During the vibrant era of the 1870s Utah mining excitement, an extraordinary anecdote unfolded, forever linking the name Bob Howland with a masterful deception known as the “Two Years in Prison” prank. This captivating story, originally penned by William Daugherty in 1891, recounts a hilarious misunderstanding that brilliantly captures the distinctive humor and unique characters of the American frontier. It centers on a seasoned Nevada wag who expertly convinces an unsuspecting Eastern traveler that he had spent “two years in prison” in the Nevada State Prison, leading to a night of comedic terror and a memorable revelation.
The frontier, bustling with the promise of riches and the allure of the unknown, often brought together individuals from vastly different walks of life, setting the stage for such colorful encounters. This particular tale not only offers a glimpse into the crowded conditions of pioneer hotels but also highlights the mischievous spirit prevalent among Westerners, who often found amusement in testing the credulity of newcomers. The elaborate trick played by Bob Howland serves as a timeless example of frontier wit, reminding us that even amidst the rugged challenges of the Old West, there was always room for a good laugh, especially at a stranger’s expense.
The Bustling Frontier of 1870s Utah
The early 1870s saw Utah plunged into a fervent mining excitement, drawing a significant influx of prospectors, entrepreneurs, and various opportunists to its burgeoning towns. Salt Lake City, as a central hub, experienced an unprecedented surge in its transient population. Hotels, particularly those catering to non-Mormon visitors — known as Gentiles — were stretched to their absolute limits, with every available bed a valuable commodity. The atmosphere was one of restless energy, where new faces appeared daily, and the usual comforts of home were often replaced by communal living arrangements.
Amidst this bustling environment, the old Revere House in Salt Lake City epitomized the crowded conditions. Space was at such a premium that standard rates of $1 for a single bed and $2 for a double seemed almost a luxury. Hotel landlords, eager to accommodate as many guests as possible, often improvised solutions. It was in such circumstances that Bob Howland, a man renowned across Nevada for his jolly disposition, quick wit, and endless supply of entertaining stories, found himself in a unique lodging arrangement. Known for his good humor and a readiness to perpetrate a joke, Howland was the ideal candidate for a shared room setup.
Bob Howland: The Master Prankster of Nevada
Bob Howland was more than just another guest; he was a personality. Widely recognized among Nevadans as a good-natured wag, his presence guaranteed lively conversation and, quite often, an unexpected prank. His reputation as a mining operator of high standing across the Territory and in Nevada further solidified his credibility. It was this dual nature – respected businessman and playful trickster – that made him such a formidable figure in any jest. His rooming arrangement at the Revere House reflected both the times and his accommodating nature: he occupied one of two beds, with the understanding that the other could be rented to a respectable, sober, and non-snoring guest.
This arrangement, initially made as much for the landlords’ convenience as for Bob’s own economy, unknowingly laid the groundwork for one of his most memorable hoaxes. His jovial spirit, combined with a cunning ability to observe and manipulate social situations, made him a master of frontier humor. He thrived on the reactions of others, carefully crafting scenarios that would culminate in a delightful surprise for everyone involved, especially himself.
An Unsuspecting Guest: Mr. Robinson’s Arrival
One late evening, a train pulled into Salt Lake City, carrying an elderly gentleman named Mr. Robinson, hailing from Saratoga, New York. Accustomed to the more genteel customs of the East, Mr. Robinson sought a private room at the Revere House. He was promptly informed of the hotel’s severe overcrowding, with the best available option being a bed in a shared room – specifically, with Mr. Howland. Naturally, Mr. Robinson objected, expressing his strong aversion to sleeping in the same room with a stranger, a sentiment likely common among visitors from the more established East.
The hotel clerk, however, was a master of persuasion. He assured Mr. Robinson that Mr. Howland was not just a perfect gentleman but also a highly respected mining operator. With artful diplomacy, the clerk emphasized that he would never assign anyone but a reputable guest to Mr. Howland’s room, knowing full well Bob’s amiable nature. Reluctantly, and against his better judgment, Robinson consented. As he was led to the room, his apprehension lingered, prompting further questions to the clerk, who reiterated Howland’s impeccable standing. Little did Robinson know, Bob, already in bed but wide awake, was privy to this entire exchange, savoring the unfolding drama.
The Setup: Bob’s Subtle Initiation
Mr. Robinson, lamp in hand, tiptoed into the dimly lit room, carefully passing Bob’s bed to reach the other side. As he began to disrobe, preparing for what he hoped would be a peaceful night, Bob seized his moment. Rolling over with a simulated yawn, he casually greeted his new roommate: “Hello, pard; going to bed?” The unexpected address startled Robinson, who, flustered, replied with a polite, “Ahem! Yes. I’m sorry to disturb you.” Bob, ever the affable host, reassured him, “That’s all right; I like company.”
Still visibly uncomfortable, Robinson reiterated his unease: “Ahem! But I am not used to sleeping among strangers.” Bob, with a knowing glance and a touch of frontier nonchalance, simply stated, “Oh! We are used to that out here.” Robinson, feeling increasingly out of place, attempted to justify his presence by explaining, “Yes! Yes! I presume, but I should not have intruded had not the clerk recommended you very highly.” This statement was the cue Bob had been waiting for, the perfect setup for his impending revelation, delivered with a casualness that belied its intended impact.
The Revelation: “I Was Two Years in Prison”
Upon hearing Robinson’s remark about the clerk’s high recommendation, Bob Howland paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. Then, with a tone that was both matter-of-fact and utterly disarming, he dropped the bombshell: “The h—l he did. He had no business to recommend me, for I was two years in the Nevada State Prison. But it’s all right, pard; good night.” With that shocking declaration, Bob rolled over, his breathing quickly settling into the deep, rhythmic cadence of contented sleep, leaving Mr. Robinson utterly stunned and speechless in the fading lamplight. The casual delivery of such a grave confession was precisely what made it so effective and believable, instantly transforming a mere inconvenience into a terrifying ordeal for the Eastern gentleman.
Robinson’s blood ran cold. The image of a respectable mining operator shattered, replaced by the chilling specter of a hardened convict sharing his sleeping quarters. He struggled to process the information, his mind racing through the implications of spending a night in such close proximity to a former inmate. Every sound, every shadow, seemed to amplify his growing dread. The seemingly innocuous shared room now felt like a cage, and Bob Howland, once a gentleman, now appeared as a dangerous, unpredictable figure. Sleep became an impossibility, replaced by a suffocating sense of unease and a frantic internal debate about how to escape his terrifying predicament without drawing attention to himself.
A Nightmare Unfolds: The Escalation of Fear
After extinguishing his lamp, Mr. Robinson lay in his bed, wide awake and trembling. The horrifying revelation that his roommate had spent “two years in prison” played repeatedly in his mind, fueling a profound sense of fright. He debated the propriety, and indeed the safety, of making an escape from the room, but fear rooted him to his spot. He lay in an uneasy wakefulness for what felt like an eternity, his nerves stretched taut, when suddenly, his companion’s deep breathing broke into a series of muffled yells, signaling a nightmare. Robinson was startled into fright and trembling anew, the sounds confirming his worst fears about the convict’s troubled past.
Driven by a desperate impulse, and perhaps a flicker of genuine concern, Robinson sprang from his bed, intending to awaken Bob. The light filtering through the transom cast an eerie glow on Bob’s face, which, with the wrinkles and crow’s feet of mirth around his eyes, appeared quite hard and menacing in the dimness. As Robinson tentatively touched him, Bob suddenly snorted, then sprang upright. In a deep, tragic tone, he flourished what appeared to be a revolver, exclaiming, “Hold; let go, or I’ll shoot.” This dramatic performance was the final straw for Robinson. Utterly terrified, he broke out the door, slid down the banisters to the office, and breathlessly informed the astonished clerk that he had just escaped from a madman.
The Grand Reveal: A Warden, Not a Convict
Explanations from the clerk were initially of no avail; Robinson was too distraught to be reasoned with. The clerk, bewildered but sympathetic, eventually escorted him to another room, where the shaken Easterner spent the remainder of his sleepless night. The following morning, still reeling from his traumatic experience, Robinson was introduced to Judge Haydon of Genoa, who was visiting Salt Lake. Eager to recount his harrowing night, Robinson relayed his remarkable experience with the Nevada convict, describing in vivid detail the man’s shocking confession of having spent “two years in prison” and the subsequent terrifying encounter with the revolver.
After listening intently, Judge Haydon admitted, “No, I don’t,” regarding whether he knew such a convict. However, just at that moment, Bob Howland himself approached. With a knowing smile, the Judge added, “But here comes Bob Howland, and as he was Warden of the State Prison for two years under Governor Nye’s administration, perhaps he will know him.” The words hung in the air as a profound realization dawned upon Mr. Robinson. His face registered a mixture of amazement and profound embarrassment. He stroked his gray beard, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicking into place, revealing the elaborate jest he had fallen victim to.
A Good-Natured Ribbing: Bob’s Final Jab
The introduction by Judge Haydon made the situation undeniable. Robinson stood there, utterly dumbfounded, as Bob Howland, his former “convict” roommate, approached. Bob, ever the master of badinage, smoothly diffused the lingering tension with a laughing tone. “Hello, pard! You left me last night in a hurry. I was only fighting bed bugs – why didn’t you stay and see the fun?” he quipped, a playful twinkle in his eye.
The relief that washed over Robinson was palpable, quickly followed by a deep sense of sheepishness. The terrifying experience of the previous night evaporated, replaced by the understanding of a clever and elaborate prank. Bob Howland, the esteemed former Warden, had expertly played the part of a hardened ex-convict, all for a bit of frontier amusement. The incident served as a memorable lesson for Mr. Robinson about the unique brand of humor found in the American West, a humor often characterized by its directness, its wit, and its occasional theatricality.
Conclusion: A Humorous Glimpse into Frontier Life
The story of Bob Howland and Mr. Robinson, as documented by William Daugherty, offers more than just a humorous anecdote; it provides a vivid snapshot of life on the American frontier in the 1870s. It encapsulates the spirit of an era where practical jokes were a common form of entertainment and a way for seasoned Westerners to gauge the mettle of newcomers. The clash between Robinson’s Eastern sensibilities and Howland’s Western pragmatism and mischievousness is a central theme, highlighting the cultural differences that often characterized interactions during this period of rapid expansion.
Bob Howland’s brilliant portrayal of a man who had spent “two years in prison” demonstrates an innate understanding of human psychology and a talent for theatrical improvisation. His ability to maintain the facade, even during a staged nightmare, speaks volumes about his character as a master prankster. This tale, with its blend of suspense, terror, and ultimate comedic relief, remains an enduring testament to the rich tapestry of stories woven from the everyday experiences of pioneers. It reminds us that amidst the hardships and challenges of the Old West, humor, often audacious and unexpected, played a vital role in shaping communities and creating lasting legends, securing Bob Howland’s place in the annals of frontier folklore.
