BEHIND THE DESK

Waipa Post, Volume 48, Issue 3470, 24 May 1934, Page 7

BEHIND THE DESK

OF A GREAT HOTEL. SOME INTERESTING PERSON- <" ALITIES. "Oscar Wilde came into the hotel in. 1881, my first day on the job. I said to myself when I went home that night, 'lt's a fine job you've got for yourself, Mike Toner, permitting you to see so much that is wonderful in the world.' "

But in the fifty-three years Michael Toner has spent behind the same desk at the Hotel Grand, New York, he never did see anything to beat that spectacle of Oscar Wilde demonstrating the importance of being earnest, reports an American paper. "The door slammed open," said Mr. Toner. "It's a revolving door now, but it wasn't then. Well, it slammed open, and I looked up from the register to see a huge sunflower in the very prime of condition strut down the lobby. Behind it was a pale young man, with flowing hair. He was dressed in a blue velvet coat and blue velvet knickerbockers, with a frou-froued shirt, and low-cut shoes adorned by silver buckles. A magnificent show he was, all by himself." For more than half a century Mr. Toner has stood behind a desk and let the world come to see him. "There was Henry Ford," continued Mr. Toner, "dressed like a country parson, pale and serious. He occupied a two-dollar room and was very nice—so nice that I remember feeling sorry that he was engaged in such a hazardous occupation as horseless carriages. He gave me a ticket to the first automobile show in 1900, and I went.to cluck and shake my head." One day Andrew Mellon brought his son in, the boy who was destined to become Secretary of the Treasury under three Presidents, and one of the world's richest men. "Young Andy was in his early twenties and looked exactly like his father used to," said Mr. Toner. "The old man never smiled, never looked anywhere but straight ahead, and never spoke more than he was compelled to. They were careful tippers and stopped in our five-dollar suites." At that time Frank Woolworth was not as fortunate as he was later. He was stowed away on the top floor for one dollar, and then only because his cousin, a steward in the hotel, had wheedled a bargain out of the management. Woolworth could not afford it, but he thought a good address would be good business. "Very proper and serious, Mr. Woolworth was," recalls the clerk. "At that time he had invested his last—or first—7oo dollars in an incredible kind of store in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where nothing cost more than a dime. He came to New York, I think, to get the capitalists interested. "He left a call one morning for 8 o'clock. At 6.30 he sent down to make sure it wasn't 8 yet. He said he thought his watch might be slow. At 7 o'clock he was in the lobby, making anxious inquiries about the best means of getting downtown. He sat down with a newspaper, but he was on the. anxious seat good and sure. And in a few minutes he smiled apologetically at me and started out for his 10 o'clock appointment. It must have been mighty important, and I hope it turned out well. I guess it did. "Frank Woolworth was not much like Major John Calif, who was at Fort Sumter the day the Secessionists fired upon it. It has always been assumed in this hotel that the Major fired the first shot of the war, but when the Major slept it took the crack of doom to awaken him. He left a call for 9 o'clock once, and when 9 came and went the only response to the bell-boy's knocking was a weak grunt. I tied a feather duster to a window-pole, being a young man then, climbed on a chair, and poked it through the transom. I tickled him until I saw his eyes open slowly. Then I scooted. "In fifteen minutes the officer was down in the lobby thundering like the guns before Antietam. He lectured us for not awakening him on time," said Mr. Toner. "I had to get up myself," he roared. "Fortunately for me I have a sense of time. When I decide to get up at a certain hour, my mind automatically awakes me.' "