Hiram N. Wheeler

Hiram Nicholas Wheeler

THE DEATH OF H. N. WHEELER HIRAM NICHOLAS WHEELER HIRAM NICHOLAS WHEELER, editor and proprietor of The Quincy Journal, who since August 20 has been under treatment at Dr. Frank P. Norbury's sanitarium in Jacksonville, Ill., died there Sunday morning at 8:05 o'clock.
     Mr. Wheeler's death was caused by a general breakdown, both physical and mental, and the end came after a long and busy life. Since last February Mr. Wheeler had been in failing health, and his decline was gradual up the middle of August when changes both alarming and grave began rapidly to develop.
     The end came quietly and he is at rest.
     Mr. Wheeler was born on a farm near St. Charles, Ill., March 30, 1844, and was one of the oldest newspaper publishers, if not the oldest, in the state. As a boy he attended country school and received his education in the rural educational institutions of that day. His father had planned to educate him for the ministry but the Civil war came on and Mr. Wheeler, enlisted in the Union army and served in the Fifty-second Illinois volunteers throughout the war.
     After the close of the war he returned to St. Charles and began his career as a newspaper man in 1870 as the St. Charles correspondent for the Elgin. Advocate and for the Chicago Tribune under Joseph Medill.
     Shortly afterwards he and Frank McMaster and Frank Archer, also of St. Charles, bought a small country weekly, The St. Charles Transcript, the name of which was later changed to The Northern Granger and still later to The St. Charles Leader.
     In 1878 Mr. Wheeler moved the Leader to Elgin, Ill., which he later sold and which is now the Elgin Review. In 1880 he took editorial charge of the Pekin Times.
     From Pekin he came to Quincy in 1881 where he and Frank McMaster bought the Herald, which Mr. Wheeler edited and published for two years. In 1883 he sold the Herald and on September 11 of the same year brought out the first issue of The Quincy Journal, which he owned and published up to the time of his death.
     It was during the struggles of his early years that he met and made friends of such men as Joseph Medill, Melville E. Stone, Eugene Field and others who contributed much to the ideals toward which he strove. He belonged to the old school of journalism in which the personality of the editor showed in the editorial page. He was a man of strong likes and dislikes and was an advanced thinker, a hard fighter for the right as he saw it, and a clear and forceful writer, who used his newspaper as a vehicle in which to carry his ideas and impressions to the public.
     Mr. Wheeler was a life-long democrat. He began his political career in 1872 when he supported Horace Greeley against Grant. He was ever loyal to the principles of democracy and unswerving in his allegiance to the party. He had never held public office but in 1906 made the race for congress in this, the Fifteenth district, as his friends and supporters were insistent on his entering the campaign. In 1912 he went to Baltimore as a delegate to the national convention. He was active in Illinois state politics for many years and his advice and counsel were sought by the leaders of the party on all important occasions. Through The Journal, his mouthpiece, he voiced his opinions and uttered his convictions in no uncertain words and he stood firmly for his party's interests.
     Mr. Wheeler's chief outdoor pleasure was in working among trees. He loved the Big Out Doors and he loved the trees. He had planted hundreds of them on his home place at the northwest corner of Thirtieth and Broadway and among them he had spent many hours of arduous and pleasant work. He loved the parks and he had written many columns about them. He was a pioneer in the work in Quincy that has resulted in our present magnificent system of public parks – one of their first and most loyal friends.
     Mr. Wheeler is survived by a wife and four children, two sons, both newspaper men, and two daughters. They are: J. Dean Wheeler of the Sioux City Journal, Sioux City, Ia.; John R. Wheeler, who has been in St. Paul, Minn., but who, since his father's illness has been in charge of The Journal; Miss Gladys Wheeler, at home; and Miss Bernice Wheeler, who is a student at Illinois College, in Jacksonville.
     He also leaves one sister, Mrs. Mary Davidson, of Austin, Minn.; and two brothers, J. B. T. Wheeler, of St. Charles, Ill., and J. Niles Wheeler, of Geneva, Ill.
     Funeral services will be held at 3:30 Wednesday afternoon, at the family home, Thirtieth and Broadway. Burial private.
     What more is said in his newspaper concerning the life and work and the death of H. N. Wheeler must be simply said and plainly told. He feared praise because he knew it is usually tainted with flattery; he dreaded commendation because he knew it is usually associated with selfish purpose on the part of him who offers it. We must, therefore, “come to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” or shall cause discord in the plan of life he lived out for himself.
     For more than a year the shadow of death was upon him. He knew it well, We who worked with him would not see it, though often he pointed out the “pale horse” that stood beside his door and told us plainly the time was close at hand when he must mount and ride away. Cheerily he said it, with that queer little smile that we shall never forget who were of his newspaper family, and the wonderfully bright old eyes looked into the future with a certainty that was beyond our comprehension, and with never a trace of the fear that was in our own hearts. He knew how it was coming and told us that, and he dreaded and feared only that it would not come soon enough to prevent the misery of existence of body after the mind had fled. A year ago with a prophetic view of the land beyond the sunset, he said in his newspaper:
     Death is about the best thing that can come to most of us. There is no doubt about it. When a man's time is up he ought to go, and that's when death ought to come along and pass him over into the land of dead. There is nothing more sad than too long life. I never meet an old soldier that fears death. All that I talk to are ready for it. And why shouldn't they be? Death to an old person should be looked forward to with sincere pleasure, and I believe that most old persons do look forward to it thus. It was the one great failing of this man that he wore his worst side outward and gave the world a wrong impression about himself. In his home community the knowledge of this fact was, common and hundreds of his home town people had long since penetrated the less beautiful mask of his outward life and found the beautiful soul within and the generous and most kindly heart. Testify to this you who have known him well – you who have taken your troubles to him for solution when they seemed about to overwhelm you – you who have found that nothing you could ask of him was too much for him to grant if he had power to grant it. Testify to this, oh city that he loved and toiled for so tirelessly that his toil was voluntary slavery. Never a selfish thought came into his wonderful mind. It was so natural for him to bestow upon others that he took no heed for himself, nor thought that he was making any sacrifice of labor or money, when in fact he might have well died a millionaire had he given to himself that which he so freely gave to others. Friendship? Ah, who can measure the limits of his friendship when once it was bestowed. No worthy man ever sounded its depths to the bottom. With the Shadow upon him last September, he wrote in the Journal:
     What should we do without our friends? What would life be worth without them? Money is dross, just junk, compared with friendship. Our friends are all that, we have to live for – those that are related to us, and all the others.
     “There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where the highways never ran.”
     In achievement his name will live for many years, perhaps as long as Quincy shall be a city and one stone of its buildings shall remain upon another. Those who come after us, to write the history of this beautiful city must say in their works; “H. N. Wheeler did valiant service in establishing the park system”; “H. N. Wheeler fought effectively for better streets and better country roads”; “H. N. Wheeler was a leader in the erection of the splendid Y. M. C. A. building, in the erection of the Chamber of Commerce, in the erction of the Masonic temple, in the erection of every public building that now adorns Quincy”; “H. N. Wheeler was first and foremost in the struggle for better transportation facilities”; “H. N. Wheeler was very largely instrumental in establishing the great industrial center of Walton Heights and in bringing to the city the factories that make that center”; he wrote powerful articles for his newspaper during the day, and at night went upon the public platform and spoke in his convincing manner for the establishment of these things and between times did Herculean labor individually with the men whom he knew should become personally and financially interested in these and a thousand other projects for the city's welfare and the betterment of all its people. No history of Quincy can ever be written without the frequent mention of his name.
     “What though I live with the winners, or perish with those who fall; Only the cowards are sinners. Fighting the fight is all.”
     For he was a fighter, this man of kindly heart withal. He loved battle. In the time of civil strife – of which he seldom talked, and never told of his own deeds – he was in the midst of bloody carnage and revelry of fearsome death at Fort Donelson, at Shiloh; he was a unit in the iron ring that, contracting, crushed the Confederacy out of Vicksburg; he marched with Sherman's army from Atlanta to the sea and often said, with his indomitable general, truly, “War is hell.” He knew it by experience. He knew it so well that he braved every danger and went to every limit to do all one man could do to prevent war. In a way, he gave his life for the cause of peace because his trip with the Ford peace party was his own undoing. He believed there was a possibility that ill starred expedition might accomplish something, when it started out, and its fruitless conclusion was a bitter disappointment to him. At Altoona Pass, when the bravest, sturdiest little detachment of Boys in Blue were holding out against several times their number of equally brave and desperate Boys in Gray, Hiram N. Wheeler worked one of the first repeating rifles ever made, and saw with his own eyes just as all hope seemed about to forsake General Corse's little command, of which he was a part, the glorious signal of Sherman's troops approaching for reinforcement, :Hold the fort, for I am coming,” waved from a distant mountain peak. The incident that formed the basis for the grand old hymn was an incident in his own life. But when pressed to talk of the civil war, and of his own participation therein, it was characteristic of this man that he usually told something of the story of the Confederate spy, Sam Davis, and of Davis' bravery and ignoble yet glorious end. Mr. Wheeler was, so far as known, the last man who was one of Sam Davis' captors and guards. He took a liking to the spy and talked with him frequently and when Davis was taken away to his execution, H. N. Wheeler stood beside the death cart and bade him farewell and wished he might have safe passage into the Land of Peace and find there just reward for duty well done even though it conflicted with the cause for which Mr. Wheeler was offering his life. At the time of his death H. N. Wheeler was the only man who could have written the story of Sam Davis' capture and death, yet he would not write it because he had played an important role in that drama, and now it is lost to history for all time. In Nashville, Tenn., they have reared in a beautiful park a lofty monument to the memory of Sam Davis. To those who knew H. N. Wheeler, well, that monument also speaks of another brave soul who was a friend in need to Sam Davis and did all that he could in honor do for the brave southerner. It was characteristic of Mr. Wheeler that he should refer to this incident rather than to his own deed of valor. It was the human-side the friendship side that left the most lasting impression upon him.
     In the political history of Illinois, too, the name of H. N. Wheeler must be written often and always with honor. He was in the forefront of the greatest political battles since the civil war, and was always counted on, without question, as a leader of the Democratic forces. This town has surged and seethes with bitter political excitement in which the name of “Wheeler” was foremost on every tongue. Yet he walked out among the maddened populace as calmly as though he were going to a fete, nor heeded shouts of praise nor hurled threats against his life, nor darkest imprecations. At Springfield, after he had grown old, a state convention became riotous and again the old hero was the center of the angry mob. And again he walked, not away from the turmoil, but bravely forced his way down the center aisle through the thickest of it and only turned back when he clearly saw that by so doing he could restore peace. He was vice-chairman of the State Central committee and was, for many years, a most active member of that committee. And in this his chief characteristic was, as in all things else, unselfish effort for his friends. He used his political influence – and it reached to the very head of government in Washington, where he had access to the private office of the President himself – he used it all for his friends never, never, for his own gain or glory.
     No man was ever more thoroughly in touch with the heart of the great Central Valleys than he. He knew the needs and the requirements of this mid-west country and gave them his best thought and effort. The Mississippi river improvement had no more faithful nor more able advocate; and none so quickly condemned misapplied effort and “pork barrel” policies of river work than he.

     “I do not fear to tread the path that some I love have long since trod;
     I do not fear to pass the gates and stand before the living God.
     In this world's fight I've done my part;
     If God be God He knows it well;
     He will not scorn nor scourge me now nor doom my soul to depths of hell.
     Because I have not prayed aloud and shouted in the market place.
     'Tis what we do, not what we say, that makes us worthy of his grace.”

Born and raised a Baptist, his religious creed was a broad as the mercy of God. He loved mankind and truly believed, as he often said, “the best study of mankind is man.” Every religion that has for its foundation the potential divinity of God was respected by him and all creeds were favored with his support and with his personal beneficence.

“Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?”

These things are said that should be said 'ere the book of H. N. Wheeler's life is closed forever. Surely these truths may be set down without undue praise and without flattery; without disturbing the quiet of his peaceful rest. More might be said; but “I have neither wit, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I tell you that which you yourselves do know.”
There are hundreds of people now living and many who have gone on before who will say of H. N. Wheeler: “He was my friend, faithful and just to me.” And this, he thought, was what made life worth while.

[Source: The Quincy Daily Journal, Date: Sep. 5, 1916; Section None; Page: 6 - Transcribed by Debbie Gibson]