The recent wipin’ out of perhaps the most dashin’ and darin’ man who ever attempted to rule and has been ruined by “the street,” Henry Villard, naturally suggests the thought of how many men before him have had similar experiences.
But of all the so-called “kings of the street” who have been “wiped out,” perhaps the most rapid in his rise and most tremendous in his fall was John M. Tobin, a man already forgotten by the many, and remembered by a few as only a name. Yet at one time, and within the memory of men still livin’, John M. Tobin was as much talked about as Jay Gould to-day.
John got his start as a protege of old Commodore Vanderbilt, and made the old Commodore’s acquaintance in a peculiar, off-hand fashion, characteristic of both parties.
Vanderbilt at that time was runnin’ the Staten Island ferry, and was gettin’ rich fast. He attended to the ferry business in person, and “played it for all it was worth” to Vanderbilt. One day while at the Staten Island end of the line a young chap walked into the office and inquired for the Commodore. The young chap was rather flashly dressed, had a diamond pin and a gold watch chain, and wore gloves. His manners were free and easy, and he was smoking a cigar. He didn’t look a bit like an applicant for work, yet that was his proud position at the moment. He wanted a job on the ferry, and told Vanderbilt so.
The old Commodore, as is well known, was a keen judge of human nature, and boasted with truth that he was never mistaken in his man.
He gave the young chap a searchin’ glance, and liked what he saw, for he saw a good deal of stuff in him, besides his loud dress and his swagger.
“What’s your name, sonny?” asked Vanderbilt, in his brusque way; “what do you want, and what can you do?”
“My name’s John M. Tobin,” replied “sonny.” “I want work and money, and can do everythin’ I am told to do and paid for doin’.”
If he had quoted a whole book of “elegant extracts,” he couldn’t have pleased the old Commodore as well as by this comprehensive, terse answer.
“Have you had any experience in boats?” asked the Commodore.
“No,” replied Tobin, “but that will come in time if you give me a trial.”
“Have you any family or friends?” asked the Commodore.
“No,” answered Tobin; “I have nothin’ in the world but what I have in my back and in my head.”
“Well, sonny,” said the delighted Commodore, who was lookin’ then for just such a man as Tobin promised to be, “I will give you a trial,” and the two men got down to business at once.
Before he left the office that day, John M. Tobin was engaged to “run” one of the Staten Island ferryboats. Vanderbilt gave him his instructions in a few words.
“Young man,” he said,”you are to take the tickets and allow nobody on any pretense to ride free. There are no deadheads on these boats, and you are to start precisely and always on time. These boats wait for nobody.”
“All right,” answered Tobin, and the interview which decided his career was over. The very next day he commenced his new vocation.
The first week of Tobin’s career brought an incident. A young man wanted to ride on Tobin’s boat free because his name was William H. Vanderbilt and his father owned the ferry. This was a good reason in itself, but it wasn’t arranged for in Tobin’s instructions, so he insisted on young William’s paying his fare, and young William paid it under protest.
The story came to old Vanderbilt’s ears, tickled him immensely, made him more attached to his protege, and led to Tobin’s rapid advancement in the confidence of the Commodore.
Soon John M. Tobin became known as “the Commodore’s pet,” and expandin’ from ferryin’ into financin’ began to “operate” in the street for Vanderbilt, and then, through Vanderbilt’s lead, on his own account. In a little while he became known as the most eccentric, darin’ and unscrupulous of Wall street operators, and that is sayin’ a great deal.
At one time he was much more in the older Vanderbilt’s confidence then his son William, who had to take a back seat. In fact, in point of sheer pluck and ability, William H. Vanderbilt was nowhere compared to John M. Tobin.
In less than two months Tobin made, on the Vanderbilt stocks, over two millions of dollars clear profit and clean cash.
He had wonderful nerve; nothin’ staggered him; and in his boldness lay his success. His financial darin’ took the breath away from the average financiers, and before they had recovered from the shock of astonishment the “operation” had been carried through.
He lacked patience and prudence; these were not in his line; but in audacity and brilliancy he has been equaled only by Jim Fisk. Tobin, in fact, was a good deal like Jim Fisk, and when he had made his money spent it in Fisk’s way. He was great on “style” and show. One of his first “splurges” was in a satin-lined coach, one of the finest of its kind in this country. Then he took to givin’ wine parties, and took to gamblin’.
The drinkin’ and gamblin’ fetched him. He was a more darin’ card player than Ben Wood. It is claimed that he lost more money in a single night than any other man in America.
The Elder Vanderbilt remonstrated with John, but it was of no use. He was resolved to go his own gait. If he had had half the prudence and common sense of the slow, phlegmatic William H. Vanderbilt, John M. Tobin would have been a great man to-day. But prosperity turned his head, and the financial genius became a personal fool.
At last the end came, that end which with such men as Tobin is only a question of time. He quarreled with the Commodore, and the night after the quarrel risked all he had in the world on a game of cards.
He lost the game, and the next mornin’ found that his removal from his place on the Vanderbilt roads had been determined on, his appointed successor bein’ the man who had always been to a certain extent, his rival, and for a while his unsuccessful rival, William H. Vanderbilt.
He made one desperate effort to retrieve his fortunes–tried to see the old Commodore in vain, tried to borrow money from his former friends in vain–and then, in despair, about four o’clock one afternoon, left Wall Street forever. He never entered “the street” again; took to drinkin’ more heavily than ever; “disappeared” at last, then turned up as a tramp and “revolver,” or station-house lodger, goin’ the rounds of the various station-houses, and is now, I believe, dead.
Such was the career of a man who was once a king of the street, but who was “wiped out.” There are more “kings” who are yet to be “wiped out.”
[Editor’s notes: Tobin’s last desperate gamble was made at a well-known gambling house, as this article from a Troy paper explains:
