ASHES OF FRIEND TO
POOR ARE SCATTERED.
HEAVENS WEEP AS LAST RITES
FOR DR. OSBORNE END.
Eulogy Spoken on Hannibal Bridge
by Dr. Miller, Who Braves Sick-
ness to Carry Out Wish of
Philanthropist.
"Goodby, Dr. Osborne, may God by with you until we meet again."
Standing on the middle span of the Hannibal bridge at 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon Dr. Thomas D. Miller, a physician with offices in the Shukert building, spoke these words.
A minute before Louis Goldblatt, a saloon man on West Ninth street, had unscrewed the top of a fruit jar, and when Dr. Miller spoke, scattering to the winds the ashes which the jar contained.
These ashes were the mortal remains of Dr. E. H. Osborne, friend of the poor; Dr. Osborne, the mysterious, the eccentric.
It was the first time in the history of the Hannibal bridge that the ashes of a human being were thrown from it into the muddy, surging river below.
Fifty persons witnessed the odd spectacle.
A few minutes before they had listened to Dr. Miller make a eulogy on the man whose ashes were to be conveyed to the waters.
The night before, hundreds had gathered at Goldblatt's saloon on Ninth street on a strange mission. They came to view the remains of their dead friend. Many of them were surprised to find no evidence of a casket when they entered, and were more surprised when Mr. Goldblatt pointed to a two-quart fruit jar, filled with what appeared to be white gravel, surrounded by bottles of various brands of whiskey. The saloonkeeper told them that the white substance in the jar was all that was left of their friend.
A large crowd thronged the brilliantly lit saloon that Saturday night. Negroes, Croatians, Greeks and Americans brushed shoulders and laughed and talked as they drank. As Mr. Goldblatt pointed to the odd receptacle among the bottles, he told many interesting stories of the man he had known intimately for twenty years, and nearly all in the large crowd held beer mugs and sipped the beverage as they listened.
A COLLEGE GRADUATE.
"The old doctor and I were friends for many years," he began, "but despite our friendship he told me little of his early history or his people. He came here twenty-five years ago from Brooklyn, where he had owned a drug store. The store was destroyed by fire, and he, disheartened, came here for a fresh start. For a year or two he lived at 1624 West Ninth street, but moved over in Kansas to two little rooms in the rear of 3 central avenue, where he died. He always said he was "Welsh and Saxon, mixed," and that his forefathers settled on Long Island in 1640.
"Dr. Osborne graduated from Columbia University in New York city, and was highly educated. His greatest delight was to argue. He would argue on religion, politics, history, in fact anything he could start an argument about. He believed in a Divine Creator, but did not believe in the scriptures, and had little use for preachers. He could describe the important battles of some of the European wars until I actually believed I could see them. To my knowledge, he has only one living relative, a cousin, Arthur A. Sparks, who lives in Los Angeles, Cal. He was never married and seemed to care but little for the society of women.
WORSHIPPED BY THE POOR.
"The old doctor was a daily visitor to my place," Mr. Goldblatt continued. "He always came in in the evening. We would have a little drink, and then a friendly game of cards, and then he would go home to his bachelor quarters. He practiced among the poorer classes in the West bottoms, and his life record is full of many kinds of deeds for the poor unfortunate ones. That was Dr. Osborne's platform; that was the sentiment that won him everlastingly to the hearts of his people. He was a man of superior knowledge. He mingled with persons far inferior to him in intellect, but he gave them the knowledge that he had, as best he could, and they worshipped him."
