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Passenger Pigeon Shooting in Chicago 
By Epwarp R. Forp 
IT WAS PROF. SCHORGER’S CONCLUSION, the result of his studies of the pas- 
senger pigeon in Wisconsin, that the impossibility of its existence alongside 
successful agriculture would have doomed it anyway. Perhaps we may find 
in that idea consolation for its loss by market hunting pressure. 
Of this hunting in Illinois the following story, names of participants 
included for the sake of historical accuracy, may be of interest as a record. 
Many old-time residents of Illinois, especially Chicagoans, will remem- 
ber when part of the present metropolis was the town (later the city) of 
Lake View. Here, in their youth, was countryside. As late as the early 
eighties the passenger pigeon was found there. 
In a talk recently with a boyhood friend who lived in Lake View before 
I knew it, I learned of an actual pigeon hunt in which he “assisted” which 
took place in an 80 acre field on Southport Avenue at its junction with 
Lincoln and Diversey Avenues. Among the local nimrods, he told me, were 
Richard Lewis, Roland Goode, Ed. Goode and John Huffmeyer. Among 
their retainers, small neighbors and nephews, were my friend, W. C. Meier, 
together with Orrin Goode and little Johnny Huffmeyer—all lads from 
eight to ten years old. It was their employment to flush the birds. 
The guns were all at the edge of the field. The beaters crawled on their 
bellies in the grass until the hunters shouted “Up!” At the signal they 
rose, waved their arms and yelled. Thousands of birds took wing and 
scores were shot. Thus many of the race whose complete disappearance 
we now deplore were killed by Chicagoans on Chicago soil. 
To et 
Nuthatch 
Shrewd little haunter of woods all gray, 
Whom I met on my walk of a winter day— 
Youre busy inspecting each cranny and hole 
In the ragged bark of yon hickory bole; 
You intent on your task and I on the law 
Of your wonderful head and gymnastic claw! 
The woodpecker well may despair of this feat— 
Only the fly with you can compete! 
So much is clear; but I fain would know 
How you can so reckless and fearless go, 
Head upward, head downward, all one to you, 
Zenith and nadir the same in your view. 
—Epirn M. THOMAS 
