar garments met his eye as they protruded from the wreek, and convinced him that the pile of kindling wood before ment $ e mortal re- mains of his cherished S. Then fire flashed from I then, although he never eu a left-handed prayer with more fervor than , and then and there he vowed that he 5 that he sicrifice all wreaked avenge roof his wardrobe would p would f business t t to the city ure and J ce mere upon his He has been there a week, uot been idle. He » hack result t big at it. her that can Onec the city. with him in i with leatl thumper on the ra tained its forest 1 7 z usted sul, ved upon the Tt weighed upon ppetite fell otf hits. Ile was plan for trouk. As plan after plan was tried failed, the poor man pined mv visibly. His companions, alarme condition, u 1 him to de bati He was a proud and h ed ma his pride was enlisted. “1 that trunk, or die in the attempt One peaceful morning in th mer, the ba smasher, now worn to a shadow, resolved on one final attempt. He conveyed the trunk to the roof of the depot ngand let it fall below. The trunk 1 Then the ba and murmure smusher’s ove van, ore to ¢ Ie arly sum- his proud © fragrant July morning. friends buried him in the (hitherto w od) he er’s corner in the cemetery, Deacon was aver The t comicbooks.com