Signor Faranta, of New Orleans, is one of the old time performers who has prospered. He used to do, in his day, the best “bending act” in the business. I have not seen him in many a long day. Then we were “steady boarders” at the old St. Charles Hotel under the proprietorship of the late George S. Leland, as white a landlord as ever lived. Faranta, I am told, has grown white-headed; at the same time, he has become level headed. His new Iron Building in the Crescent City is spoken of as seating about 5,000 people. When Faranta struck New Orleans he had just eight Mexican dollars in his pockets. And they were valued at just eighty-five cents each.
In those merry days at the St. Charles, Billy Morgan used to carry his roll of greenbacks in the outside pocket of his magnificent seal skin overcoat. Seal skins were not so plentiful in those days and every biddy, chambermaid, and shop girl didn’t wear one. You all read about poor Morgan’s untimely taking off in the last issue of this paper. (1)
I see Dan Colvin called in to see you while in Chicago. Well, he’s been prancing around in the sawdust for some time “in behalf of himself and others,” sometimes a manager or a privilege owner and then again as a hired man. Although Colvin has had some reverses and been “bent” at times financially, he generally manages to save the pieces. It was a sad day for W. C. Coup when he lost Colvin’s counsel and services. (2) Had he retained both, it is my opinion that he would not today be numbered with the great army of “has beens.” E. D. made some money last season with Frank Robbins, and he is now watching the cat to see which way it jumps.
Ben Lusbie was another of the old St. Charles circus crowd. He has gone to join the great majority and, if Gus Hatch is to be believed, is just as busy over there selling pasteboards as he was on this side of the mysterious stream. (3) What a pity that poor Ben‘s last days were spent in harrowing poverty. Many was the dollar that he gave in charity. Through life he valued money as chaff.
I was reading a paragraph the other day, stating that F. M. Kelsh was the oldest circus agent in the business; and that set me to thinking of his side-partner, old “rough-and-ready,” Uncle Charles H. Castle. We used to call them “Damon and Pythias” but what pleased them both best was the “Two Orphans.” A warm friendship existed between these two men. Kelsh, the better educated of the two and of more polished and plausible address, was much admired for these gifts and graces by the blunt “Rucker” of Piety Ridge. The last time I saw Mr. Castle he was waiting anxiously to be called hence, that his earthly sufferings might be at an end. The mind was still bright and the language quaint and picturesque but the map of his coming route was the Holy Book ever at his side.
“Boy,” he said pathetically, “I have made my last stand.” Then a bit of the old time humor flashed up as he smiled and said, “There’s a raft of them over there waiting for me---Avery Smith, Rosston, Murray, Mabie, Spalding.” And he named others, whom he described as “billed ahead.” (4)
“Where will they stop?” has been an oft-repeated question of late years in regard to the ever-increasing proportions of the big shows; but I guess that there is no doubt but that the halt has been called for the present, not only in the dimensions of the greater “tricks” but the wasteful overadvertising that has been indulged in of late years.
The report is again current that the Barnum party will send a show to Europe. P. T. is quite as well known in England as in America and his physog is no stranger to the pages of “Punch” and other humorous publications of London. (5) Then there is no doubt a good thing is to be made out of showing Jumbo.
Funny, isn’t it, how things go in this world and in the show world in particular? Joel E. Warner bought Jumbo for the Barnum show and another man got all the credit for it. (6) Warner is well-to-do and has no need to travel. He has a fine farm and is something of a politician. He was once mayor of Lansing, Michigan, and, like Barnum, can write “Hon.” before his name by right of office.
Mr. W. W. Durand is another fortunate circus agent who had laid up a dollar for a rainy day and I don’t think friend William will be offended if I say that to his wife belongs the credit of lining the old stocking with greenbacks. W. W. has a farm at Bloomington, Ind., and Jumbo in England is a great admirer of Mr. Hendricks. (7) He is a sledgehammer writer and, in opposition, goes in for knock-down blows and has more force and ability to a square inch than half a dozen inflated, self-conceited windbags, who call themselves circus writers.
William Henry Gardner was in luck when he struck up a dicker with Adam Forepaugh in 1880. James A. Bailey never let himself rest until he had collared and corralled W. H. and he has held tight to him ever since. (8) W. H. G. is a fine advertiser and a fair writer and, what is quite as good, a judge of good writing. The billposters in the country ought to get him up a gold medal for getting them good salaries. He has done more to raise their wages than any other man in the business.
George J. Guilford is writing for Pat Harris, the museum manager at Cincinnati. George is a particularly gifted man but he lacks industry; so less deserving men have come more prominently to the front. I have to tell a story about George (if he does get angry). Coup sent George down to Texas in his fatal tour of that state. (9) It was hotter than Ingersollville. And a journey to the interior of Africa in search of money would have been as successful. So you see I clear Mr. Guilford’s skirts of all responsibility for the failure. It was the sun and the almanac. The tour was as unseasonable as strawberries in December. When Guilford arrived at the front, he met W. C. Coup’s brother, George. George sized up the other George, and then he telegraphed: “W. C. Coup, Chicago. Another shade tree in Texas; send down another fat man.”
The last time I was in New York I met Charles Gayler. He must have caught on pretty well with his spectacle which he wrote for the Boston theatre. He appeared somewhat thinner than of yore, except about the pocket; and was enjoying the goodly company of “Sam and Fred” at the “dice box” around the corner. Gayler made a dollar for the “Flatfoots“ with his pen and had the good sense to know how to charge for it.
Charles W. Kidder is indulging in his old penchant for winter theatrical management. He went on to Omaha the other day to join the Fannie Mountcastle Dramatic Co., in which he has an interest. Kidder says that the two greatest men who have ever lived were Hyatt [Frost] and George Washington.
A good many of the boys consult their “Uncle” during the winter but Mike Lipman, once upon a time a clown and manager, is now keeping a “hock shop” in Cincinnati, the jester of the arena holding fort at the “sign of three balls.” Well, it’s quite a convenience in time of temporary embarrassment and I guess most everybody has been there, especially if he has been in the sawdust. The pawnbrokers have such strong safes that it is an inducement to deposit with them for safety.
Forepaugh’s “Light of Asia“ is dead. Well, I guess it would have been just about as well if it had died before it was exhibited. Not that I’m glad at my friend’s loss of money but the people didn’t swallow the “white elephant” business. It is laughable to think how the so-called scientists came forward to certify to the genuineness of Barnum and Forepaugh’s sacred (?) beasts. No, no, that’s wrong. It is mortifying to think that men of pretended scientific attainments volunteered in the deception; for, as the cat is long since out of the bag, neither of the animals exhibited by the great showmen were never nearer Siam than New Jersey. It’s enough to make one guffaw to think of Prof. Leidy, Dr. Boyd, Prof. Doremus and a lot of lesser lights lending their names to a gigantic sell. There was one little guy, Col. Sickels, who used to run around after the Barnum party, declaring that P. T.’s sacred beast was “just like those he had seen in the king’s possession when he was Minister at Siam.” He ought to have had a stuffed club. Now that the white elephant fever has spent itself, the price of sandpaper and whitewash will fall. (10)
Dave Thomas, who looks out for the newspaper people with the Barnum show, is running his printing office at New Haven, Ct. B. B. & H. have given him a single order for 500,000 circulars.
I was asking Jack Parks the other day what had become of his old partner, Homer Davis; and he told me that the last he knew he was soliciting for a sideshow down in New Orleans. Then Parks recalled some of Davis’ original sayings. Homer was a Hoosier and had a quaint way of putting things. He had never seen a professional game of baseball and invited Parks to attend one. J. J. declined, so Davis went it alone. On his return, Parks asked his partner, “Homer, how did you like the game? What do you think of professional baseball?”
“Well,” was the answer, “you take nine Frank Melvilles and give them a club and a ball, that’s baseball.” Davis hadn’t a high opinion of Frank Melville’s intellectual qualities and that’s the point.
The Clipper says that Wooda Cook and his wife, nee Mrs. James Cook (wife of the clown, not Big Jim of the English family), are going to Hengler’s, London, England. I had never heard of a divorce from Millie Turnour, but, of course, there must have been one. (11) Millie was very pretty when she first came to work with Wooda for the Murray show. He was an apprentice with Charlie Noyes; and that was how he met Millie before he made her his wife.
Once with the Murray show, I recollected we showed at New Brunswick, N.J., and at the evening performance [we] were beset with roughs. Murray called on the authorities to protect him and an aged citizen arose in the audience and said, “Never mind the performance, Mr. Murray, protect your property.”
“Hey, rube!” was called and made short work of the roughs. In the melee, Wooda Cook sought a place of safety just as he was, in his tights. After the disturbance, one of the boys found the brave Wooda seated at a restaurant table, quietly devastating a plate of cakes. He preferred to “snuff the battle afar off.”
A New York paper says that James A. Bailey has bought a $15,000 pair of trotters. Well, he can afford it; and if he’ll take an occasional spin on the road, it will do him good. I suppose I have tried to give Mr. B. about as many hard knocks as anyone in the business, in a professional way, but I have always been an admirer of the man’s unmistakable abilities. He had it “collar-and-elbow” for a time but financially he’s all right now.
Adam Forepaugh is a good storyteller when you get him “wound up” and his life written up ought to sell well. He had many a hard knock in his early days and is not afraid to work now that he has amassed an enormous fortune. He is one of the busiest men in Philadelphia. And if you want to fly around the city in a hurry, just join him in his carriage. He is one of the most reckless of drivers and as you ride he’ll give you a chapter of his early experience, while he dodges here and there over the railroad tracks and gives you a lively shaking up.
Last summer the boys with the Forepaugh show played a prank on Billy Burke. William took part in the procession, made up as a clown, and drove a small pony to a little cart. The bad actors would tell the bad boys, “Throw things at the old clown and make him say funny things.”
As the procession moved, the boys did throw sticks and dirt and stones and decayed vegetables at Burke. And the old clown did remark. You should have heard him revile at those boys. He would just grit his teeth and pour out a torrent of suppressed indignation and profanity as the boys rained sticks and stones upon him and made him miserable. Not satisfied with that, in the mule race they tied a pack of firecrackers to Burke’s mule’s tail and thereby hung a tale as well as the crackers. How that mule did cavort. He tried to stand on his head and his tail at the same time, while Burke cried, “Stop him!”
The mule wouldn’t stop and that made the people and the actors laugh. A. Forepaugh, Sr., offered [a] “ten dollar reward for the man who put the firecrackers on the tail of Burke’s mule,” but no one wanted the money.
I spent a pleasant evening lately taking in the Kernell Brothers‘ new show and, as the gallery boy would say, “It is a corker.” Then I ran against John at the hotel and we had a hearty laugh over the time he was with the Forepaugh concert in 1879. John had doubled up with William T. Bryant and was taking a summer excursion. The season opened in Kentucky and it was rainy, cold, and muddy. At Louisville the show had provided itself with a large quantity of bills to distribute in the audience, advertising the concert. It was one of my duties to see that the concert performers put out the bills. And I recollect that the rising, young Irish comedian was never to be found until after a thorough search and then performed the distasteful duty with great reluctance. As we got into the “dark and bloody ground,” shotguns and revolvers of gigantic proportions became plentiful. At Richmond, John went on the seats and began the distribution of the bills of the Pinafore Concert Co., the first bill I ever wrote for the Forepaugh show. A Kentuckian of an inquiring mind asked John what use he should make of the papers. He received an answer. The next second the stranger whipped out a gun. Kernell fell through the seats, scattering his bills in every direction and, picking himself up, he crawled from under the canvas and did not stop running until he found shelter in the cook tent.
John was full of mischief and up to all kinds of pranks. So, not wishing to discharge him, the Forepaughs “put up a job on him.” He was sent out in the parade to ride on a cage, wearing a Mardi Gras head and a fancy costume. Such costumes were generally “alive.” John, greatly to the relief of the management, gave his notice and left us in Indianapolis one Sunday, shedding imaginary tears at the painful parting.
Fred Pride was in Baltimore the other day with the “dog-faced boy” and it recalled a caper of his some years since in Boston. Pride, Claude DeHaven, and Ferguson, of a Friendly Tip fame, met up on an occasion in a lagery opposite the Boston Hotel and quaffed the foaming beer. Pride “set them up” and put down a dollar note for the first round. DeHaven called for another and, as Pride’s money still remained on the table, paid therefrom and so continued to do until the “case” was exhausted. Now Pride pretended to be oblivious as to what was going on but he was not. He watched his opportunity and when DeHaven was off his guard, sneaked out with his coat and pawned it for one dollar in the nearest pawnshop. When Pride rejoined the throng, DeHaven was still sipping beer and spinning yarns in his shirt-sleeves, for the weather, let me say, was hotter than blazes. Ferguson, though, was “on” and had seen Pride’s exit with DeHaven’s coat. When the party broke up, DeHaven made a search for his coat. Explanation was made and the party accompanied DeHaven to the pawnshop, where he recovered the garment upon the payment of $1.20 in the “coin of the realm.” Of course, further libations thereupon ensued.
Often the circus folks get a “rough deal” at the hotels where they are quartered. Last summer Forepaugh’s company put up at an inn at Streator, Ill. Prior to the appearance of the company on Sunday, the landlord gave this verbatim notice to the guests, “During the stay of the circus there will be no napkins.” And to the waiters, “Never mind what they ask for, just sling it to them.”
Billy Burke says that he once knew a giant who, although the tallest man in the show, was always the shortest before the end of the week. He’d borrow money the very next day after salaries were paid.
Adam Forepaugh has a habit at times of speaking his mind in a general way so that the party for whom the conversation is intended can put on the coat if the garment fits him. On such an occasion, “the Governor” was addressing himself to Matt Leland but Matthew did not seem to take in the drift of the talk. The confab took place at the Chestnut Street office, Philadelphia, but it was wasted eloquence as far as Leland was concerned. Oblivious of the fact that he was the subject of the lecture, he came over to my desk and as innocent as a lamb asked, “I wonder who the Old Man means?” You must know Matt and have listened to one of the great showman’s rakings to appreciate the point.
Few circus performers have got along in the world better than Fred Levantine (Though I believe he now writes it F. Levantine Proctor.). Becoming interested in a variety theatre in Albany, he secured sole control and has ever since had an uninterrupted season of prosperity. Joining in the dime museum rage, he has, in conjunction with Mr. Jacobs, been particularly fortunate and is now in the full tide of prosperity. Fred always was an artist as well as a gentleman and is justly held in high esteem in Albany. He has had quite a romantic matrimonial experience and must rejoice that in his prosperity he is reunited with “the one” of the early days.
William G. Crowley, the circus writer, who died but a short time since, had none too much love for the former owners of the London before it came to be merged with the Barnum show and he showed his spite in a funny way while working at the dime museum in Baltimore. Chee Mah, the Chinese dwarf, who travels with his fellow countryman, Chang, the giant, both of whom are with Jim Davis, formerly Barnum & Co.’s foreign agent (There’s a sentence for you worthy of Evarts, William M., or Harry, take your choice.), wanted a biography written up and secured our friend Crowley to produce the nickel volume. Crowley began with a general reference to dwarfs and then went on to say, “Amongst the most famous little folks may be mentioned James A. Bailey, James L. Hutchinson, and Merritt Young. The smallest man in the world is James E. Cooper.”
Curious, isn’t it, how performers and agents take to particular hotels and saloons and no inducement can get them to give their patronage elsewhere. You can recollect, Mr. Corbett, how “Doc” Meacher drew all hands about him in Providence, R.I. Pray and Boston were synonymous at one time. Mr. Pray probably knew every agent and circus performer in the business. The same can be said of Col. Pleckner at the old Allegheny in Philadelphia. Mr. Palling of the Commercial, Chicago, was a great friend of us show folks. Matt Mitbeck of the old Franklin in Buffalo, everybody liked. Then way down in Calais, Maine, was a one-legged landlord named Young, who always bonded the shows to enter New Brunswick at St. Stephens across the bridge. The old St. Charles of New York I have written of by the column. It was a choice lot of spirits met there in the halcyon day. An Englishman named Earnshaw used to get the boys’ budge-money at the Delmonico in Philadelphia and Charlie Burrows took up the name at a late date and planted himself at Ninth and Arch Streets. (12)
Burrows always was a conniver, as long ago as he was committee on hay and oats with Forepaugh. He managed to save some money and after the Den Stone show ceased traveling at Chicago, while George Bronson went home to Kansas to see the hogs and other members of his family, Burrows concluded to get out of the sawdust and make dust. (13) Since then he has, as they say in the Quaker City, been “keeping tavern.” Right well has the tavern kept Burrows. Hagar, Campbell & Co. came along and opened a dime museum right under his nose on the other corner and, having a monopoly on Bradenburgh’s twenty-five cigar trade, he has prospered. Here gather all the circus and museum folks to chin and hold sessions of the “turn-over club.” There is one peculiarity at Burrows - he has no slate. Trust died before C. S. opened shop. The only person he has any confidence in is the scrub woman, Krao‘s mother, (14) “the homeliest wench ever permitted to breath.” But when it comes to a bit of sensible charity, “Cucumber,” as the boys call him, will put his hand in his pocket and produce his full share. In your own city of Chicago is Billy Gilliam, who has loaned money enough to dead-broke showmen to buy the entire lake front. At the same time, he has built up a comfortable fortune. As William is a real estate owner, he is often called on to give bonds for managers and come to the front as a solid man in legal disputes. The Antonio Brothers, formerly managers and artists, are located in St. Louis, adjoining the Everett House, and always enjoy a good patronage. Tom Barry, the clown, has several times embarked in business with the hopes of getting out of the sawdust, quit traveling, and settle down for life. To that end he on divers occasions started restaurants and saloons to see his investments turn out the wrong way; for Tom has much of the English professionals desire to run “a public” and surround himself with friends to whom he can recall the past as he serves a glass. Once on a time Frank Whittaker opened a place on Fourth Avenue, New York, but closed because the slate was not large enough. Lafe Nixon long conducted a restaurant. William Ducrow was quite successful for a time in dispensing fluids. Billy Porter, the ex-clown, is a permanent and successful tavern keeper in Philadelphia. Mazoni, for a time, kept a little place in Cincinnati, called “Side-Pocket,” just room enough for one man to turn around in and crook his elbow. Gus Hatch has been a saloonist and hotel keeper ever since he retired from management.
I note with regret that George H. Adams has been unlucky, and for a time will give pantomime a rest, going out with Gardener’s “Zozo.” He was ambitious and persevering as a boy and deserving and meritorious as a man. As a boy with the old Murray circus, he could do almost anything in the ring and do it well - leap, tumble, ride and play clown, a good all-around performer, as the Cooke blood in his veins entitles him to be. (15) With Murray I took a great liking to the boy and delighted him with a three-sheet clown bill got up in the senior Sam Booth’s best style. After a while George got to playing stage clown; and I have often heard him tell with a laugh how William E. Sinn came over to New York to witness his efforts at the Theatre Comique and gave as his verdict that young Adams wouldn’t do. Well, George has done for the whole nation and William E. Sinn included, since the days of the Brooklyn manager’s adverse opinion. Nothing would please me better than to see Tony Denier and George once more in double harness. I really think it would be a good thing for both parties. What does the Chicago real estate holder think of the suggestion?
So Fred Lawrence don’t go with Forepaugh next season and the engagement of Warner, Cooke, and Durand crowds Fred out. But he’ll catch on with some one no doubt. Fred lives up in a queer little place in New Hampshire, London Village, a short stagecoach distance out of Concord. There he whiles away the winter, gunning and fishing through the ice for pickerel. They have about as much snow and ice up there as Greeley encountered in the Arctic regions; and it is enough to make one shiver to hear Fred’s description of the snow banks, when he merges into civilization in the spring. He tells a pretty good story about himself that I will take the liberty of repeating. There was a revival going on at London Village and Fred took it in, along with his better half. In the course of the evening the good pastor made the usual appeal for those who loved Jesus to stand up. Either from flinty hearts or bashfulness the entire assembly remained seated. Again, the pastor addressed the sinners, this time varying his request, “Let those who love their Maker stand up.”
Up stood Fred, to the astonishment of the good man and all his flock.
“I am glad to see,” spoke the minister, “that you are one, Mr. Lawrence, who loves his Maker.”
“A man would be a son of a that didn’t,” responded Fred. A solemn hush came over that meeting in short meter.
Fred has got a mania for big trunks. Before the 250 pound baggage limit order came into effect, Fred’s cut trunks looked like small boxcars minus the wheels. When it came to loading them onto trains, it generally took the confined efforts of the local baggage agent, station agent, loungers, and the train brakemen to get them aboard. Crowley was his assistant one season and used to relate with great gusto how one day they carried away a whole railroad platform and the conductor swore that by all that was holy they could lay there in the ditch. Crowley went around the station to laugh, while Lawrence coolly remarked, as he expectorated a halfpint of Gravely tobacco juice, “It is immaterial to me. You can let the trunks lay there if you want to. The railroad is good for their contents, I guess.”
“What’s in ‘em?” inquired a curious bystander.
“Three hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry, that’s all.” The iron-bound trunks were put aboard on the double-quick.
Adam Forepaugh is a great joker and as a “leg puller” is a success. We were going from Philadelphia to Fort Wayne as witnesses in a lawsuit and had picnic all the way. The Governor was full of fun and he made it warm for Fred all the way down there and back. At every dining station Mr. Forepaugh would inform the man in charge that Fred was a dangerous lunatic and to put an extra waiter at his elbow to see that he did no damage, also to guard against his escape by the door. The extra attention or annoyances were sure to set Fred off and when he turned one of the guardian angels over they were more than ever convinced that he was a crazy man. At Fort Wayne the parties of the suit were non-sated, having failed to appear; but the great showman kept up the fun by telling Fred that a new suit would be brought and that warrants were now being prepared for the arrest of the whole party and there was safety only in flight. So all fled to an inn at the depot, where the hours were whiled away until the hour of escape and the one o’clock train came along. On the sleeper the porter was “fixed” and Fred got a deal all night and the more he kicked the more he got it, the patience-tried porter remarking in bitterness of spirit, “Deese crazy men traveling is a heep of trible, sah.”
The Clipper stated in its obituary of the late Charles H. Castle that he was the originator of the trademark “4-Paw” as applied to the Forepaugh show. I don’t know where they got their information but Mr. Castle himself often told me that it originated with the late Richard P. Jones, the famous bill writer, and I have heard Mr. Forepaugh say the same.
John H. Murray had many successful seasons in New England and, after the Barnum rage, his business dropped and for two or three years he struggled on poor business. Meeting Harry Bloodgood one day, he remarked, “I saw the Murray show last night.”
“How was business,” I asked.
He replied, “Well, if the performers had been a mind to they could have hissed the audience out.”
How nicknames stick. There’s S. S. Smith, the lecturer and ringmaster, known to all his professional friends as “Sunday School Smith” on account of his double-S initials. James L. Hutchinson will always be known as “Hutch,” in spite of his acquiring a fortune in co-partnership with Barnum. Adam Forepaugh, to his old horse-dealing cronies and butcher friends, will always remain “Our Ad.” John B. Doris, the rising young manager, is “Hunky Doris” to all who know him best, just as in the days he peddled barber-pole candy on the seats or cried “Peaches!” in the streets of Albany. James E. Cooper might be worth a million and still would answer to “Jimmy” Cooper. Dr. Spalding used to be known as “Old Pills.” And his surviving partner, the man with three theatres in New Orleans, is “Dave” Bidwell. E. Darwin Colvin is “Dar” Colvin;” and Benjamin Maginley’s familiar “Ben” of the old clown days is still his prefix in the holy Madison Square company. (16) John F. Robinson is “Jack” and his father, the veteran, is proud to be called “Old.” D. W. Stone, who mortgaged the show to Susan, is “Den” for Dennison. Coup, the circus manager, in his sideshow days was plain “Bill Coup” and when he came to be a rich circus manager, W. C. Coup, as the bills read, some of his Indiana friends mixed his title and dubbed him “W. C. Bill Coup.”
When I was with Mr. Coup, who was running the memorable season of that neat little show, the “Equescurriculum” in Philadelphia, he one day got mixed up on my name. Harry McCartney was the treasurer and a great stickler for red tape. I had used him for some money, and he turned and asked:
“Shall I give some money to Day?”
“Who do you want to give it to?” asked Coup.
“To Day,” reiterated McCartney.
“Well,” demanded Coup, irritated, “Who do you want to give it to today?”
“Why, Charlie Day,” explained McCartney.
“Today to Day,” mused Coup. “Confound it, yes!”
Footnotes
1. Morgan was murdered in Arkansas on October 30, 1884, by Douglas Post.
2. Colvin was manager with W. C. Coup‘s United Shows, 1877-80. He bought an interest in Burr Robbins’ circus in January of 1881 and went out under the title of Robbins & Colvin‘s Great American and German Allied Shows. Another source indicates that Colvin and Coup split in 1882.
3. Lusbie died in Columbus, OH, on July 8, 1884, after a period of ill health.
4. Castle died at his home in Syracuse, NY, September 25, 1884.
5. The circus was taken to London’s Olympic Coliseum in the winter of 1889-90.
6. James R. “Jumbo” Davis (1852-1886) was the agent who represented the Barnum show in purchasing Jumbo and was for some years the purchasing agent for Barnum abroad. Davis has been given credit by some for the fortuitous acquisition of the big elephant.
7. This is a reference to Thomas Andrews Hendricks (1819-1885) who was elected vice-president on the ticket headed by Grover Cleveland in 1884.
8. Gardner left Forepaugh for the Barnum & Bailey show in 1881 and served as general agent for that organization continuously until 1892.
9. Guilford was director of publications with W. C. Coup’s New United Monster Show, 1879-80.
10. The “white elephant” is merely one with albinistic traits, with the dark pigment absent, giving the skin a pale color. Because such phenomena were rare, these beasts were
venerated in Siam and Burma and considered sacred. Barnum’s “white elephant” humbug set up a war of publicity between Barnum & Bailey and the Adam Forepaugh shows which, although ridiculous as one looks back, successfully created the desired public attention.
11. James Cooke married Miss Helen Cooke while with the Barnum show in 1874. Wooda Cook and Millie Turnour were married at Shreveport, LA, in March of 1872 while with C. W. Noyes Crescent City Circus.
12. This would be Charles S. Burrows, the gymnast. See Circus Personnel Reference Roster.
13. The reference is to D. W. Stone’s Grand Circus and Musical Brigade, 1878, which had an unsuccessful season and an early retirement.
14. Krao, “The Missing Link,” was an attraction developed by Signor G. A. Farini, who suggested she might be the link in Darwin’s theory. She was purported to have been found
in the jungles of Laos and advertised as having “prehensile feet,” pouches, hair over most of her body and other simian characteristics.
15. George H. Adams was the nephew of James E. Cooke. He married Rosina Cooke, daughter of Henry Cooke and niece of W. W. Cole.
16. After retiring from the ring, following the 1877 season with Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth, Maginley spent several years per-forming on the stage as a character actor. He supported Lester Wallach in “Rosedale,” McKee Rankin in “The Danites,” etc.
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without written permission of William L. Slout and the Circus Historical Society, Inc.
Last modified December 2005.