Charley Rorick’s Happiness Short Lived.
Bride of Last Tuesday Sells Household Goods And Disappears—Charley Had Another Wife Somewhere—His Hilarious Wedding
Under the caption “Wedding Spectacle,” the Herald of last Wednesday told of the marriage of Charles H. Rorick and Mrs. Carrie Perry the previous afternoon, the ceremony being performed by Judge Mays and being followed by a reception at Jack Brokamp’s summer garden, Fifth and York, where the bride and groom were locked in the cage formerly occupied by a trained bear and the spectators sat around and drank beer and enjoyed the hilarity of the hilarious occasion.
The bride of the occasion came originally from the neighborhood of Versailles, in Brown county. She worked in eating houses here and for a time had been employed by Rorick at his Rector restaurant on the river front, run in connection with his Palace barber shop.
Rorick Has Another Wife.
Rorick has a wife somewhere on earth, but just where he does not know. She ran away with an amateur detective some months ago, and since then has not been heard from by her husband. Coming to the conclusion that she wasn’t coming back and might even be dead, Charley concluded that it would be all right to marry Carrie. Having married her, he had to provide a home, and purchased furniture and set up housekeeping in the 300 block, Vermont street.
The Bride Disappears.
The other day when he went home he found the place deserted, and inquiry brought to him the startling information that his bride had sold the stuff and decamped. He hasn’t seen her since; and as he is not sure, after thinking it over, that he had not made a mistake in marrying again before learning definitely whether his real wife was still on earth, is not worrying much—except over the cost of the marriage license and the justice’s fee.
Carrie Has a Past.
Carrie Perry indulges in the flowing bowl to excess. She spent several days in the police station a year ago, suffering from delirium tremens. Finally she was taken to the county court, and there by a commission of physicians was declared to be insane and sent to Jackonsville. In a few days she was back. From the superintendent of the asylum came a brief and rather tart note, at the same time, suggesting that as Adams county’s quota of insane was filled at the institution it might be well to care for the drunks at home. The alienists who had learnedly declared her to be a case of bug house did not, of course, know that Carrie was a booze fighter. Had they known this they would have given her a chance to get sober at home instead of sending her to Jackonsville.
Source: Quincy Daily Herald, September 18, 1911.