Tom Barry is now first engineer of one of Peck’s Uncle Thomas companies, of which my side-partner, A. Bailey Knapp, is the man that goes ahead and tells the people that the donkeys and the rest of the jack asses are on the way. I suppose that Tom will have his hands full seeing that Eva gets to heaven every night in a blaze of red fire and that the donk don’t kick to be starred. Peck has made as much as four quarts of gold dust with his shows this season and I’m glad to hear it; for he is a large patron of Sam Booth, who is a solid friend to a showman, as John B. Doris and Frank A. Robbins will testify from experiences. I pity the first gill that attempts to be fresh when he goes to see “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” Eva, the dogs and the donk. Why, he’ll go out on his head. And if the hall is on the second story I should be sorry for him, as Tom Barry is just such a bouncer as John L. Sullivan would be if he was traveling with two Evas, two Marks, and two Topsies, besides the livestock.
Peck, Barry, and Knapp are doing missionary work in the dramatic field and who knows but that those who go to snort, to snivel and to whine at the illustration of Mrs. Stowe’s masterpiece may be some day induced to go and see “a play.” But that would be wicked!
I suppose that Peck could get a front seat now, way up on the “amen row,” but don’t you recollect that Thomas Thumb and not Uncle Thomas was the paying card. And I suppose that Peck could get a front seat now, way up on the “amen row,” but don’t you recollect that Thomas Thumb and not Uncle Thomas was the paying card. And you, Harry Knapp, I suppose are dodging about the country seeking even the basement of churches and school houses for your Uncle Thomas. And as for you, Mr. Barry, in the language of John Healy, Wally Ward and his son Joe, I say “Sagwa!” You may be making money on the road, Mr. Barry. That is pleasant. But now, really between you and I, in this frigid weather, where it’s cold enough to freeze the ears off the
donkey, wouldn’t you rather be gathered in at “the dice box” at Howard and Crosby’s at the lunch and wet hour with congenial Charles Gayler, Sam Booth, Snook, Sneden, Boyd and Hagar and have a bit of circus chat? But, when you get lonesome, I suppose you make the best of it with the donk and the country editors.
At this writing, William Sells is due in New York, having completed his engagement at the Covent Garden, London. During his absence abroad, he has perfected himself in a new act called “The Sculptor’s Dream.” Young Sells’ ambition is to be commended. Having an idea he wished to carry out and knowing no one here particularly fitted to instruct and perfect him in it, he crossed the ocean and accomplished his purpose. Work makes the artist and many an American performer who warms a chair all winter might better himself in money-earning capacity by buckling on the harness and getting down to business. Then they would not have any cause for growling because American managers hire foreign talent.
New York is full of circus folks and down at the old St. Charles tavern, where so many memories cluster, things are lively. Col. Charles Seeley is keeping open house and “unveils the statue” for arriving guests with liberal frequency - so frequent he thinks of buying a jug. What’s the matter with a barrel? For romantic, terrific, unparalleled, first-class liars, commend me to the mob that hovers about that old stove. Perhaps not so boisterous a one as assembled during the stay of King Richard (Fitzgerald) or Harry Stanwood (he of the banjo and good humor), but just as good, every day, go-as-you-please truth stretchers.
I have received a visit from J. J. Showles, whose full front name is Jacob. He is not the other Jacob of the same name who is an old circus rider. (35) This J. J. is an ex-circus agent. The “honest farmer” traveled his first season with Noah in the ark and then joined Raymond & Waring early in the present century. Jake has got an egg factory at Port Elgin, Ont., and breeds fancy poultry for profit. He must be the chap who lays those large eggs on the editor’s table of which we read.
J. J. advanced in his time ahead of Jerry Mabie, VanAmburgh, Howes’ London, Spalding & Bidwell, Hilliard & DeMott, Burr Robbins, Adam Forepaugh, and Cooper & Bailey. With Cooper & Bailey he made a tour of the world; with Burr Robbins he gazed on Janesville. [He] piloted J. H. Haverly, also the Forresters when they were making money by the bushel. And I forgot to remember the Commonwealth Circus, a cooperative institution that sent into the ring thirteen star performers, each one brilliant. Showles was with Bartholomew, the great horse trainer, when he first came over the Rockies and joined the equines to the forces of Dan Rice. J. J. is now in advance of the prosperous Celtic star, Joseph Murphy, one of the wealthiest actors on the American stage.
I put in a week in Detroit and it is a nice place to tie up to, especially if you stop at the Griswold House. Detroit is
opposite Windsor, Canada, and is famous for its Jim Kelly and the Free Press. Kelly is a living city directory. He knows everybody in the city and everybody knows him. Just now Kelly is a literary freak in a dime museum and is editing the
several newspapers in the city. Kelly is a conscientious advertiser; he will never tell a lie when a falsehood will answer
just as well. There is a rumor going about that Kelly is Irish, but Frelich, of the Free Press, declares that it needs confirmation.
At Detroit I met John D. Walker, who I knew in the back number of 1868. At that time he was one of the few billposters in the country possessed of means and did business on business principles. John and I blabbed several hours about “old time rocks,” Ned Kendall, the agent, and many others.
By the way, “Granville,” your Washington correspondent, in relating to an anecdote of Ned Kendall, the bugler, mixes the musician with the agent. My Ned Kendall was one of the greatest advance agents that ever piloted a show in this or any other country. He was what used to be called “a working agent;” could put up a stand of bills and delighted to do it, knew the country to a dot, wrote with fluency, and had a legion of friends. Ned Kendall could inject about as much wormwood into a paragraph as any man that ever put a pen to paper.
In the days when Walker flourished, much depended on the billposter’s friendship and the agent who stood well could often “bill out” a rival.... John D. Walker was a prime mover in the establishment of the National Printing Co. in Chicago, of which McConnell, then of the Detroit Post, became the head. Walker was foremost also in the formation of the organization of billposters, which still continues in existence.
And now let quip and jest and chat be hushed. L. B. Lent is dead! The dates all filled, the last stand made! Perhaps everyone did not understand Lewis B. Lent as well as I but as long as I live I shall cherish his memory. For many years he was my true, good friend. If the world had been harsh with him he did not repine. Quite the contrary, he bore up bravely under reverses. There was no whine in his composition and he lived the life of a philosopher. It is a great satisfaction to know that no penury or pressing want pursued him in his old age. He died in comfort with happy home surroundings and those he loved best at hand. L. B. Lent was deeply attached to his family and their sorry must be as great as was his affection for them.
Inclination would dictate that I should pen a fitting tribute to my departed friend but my time is not my own, business duties press, and I have only time to say this much and add, “God bless his memory!” If, as some like to believe, we may resume “beyond the river” the duties and the life of this world, what a gathering there must have been on the golden shore to greet the veteran. Welch, Quick, Angevine, Titus, Sands, Cushing, Murray!
What a blessed thing is memory! Now as I write, my mind reverts to the great days of Lent’s New York Circus, its triumphs in New York, its successes on the road. Still, as the scythe-bearer rushes on, we are apt to be forgotten or exist only in the recollection of a cherished friend. Lewis B. Lent and John H. Murray both did much for arenic amusements in America. Clean, respectable shows were their hobby and for many a year to come they will both be remembered as managers who had an exalted standard and maintained it.
In the days of “Adam,” all were taught
That remotest corners of earth were sought
For curiosity strange, most monstrous creatures
To spring on the “natives” as novel features.
And when secured, who announced them, say
In blood curdling sentences? - CHARLES H. DAY.
Our alphabet has been twisted and turned;
Over-worked scribes have their money earned
In futile attempts to down this man
Who writes up headlines as none other can.
Any startling sensation in the show line may
Be safely attributed to CHARLES H. DAY.
Who when the sawdust circle had lost,
In a certain measure, its former caste,
Racked his brain, and with heart aglow,
Gave the $10,000 beauty to the Forepaugh show?
You anticipate my answer to the question, eh?
You’re right! ‘twas the only - CHARLES H. DAY.
Who was it when Forepaugh with chagrin bent
Because “Barnum” had got a “white elephant,”
The ocean crossed, search glade and dell,
Until the “old man” had another as well?
If my data’s wrong, excuse me pray,
But a good many thought ‘twas CHARLES H. DAY.
For many a “DAY” has he worked intent,
The very best years of his life been spent,
That others might garner the harvest of gold
Brought to their coffers by the tales he told.
If the laborer is worthy of his pay,
A fortune is due to CHARLES H. DAY.
May his years be many and without stint.
May his brain invent “fairy tales” for print.
When death o’rtakes him as it surely will,
His eulogy we’ll post on a three-sheet bill
In colors, that all who pass that way
May raise their hat to the genius of CHARLES H. DAY.
Footnotes
35. Jacob A. Showles is the performer referred to. See Circus Personnel Reference Roster.
No part of this information may be reproduced in any form or means
without written permission of William L. Slout and the Circus Historical Society, Inc.
Last modified December 2005.