The Saloonkeeper Who Shot Theodore Roosevelt

                

Foreword:  The recent attempt on the life of former President Trump at a campaign rally brought to mind an incident more than a century ago when a “whiskey man” attempted to assassinate former President Theodore Roosevelt in Milwaukee as he campaigned to win a third term as a candidate on the Bull Moose Party ticket.

On September 15, 1912, a New York City saloonkeeper named John Flammang Schrank jotted this note:  “In a dream I saw President McKinley sit up in his coffin, pointing at a man in a monk’s attire in whom I recognized Theo. Roosevelt.  The dead president said “This is my murderer, avenge my death.”  Schrank’s dream set in motion events that ended with a bullet in Roosevelt’s chest, one he carried for the rest of his life.

Schrank was born in Erding, Bavaria, in March 1876 to Katharina Auer and Michael Schrank, a carpenter.  His father died when he was three years old, ushering in a period of instability in his family life as his mother moved from relative to relative.  Nonetheless, young John was able to get a good education, accounted an “outstanding student.”  When he was 12 his life changed abruptly when he was adopted by a paternal aunt, Anne, and her husband, Dominick Flammang, a childless couple who had immigrated to the United States and New York City in the 1850s.  In October 1889 on the Steamship Fulda, shown here, they brought John back with them after a visit to Germany, listing him as their son.

New York saloon

The boy quickly adjusted to his new environment, living in a tenement in predominantly German area of the Lower East Side.  He attended night courses  to learn English.  A voracious reader, he acquired a keen interest in American history and politics.  The Flammangs owned a saloon, largely frequented by the Germanic population.  From the age of 12, Schrank was put to work there, initially as a busboy and upon arriving at maturity, as a bartender.

In 1905 his Uncle Dominick retired.  He passed ownership of the drinking establishment to his 29-year old adopted son.  The Flammangs retired and moved away.  Needing new lodging, Schrank began living in a spare room with the Ziegler family, a widow and three of her adult children.  The newly minted saloonkeeper developed a strong affection for Emily Ziegler, a girl nine years his junior, feelings Schrank believed were mutual.

The General Slocum Disaster

In June 1904, Emily was one of 1,342 passengers aboard the General Slocum steamship being ferried to a Lutheran church picnic. A fire broke out in the ship and it sank in the East River, the worst maritime disaster in New York history.  Emily was among the estimated 1,021 victims.  Called to identify her body, Schrank told the press variously that she was his girl friend or fiance’.  Emily’s death seemed to “unhinge” the saloonkeeper.  Previously known as “mild-mannered, reserved but cheerful…and well liked by patrons,” he showed signs of mental illness, a known malady in his family,  and began to drink heavily.

Nonetheless, Schrank was sufficient cogent to return to Germany in 1906 to collect an inheritance and later to benefit from inheriting the Flammangs’ estate.   This newly acquired wealth allowed him to sell the saloon.  Now having a substantial bankroll but no employment, he dabbled in real estate and insurance, losing money and falling behind on his hotel bills.  His delusions took over his life.  He fixated on Theodore Roosevelt, opposing his run for a third term and believing his candidacy was backed by “foreign powers.”  Schrank concluded that his dream was a vision sent by God. It was his duty to stop Roosevelt’s candidacy even if it meant killing the former President.  He would be an instrument of the Almighty.

For $14 Schrank purchased a .38 caliber Colt revolver, shown here, and began stalking Roosevelt on the campaign trail during the autumn of 1912.   After borrowing money from an acquaintance, he took a steamship hoping to encounter Roosevelt in New Orleans but did not.  Schrank later revealed that over the next 24 days he followed the former President to Charleston South Carolina; Atlanta, Chattanooga, Evansville Indiana, Indianapolis and Chicago.  At each location complications arose about getting close access to Roosevelt.  In Chattanooga he was within 10 feet of his target but said he was “too nervous to shoot.”  

Discovering that Roosevelt would be in Milwaukee on October 14, Schrank went there to wait.  From the local newspapers he learned that Roosevelt would be staying at the Gilpatrick Hotel located downtown at 223 Third Street and not far from the Milwaukee Auditorium where he was to speak.  Schrank found a comfortable spot to wait at Herman Rollfink’s saloon across the street from the hotel. 

In the Germanic drinking environment he knew so well, Shrank told bystanders he was a journalist, downed beers and made no effort to remain inconspicuous.  Just before 6:00 p.m. he left the saloon to watch Roosevelt arrive at the hotel, where the former President ate and rested.  Returning to Rollfink’s, Schrank requested that the house band play “The Star Spangled Banner.”  He solo danced as they did and bought drinks for the band members.  Before leaving a second time about 8 p.m. he bought drinks for the house.  Shrank was on a high. He had seen an opening to his objective.

About 8 p.m. the would-be assassin crossed the street, joining a small group of locals gathered to see Roosevelt depart for his speech at the Milwaukee Auditorium.  Schrank selected a spot less than five feet from the open car where the candidate would be riding.  After leaving the hotel, Roosevelt stood in the back seat and raised his hat to the crowd.  Pushing his way forward, Schrank shot him at point blank range.  The photo above marks their relative positions.  Denied a second shot by being wrestled to the ground, Schrank was captured immediately.  Asked if he been hurt, Roosevelt initially denied it, quoted saying:   "Oh no, missed me that time. I'm not hurt a bit.”  With that, the car moved off to the speech site.

The Milwaukee Auditorium, the largest venue in the city at the time, buzzed with anticipation as Roosevelt entered.  Their mood changed dramatically as the former President opened by saying:  "I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot, but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose. The bullet went in here–I will show you." He then opened his vest and showed the bloody stain on his shirt. The audience gasped.  Roosevelt then gave a 50 minute speech before accepting medical help.

 

That night the former President continued on the campaign trail, entraining to Chicago and checking into a hospital there.  X-rays confirmed that the bullet had penetrated his chest and broken a rib on the right side.  He had not been more seriously wounded because the bullet had been slowed by his spectacle case and his fifty page speech folded in his pocket, shown above right.  Determined to be too dangerous to remove, the bullet was carried by Roosevelt for the next seven years until his death.  He lost the election, splitting the Republican vote and abetting the victory of Democrat Woodrow Wilson.  

Schrank immediately was arrested and held in the Milwaukee County jail.  From the beginning questions arose about the former saloonkeeper’s mental state. The Milwaukee Sentinel [a newspaper for which I later worked] published a special edition on the day following the incident, headlined: "Insane Man Shoots Roosevelt.”  A  Sanity Commission of five local doctors was appointed to examine Schrank.  They concluded:  First—John Schrank is suffering from insane delusions, grandiose in character, and of the systematized variety.  Second—In our opinion he is insane at the present time.  Third—On account of the connection existing between his delusions and the act with which he stands charged, we are of the opinion that he is unable to confer intelligently with counsel or to conduct his defense.

A Milwaukee judge concurred.  Schrank was committed to the Northern Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Waupun, Wisconsin, where he lived for the next 31 years, dying there of pneumonia in September 1943.  He was 67.  His body was given to the Marquette University School of Medicine in Milwaukee for use in physician education.  There would be no gravesite, no memorial stone. 

The Waupun Hospital

 

It has been reported that Schrank had no visitors and received no mail during his many years in the mental institution.   Said to be a model prisoner, however, he occasionally was allowed to go to into the town of Waupun on his own.  Nonetheless, his manias persisted.  When Franklin Roosevelt ran for and won a third term in 1940, Schrank reputedly told a guard that if he were free, he would try to interfere.

Note:  This article principally was derived from two excellent Wikipedia entries, one on the Roosevelt assassination attempt and the other on Schrank himself.  The photos all were accessed from the Internet. In 1926 a memorial plaque commemorating the assassination attempt was placed at the front of the Gilpatrick Hotel. The plaque currently is attached to the Hyatt Regency Hotel, now on the site.  It was there for delegates to the recent National Republican Convention in Milwaukee to contemplate as they also processed the recent assassination attempt in Bethel Park, Pennsylvania.

 

The Samuel Family — A San Francisco Saga

Forword:  This post is provided through the courtesy of the Virtual Museum of the Federation of the Historical Bottle Collectors.  The text is based upon a much longer and detailed account of this pioneering spirits-selling family by descendants Ted and Lee Samuel, described as “well known San Francisco educators.” 

What must have been going through the minds of a couple of German teenagers as they peered through the Atlantic fog heading for New York from Hamburg. Wolff, 15, and Moses, 13, the two oldest sons of Schmul and Hännchen Samuel, were off on the greatest adventure of their lives!

One wonders why so many of the Samuel children left home. Historically, after the 1848 revolutions, Prussia clamped down on all its citizens, and thousands of people from this area came to America between 1849 and 1860, both to avoid the harsh government and the possibility of being drafted into the king’s army. The Samuel children might have been part of this migration. In addition, the lure of gold, discovered in 1849, brought thousands of European immigrants to California, crossing the Atlantic, and then either going around the Horn or traveling to Panama, which they crossed by foot or train, and taking another ship to San Francisco.

They sailed together to New York, where they were befriended by the Bloomingdale family and worked for a few months in the Bloomingdale store. They sent letters home referring to “Tante Bloomingdale” and describing the Hudson River, frozen in winter. When the ice began to thaw, in the Spring of 1860, the boys got themselves jobs as cabin boys on a ship heading for San Francisco, around Cape Horn. This was a voyage that took all summer (winter around the horn), and they arrived in San Francisco in the late Fall of 1860.

The boys then had to get to the Gold Country so they boarded a ship heading north, up to San Francisco Bay, to the “Delta” to Sacramento, a big port in those days, situated on a river leading into the bay. From Sacramento, they had to take a stagecoach to Nevada City, which meant going through the valley and heading up into the foothills, covered with trees. In summer, this trip might take only a few days, but in winter, during the rainy season, the coaches were mired in mud, and passengers had to get out constantly to help push the coaches out. The trip could take a month or more.

Wolff and Moses knew they were getting closer to the Gold Country because all the trees disappeared, and the hills were brown and barren. For example, the Empire Mine cut down all the trees within miles to burn for fuel for its heavy mining equipment, and what was not burned was used for building.

Nevada City

Finally, in November 1860, Wolff and Moses arrived in the twin cities of the Gold Rush, Nevada City, and Grass Valley, four miles apart, both bustling with activity. By 1860, ten years after the Gold Rush had begun, there were law courts, judges, a county seat in Nevada City, and large Victorian homes built of wood, some of which were owned by those who had come early and done well, and some used as boarding houses. The boys quickly found lodgings, Moses in a boarding house, and Wolff in a room above the Union Restaurant on Main Street. Moses began to work for H. Levy as a clerk in his store, and Wolff worked as a peddler, going into the mining camps with a pack on his back to sell supplies to miners who couldn’t get into town.

The first records found began in 1865 when Wolff Samuel received his U. S. Citizenship on August 17, 1865, as cited in the minutes of the County Court in Nevada. He did not, however, register to vote. Also, in 1865 records, the first of many transactions in quartz mines (gold is found in quartz) was made by Moses Samuel, who sold his interest in a mine called “Little Anna” for one dollar in gold. By 1867, Moses became a United States citizen at the county court in Nevada City. He also sold, with a large group of other men, interests in two other quartz mines, one for ten dollars.

Moses had also risen to assume the lease of his boss’s store, which became “M. Samuel and H. Levy, Tobacconist,” and sold the right to live in two buildings behind the store for as long as he held the lease. According to the 1867 Grass Valley directory at the Nevada City Historical Society, M. Samuel, of H. Levy & Co., business at 91 Main Street, Tobacconists, resided on Church Street; W. Samuel (dry goods) boarded at the Union Restaurant, and Aaron Samuel, (dry goods) boarded at the Pacific Hotel. Later, both the Union Restaurant and the Pacific Hotel had been destroyed to put up a freeway, but the building across the street, according to a Grass Valley resident, housed a brothel, and the present owner, an auto mechanic, stores his equipment in the cribs on the second floor.

In 1867, Wolff Samuel, as part of a large group of investors, sold his interest in a quartz mine for $20 in gold. There was only one record of Wolff investing in anything in the area, but Moses was quite a high flyer, and he sold his quartz mine interests in 1869 and in January 1870, just before he left. Also in 1869, Moses bought 160 acres in Nevada City for $205 in gold. According to the 1870 census, Moses, 24, was listed as “retail liquor and tobacco” with a net worth of $4,000.

Samuel logo

By 1871, Moses had relocated to San Francisco, and Wolff returned to Janowitz, (now part of a united Germany) where he took up German citizenship as “Wolff Schmul.” Moses stated that he arrived in Grass Valley on November 15, 1860, and left for San Francisco on January 5, 1870. He went into partnership in the jewelry business with a friend from Grass Valley and married Sarah Rebecca Wolf in 1872. However, having been in the wine and liquor business in Grass Valley, he gradually went into that business, called M. Samuel, Wine & Liquor.

Samuel Whiskey - Three Angles

When his youngest brother, Benno, arrived in 1879, the business became Samuel Brothers, Wine & Liquors, which supported much of the family as they came over from Europe, as well as gave jobs to the children of his sister and brothers. The business was extremely successful and included several wineries. The oldest winery in Fresno county is the one at Lacjac, which was originally called the Sanford winery, date of origin unknown by the wine historians, but it is possible that Moses or the company owned it and it was named after Moses’ son, Sanford. In 1899, Lachman & Jacobi (hence the name Lacjac) bought the Sanford winery and enlarged it in an attempt to fight the monopoly of the California Wine Association. There is also some connection with the Mt. Tivy winery in Fresno county, which was purchased from the estate of Paul Samuel in 1933.

Moses Samuel would continue his business through the 1880s and early 1890s when the Samuel Brothers & Co. filed articles of incorporation in May 1894 in San Francisco, California. The Directors were Moses Samuel, Samuel R. Samuel, Benno C. Samuel, Paul Samuel, and William Samuel. Their capital was listed as $150,000, of which $2,500 had been subscribed. The brothers were wholesale wine and liquor dealers located at 132-134 First Street. There was also a Max Samuel listed as a salesman in 1897. The firm also had a New York City office in the very early 1900s that was headed up by Benno Samuel.

Note:  The Samuel Brothers bottle was imaged on location by the FOHBC Virtual Museum studio led by Alan DeMaison.  The Virtual Museum is a growing online treasure of information about historical American bottles.  The text, derived from the Virtual Museum website, references a manuscript from the Museum of the City of San Francisco, jointly credited to Ted and Lee Samuel.  The Samuels-related photos added here are from the museum site and elsewhere on the Internet.

 

Risque' Whiskey: Females Clothed — and Not So

 

Twice before this blog has featured a post dedicated to the various risque advertising and merchandising artifacts that the distilleries, rectifiers (blenders), wholesalers, liquor stores and saloons of the pre-Prohibition era issued to promote themselves and their brands. In ensuing months I have collected nine more images from that period that reflect the same “sex sells” attitude.

One thing always to keep in mind about America before 1920 is that women generally were not allowed in saloons.   That enabled publicans to feature over  their bars and at other points within their drinking establishments,  pictures of unclothed or otherwise suggestive images of females, knowing there would be no outrage among their patrons.  For those selling whiskey, therefore, providing a steamy sign that advertised their liquor was a natural. 

The first, for Gilt Edge Whiskey, was the flagship brand of Wichman, Lutgen of San Francisco.  The lady, legs akimbo, lies on a red coverlet with a bottle of whiskey next to her.  She seems to be waiting for someone.  Either she or the whiskey is declared “A Treat that Can’t be Beat.”  Perhaps “Guilt Edge” might have been a better name for the booze.  Wichman, Lutgen, founded in 1877,  saw their building destroyed in the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906 and rebuilt, but could not survive Prohibition.

The following bar sign is typical of many in which a demure young lass with flowing hair is shown draped loosely in a blanket or shawl of some type with a bit, just a tantalizing bit of a breast showing. It was issued specifically for by Auge’s for its G and H brand whiskey. So far my research has not been able to uncover either the brand or the outfit that issued it.  

The sign advertising White Seal Whiskey points up another frequent scheme for showing female nudity:   Place the ladies in a mythical or Oriental scene.  Here a pair of young lovers -- she bare breasted -- are being escorted down their river of love on a flower garlanded boat by no fewer than five totally nude river nereids.  This was a very popular bar sign from the Hulman & Beggs Company of Terre Haute, Indiana.  Herman Hulman, progenitor of the famous Hulman motor racing family,  was in the liquor business for many years but his alliance with John Beggs apparently lasted only from 1894 to 1896.

The fairy atop the Old Maid Whiskey sign clearly has a kinship with Hulman’s sea nymphs  and even more generously proportioned and clearly delineated.  When Orene Parker, a Covington KY rectifier,  took Old Maid as his flagship brand, he initially advertised and labeled the whiskey with a sour faced old maid.   The owner of a vaudeville theater and showman,  it apparently did not take Orene long to decide that a more appealing image might sell better.

Gustav Fleischmann,  part of the well-known Fleischmann yeast and distilling family, issued a saucy sign might help sell his principal label,  Gold Grain Whiskey.  Gustav, an immigrant from Germany, apparently liked his ladies with amplitude.  Thus the woman on his saloon sign has a particularly robust backside.  Engaged in a Buffalo wholesale liquor firm beginning about 1882, Fleischmann bought out his partner circa 1893 and changed its name to Buffalo Distilling Company.  It survived until 1918.

Another format for risque' images were paper items like calendars and trade cards.  These would be given out to customers of all stripes to remind them of the proprietor and his wares.  The first here shows a quintet of comely maidens each dressed from head to toe and hardly scandalous in appearance except for the five cats peeking from their bloomers.  With a calendar attached, this image could be referred to on a daily basis for a year.

The trade cards that follow are from a single whiskey man whose name was Simon Hirsch.  A German immigrant who settled first in Leadville, Colorado, serving whiskey to silver miners, Hirsch moved on to Kansas City where he founded a very successful whiskey business. There his flagship brand was Quaker Maid rye.  Initially his label and advertising showed a modestly clad damsel.  But the racy images of the boomtown obviously prevailed and his ads featured women in various stages of nudity, but,  just as interesting, a male presence to ogle them.  Hirsch founded his business in 1877 and continued selling whiskey until 1918 when he switched to hawking an alcohol-laced patent medicine.

Still a third format for using risque in merchandising liquor was the use of the tip tray.   These were liberally provided to saloons and restaurants for use on the bar or by servers to present a bill, hold the payment, bring the change, and, presumably, find their tip.   The Edwin Schiele Distilling Co. put a bare breasted goddess on its tray advertising “Autocrat Whiskey,” his flagship label.  She seems to be emerging from a shimmer of silk or maybe soapsuds, but clearly thirsty for a shot of the good stuff.  The company was founded by Edwin Schiele about 1900 and lasted until Missouri went dry in 1918.

Notes:  The two prior whisky risque’ posts appeared on this website on May 25, 2023 and Sept. 30, 2023.  Longer biographies of many of the “whiskey men” cited here also maybe found on this website: Wichman, Lutgen, July 23, 2012;  Hulman, Jan. 23, 2012; Parker, March 24, 2012; Fleischmann, Mar. 29, 2012; Hirsch, Dec. 10, 2011; Schiele, Aug. 12, 2012, and Moore, May 27, 2012.

Peter Van Schaack Was Chicago’s “Old Salamander”

In Greek mythology a lizard-like amphibian, the salamander, could live in fire and flourish.   Having experienced three conflagrations including the Great Chicago Fire, Peter Van Schaack and his drug and liquor business became known as “The Old Salamander,” a title he eagerly embraced.  In truth, much of Van Schaack’ s life involved surviving in the face of adversity.

Van Shaack was born in May 1832 in Manlius, New York, a bucolic town amid the rolling hills of Onondaga County east of Syracuse.  He was the fourth son of Peter and Louise Smith Van Shaack, affluent parents able to give their sons good educations.  Disappointment came early to young Peter.  Attracted to the medical profession, he left home as a youth to live with an uncle, Dr. Lucas Van Shaack, one of New York’s most eminent doctors, to study with him to become a physician.  When his uncle unexpectedly died, Peter was forced to give up the pursuit of a medical career and went to work in an Albany wholesale drug house.  

After two years there, the rugged winter climate of New York State appeared to affect his health.  Having sufficient resources, Van Shaack gave up his job and visited the warmer West Indies, an addiction to travel that would become a lifelong obsession.  Deciding to give up New York for warmer climes, Van Schaack gravitated to Charleston, South Carolina, about 1859 where he founded his own wholesale drug house.  Although that enterprise seemingly was successful, when the Civil War broke out two years later, with Charleston as the epicenter, Van Schaack was forced to make a choice.  Opt for the Confederacy or leave.

Choosing the Union cause, he made a quick decision to abandon his enterprise in Charleston and return to New York.  His drug house was confiscated and he lost what has been described as “the accumulation of years.”  With his remaining resources, Van Schaack made the first of at least ten extensive tours of Europe before settling back to business.  This time he chose Chicago for his wholesale drug house.  The Windy City would be his home for the rest of his life.

During those intervening years, Van Schaack and his business came to be known as “The Old Salamander,” the result of surviving three devastating fires and each time coming back strong.  I have been able to document only one of those conflagrations, that of the Great Chicago Fire of October 1871. The fire began in a neighborhood of southwest Chicago and spread rapidly to destroy much of the central city. 

 

Shown here at No. 30 is the location of Van Schaak’s wholesale drug company two blocks within the fire zone at 138-140 Lake Street.  The scene above, looking from the Chicago River, captures the ferocity of the flames that consumed his wholesale drug company.  As a biographer explained:  “Mr. Van Schaack has had the misfortune to be entirely burnt out three times, on [no] occasion having the fire originate in his own store…By energy, pluck and untiring perseverance, was enabled to re-establish himself on a firmer basis than before.”

As a result of those recoveries, fellow businessmen and Chicago citizens alike began to refer to Van Schaack, as “The Old Salamander,” harking back to the ancient legend.  The man himself eagerly embraced the acclimation as an emblem of his ability to bounce back from adversity stronger than ever.  The nickname became part of his advertising efforts, appearing on informational brochures and his letterhead.

In the meantime Van Schaack married.  In 1853 when she was 20 years old and he was 21, Peter wed Louise Smith of New York City.  Over the next decade the couple would have four sons,  John, born in 1858; Henry, 1860; Robert, 1862, and Cornelius, 1863.  The father eventually would house this family in a comfortable frame house at 617 Linden Avenue in Chicago.  Shown here, the house still stands.

As they matured all four boys would assist their father in his fire-beset wholesale drug emporium.  It included vigorous merchandising of his products, including Van Schaack’s proprietary brand of liquor, advertised as “The Famous Rialto Whiskey” and represented below with a back-of-the bar bottle.  The proprietor registered the name with the U.S. Patent Office in 1891.  As shown by the ceramic jug here he also appears to have sold spirits blended in his quarters

under his own name.

Van Shaack’s company became known in Chicago and the Midwest for his annual catalogue of many pages advertising its wares.  Customers were allowed just one and may have eagerly paged through each edition seeking the imaginative illustrations Van Schaack provided.  Perhaps the company’s best known illustration was one for sponges.  Shown below, it has been reproduced frequently through the years, appearing on T-shirts and caps.

Chicago Orphan's Asylum

“The Old Salamander” also was an activist in his trade and in Chicago.  He served as first vice president of the National Wholesale Drug Assn., first vice president of the Central Drug Exchange and president of the Chicago, Drug, Paint and Oil Exchange.  He also served a term as a director of the Chicago Orphan Asylum and was a member of the Citizen’s Assn. of Chicago, a group that formed to secure the city against further disasters from fire.  It was responsible for laying the foundations of the water system and a modernized fire department.

Van Shaack also was kept busy on the home front.  His eldest son, John, had fallen in love with Florence Palmer, 17, one of four daughters of Captain Palmer of Covington, Kentucky, and reputedly the niece of Potter Palmer, a major Chicago land developer.  When Florence and John met at a social function in Chicago, the attraction was mutual.   Although his father objected to the marriage to Florence, presumably because of her age and erratic behavior, John married her anyway. The newlyweds moved to New York and had a son.  After seven years married, following an 1807 visit by John to his parents in Chicago, he failed to come home.  Florence told the press:  “I fear his father has influenced him to desert me.”

In a continuing saga that made headlines in Chicago and New York, Florence hired a well-known attorney and sued Van Schaack for $65,000 in damages for alienation of affection.  Tried in a New York court, the “Old Salamander” was found guilty and directed to hand over the $65,000.  Perhaps even worse from Van Schaack’s perspective, John, apparently out of concern for his own son, returned to Florence despite his father’s opposition.

As this “soap opera” marriage continued to attract press attention, Florence’s behavior became more bizarre.  She attempted an abortive stage career, then claimed that John was having an affair with an unnamed “countess” and that the other woman had attempted to poison her with a glass of champagne.  A police investigation labeled Florence’s charge “a dream.”  The couple divorced.  In April 1911, at the age of 53,  John died of an apparent heart attack while staying at a Washington, D.C. hotel.

None of his travails could curb Van Shaack’s zest for travel.  By 1894 he had taken ten voyages across the Atlantic.  With sons Robert and Cornelius to look after the business, he and Louise were free to enjoy extended trips to England and the Continent.   The Chicago Tribune reported:  “He has marked the progress of ocean travel from the thirty day trip to the seven day jump and anticipates crossing inside four days before he lays aside his traveling bag and spyglass.”

Van Schaack’s reputation as a wealthy American businessman opened doors for him abroad, among them that of William Gladstone, the former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. Gladstone’s service spread over four non-consecutive terms beginning in 1868 and ending in 1894 — the most ever of any British prime minister.  The Van Schaacks appear to have encountered him not long after he had retired from politics and was living at his estate in Hardwarden, England.  

Gladstone invited the Van Schaacks to visit as Peter related to the Tribune upon the couple’s return to the U.S.. “He is rightly named the “Grand Old Man and while avoiding all references to politics or public matters, was brimming over with sociality,” said Van Schaack.  Gladstone showed the Van Schaacks a tree he had taken down a few days earlier that was being carved into keepsakes to be sold at a charitable fair by Mrs. Gladstone.  The Van Schaacks clearly had “arrived.”

Van Schaack, now approaching 70 continued to be listed as the head of the wholesale drug business he had founded and nurtured through three devastating  fires.  He died in December 1904.  After a private funeral in Chicago, his body was returned to his birthplace in New York for burial in the Manlius Village Cemetery. shown below.  Louise would join him there 13 years later.  In the meantime Peter’s sons guided the wholesale drug firm into the 20th Century.  The legacy of “The Old Salamander” lived on.

Note:  A wide variety of sources was employed to craft this vignette of Peter Van Schaack, among them stories in the New York Times and Chicago Tribune.  Another major contribution was a biographical article in the January, 1889, issue of “The Pharmaceutical Journal.”