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Buffalo Courier
Saturday, September 7, 1901

Our President Shot Down

"The Foulest Crime of the New Century" was the caption below this image of the Moment President McKinley was shot. This appeared on the cover of Leslie's Weekly Illustrated September 21, 1901.

Under the majestic dome of the Temple of Music, yesterday afternoon, a parricidal hand was lifted against the first of American citizens, and the door of the most beautiful fabric of the Exposition which he came to honor, was stained with the blood of a President of the United States. At this hour with the condition of Mr. McKinley in doubt, and with such knowledge as is at hand of the motive of the assassin, it is impossible to write with composure, or to think of the enormity of the crime with patience. In the streets are the cries of an excited throng who would have the life of the miscreant who committed this foul deed, couldthey reach him, in the homes of the city women are weeping, as no doubt they are all trough this broad land.

President McKinley came to Buffalo on Wednesday, receiving such welcome as he could be had only by one well beloved. On Thursday, at the Pan-American Exposition, more than a hundred thousand greeted him with acclaim, with no thought of party, or of differing views of policy; all that for the time was forgotten; they saw in him the illustrious head of the Nation, the citizen of lofty character chosen of and for the people, the kindly, merciful man who has filled his great office with so much of honor and success for his countryís cause, and they gave him their tribute of love and affection. Mr. McKinleyís arrival here apparently was under the happiest auspices. His heart was lightened by the quite complete recovery of his tenderly cherished wife from what was feared would be a fatal illness. The great strain of anxiety removed, and Mrs. McKinley being able to accompany him, he was prepared to enjoy with zest the great Exposition in which he had taken a warm interest from the inception of the project. On the memorable Thursday, on of the happiest days, as yesterday proved the saddest, in this cityís history, in an address delivered to a vast assemblage, be-proclaimed a new message of progress to the country and to the other governments of civilization, which Europe was discussing when electric current flashed the news there, that he had been shot down.









The Home of John G. Milburn, president of the Exposition Company, Delaware Avenue, Buffalo, NY. 1901.

Yesterday again was a festival day to the black hour of the murderous assault, for the President, returned to the Exposition, that such of the people as wished to do so might take by the hand the Chief Magistrate of their democratic nation. The reception was held in the Temple of Music, the line entering from the Esplanade by one doorway and passing out of another. Enthusiasm and veneration were in every heart, save those of the conspirators, if it is true that the one fiend in mans form was concerned in furthering this hellish deed. Soldiers were in the building, detectives were near the President, but none at the time could have thought of impending harm.

The assassin advanced with extended hand, and as the President essayed to grasp it, with the other shot him twice, before being seized and overpowered. ìI did my duty,î is said to have been the wretchís simple explanation.

Mr. McKinley is at the home of John G. Milburn, president of the Exposition Company, whence a definite statement of his condition is anxiously awaited as we write. One bullet struck the President in the chest without inflicting serious injury, but the other which entered the abdomen, caused a wound, which is feared dangerous, that perhaps may be fatal. No words can express the intensity of the public feeling of the supreme pity of it all. Last night the Pan-American Exposition was dark and closed, for one and only one reason, which could have directed such a result.

Since the foregoing was written, the physicians in attendance upon the President have issued a bulletin stating that the bullet which entered his abdomen pierced his stomach has not been found. They closed the rents in the stomach with silk stitches, the illustrious patient enduring the operation well, and while the injury is admitted to be dangerous, the surgeons express hope for his recovery. Mat that hope be realized! But there is much reason for fear. Of the assassinís identity little has yet been learned. He does not belong here. Buffalo has not that disgrace added to her unspeakable sorrow.




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This text is Copyright 2001 all rights reserved by Stephen Powell and This electronic text may not be duplicated or used in any manner without written consent of Stephen R. Powell or