Capitol Square Guards Are Veteran Officers

Four Caretakers Have Rolled Up 127 Years Between Them

By Raube Walters

Above, left to right, in order of their years on the job:
J. P. Pettis, T. A. Carroll, John William Truslow and Wilborn F. Woolridge

Few State employees have much occasion to come in daily contact with the public. Yet, one of the most interesting of the groups of State employees, known to practically every Richmonder and greeted intimately by many daily, are the guards stationed in Capitol Square. And in this group of four men represented a total of 127 years of continuous service to the State. In order of their length of service, they are: J. P. Pettis, T. A. Carroll, John William Truslow and Wilborn Wooldridge.

When in the administration of Governor P. W. McKinney, "Cap'n Jack" Pettis, then aged 24 years, received his appointment as a guard, the rate of pay was $60 monthly. Each guard worked a 12-hour shift and 24 hours when his change of shift came. Today, "Cap'n Jack," at 73 years of age, still does his eight hours of guard duty daily and has the responsibility of supervising the group of prisoners sent down each day from Henrico County jail to clean up about the Square, cut grass, paint benches and similar work in summer and shovel walks in wintertime. There are eight of these men and four of them are employed on the grounds of the Executive Mansion, while the remaining four put in an eight-hour day on the Capitol grounds under "Cap'n Jack."

"Cap'n Jack" has only his memories as his savings for the years he has spent in State employment. Those memories are rich and variegated. He has known personally all the Governors since his appointment in 1889; bureau chiefs and members of the General Assembly have come and gone and some returned again. When he was appointed, the wings of the Capitol building and the addition to the Executive Mansion were yet to be built. The State Library Building and the State Office Building were unthought of in those days.

In common with his fellows, he has known his share of mildly insane persons who frequented and still occasionally frequent the park. Epileptics have been a common experience for the guards who rarely call an ambulance, but make the epileptic as comfortable as possible and await the recovery from the seizure. Drunkards of all kinds are an old story to them. Prostitutes have rarely invaded the Capitol grounds, according to "Cap'n Jack." Arrests have been relatively few, although an old act of the General Assembly conferred police powers upon the guards in cases of misdemeanor within the grounds.

Back in those early days, "Cap'n Jack" recalls, there was a fine for taking a dog into the Capitol grounds, no matter how carefully leashed. Walking across the grass was subject to a fine, and sitting upon it was unthinkable. "We had a different class of people come into the grounds then," he says. "They were real ladies and gentlemen. On a Sunday afternoon some of the best people of Richmond used to take their airing in the grounds. Ladies with fancy lace parasols and men in Prince Alberts. It was real nice to watch them walking around." His voice expresses regret and nostalgia for the lost refinements of our civilization.

Despite the fact that "Cap'n Jack" had to quit school when he was 9 years old and worked in the Tredegar Iron Works until his appointment to his present position, he is an interesting and informed conversationalist and both genial and jovial.

One of his fellow guards declares that if a man were to attempt to go swimming in the fishpond in front of the State Office Building, "Cap'n Jack" would be unruffled and would probably lead the fellow away, patting his shoulder paternally and assuring him he knew exactly how he felt, had felt that way himself and to come around some other time and he'd join him.

"Cap'n Jack's" disposition and temper and handling of his job of contacting thousands of people from millionaires to hoboes has undoubtedly been a valuable goodwill asset to Virginia. Tourists enthuse over his courtesy and his memories when he can be lured from his job long enough to talk with them.

Grass Taboo Lifted in Wartime

What's the thing that interested him most? Like all the others, he declares he can't think of a thing. And the, "Well, I guess it was the time all those British lords and bishops and fellows like that would slip out of a meeting they were at over at St. Paul's and come over here for a breath of air and a smoke maybe. They were real nice fellows. I can't remember what the meeting was about. You better ask Dr. Tucker that. But one of 'em sent me a copy of a sermon he preached at St. Paul's and said it was the result of some talking we did. I've lost that sermon and I'm real sorry."

That's his highlight of memory, alongside it the additions to the Capitol and Executive Mansion and the new State buildings are dwarfed. A small man, almost tiny and a little corpulent, with twinkling blue eyes and a wistful white mustache against the high coloring of cheeks reddened by years in the outdoors, he is adored by the colored prisoners whom he supervises.

"Cap'n Jack? Yas Suh! He's sure one fin' man to work for. Never mean nor nothin' like that." And they grin broad admiration of their "boss man." About the possibilities of a pension he can't get very excited. "I guess there's some one or two clerks have been here even longer than I have. Perhaps we ought to get a pension, but there hasn't ever been one and it don't look promising. City police and firemen don't get any either and it looks to me like they have a real kick about not getting one. It would be nice if it happened."

Older Richmonders had more opportunity of meeting T. A. Carroll. For years now, he has been on the shift from midnight to 8 in the morning. Although he has been a guard for 37 years, when he took his position the rate of pay was still just $60 per month.

"You know," he confides, settling himself back in a bench, "when I took this job I didn't mean to stay so long. But I guess it ain't been such a bad thing in some ways even though the pay hasn't been big ever. My trade was that of a nailer. You know back in those days they used to make nails by hand and it was about the best paying job there was. A nailer was the aristocrat of mechanics. And then we went on strike and the next thing we knew they had a machine to make nails. Well, I had to do something else, so I worked as a machinist which wasn't so bad, but a little unsteady. Sometimes you worked and then again you didn't. This job came along in a slack spell and I took it."

"You know," he went on, "when I was younger I wanted real bad to study to be a veterinary. Had a knack with horses and dogs; got it from my daddy. I guess it's just as well I didn't finish that because now the automobile's practically finished horses. In those days, if a dog got distemper, a lot of people used to just force a big handful of salt down their mouths and leave the matter to Providence. Used to raise dogs in those days, so I know.

"Nowadays, I get my dogs inoculated and I think it's a good thing. At first I used to inoculate my own. Those were better days for animals. You could let 'em run around without much danger of getting run over by anything. Why I had a dog . . ."

And then Mr. Carroll is off on another dog story. Dog and horse stories and remembrances of Richmond "as she used to be" are a staple part of his talk. His love of dogs is a big thing; it colors many of these midnight conversations. Long forgotten home remedies for animal diseases emerge from his memory. The names of "horse doctors" long forgotten trip from his tongue, along with the genealogies of famous but forgotten horses. Taller than "Cap'n Jack" and slightly stoop-shouldered with an old-time mustache he is equally as genial as his senior in service.

Grass Taboo Lifted in Wartime

"You know," he continues, "before the war if anybody sat on the grass here it was a scandal. And then the war came along and the khaki-dressed soldiers were all over and the Governor told us to let 'em lay on the grass and since then the rules ain't been changed back. You're still supposed to keep your dog on leash here and there's a fine if we catch him running loose. Might kill the squirrels, you know. Of course, at night it don't matter so much because the squirrel is all asleep, anyway. But if we see a dog running loose here we got orders to club him and he don't get out to shoot him. Not many've been shot, though."

Mr. Carroll, too, regrets the changing clientele of the Capitol grounds. One of his duties is to order any one discovered in the park sitting down during his tour of duty to vacate the park at once. It is quite all right to walk though, but no one must seat themselves. Technically, the park is supposed to be clear of loiterers at 11 o'clock.

"It's funny," Mr. Carroll says. "All these boys and young men who haven't any home and try to sleep here. From the number of those that say they come from North Carolina I wonder there's anybody still living down that way. Seems to me most of em' come from North Carolina or say they do. Some of them seem real pleasant, too, but I can't allow 'em to set or sleep here, although when I'm on duty that transient place is closed and there really ain't any place to recommend 'em to go."

Here he neglects to mention, as do all the guards, the number of times they dip into their slender means to help a transient. Numerous transients are indebted to the generosity of these park guards for occasional meals, a place to sleep or in one or two instances weekly more extensive favors.

One man who had his suit in cleaners and needed making an appearance to get a job "put on bum" on the guard successfully. They don't know these people anymore than the average person. But they do know these people anymore than the average person, but they do know the need of these wayfarers more intimately than these men will ever admit it to a social caseworker. And when they give a transient a lift they are usually pretty certain of the use their money will be put to.

Years of experience prevents their being imposed upon often. Frequently they turn over young boys to the Detention Home to be sent back to their parents. Mr. Carroll is generous in this respect as the others, although as in the case of all of them you must learn of these benefactions from the recipients. On the matter of a pension, Mr. Carroll is definitely pessimistic. "I don't guess there ever will be any and if there is 'I'll be beyond the need of it; it'll be so long coming," he says.

On Payroll by Nickname

John William Truslow was sitting with his relief, Wilborn F. Woolridge, when I asked him his name. Every one passing through the square calls him "Pinkey." His fellow guards declare he is carried on the State pay rolls as "Pinkey" Truslow and Woolridge who has known him for 17 of the 25 years Truslow has been a guard declares he never knew before our query that his friend had any other name. Truslow's tour of duty is the same as that of "Cap'n Jack," from 8 o'clock in the morning until 4 o'clock in the afternoon. He was appointed in 1912 by Governor Mann and is a genial, pleasant man with an unusual crop of silver hair cut in a fashion which would have delighted Mark Twain or Elbert Hubbard. He is reticent about himself. "I was born on a farm in Stafford County and farmed during the early years of my working life. If I hadn't become ill and lost my strength, I'd be farming still. I guess a pension would be all right, but I don't think we'll get it.

"Pinkey" is liked by the frequenters of the square and most of the transients regard him as something of a philosopher in a quiet way. Slightly hard of hearing, he rarely starts a conversation except with those he knows, although his manner is uniformly pleasant whether the person be a stranger or acquaintance.

Appointed by Governor Davis in 1920, Wilbom F. Wooldridge is the "baby" of the staff. Before he came to this job, he was employed in a variety of jobs by the Norfolk and Western Railroad. Woolridge was born in Appomattox county and is a constantly smiling person with a fund of funny stories and a willingness to sympathetically hear the troubles of all the habitutes of the park. More than any of the others, he can tell you where a man is from, what employment he follows, and what sort of person the fellow is. His judgments are rarely wrong. He is well liked by all classes and the consistent geniality of his personality joined to pleasant Southern drawl make him a delight to tourists.

In addition to these men, who are under the supervision of W. W. Savedge, a former railroad employee, who came with the State about 10 years ago as superintendent of buildings and grounds, there is a relief guard which enables each of the regular staff to have two days a month off. When the relief guard is not employed in the grounds, he serves as a janitor in the Capitol Building. There are no special holidays celebrated by the guards, since their job takes no account of such occasions.