Watch Yourself Go By

A >> Al. G. Field >> Watch Yourself Go By

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Alfred had antagonized Sells Brothers and others by engaging people who
had been with them for years. He had burned the bridges behind him, as
it were. Mr. Anderson, in explanation, advised that he had been
disappointed in money matters. Men that were to assist him had gone back
on their promises, the printing firm demanded a deposit, he saw ruin
staring him in the face. It was useless to argue the matter with
Anderson. It was nearly morning when the men separated. At eight o'clock
Alfred was at the office awaiting Mr. Anderson's arrival. Anderson was
still more dejected than the night before.

"What amount of money do you require?" asked Alfred.

"Three thousand dollars."

"Will that see you through and put the show out?" was Alfred's next
question.

"With what I've got I can get through on that."

"Well, I'll let you have it."

Ben Wallace is a money-getter and would win success in any business.
However, the President of the Wabash Valley Trust Company, the owner of
the Hagenback-Wallace Shows, with the finest winter quarters of any show
in the country, with hundreds of acres of the most productive farming
land in Miami County, Ind., will never know until he reads these pages
the narrow margin by which the show was saved, insofar as Anderson was
concerned.

Lewis Sells was a peculiar man in many respects and one must thoroughly
understand his composition to appreciate him. His educational advantages
were limited. From a street car conductor to an auctioneer, showman and
capitalist, were the gradations of his career. He was conservative and
sagacious, a faithful friend, and, like Uncle Henry, and most men who
have tasted of the bitter and prospered by their own exertions, a candid
hater. The after years of his life were made unpleasant by a heartless
robbery perpetrated by those near him. The loss of the money, some
thirty thousand dollars, was as nothing compared to the chagrin over the
fact that those who committed the theft were enabled to cover their work
so completely the law could not reach them. He fretted that they robbed
him at the end of his long and successful career.

For several months Alfred filled the position of General Agent for the
Sells Brothers Combined Shows, to the complete satisfaction of all the
Brothers and the disappointment of many subordinates.

It is not wealth nor ancestry, but honorable conduct and a noble
disposition that makes men great. Peter Sells was a great man. He would
have graced any profession or calling. In all his life he was affable
and congenial. When he was prosperous he was not imperious or haughty.
When he was oppressed he was not meek. Suffering as few men have
suffered he refused to wreak that vengeance upon the destroyers of his
home, man is justified in--take a doubled-barreled shot gun and inform
those who have wronged you that the world is not large enough for both.
This was the advice of one who stood by Peter Sells in all his troubles.
Another took him to the country, engaged in shooting at a mark with a
forty-four Smith & Wesson, intimating that he could settle all his
troubles by dealing out the punishment those who had broken up his home
deserved.

Peter, with a calmness that was most impressive replied: "I'll commit no
crime. There comes a time in the life of every human being that their
life is lived over. It is in that hour when the coffin lid is shut down.
Just before the funeral when earth has seen the last of you, your life
is lived over in the conversation which recounts your deeds upon earth.
I will do no forgiving, but I will do no killing."

In comparison with the loss of a wife, all other bereavements pale. She
has filled so large a sphere in your life you think of the past when
your lives were entwined, of the days when life was a beautiful pathway
of flowers. The sun shone on the flowers, the stars hung overhead. You
think of her now as you thought of her then in all the gentleness of her
beauty. You think of her now as the mother of your child. No thorns are
remembered. The heart whose beat measured an eternity of love to you
lies under your feet but the love of her still lives in your being. You
forget the injury, you forget the disgrace, you forget all of the
present, only remembering the happiness of the past. You know she lives
in a world where sunshine has been overshadowed by clouds, yet you love
her all the more, although to you she is even further removed than by
death.

Such were the last days of Peter Sells. It is well the old way of
satisfying honor is giving way. Yet with all its brutality it had the
merit of protecting the home. Only those who were close to Peter Sells
knew of the burden he bore, the weight of sorrow that cut short a life
that has left its impress of nobleness upon all who were privileged to
share his confidence and friendship.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In the land of the sage and the cottonwood,
The cactus plant and the sand,
When you've just dropped in from the effete East
There's a greeting that's simply grand;
It's when some giant comes up to you,
With a hand that weighs a ton,
And cries as he smites you on the back;
"Why, you derned old son of a gun!"

Texas, quoting Col. Bailey of the _Houston Post_, "is a symphony, a vast
hunk of mellifluence, an eternal melody of loveliness, a grand anthem of
agglomerated and majestic beneficence. Texas is heaven on earth and sea
and sky set to music."

With ample room to spare, Texas would accommodate either
Austria-Hungary, Germany and France; and if it were populated as thickly
as is Belgium it would have a population of over 265,000,000.

The State of Texas could accommodate comfortably the people of all the
European nations.

Texas was wild and woolly when Alfred first toured it with a wagon show.
Weatherford was away out west; Dallas was in its swaddling clothes and
Houston was a village. Hunting was good just over the corporation line
and there was no closed season on anything. Charley Gibbs and Henry
Greenwall owned the State. Charley Highsmith was a schoolboy; he had
never owned a dog or looked along the barrels of a double-barreled gun.
Mike Conley was setting type in a printing office run by hand, and Bill
Sterritt was the printer's devil, excepting when ducks were coming in.
Ben McCullough was the only railroad man in north Texas, and George
Green the only Republican in the State. Jake Zurn had not left Germany
and Jim Hogg was a cowboy.

A pair of Texas ponies, an open buggy, a doubled-barreled shotgun, two
dogs and an invalid, were Alfred's constant companions on that tour of
Texas. The invalid who was touring Texas for his health, was a relative
of the managers, a German, refined and scholarly, a high class
gentleman.

This was the introduction:

"Alfred, Mr. Smith is not well. The doctor advised that he live in the
open. He is my guest and I want him to ride with you. I am sure you will
like him. I want this trip to benefit his health. You have the best team
with the company. You can make the route in half the time it requires
the show to drive it. Sleep late in the morning."

Despite this advice, the invalid and Alfred were well on their way by
daylight almost every morning, nor did they make the routes in half the
time the show did. It was more frequently the reverse, particularly if
the shooting was good. The invalid was the wellest sick-man companion
ever toured with. His cheeks were sallow, low in flesh, but the spirit
was there. It was a case of the invalid looking after the nurse. The
vast plains were covered with cattle--Texas steers. The invalid
marvelled at their numbers. While Alfred was scouring the prairie with
dog and gun the invalid would stand erect in the buggy, on the road
side, computing the number of Texas steers within sight. How the cattle
men separated their droves, claiming their cattle, was a wonderment.
Cowboys and Texas steers was a theme on which the invalid never tired
talking. Texas steers were a hobby with him. He would talk with cowboys
for hours, collecting information.

Many nights the circus people in making long drives between exhibiting
points were compelled to sleep in their wagons, tents, or anywhere they
could find shelter. This sort of life soon brought bronze to the
invalid's cheeks and strength to his body.

Pidcock's Ranch, embraced several thousand acres of land, a house with
four rooms and porch or veranda. All the house was given over to the
ladies. Alfred explained to the manager of the ranch that he had in
charge an invalid and requested the ranchman to do the best he could for
them in the way of sleeping quarters. The ranchman arranged a
comfortable bed on the porch for the invalid and Alfred, advising they
would be compelled to sit up until the ladies retired. All had long
retired ere the invalid put in an appearance. The invalid invariably
found congenial company--cowboys, cattlemen or rangers. Each night
finding his way to bed he would awaken Alfred to explain something new
as to Texas steers. The invalid had dispatched two cowboys thirty miles
for refreshments. The invalid did not part from his guests until late.
Alfred's wife had sent him a birthday present, a pair of night-shirts
worked with red braid, and he was very proud of them. The invalid on
retiring commented again on the beauty of Alfred's hand-painted
night-shirts and the immensity of the droves of Texas steers.

Sleeping in the open on the porch, their slumbers were deep. Awaking
late, Alfred's face felt drawn up. It was as though it was puckered out
of all shape. Placing his hand on a substance as large as a hulled
hickory nut, it was with some little difficulty peeled from his face. A
dozen other lumps of similar size were scattered over his ample
countenance. Glancing at the invalid whose face was adorned with a full
set of whiskers, Alfred discovered they were liberally sprinkled with
the whitish-grayish substance that adorned his own face and the front of
his decorated night garments. Prying loose another lump, Alfred, holding
the substance at arm's length, scrutinizing it closely, endeavoring to
analyze it. A "cluck-cluck" caused him to look aloft and there, on a
beam, sat ten or twelve contented "dominicker" hens. He could discern
but half of their bodies--that part that goes over the fence last.
Rudely awaking the invalid, Alfred brushing, picking and pinching the
white and greenish bumps from face and night-shirt, indulging in
language not proper even on a Texas ranch, he slowly worked his way to
the watering trough (the only bathing facility), followed by the
invalid, who was parting his whiskers to free them from the hidden
lumps, meanwhile endeavoring to console Alfred: "Never mindt, Alfred.
Never mindt. Your shirt vill vash all right, und my viskers, too,"
parting his whiskers and dumping a few more deposits, he remarked: "It's
purty badt I know, but, Alfred, it might a bin wusser. 'Ust s'posin' dem
schickens roostin' over us hadt been Texas steers."

* * * * *

"The sooner a man goes into business, the sooner he will be able to
retire; that is, if he is baked done. If he ain't, he better let
somebody do business for him. My boy, it's better to go into business
too young than too old. If you happen to spill the beans, you've got the
vim to pick them up again."

"Well, Uncle Henry, if I have good luck this season, I'm going to make a
break for myself."

"Good luck, huh? If you're lookin' for luck to help you, you'll be so
near-sighted you can't see a business chance across a narrow alley. If
luck got you anything you might. There ain't no luck coming to any man
that waits on it. Every man that's got any get-up in him always has bad
luck. He brings it on himself, then he just beats luck out. There ain't
no good luck. It's grit and judgment agin dam-fool notions. And grit and
judgment wins out nearly every time. I'd rather drive a bad bargain than
drive a dray. You can drive a dozen bargains a day. You can drive only
one dray. One of your bargains may buck, the other eleven win out. A
minstrel show is alright, but, mind, it's a lifetime job, going into
business. You ought to know what you're doing. But, I'd thought you'd go
into the circus business."

"Well, I would, Uncle Henry, but I haven't got the capital. It takes
more money than I ever hope to possess. Besides, I want a business
wherein I can make a reputation for myself."

"You better go into a business where you can make money. The reputation
will make itself. If you can't make money, you can't make reputation."

"But it's my ambition to have the biggest minstrel show in the country."

"Well, you do that which you feel would be the most agreeable to you.
When I went into the grocery business in Burlington, everybody behind my
back predicted I would lose out. Everybody told me to my face I'd win
out. Make up your mind to stand on your own judgment."

Sam Flickinger, editor of the _Ohio State Journal_, wrote the first
mention of the Al. G. Field Minstrels. He gave Alfred desk room in the
job office of the _Journal_, of which he was manager and editor. The
first advertising for the Al. G. Field Minstrels was printed in the job
office of the _Ohio State Journal_. The dates and small bills have been
printed in that office, or the successors of it, ever since.

Almost every one of Alfred's friends advised him to abandon the idea of
entering the minstrel business. His family were all opposed to it.

This was the manner in which Alfred's declaration as to going into
business seemed to be received by his friends.

Col. Reppert of the B. & O. assured Alfred he would send him a ticket to
any point he might require it from. Billy McDermott, probably fearing
the Colonel might not get the ticket to him, presented Alfred with a
pair of broad-soled low-heeled walking shoes.

There was one staunch friend whose words were always encouraging.
"You're right, old boy. I wish you all the success you so richly
deserve. Never mind the knockers. You're in right. You'll make it go."
Thus did Bill Hunter of the Penna. R. R. encourage Alfred. Alfred often
declared Bill a level-headed man, one who would be heard from later.

Frank Field was the city passenger agent of the Penna. R. R. Frank and
Bill were very kindly disposed towards show folks. They carried a troupe
on their own account over the Penna. Lines. They were security for the
fares to the amount of a couple of hundred dollars. The troupe stranded
Bill held the musical instruments. The instruments were taken to the
city ticket office, concealed under the counter. Bill and Frank were
"stuck." They endeavored to dispose of the horns to Alfred. Alfred joked
Bill frequently, advising him to organize a band, and learn to play one
of the horns. This "guying" did not alter Bill's attitude towards
Alfred's enterprise. He was even more optimistic as to its success. Bill
would slap Alfred on the back, saying: "Never mind the salary you are
leaving. You'll make more money with this minstrel show in a year than
you would on salary in two."

Alfred from the first day he began his minstrel career sought to
introduce new ideas; not to do things as they had been done. He was the
first to uniform the parade. The costumes were long, light-colored,
newmarket overcoats, black velvet collar, stylishly patterned. They were
very attractive overcoats, contrasting effectively with the red
broadcloth, gold-trimmed band uniforms.

The company rehearsed in Columbus and opened at Marion, Ohio, October 6,
1886. The opening day was a dismal, rainy, fall day, just verging on
winter. Alfred's good friends gathered in the union depot at Columbus to
bid the minstrels Godspeed, although they traveled on another line. Bill
Hunter was at the depot to see them off. The genteel appearance of the
troupe, especially the overcoats, were favorably commented upon. Bill
shook hands with each member of the company as they entered the car.
When the last man was aboard, when the last good-bye had been spoken,
Barney McCabe remarked to those assembled: "I don't know what kind of a
show Alfred's got, but they have the finest overcoats that ever went out
of this depot." Bill, winking at Barney, said: "I'll have 'em all before
two weeks. If he makes money with this troupe, he can ketch bass with
biscuits."

Another of Alfred's innovations was a large amount of scenery and
properties. Each piece of baggage was marked with bright letters, "The
Al. G. Field Minstrels."

The afterpiece, "The Lime Kiln Club," was quite a pretentious affair for
a minstrel company in those days. The stage setting, representing the
interior of a Lodge, required antiquated furniture such as could not be
hired in the one night stands. Therefore, the minstrels carried all this
furniture, a large sheet-iron wood stove with lengths of stovepipe. Not
until the last trunk was loaded onto the baggage wagon, did Alfred leave
the depot that first morning. Walking slowly along the street, keeping
pace with the heavy wagon, proud of the new trunks with the plainly
painted names on each, the furniture for "The Lime Kiln Club," with the
stove and stovepipe atop of all, the wagon passed up the street.

While passing a building in course of erection, the workmen ceased their
labors to gaze at the wagon. A plasterer with limey overalls gazed at
the wagon intently until it passed by. Turning to his fellow workmen,
pushing his hands in his pockets deeper, and shrugging his shoulders, he
sympathetically remarked: "Hit's mighty cole weather fur flittin'. I
allus feel sorry for pore folks as has tu move in cole weather." Looking
down the street from where the wagon came he continued: "I wonder whar
the folks is. Walkin' to keep warm, I reckon. I hope they hain't any
children." Thereafter, Alfred ordered the odd furniture, stovepipe and
stove loaded in the bottom of the wagon.

A heavy rain interfered with the attendance the opening night. In the
excitement, Alfred did not realize that he had lost money. It was only
after the second night--Upper Sandusky--that he figured the first two
nights were unprofitable. Chas. Alvin Davis, of Alvin Joslin fame, and
his manager, were visitors the second night. The receipts at Bucyrus
were very light, and to pile up troubles for the new minstrel manager, a
boy connected with the theatre stole from Alfred's clothes in the
dressing room all his private funds. The empty pocket-book was found in
an ash-barrel at the rear of the boy's residence, yet the police did not
feel it was sufficient evidence to warrant the arrest of the young
scamp.

The fourth night, at Mansfield, rain, hail, sleet and snow, such as Ohio
had never experienced at that season of the year, (October 10), made the
streets impassable. The minstrels played to a very meager audience.
After all bills were paid the company had thirty-seven dollars in the
treasury.

Several friends in Columbus assured Alfred that if he ran short he could
draw on them. Alfred had learned six weeks was the most lengthened
period any of his friends gave him to keep the company afloat.

"He's ruined. All his savings gone, he will be worse off than when he
began life." This was the comment of one of his dearest friends.

Leaving Mansfield at midnight, arriving at Ashland, Alfred, that he
might not have the night lodging to pay, sat in the depot until
daylight, then sauntered to the hotel. Thirty-seven dollars in the
treasury, cold and snowing. Alfred debated in his mind as to whether he
should telegraph his friends in Columbus for assistance. His decision
was: "No, I will not humble myself. I'll pull through some way. Besides,
I have invested my own money in this concern. If I lose it, it's gone. I
can earn more. If I borrow money and lose, I'm in debt."

He didn't know he could do it. He wasn't sure he could pull the show
through. He had heard and seen the sneers and smiles of incredulity. He
remembered Uncle Henry's advice:

"If you haven't got the stuff in you to stand alone and fight for
yourself, you're wasting time trying to do business. Being smart is only
half of it. Being game is the other half. The biggest persimmons are
atop of the tree. You've got to climb to get them. There are times when
you'll have to hold on by your finger tips. But if you're not game
enough to take the risk, you don't deserve what's up at the top. The
cowards are standing under the tree waiting for the persimmons to fall.
There's so many of them they have to fight harder to get those that fall
to the ground than the game fellow that climbs the tree. Men will pull
you down, tramp on you, in their endeavors to climb over you. It's the
selfish idea of many men they can build up more rapidly if they tear
down. They'll block your game, they'll lie about you, they'll not only
throw you down but they'll sit on you, and hold you down, until you
gather force to squirm from under. You'll never suffer as much when you
have the least as you do when the grit has leaked out of you. The man
who climbs the tree from the bottom to the top is never licked. If they
pull him down he will start from the bottom again. Poverty cannot ruin
him. It's only a check. He has less fear than those who have had a
ladder placed against the tree for them to climb up. Believe in
yourself. Take everything that belongs to you. Take your licking but
don't sell out to cowardice. When your grit's gone you're done for."

A thin, a very thin partition between the room he occupied and that of
two of his principal people, Alfred was compelled to play the role of
eavesdropper again.

"He won't pull through. I am sorry I joined the show, I throwed away a
good engagement to accept this one. I'm stuck again. This thing won't
last a week. I'm going to get away at the first opportunity." It was one
of a talented team of musicians. They not only did a fine specialty but
doubled in the band. The one talking was the manager of the act. Alfred
held a contract with the trio. He had fulfilled all the requirements of
it and they owed him considerable money, advanced for hotel bills during
rehearsals, railroad fares, etc. He lay on the bed debating with himself
what to do, enter the room and throw the talker out of the window, or
have him arrested.

"I heard Field tell his treasurer he had no money. I'm going to skip.
Take my word for it, we're all up against it."

The other replied: "Well, I owe the company a lot of money. I'll stick
until I see how it goes."

Alfred was on fire. He would die rather than fail. The following day was
Sunday. This would entail extra expense. Basing his calculations upon
receipts in other cities, he feared he would not have funds to carry the
company to Akron, the next exhibition point.

He accidently met a Columbus man, a minister, Reverend Messie, the
pastor of the church where Alfred's family worshipped. He had recently
officiated at the wedding of Alfred's sister; he felt he had met a
friend from home. He decided to lay his troubles before the good man but
weakened at the beginning. Instead he inquired as to whether the
minister was acquainted with a banker in the city. The minister
accompanied Alfred to a bank and had Alfred requested him, to make a
favorable talk for him, the good man could not have said more.

"This is Mr. Field, a friend and neighbor of mine. He has not acquainted
me with the nature of his business with you, but he is responsible, owns
property in Columbus and bears an excellent reputation."

The banker invited the minstrel into his private office. Alfred made a
statement of his affairs, dwelling strongly on the robbery at Bucyrus,
exhibiting newspaper clippings to substantiate his statements.

"Let us see what your liabilities are. Going over them, there were none.
Nearly all of the company were indebted for money advanced. I can't see
where you are in any financial trouble. You have no debts following you,
have you?"

"None," answered Alfred.

"Well, what is the trouble?"

"It's like this," the minstrel explained. "We've done no business since
we opened. I have lost money at every stand. I have but thirty-seven
dollars on hand. It's a big jump to Akron. I am sure, I'll require a
little money, not much. If it hadn't been for that touch at Bucyrus I'd
be all right."

"You'll do business here. It's the best minstrel town in Ohio. Primrose
& West did fairly well, although our people didn't know them. Hi Henry
packed the house."

"I fear people do not know us," sighed Alfred.

"Well, I'll introduce you--they will know you."

Alfred had ended every statement with the wail that if he had not been
robbed in Bucyrus he would be all right.

"The bank closes at noon. Come around, take lunch with me, I'll see you
to Akron. Don't worry. I fear you're a bit shaky. You are just starting
in business, you require confidence."

"If it hadn't been for the touch at Bucyrus, I'd have been all right,"
ruefully remarked Alfred.

The President and Alfred made a round of the business houses of the
town.

"This is Mr. Field, the minstrel man, one of our people. His home is in
Columbus. I just bought four seats. The seats are going pretty fast. I
want you to be there tonight. Have you got your tickets?"

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