Purcell - Hannibal
Source: Crawfordsville Weekly Journal Friday, 26 March 1897
Hannibal Purcell, aged 85 years, died Monday at Logansport, having suffered a second stroke of paralysis.
Mr. Purcell was for a great many years a resident of Crawfordsville and no personage will be better recalled by those of our citizens who lived here during Mr. Purcell’s residence. He was a man __full of whims and ____are the stories told of him and his doings. He engaged in all sorts of business and always in some peculiar manner. About the last freak he indulged in here was the erection of a four story hotel building on the southwest corner of Market and Washington Streets. The building was by far the tallest then in this section of the state and was the wonder of all the country side. Its narrow frontage exaggerated its height and made it appear the architectural wonder it really was. The hotel office was on the second floor and its other appointments were in similar keeping. The building was finally torn down and the bricks were employed in erecting about half the buildings which now stand on North Washington Street.
Mr. Purcell left here a number of years ago and the last news of a startling character before his death was an account of his brilliant victory some two years ago in an octogenarian foot race at Logansport.
An old citizen of Crawfordsville speaking of the late Hannibal Purcell’s life in Crawfordsville, said: “Before he located here he was engaged in the circus and show business, and he made quite a good deal of money at this. When he built his hotel he did not let go of his other lines of activity, but maintained half a dozen businesses.
In one of the ground floor rooms of his hotel building he operated a large general store and in the rear of this in another room he maintained a very creditable museum of curiosities and freaks when he had brought with him from his circus life and which proved the star attraction for all the half grown boys in the then straggling little town. This gallery of wonders was open to the public every Saturday afternoon and a nominal admittance fee was charged the gaping country folks bent on seeing the “boots of Julius Caesar” or some kindred curiosity. Hannibal had a perfect aversion for mischievous boys and I remember Alvin Rominger as being his most dreaded and hated enemy. Rominger was then a half grown lad, forever devising some annoyance for the eccentric Purcell. His practical jokes kept the old gentleman in a constant torment and his keen appreciation of Rominger’s power is aptly illustrated in a single incident. Purcell had planned to have a “drawin” or raffle at which a gold watch was to go to the holder of the lucky ticket. The raffle was held in the museum and before the performance began the door keeper, a drunken shoemaker, was admonished by old Hannibal as follows: “Everybody with a ticket can come in and everybody with four bits, can come in. All except Rome. Rome can’t come in.” The news of the exclusion of “Rome” went abroad over town and he was the object of considerable pity and sympathy. To miss a raffle in those days was equivalent to being barred from a period in paradise, and in spite of the edict of the mighty Hannibal, my young friend Alvin cast about for some means of softening the heart of the obdurate door keeper. The hall was packed the night of the raffle and when operations were in full blast, Rominger approached the door keeper with a flask of whisky. The poor fellow who would never have been bribed by money, wavered a moment, then clutched the bottle eagerly and allowed the dreaded Rome to slip into the crowded museum. Among the paraphernalia of the place was an old hand organ which had to be wound up by a crank for several minutes before it emitted a sound and which when once started would not cease its doleful music for almost half an hour. To this sacred relic Rome repaired at once and obscured the audience began to prepare its inquisitorial tortures by turning the crank with feverish haste. Upon a raised platform old Hannibal and his son, Josiah, were conducting the raffle with a saintly pomposity beautiful to behold. Josiah was drawing the tickets from a large band box while Hannibal sat to one side clutching his gold headed cane and presenting a perfect picture of philanthropic impartiality.
A smile of benign sweetness rested in his countenance which suddenly gave place to a look of commingled horror, indignation and distress as the organ’s first wheezing notes drowned the voice of his dutiful son. For a moment the old gentleman collapsed and then regaining his powers sprang up and shouted with tremendous energy and pathos: “Josier! Stop the drawing!” Rome’s in!”
Purcell was, in his day, a great athlete and excelled in all outdoor sports. He was an especially fine swimmer and on one occasion swam on a wager from Delphi to Lafayette, down the Wabash, a distance of over twenty miles.
Said an old business man Wednesday: “In spite of his peculiarities old Hannibal was shrewd when it came to driving a trade. I sat in his notion store one rainy winter’s night listening to him play a fiddle. The instrument was of the very cheapest kind, perhaps worth two dollars, but Purcell was an artist and managed to knock out a very fair quality of music. While he played the door opened and in out of the storm came a great, shambling boy, as green as a gourd. He loved music though, and sat as one entranced as Hannibal played his jigs and catchy melodies. Finally the old fellow ceased and with tender care and solicitude placed the instrument in a cheap pasteboard box. The boy rested uneasily and finally asked the price of the fiddle: “That is a v-e-r-y fine fiddle, neighbor,” said Hannibal, squinting his eyes with the air of a connoisseur at the box, “a very fine fiddle indeed! It’s worth fourteen dollars.”
The boy heaved a long sigh and with almost tearful accents said he did not have so much money. He examined the fiddle though lovingly, and finally with another sigh, handed it back to Hannibal, who played it again, pausing occasionally to expatiate on the virtues of the instrument, which he solemnly declared was direct from the famous workshops of Cremona. Finally he paused and asked: “Well, neighbor, how much money have you got?” “Only eleven dollars” was the doleful answer, and Hannibal again placed the fiddle in the old pasteboard box, saying: “Oh, I couldn’t think of selling that fiddle for eleven dollars. I just couldn’t think of it,” Again the boy sighed lovingly and turning about shambled toward the door. Hannibal watched him narrowly and when he saw the customer was really going, he called out: “Say neighbor, hold on a minute.” The boy quickly returned. Hannibal paused a moment and then asked impressively: “Did you want the box too?”
The boy replied that he wasn’t particular about the box as it was the fiddle he wanted. Hannibal’s face brightened, and looking as though a great obstacle were removed, he said: “Oh well, that’s a different thing, neighbor. You can have the fiddle for eleven dollars, but I can’t throw in that box. That’s a valuable box, young man, a valuable box,” and as the boy passed out joyfully with his fiddle, old Hannibal poked the fire and turning to me, said slyly, “ a v-e-r-y valuable box. It’s worth fifteen cents.”
Purcell was married four or five times and three of his wives died during his residence here. All of them are buried on the bluff just north of the Monon fill. Hannibal was very much affected by the death of each and over the grave of each he erected, for those days, quite a handsome stone. These three monuments are exactly alike and each one is letter with the following touching stanza:
“Sleep dear companion in the tomb;
The Lord hath called thy spirit home
And soon will I be there too.
H. Purcell