James J. Montague

[1] The couple lost their first daughter and son in early childhood; four children survived, including James, his brother Richard, and his sisters Carrie and Jane.

When he heard there was an opening for an office boy at the Portland Oregonian, he was sufficiently interested in becoming a journalist that he offered to initially work without pay.

Hearst was insistent, however, and the writer named what he thought was a prohibitive price, $60 a week — double his salary at the time — and was "flabbergasted" when it was accepted.

Initially, the family lived in a Manhattan boardinghouse, then moved to number of rented houses in New Rochelle[7] where their second son, James Lee Montague, was born.

He produced a poetry column six times a week, in addition to writing a wide range of articles on politics, books, and theater.

McGeehan, then editor of the New York Herald Tribune, said he "took the passing laughter of the day and sent it singing through a typewriter to the presses so that millions could catch its rhythm and understand.

"[1] To Montague's dislike, his work was occasionally confused with that of Edgar Guest or James Whitcomb Riley, both of whom were also popular during the same period.

As Montague's son Richard wrote in his memoir: "Father claimed that [Cody had] re-armed himself with his old six guns and was stalking our sire with intent to kill.

"[11]By this time the circulation wars between the Hearst and Pulitzer papers were past their "yellow journalism" zenith of the late 1800s, but the two continued to battle for market share and talent.

In the article, Montague was referred to as the "Aladdin of the Newspaper Poets" and a "successor to James Whitcomb Riley," a characterization he may not have appreciated.

He admired the publisher's brilliance, capricious generosity and many worthy activities, but he didn't like his persistent distortion of the news and lack of principles.

"[5]: 168  The year after Montague left Hearst, a collection of "More Truth than Poetry" columns was published by the George H. Doran Company.

[12] The book ran 160 pages with a preface by Irvin S. Cobb, and included classic poems such as "The Sleepytown Express,",[12]: 17  "The Ouija Board"[12]: 137  and "The Vamp Passes.

In Eugene Thwing's 1919 book The Life and Meaning of Theodore Roosevelt, the author wrote: "At the Barnes-Roosevelt libel trial in Syracuse I came across James J. Montague, a hardened reporter on a highly anti-Roosevelt newspaper, walking up and down and cursing.

Despite his reputation as a "hardened reporter," Montague had friends in all the political parties of his day — Democratic, Republican, Bull Moose, Socialist and Farmer Labor.

In his first cable, dated January 17, 1919, Montague signaled that the authorities appeared ready to exclude all newspaper representatives from the conference.

In it, front-runners William Gibbs McAdoo and Al Smith fought a war of attrition until, 103 ballots later, John W. Davis was selected as the compromise candidate.

Filing daily under the byline "the Looker-On," Montague chronicled the battle with stories such as "16 Candidates Trying to Pick Least Unpopular: Like So Many Jack Horners, They Dig Their Thumbs Into Convention Pie Containing One Plum.

He had known Franklin Delano Roosevelt since he was a New York state senator in 1910, and in those days "often helped the young legislator with his speeches and with political advice.

[5]: 194  According to his friend and fellow journalist Grantland Rice, Montague was eventually so good that he could "shoot par with hoes, rakes, and shovels.

A noted pigeon fancier, Phillips suggested to Montague that they could make a substantial amount of money raising and selling squabs to restaurants and hotels.

Together they bought four acres of land on Webster Avenue near the Wykagyl Country Club, built a row of pigeon houses and installed 4,000 birds.

[5]: 247 [19] Their dreams of pigeon-born wealth went anything but smoothly, however: A local mobster reputedly demanded a portion of the proceeds, while hotels had a habit of canceling orders.

Members of the Knot-Very Social and Musical Frat prepare to play golf in the 1910s. Among them is James J. Montague, second from left, and Ring Lardner, on the right.