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The man who became known throughout the world as Mark Twain was a rascal, a restless vagabond who saw humor in events so universal that his wit was appreciated in Victorian drawing rooms as well as in the mining camps and saloons that he wrote about.
He was ambitious, but so dissatisfied with each new endeavor that he had started several careers by the time he was twenty-five. He was proud, staying in the wild west long after he missed the more civilized east because he thought that to return without an impressive bankroll would be demeaning.
He was courtly, believing in the Victorian notion that men were beasts without a good woman to restrict them, even though he laughed at himself and others who failed to see through the elaborate pretenses of his day.
But most of all, Mark Twain was funny. He was so funny that as soon as one of his writings reached a national magazine he was immediately acknowledged as an equal by the leading humorist of his era. He was so funny that, to his eternal frustration, he couldn’t help being funny, even when it was inappropriate or scandalous.
He took a succession of writing jobs, always.just as temporary ways to make money while his real schemes: gold mines, silver mines, stocks, were just about to pay off handsomely. His schemes never paid off; his writing always did, but he was so financially inept that it took him failure after failure to make the connection.
He walked a city beat in San Francisco, reporting on the court trials and other general news. This was supposed to be straight reporting, in fact, he was the city editor.
When a major earthquake shook the Bay Area in 1865, Twain’s reporting was less than serious. His weather report read: October 23 - mild, balmy earthquakes; October 24 -Shaky; October 25-occasional shakes, followed by light showers of bricks and plastering.”
“The wife of a foreign dignitary,” reported Twain, “set a new style in
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