Reminiscences of a Showman

Mr. Cooke tells today of the longest continuous tour through this and foreign countries that was ever successfully completed by a circus. He conveys the reader twice across the continent and into New Zealand, Tasmania and Australia. It is a story full of adventure and interesting incident - an important chapter in American show history. Next week Mr. Cooke will relate the story of that bitter warfare between the great shows which is known among showmen as "the elephant war." It is a most interesting revelation of the struggle of the circuses to secure the biggest elephant in the world. It tells of Bolivar and Samson and reveals for the first time the real history of the famous Jumbo.

Shortly after casting in my fortunes with those of the Cole Circus I was promoted to the position of special, or "Extreme Advance" agent. In this capacity I preceded the show and all its agents, exploiting some particular feature that in my judgment was likely to capture the imagination of the general public.

One of these features was Captain and Mrs. N. V. Bates, admittedly the tallest and, heaviest husband and wife observed within historic times. Each was over eight feet tall and their combined weight was usually 750 pounds.

The captain was a Southerner, who enlisted in the Confederate army upon the outbreak of the war. It is said that upon the occasion of his first inspection, as the officer walked down the line, he looked at the big recruit and peremptorily ordered him to "come down from that stump."

As a matter. of fact, his vast size prevented him from usefulness upon the firing line and he was relegated to service in the rear.

At the close of the war he came North and entered into the show business.

His wife was Miss Anne Swan, "The Nova Scotian Giantess," whom many will remember as an attraction in the old Barnum Museum at the corner of Broadway and Ann street, in New York.

While yet unmarried they were taken to Europe in company with two midgets and created a sensation. Their wedding occurred in the presence of royalty at St. Martin's Church in the Field, London, which faces Trafalgar Square. Among the presents were gifts from Queen Victoria, the Prince of Wales and many of the scions of English nobility.

In our show they were exhibited upon a special platform in the very centre of the menagerie. Standing with them were "Count Rosebud" and "Baron Littlefinger," neither of whom reached much above the knees of their giant companions. The contrast accentuated the physical characteristics of both couples, and it is safe to say that not a feature of the exhibition was quite as popular.

To advertise this attraction I had printed the largest posters ever produced up to that time. They were twelve feet wide by fifteen feet high and necessitated the construction of special billboards wherever I went. These huge bills picture the captain and his wife as they had appeared in the special performance before Queen Victoria and attracted wide attention. Supplemented by newspaper articles and a nood of lesser printed matter, they not only aroused interest in the coming circus but made the giant couple and their Lilliputian companions an even more popular feature than Jumbo, whose true history I hope to give later on.

A Long Tour Begins.

In the spring of 1880 we left St Louis upon the longest continuous tour that a circus had ever made, a tour which belted this continent twice, and reached to Australia and the South Seas.

We had been to the Pacific coast seven years before. Indeed, the Cole show was the first to make the trip by rail. I remember, that at that time J. B. Gaylord, who was general agent, wired and wrote Mr. Cole that prospects were so bad and everything so expensive that the tour should be abandoned. But the great showman, who sensed the real situation from a distance, ordered his agent to complete arrangements or, resign, and a golden harvest justified his foresight.

In the seven years intervening, new towns had sprung up everywhere in the Rockies and beyond; offering virgin territory to the showman, which appealed to Mr. Cole's business acumen, although he fully realized the hardships involved. Leadville is a case in point. It was then a vast, thriving mining camp to which a single narrow-gauge railway had almost reached. We billed the town in hopes that the railroad would be completed by the time the circus arrived, Nevertheless, we were forced to haul our equipage two miles and a half up the mountain with teams to get near enough the town for an exhibition.

And what a day! Money was plenty. It was the first circus that Leadville had known. We charged a dollar for admission and fifty cents extra for reserved seats. I remember that lemonade sold for twenty-five cents a glass. And yet the people trooped in from the mountains on horseback or in wagons for hundreds of miles about. We played to 15,000 at Leadville. It was our banner day up to that time.

The Attempt on the Treasure.

During the night show, and while the treasurer and his assistants were straightening out the books and cash, a team of horses was hitched to the ticket wagon which immediately began to move. It was customary to take the wagon up to the main tent as soon as the menagerie tent had been dropped, and the treasurer and his aids thought nothing of the motion until it was violent enough to indicate that they were travelling downhill at breakneck speed.

Realizing then that they and the receipts of the show were being abducted, they grasped their guns, cautiously opened the door and began a fusillade into the darkness outside. They were fortunate enough to kill one of the horses which stopped the wagon. The driver sprang from his seat and with his confederates rushed into the thicket, just as a number of the circus employes who had been alarmed by the mysterious disappearance of the wagon rushed upon the scene. There was tremendous excitement, of course, but the would-be robbers were safe, and there was nothing to do but haul the wagon back to the show, thankful that neither money nor human life had been sacrificed.

After a tedious night in getting our big outfit back to the temporary rail-way station two miles and a half away, and loading it into the little narrow gauge cars, we go to Salida, ,a town whose population of 500 souls were living in tents and other temporary structures, and gave a single performance. The village was rude and small, but the necessities of life were there, as I learned when I read this sign over a little store: "Dry Goods, Groceries and Keno." In those days Salida was quite unvexed by anti-vice crusades.

We returned to Denver by way of the Grand Canon of the Rio Grande, Pueblo and Colorado Springs. Here we rejoined our regular show train, but were forced to leave it frequently at junction points and make our way by little narrow-gauge railroads to the remote towns in that inaccessible country. If one will consult the map today, he will see that many of these "wild and woolly" cities, Austin, Carson, Nevada City and others, are still at the end of the line.

Off for New Zealand.

After touring the entire California country, closing in San Francisco, we set sail for Auckland, New Zealand, with the railroad cars, of course.

I preceded the show by a month with our agents and a few expert bill posters and lithographers and a full year's supply of every kind of printing required in the business. I also carried a set of electrotype plates for all of our small letterpress work. It was my ambition to make the printed matter as distinctively American as was the show.

We stopped in Auckland first in order to break the long voyage to Australia. Besides the horses and animals thus had an opportunity to rest and become acclimated while we were playing the principal towns of the islands. But the visit was extremely unfortunate for our serpents, who found to their sorrow that New Zealand is as inhospitable to their tribe as Ireland. They all died within ten days after landing.

It was in Wellington, the first stand after Auckland that the greatest calamity of our tour befell us. We dis-embarked all our material there, except an extra new canvas, still in the original cases, which we permitted to go on to Christ Church in order to save rehandling.

A Terrible Storm.

Our canvas was erected the next day and the street parade had started preparatory to the initial performance. Only Mr. Cole and myself, with a few of the workmen, were on the ground getting ready for the opening. Suddenly a wind arose and swept down through the channel. I have never seen such a storm come out of a clear sky. In less time than it takes to tell it the huge canvas was lifted from its poles and torn into ribbons.

Mr. Cole's superb nerve under trying conditions was never more in evidence.

"We might as well get under cover," he remarked, as calmly as if it were an afternoon tea, and led the way to a barn with stone walls behind which we sheltered ourselves as the havoc increased.

Every stitch of canvas went. The bare poles stood for a moment, then crashed to the earth. The seat planks, were lifted into the air, whirled about like so many straws and cast to the ground. Everything was flat.

"We certainly made a mistake, Louis," said that even voice again, ''when we let that canvas go through. There won't be a boat this way for a week and it'll take some time to patch this one up."

There was a moment's silence. Then -

"Louis, do you think you could rent the opera house, so that we could show there tonight? We might as well begin arrangements for the next day or two at least.”

"There's nothing like trying," I replied, inspired by the coolness of my chief.

Professor Chellette, an illusionist, whom I knew quite well was showing at the opera house. As he was not doing well, it occurred to me that some arrangement could be made with him, and, calling a cab, I soon found him.

He knew our plight and drove rather a hard bargain, to be sure, but I closed at a price equal to fully double his receipts and hastened bark to report.

It was then 11 o'clock.

I rushed to town and inserted an ad in the newspapers, promising "a full and complete performance without riding at the opera house." The same copy went to the job press, and in less than an hour we had the band back on the principal streets, with a man on horseback announcing the change in program.

When the doors opened that night there was a crowd sufficient to fill the opera house twice over. I may add that with the assistance of our sideshow people and the vaudeville company the performance was entirely satisfactory.

In the meanwhile, and without moment's delay, we, scoured the wharves and sail lofts, picking up all the canvas and workmen we could find and pressing them into service with offers of extra pay. By working all night in conjunction with our own force they were able to get enough canvas together to repair the "big top," or main circus tent, and after corraling the animal cages we were able to open the next afternoon performance exactly on time.

As we had allowed four days for our exhibition in Wellington, I am quite sure that we took in as much money during this period as we would had we played the full engagement.

We never allowed that extra canvas to get out of our sight again, and during our stay of one week in Christ Church, where we also played to splendid business, we patched up the old canvas so that it answered every purpose for an extra during the rest of the tour.

After playing the principal cities of New Zealand we sailed for Adelaide, Australia, stopping en route at Hobart, in Van Diemen's Land, now known as Tasmania.

In Australia.

Our stay in Australia was uneventful, but prosperous. We made Melbourne, Sidney and all the principal cities as far as Queensland, the trips into the interior being by rail and the long coast journeys by steamer. We were everywhere received in the most kindly manner, and as it was our business to amuse we tried to be pleasant.

During our visit I participated in three or four genuine kangaroo hunts, on one of which the party killed more than a thousand of these animals. At that time the kangaroo was a pest to the country, often destroying a crop of grass or grain in a single night. One of my new-found friends presented me with a tame kangaroo, which was installed in the circus and forthwith became a great pet with the performers.

I also acquired two of the most gifted of talking cockatoos. One of these was a large white “golden crest" with a gruff voice. The other was a small pink and gray bird whose tones were like those of a woman. They would carry on a conversation with each other that convulsed all listeners, but was hardly of a type to be embalmed in print. It was as if a man and woman were in a very heated argument.

These birds were well known in Newark, as I kept them in my home in Taylor street during the winter. They lived in my car in the summer and became familiar to a multitude of newspaper men all over the country. The truth is that they became valuable advertising assets, often securing the much coveted newspaper notices that I myself was unable to command.

I visited India while the show was in Australia to ascertain whether it was practicable to extend our tour to that country, but decided against it.

Samoa and the Fiji Islands.

I was also dispatched to Samoa and the Fiji Islands to make arrangements, if possible, for securing a party of the natives of those islands for exhibition purposes. On this visit I found the American consul at Apia in a most distressing and unusual situation.

It will be remembered that at that time there was trouble between the United States and Germany over the Samoan Islands, a controversy in which the native chieftains participated. Those of them who adhered to the United States, fearing lest our consul, Gilderoy Griffin, would desert them, were holding him practically a prisoner in the hut where he lived. His wife had been killed in an accident a little while before and the man was as forlorn and desolate as one can imagine.

After much parleying with he, natives, I managed to reach him and was received as though I was an angel from heaven. Of course, he gave me all the information I was seeking. Better yet, there was inaugurated a friendship between us that has never cooled.

After a parting that was sad to both, I went I to the Fiji Islands, but received nothing that assisted me in my quest for native exhibits. There is still in my home, however, a ghastly souvenir of the visit. A little while before, the natives had surprised the American schooner Sand Fly and massacred all on board. One of the spears of the attacking party was left sticking in the side of the ship and subsequently removed by a sailor who presented it to me.

Returning to Australia, I preceded the show to San Francisco to make arrangements for our homeward tour across the continent. I stopped en route at Auckland, of course, and one can imagine my surprise at there meeting Mr. Griffin again. Since my visit to him he had been transferred from Apia to New Zealand, and now not only welcomed me right royally, but with a Mr. Brett, of the New Zealand Star, secured for our show six splendid specimens of Maori warriors. These, deeply tattoed and bearing other marks of barbarism, were the first of the kind ever brought to the United States. They were at the wharf at Auckland when the show stopped there on its homeward Journey.

Owing to an accident to the machinery, my boat was ten days late in reaching San Francisco. There was no wireless in those days. The gravest anxiety for our safety was felt. We had been given up for lost, indeed. The general relief occasioned by our arrival therefore apprised us of the multitude of friends we had and gave us a brief popularity that quite cheered our hearts.

Trouble With Wells-Fargo.

But the delay was a serious problem for me. My printing was in Buffalo awaiting orders and it was now too late to ship by freight. The express rate to California was then 16 cents a pound, and as there were more than two tons of that printing, the transportation bill looked pretty big, even to a showman. After pleading in vain with the express folks for a reduction in rates and holding a telegraphic correspondence with the printers, I concluded to have the matter sent by mail, the postage on such matter being only 8 cents a pound. It is true that the printing had to be sub-divided into packages of four pounds each, but this was done, despite the vast labor involved.

The Wells-Fargo people died hard. In those days all matter, mail or express, was transferred at Ogden. There were not extra mail cars sufficient for my two tons of four-pound packages and two express cars were pressed into service. When the stuff arrived in San Francisco the Wells-Fargo refused at first to deliver it until I had paid the extra 8 cents a pound, but my appeal to the postoffice quickly brought them to time. I thus had the satisfaction of saving a little money and at the same time teaching the Wells-Fargo a most wholesome lesson. I think it fair to claim too, that I am a pioneer in the matter of making big shipments by mail.

Across the Continent.

We played two weeks in San Francisco, in the meanwhile repainting and redecorating our entire outfit. This done, we started towards the Atlantic over the Southern Pacific railway; which had just been completed, exhibiting in Los Angeles, San Bernardino, Yuma, Tucson and other points on the line. In point of fact we were the first circus to enter this territory by rail.

We charged $1.50 admission and $1 extra for reserved seats. The, country was sparsely settled and water tanks were far between, but, bless me, how the “dobe dollar” did roll in!

In advance of the show at Deming, N. M. where we left the Southern Pacific for the Santa Fe, I inquired for the station agent and was directed to a forlorn boxcar, which served as ticket office, telegraph office and agent's residence. Climbing up a short ladder, I rapped at the door and was admitted by a lady who informed me that while her husband was ill, he would be out in a moment.

When he appeared, imagine my surprise to find Charlie Comfort, an old friend and fellow compositor on the Kalamazoo Telegraph. If you will look at the folders of the Mexican Central railway today you will find his name there as general superintendent.

Continuing on our eastward journey, cutting something of a swath North and South, we crossed the continent, making a tour through Canada as far as Halifax, and thence back, playing at all the principal points up to and including Providence, R. I. Here we concluded the season, afterwards going into winter quarters at Bridgeport, Conn.

Thus ended the longest continuous tour in this and foreign countries on record. We had not missed an advertised stand or date. We closed with a round profit of more than one-third of $1,000,000.

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