Sam Venable

UNCLE SAM VENABLE IS DEAD

Tribute to an Aged Colored Man, (Who) Was Courteous at All Times. 


Sam Venable, an aged colored man, (for) 50 years a familiar figure in Paris, died at his home in this city Monday night and it is not out of place to say that former Paris people, wherever they be, (will) pause with a little touch of regret (on) reading the announcement.  Sam stood (for) much that was distinctive in the life (of) the older Missouri towns like Paris (4?) years ago, and is enshrined in the memory of a multitude. He was hideously ugly, yet very beautiful by reason of the unfailing courtesy he showed on all occasions. Sam liked everybody and could be happy under the direst circumstances. 

Back in the days when cordwood was not a curiosity he officiated at every woodpile in Paris, and his coming was always an event to the children of the family whose fast friend he was.  Never was prettier music than the ring of Sam’s double-bitted ax on a frosty morning, and, as we recollect now, nobody could “talk Indian” half so well as he (or) awaken laughter more eager or more joyous.  All in all, those were famous autumn mornings, and looking back now it doesn’t matter particularly whether ‘sniffenykoss” was Indian, Bulgarian, Blatt Dietch, or just nothing at all.  We don’t know and we don’t care – it expressed something that was in the hear, and that suffices.  Roots and stems are immaterial. 

True, Sam got drunk, but so did the white folks for that matter – drunkenness was associated with gentility not so long ago – but one thing could always be said in Sam’s favor.  The drunker he got the happier he got, and the more courteous and deferential he became.  True also that on such occasions, though not often, he “yelled.”  But still, howsoever, notwithstanding, every man, colored or white, bond or free, is entitled to a yell now and then, whether he really has anything to yell about or not.  We are willing to bury Sam’s peccadilloes with him, though of a truth we really enjoyed hearing him yell. As for Sam, we are quite sure he is walking up the golden streets this autumn morning, smiling happily on old friends and doffing his hat in gentle courtesy to all who pass. 


Source: Undated article by Tom Bodine in the Paris “Mercury”.