Hello Celebritys

In case you're wondering, we aren't posting this to glorify anything. Consider it an interesting bit of cultural history (lots of references to a well-knit Irish community here) and a peek into the minds of men who saw the world very differently.

The ebay seller described it best: "reflective of the social mores of its time - an era not far past human slavery, a time when women still didn't have the right to vote! Memorial to a beautiful old dog, who although clearly loved, was subjected to a life we view today as morally reprehensible. A reminder of how times have thankfully changed. Here's to you old Spot, and all the dogs WE fight for today." Indeed.

This is how it reads:

BURIED AT NIGHT, A HERO

Victor in Many Battles Rests in McKenzie's Cemetery.

FRIENDS BY LEGION MOURN.

Pour Out Tributes, Pour in Potheen -- He's Gone, Doggone.

They buried him last night - old Spot, hero of half a hundred fights. They laid him deep at dead of night, and gave him a wake and a sermon.

A keg of beer was tapped in the basement of Dan Ronan's, 3125 Emerald avenue, for he belonged to Ronan, though all the neighborhood called him friend. There was plenty of tobacco and dozens of clay pipes, and the number of sandwiches couldn't be counted.

The mourners came early to pay their respects to the dead champion. They brought flowers and laid them down on the home made coffin. They sang songs to show their sorrow and buried their grief in dancing the griz.

Crepe on the Door.

There was a crepe on the door, and honorary pallbearers, and mourners everywhere carrying lighted candles. And there will be a headstone with theis simple inscription engraved upon it: "He's gone! Doggone!"

Altogether, Spot would have loved his own funeral if he had been alive!

Old Henry Lawlor - great friend of Spot preached the sermon, insisting that it was a dogmatic sermon. He praised the virtues of the deceased, who had been faithful to his master for fifteen years, and who had won more friends than any human in the neighborhood.

Then the funeral cortege got under way, the grave was dug in McKenzie's cemetery, a vacant lot, the tapers were lit, the last words were said: "Poor old Spot, the cats will miss you much!" - the grave was filled in, and the mourners returned to the keg and the sandwiches.

Keg Dry, but J. P. Walsh Helps

The keg was dry and sandwiches gone, so the funeral party went to the saloon of John P. Walsh, state representative and friend of the dead fighter, and drowned their woe again.

Spot was 15 years old, a bull terrier. In his prime, not a dog could whip him. Ronan matched him against the best in his class and he won time after time. Lately, however, he had taken life easy and accumulated many bones which he buried in the yard.