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come, bring the girls, and feed their horses. I’ll pay the bill.” So he did, and no one was the wiser. When the bill was presented after a visit of three days it came to $80. The landlord received a check for $100 and was told to keep the change. Naturally he swears by Mark Hanna.
IN April, 1852, Leonard Hanna and his brother Robert left New Lisbon and started on their new business career in Cleveland. They were accompanied by Hiram Garretson, a fellow-townsman of Quaker parentage, and about whom we know at least that he was a man of impressive personal appearance. At one time he represented his country at an international exposition in Vienna. Before the formal opening he joined a number of minor European potentates in a special inspection of the exposition. In describing this royal procession the London Times is reported to have said that the most regal-looking man in the group was the American Commissioner Hiram — which was not so bad for a Cleveland grocer. He and his partners apparently had little difficulty in starting a business, which soon became sufficiently profitable to support them and their families. The family of Leonard Hanna had not accompanied him to Cleveland in the spring of 1852. They joined him in the fall of the same year, after the business had been well established, and moved into a substantial brick house on Prospect Street, between Granger and Cheshire streets.
The fact that Mark considered himself engaged to be married was not allowed to interfere with the more immediately necessary business of going to school. His education was continued during some four years and a half. One of the public schools which he attended was situated on Brownell Street, then called Clinton Street. Later he studied at the Central High School, which stood on the site now occupied by the Citizens' Savings and Trust Co. John D. and William Rockefeller were among his schoolmates, the former being about Mark's own age. Finally his education was finished by an attendance of a few months at the Western Reserve College. Nothing of any importance is remembered about his life during these years —
except the reason for the early termination of his career at college. An interesting account of this incident is supplied by Mr. Hanna himself. In a speech delivered on the seventy-fifth anniversary of the founding of the college, June 13, 1901, he tells the story so well that his account deserves to be repeated in full. He said on that occasion, in the easy colloquial manner characteristic of his public speaking: “I am neither a student nor a scholar, and it is with diffidence I address this audience. My connection with the Western Reserve College reaches back as far as 1857. I had finished my education at the public schools, and I had a choice of going to work or attempting a college course. My mother persuaded me to try the latter. Western Reserve College at ‘Hudson' was near at hand, and there I went. I entered what was called the scientific class, in which a kind-hearted professor made things easy for me. There were five members of the class when I entered it. Later the numbers dwindled to three, and when I left there was not any. “My environment was largely responsible for my going. At my boarding house I fell in with a number of jolly sophomores, and they persuaded me to help them in getting out a burlesque program of the Junior oratoricals. In the division of labor it fell to my lot to distribute these mock programs. I well remember when the iron hand of Professor Young fell on my shoulder. ‘Young man,’ he said, ‘what are you doing?’ ‘I am distributing literature and education,' I replied, “at the expense of the Junior class.’ Well, it was near the end of the term, anyway, and I went home. I told my mother I thought that I would go to work, and that I was sure the faculty would be glad of it. A little while after I met President Hitchcock on Superior Street. I was in jumper and overalls, for I was working. He asked me what I was doing, and I told him ‘working.” He didn’t say anything, but his eyes and manner said very eloquently that he thought I had struck the right level. And the moral of that story is, boys, “Don’t be ashamed of overalls.’” The penalty of expulsion or even suspension looks unnecessarily severe for such a harmless joke. In order to account for it, the reader must understand the high importance of the