How Dr. Mann Was Brought

Joseph G. Dudley, a Wisconsin Man, Raced in an Automobile for Him.
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CROWDS CHEERED THEM
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Physician Reached the President Thirty-Three Minutes After Mr. Dudley
Made the Start.

        SPECIAL DISPATCH TO THE SENTINEL.
     BUFFALO, N. Y., Sept. 13.—The race for the president’s life on Friday afternoon, September 6, was an intense one and known to but the participants. It developed yesterday that it was as exciting and dare devil as the race of Johnny Baker against the Connemaugh [sic] flood the day Johnstown was destroyed.
     In this case a surgeon was needed and a Wisconsin man, Joseph G. Dudley, now a prominent lawyer in Buffalo, a native and for many years a resident of Wisconsin, gave most valuable assistance. He left the exposition grounds thirteen minutes after the president was shot, drove at breakneck speed five miles in an automobile and returned to the exposition hospital in thirty-three minutes with Dr. Mann, who, Dr. McBurney, the eminent abdominal specialist of New York, declares saved the president from immediate death by promptly opening the stomach, sewing up the incisions and cleansing it so well that the most dreaded of secondary symptoms, peritonitis, did not show itself.
     Mr. Dudley had been one of the committee on ceremonies for president’s day, and on Friday went with the official party to Niagara Falls, arriving at the grounds at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. His first knowledge of the catastrophe came with a sight of the hospital ambulance racing under mounted police escort to the Temple of Music, followed by the blanched face of Mr. Milburn, president of the exposition, who was riding in a carriage. Mr. Dudley got to the hospital before the arrival of the president, assisted in keeping the crowd back and, on offering his services to Mr. Milburn, was quickly told to get Dr. Mann, Dr. Parke or Dr. Parmetter. Mr. Dudley jumped into an automobile and was driven through the west gate. With the one man who had gone with him as an assistant he then took the automobile, the driver acquiescing when he learned its purpose. The carriage was ordered to follow immediately behind, thus forming a relay for the outward journey. Mr. Dudley ordered the automobile given its full current.
     “I’ll be arrested,” protested the driver.
     “No. You’ll not. I’ll answer for that,” said Mr. Dudley. Accordingly the lever was opened to the full. Down Elmwood, across Forest and into Delaware avenue, the mobile tore, Mr. Dudley and the other man at each side, hanging over the dashboard waving people and teams back. At Utica street, the first car crossing, the superintendent of the city police, William Bull was met, driving rapidly to the exposition. He called for news, guessing the errand of the mobile. Before an answer could come two blocks separated them and all shouting was lost in the whirl of the wheels. Just after they crossed Utica the mobile slowed up, Mr. Dudley jumped to the ground and tried the house of Dr. Parke. He was at Niagara Falls and unobtainable. The other two surgeons in the city who could be relied upon were Drs. Mann and Parmetter. The home of Dr. Mann half a mile further on, two miles and a half from the exposition, was the nearest. To that the mobile went, still at full speed.
     Dr. Mann was out. The girl did not know where he was. Mr. Dudley sat down at the telephone, got central, and said:
     “I must have Mr. Milburn immediately. He is at the exposition hospital. It’s about the president.”
     “Mr. Milburn, I can’t get Dr. Mann,” said Mr. Dudley. “He’s not —” A step in the room caused him to turn about. There stood Dr. Mann.
     “Here he is. We’ll be right out,” called Mr. Dudley to Mr. Milburn.
     “Do I need my tools?” asked the doctor.
     “I guess not,” said Mr. Dudley. “He’s at the hospital.”
     “That’ll save time,” said the doctor. “Come on.”
     Mr. Dudley ran ahead down the steps. In front of the next house was another automobile. The steam mobile driver called to Mr. Dudley:
     “I’m afraid the steam’ll not hold out.” Mr. Dudley saw the electric machine, called to the ladies and asked:
     “I want your automobile. I must get the doctor to the exposition without waste of time.”
     One of the ladies asked: “Do you know where we can get another?”
     “I do not,” said Mr. Dudley, “we’ve got to have this. The president is shot.”
     “What!” shouted several. Before they could leave the house to ask more questions the steam mobile, with the doctor, Mr. Dudley, the other man and the driver were up the street, with the electric mobile in hot pursuit, acting as a relay. Four blocks up the carriage was passed, coming down, the horses blown, the driver tired with much whipping. The steam mobile distanced the electric vehicle and soon the two were stringing out like the pace and the rider in a five-mile handicap. The run was straight to the grounds. There Delaware avenue branches out and leads into Lincoln parkway, from which opens the cerefonial [sic] entrance, with its grilled doors. These were closed. The driver was about to pull his lever to slow up.
     “Open it wide,” called Mr. Dudley.
     “But the gate,” objected the man.
     “They’ll open all right,” was the answer.
     Mr. Dudley and the other reached from the front of the vehicle, half in, half out, hanging on by the stanchions, hats in hands, waving frantically and shouting—what they were ever able to remember—as loud as the wind and their voices would let them. Nearer came the gates, faster went the automobile. It looked like a smash-up. Twenty yards away the doors came down and the ceremonial entrance opened.
     The mobile shot through, the great broad court in front and beyond the esplanade and the Temple of Music, around which was gathered an angry mob. Two bicycle policemen were idling in the way. They saw the coming whirlwind, sprang to their wheels and were off in front, cleaning the road of all possible obstructions. The steam gave evidences of playing out. It began to lessen and had it not been for the momentum already acquired the automobile would have slackened. There was still three-quarters of a mile to go. The machine pushed on, slowing up for the crowd, and just on top of the Mall, at the bottom of which, 200 yards away, lay the hospital, the last gasp of steam died away and the break was the only useful lever left for operation. But the race had been won. The road lay down hill, and from there on the mobile with its doctor coasted in, through lines of armed guards and drawing up at the door of the hospital just thirty-three minutes after the start.