THE UNSINKABLE MRS. BROWN.

Upper Hutt Weekly Review, Volume III, Issue 4, 14 January 1938, Page 4

THE UNSINKABLE MRS. BROWN.

CONDENSED FROM "TIMBER LINE." GENE FOWLER, former Denver newspaper man; author of "Trumpet in the Dust," "The Great Mouthpiece," etc. Reprinted with acknowledgments from the "Reader's Digest." Molly Tobin, "who later became "The Unsinkable Mrs. Brown" of the Titanic, grew up in a shack in Hannibal, Missouri. At 15, an illiterate tomboy with flaming red pigtails, she ran away from home, travelled by stagecoach to the gold camp at Leadville, Colorado, and went to work as cook and "potwalloper." Three weeks after her arrival she met and married. John J. Brown, called "Leadville Johnny" by intimates at the Saddle Rock Saloon. Leadville Johnny was 37 years old, as homely as a hippopotamus, unlettered, open-fisted. In less than two months after his marriage to 15-year-old Molly, Leadville Johnny struck pay dirt. He was offered 300,000 dollars cash for his claim. He took it, in thousand-dollar bills and rushed home to "the prettiest sral in camp." "I "wanted you to have it," he said. "But you got to hide it." "Where?" asked Molly. "You figure that out, honey. It's yours. I'm goin' down to celebrate." Early next morning he was brought home by two of his intimates, sober enough to make two requests. One was that the "boys" would not disturb his pretty young wife; the other that they fetch some kindling and start a fire. The boys put him on a bunk, then made a fire. Molly, rousing from deep sleep, sniffed smoke and screamed. She leaped up, scorched her fingers on the stove lids, and delved among the burning sticks, but it was too late. Of all places, she- had hidden the money in the stove, and now her fortune had gone up the flue. She began to sob. Johnny rallied somewhat. When it penetrated his haze that the money had been burned, he sat up and said: "Don't you worry a bit, honey, I'll get more. Lots more." Fantastic as it may seem, Leadville Johnny went out that very afternoon and located "The Little Johnny," one of the greatest producers of gold in Colorado history. It is estimated that he took twenty million dollars from this bonanza. "Nope," he said to the men who had bought his other property, "I "won't sell this one." The meaning of money began to dawn on Molly. The Browns moved "up the hill," -where mine owners and bankers had mansions. Leadville Johnny went the limit in building a house for his bride. As a climactic touch, he embedded silver dollars, edge to edge, in the cement floors of every room. But Leadville now "was not big enough to hold Molly. She had heard of Denver society, of the gay balls and salons. "Denver it is, then," said Johnny. The Browns built a mansion there. Leadville Johnny contemplated paving it with gold pieces, but was dissuaded. Still, the new mansion "was a - show place.

Molly tried hard to get into Denver society. She hired the largest orchestras, gave the costliest balls, drove the finest horses, but met ■with snobbery. She often attended, uninvited, the social functions of her neighbours. Indeed, she became such a nuisance as a "gate crasher" that the ladies decided to crush her. As part of a catlike hoax, Molly was solicited to write a dissertation on Denver society. This she did, labouring at a desk inlaid -with gold. Her "article" appeared, word for word, in a magazine, and she was proud of it until the "whole of the city's upper crust began heaving with merriment. The new author's misspellings, fantastic verbiage and artless philosophies -were there for all to see. At last conscious of her ignorance, and shamed by her social shortcomings,. Molly left town. Johnny said he guessed he'd stay home. "I never knowed how to spell and never claimed to," he said, "and as far as society is concerned, I ain't aimin' that low. Good-bye, honey, and don't forget the name of our bank. It's all yours." Denver saw nothing of Mrs. Brown for nearly eight years. It "was a sensation, then, when she returned to the city, gowned in Parisian creations, and accompanied by two French maids, with whom she conversed fluently in their native language. Indeed, during seven and a half years in European capitals, she had become proficient in five languages. There were other surprises for the home-towners. Molly had made friends with the divine Sarah Bernhardt, ■- had received stage lessons, and even contemplated playing the Bernhardt role in L'Aiglon. She had received instruction in painting and singing and had appeared with some success in a charity concert in London. The hardest blow to her critics, however, was the fact that celebrities and titled foreigners made the Brown home their headquarters "while visiting- Denver. But despite her education in the polite arts, Molly Brown's real nature was manifest at all times. She permitted herself the luxury of forthright speech, and, if in the mood, cursed like a pit boss. When Leadville Johnny refused to "gad about" in Europe and elsewhere, they separated. But he never shut her off from his great purse. He still loved and wanted her to have a good time. All he desired for himself was privacy and the privilege of sitting with his shoes off in the parlour. Mrs. Brown acquired a 70-room house and estate near New York City. She entertained the Astors and other Eastern notables all of "which agonized her Denver scoffers. In April of 1912, the home town "which had refused flatly to receive Molly as a social equal, passionately acclaimed her as its very own celebrity. The S.S. Titanic had gone down, and Molly had been its heroine. Mrs. Brown was 39 when she left Liverpool for New York on the

Titanic's maiden voyage. Instead of a girlish slimness, she now was ruggedly and generously . fleshed. Nevertheless, she still bubbled with vitality. She sang in the ship's concert and was popular with the travelling- notables despite her growing eccentricities. She. amused some and terrified others with pistol feats, one of which consisted of tossing grapefruits over the rail and puncturing them before they reached the sea. Although she spent great sums on clothes, she no longer paid attention to how she wore them. When she travelled, comfort was her primary consideration. So, when Molly decided to take a few turns on deck before retiring, she came from her cabin warmly clad in heavy woollies, with bloomers bought in Switzerland, two jersey petticoats, a plaid cashmere dress, golf stockings, a muff of Russian sables in which she kept her automatic pistol—and over these frostdefying garments she wore a 60,000 dollar chinchilla opera cloak! If anyone was prepared for collision -with an iceberg, Mrs. Brown was that person. In the history of the tragedy, her name appears as one who knew no fear. She did much to calm the women and children. She refused to enter a lifeboat until crew members literally had to throw her in. Once in the boat however, she seized command. There were only five men aboard, and about 20 women and children. "Start rowing," she told the men, "and head the bow into the sea." Keeping an eye on the rowers, she began removing her clothes. With her chinchilla coat she covered three small and shivering children. One by one she divested herself of heroic woollens. She "rationed" her garments to the women who were the oldest or most frail. It was said she presented a fantastic sight in the light of flares, half standing among the terrified passengers, stripped down to her corset, the beloved Swiss bloomers, and the golf stockings. One of the rowers seemed on the verge of collapse. "My heart," he said. "Damn your heart!" said Mrs. Brown. "Work those oars." She herself now took an oar and began to row. She chose a position in the bow, where she could watch her crew. Her pistol was lashed to her waist with a rope. Her hands blistered and began to bleed. She cut strips from her Swiss bloomers and taped her hands. She kept rowing. And swearing. At times, when the morale of her passengers was at its lowest, she would sing. "The damned critics say I can't sing," she howled. "Well, just listen to this—" She sang from various operas—and kept rowing. She told stories. She gave a history of The Little Johnny. She told of the time the 300,000 dollars went up the flue. "How much is 300,000 dollars?" she asked. "I'll tell you. It's nothing. Some of you people—the guy here with the heart trouble that I'm curing with oars are

rich.. I'm rich. What in hell of it? You can't wear the social register. fqr water wing's, can you?" When they -were picked up at sea,. and everyone was praising - Mrs.. Brown, she was asked: "How did you manage it?" "Just typical Brown luck," sh& replied. "I'm unsinkable." And ever afterward she was known as "The Unsinkable MrsBrown." After that voyage she went in for thrills. She took world tours . and explored far places, always meeting adventure halfway. Once she almost perished in a monsoon in the China seas. At another time she was in a hotel fire in Florida. But the Unsinkable one was Unburnable as well. She rescued four women and three children from, that fire. In France she was given a Legion of Honour ribbon, with the rank of chevalier, in recognition of her charities and her work in establishing a museum for the relics of Sarah Bernhardt. Although her husband was a mine owner, Mrs. Brown always took the side of labour, and sent, food, clothing and money to the families of strikers. During the World War she contributed heavily for the welfare of" soldiers, and the Allied nations awarded her all the medals it was possible for a civilian woman to- j receive. She was recipient of personal congratulations and the thanks of kings and princes. After the war she took another of her world tours. When reporters met her in New York, she said: "I'm getting- to be more of a lady every day. In Honolulu I learned to play the > uke. In Siam I mastered the native dances. In Switzerland I earned how to yodel. Want to hear me ?" And she astonished the customs guards by breaking into alpine melody. Mrs. Margaret Tobin Brown died in October, 1932. Apoplexywas the cause. She was buried at Hempstead, Long Island, in surroundings that she loved almost as well as she had loved her Colorado hills.