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The Author. Born in Milwaukee 47 years ago, Felix Riesenberg was educated in the N. Y. Nautical Schoolship St. Mary's, the U. S. S. Chase, and, after eight years at sea, in the engineering school at Columbia. He tried for the North Pole with Explorer Wellman in the balloon, America. He helped build the Catskill Aqueduct and was municipal engineer of the Borough of Queens. Then he superintended the New York State Nautical School and commanded the U. S. S. Newport during the War. In 1924, he turned altogether to writing, having already published two sea stories and a textbook. P. A. L., his first novel, was the robustious biography of a U. S. promoter and wildcat bunco artist, "P. A. L. Tangerman." Last autumn he published Vignettes of the Sea, much like William McFee's off-duty ruminations. The polyglot relations in East Side, West Side reflect his own. A deep-chested, straw-haired German, he married, in 1912, Maud Conroy of Queenstown, Ireland.
NON-FICTION
The White Hat—
Height 5 ft. 10 ½ in.
Head—Round as a ball.
Forehead—Bulgy.
Eyes—Blue, mild, pale.
Complexion—Startingly white.
Hair (whiskers too)—Startingly white.
Voice—High and shrill.
Nose—Pug.
Dress—Disheveled but clean, usually white.
Pockets—Bulging with newspapers.
Hat—White plug (cartoonists' delight).
Glasses—Large and round.
Expression—Infantile.
He founded the New York Tribune.
He chased rascals, not dollars.
In eating, he would go for some particular article (as meat, gingerbread) and make a meal of it exclusively.
Utterances: "Hunger, cold rags, hard work, contempt, suspicion, unjust reproach, are disagreeable; but debt is infinitely worse than them all. ... If you have but 50c and can get no more for a week, buy a peck of corn, parch it and live on it, rather than owe any man a dollar. . . .
"Typesetters are not expected to know anything; but we employ the best talent that money and good prices can command for proofreaders, and there is nothing to be said in extenuation of their shortcomings.
"You lie, you villain! You know you lie!" (This he hurled at William Cullen Bryant in capital letters on a Tribune page. The author of Thanatopsis nearly choked with rage).
"I never said all Democrats were saloonkeepers. What I said was that all saloonkeepers were democrats."
Once while Horace sat at work amid a wallow of discarded newspapers there entered a caller. But Horace did not turn around. "Ahem, I am Commodore Vanderbilt," the visitor announced, after a moment.
Horace did not look up. Annoyed, the millionaire raised his voice: "I understand you are lending money to my son ... I wish you to know that if you expect me to be responsible for it you are mistaken. I will not pay one cent."
"Who the hell asked you to?" squeaked Horace, not taking his eyes from his work.
In the Bridgeport home of Phineas T. Barnum a special room was always reserved for him, know as "Mr. Greeley's."
He could survey a page and absorb its contents from any angle-sidewise or upside down.