It is known among the good citizens and bad
kids of Denver as “the fight against the jail.”
After moving along regularly through the Senate,
the Judge noticed that his bills suddenly stuck in
the House. “What was the matter?” the Judge
inquired. The clerk couldn’t explain. One eve-
ning a reporter called at the Judge’s house.
“Judge,” he said, “Frank Adams is fighting your bills. His brother Billy, you know, is a power in the Legislature. They don’t dare come out in the open and fight you, but they are telling it around that you are crazy on the children subject, and that the boys fill you up with lies!”
“What had I better do?” the Judge asked.
“Stir ’em up,” said the reporter. “Give me an interview and tell all about the jail.”
“That’s grand-stand playing,” the Judge said, smiling.
“ It’s appealing to public opinion,” said the reporter, “and that’s against the rule of graft, but what do you care ? You aren’t a grafter.”
The Judge made out a statement, but it was too mild. The reporter rejected it, and with the facts the Judge told him and what he and all police reporters knew, Harry Wilber (for that was the reporter’s name) did what newspaper men love to do when they get the chance — he wrote the truth, and he wrote it to ki
