BLACKSMITH'S MEMORIAL

JOURNEYMAN portraitists did a Bustling business in the days of the young republic. The U.S. was popping with pride and prosperity, and its citizens demanded painted proof of how handsome, rich and grand they found themselves. Portraitist John Neagle (1796-1865) was one of scores who helped fill the demand. But his efforts gained him more goods than glory, and he would long since have have been forgotten except for one extraordinary picture. Perhaps the first commissioned portrait of a workingman, the painting (opposite) is on view this Labor Day week at Boston's Museum of Fine Arts. Actually, credit for the picture should go not so much to Painter Neagle as to his subject: Blacksmith Pat Lyon.

Lyon was no mere horseshoe man; he had a devil of a way with all sorts of ironwork, including intricate locks. Once he was commissioned to build a strongbox and did the job with customary thoroughness. Being disappointed in his fee, Lyon snapped the box shut. Since no one else could reopen it, the box stayed shut until Lyon got double pay. Lyon's growing reputation finally got him into trouble. A Philadelphia bank had been robbed, and people said nobody could have got past its locks and bars except Blacksmith Lyon, who had recently repaired them. Protesting manfully, he was arrested and clapped in Walnut Street jail.

Three months later the true robbers were caught and Lyon was released on bail. He lived under a cloud for seven long years, finally brought suit for malicious prosecution against his accusers, and won $9,000 damages. With his new wealth, Lyon went to one of the most fashionable painters in town and commissioned a portrait. He had no wish to be portrayed as a gentleman, he informed the startled John Neagle, but as a workingman. Yet the canvas must be splendid. It must show him lifesize, laboring honestly at his forge. And in the background must be seen the accursed jail from which providence had rescued him, its cupola topped by a weather vane of crossed keys.

The finished picture does not altogether overleap convention; it looks staged, and has a flattering slickness. Yet its virtues far outweigh its faults. The Walnut Street backdrop gives a fresh-air feeling to what would otherwise be a Vulcan's cave. The young apprentice nicely complements Lyon's robust maturity. His big feet spread and firmly planted, his heavy arm and hand holding the hammer with negligent authority. Blacksmith Pat Lyon himself easily dominates the huge canvas. He seems truly at home in it--as the workingman has long since come to be in the nation.

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