Al. G. Field

And far away—up yonder, in the window o' the blue,
The dreamed-of angels listen to an echo glad and new—
Thrilled to the Gates of Glory, and they say:
"Heaven's love to you,
Brother of the Light that makes the Morning!"

"If John kin do better in Columbus, hit's yo're duty to go." Thus Linn advised the mother.

Columbus was a big city but it was not home. The mother was discontented and longed for the old town back yonder. Alfred had promised to abandon his circus ambitions. He had just concluded a season in the south with the Simmons & Slocum Minstrels, a famous troupe of those days. E. N. Slocum was a Columbus man. Alfred had received an offer to cross the ocean with Haverly's Minstrels, a very large company. Haverly had invaded London previously and the success of that venture aroused great hopes for the success of the second company. The mother's strenuous opposition to Alfred's acceptance of the engagement was backed up by Uncle Henry Hunt, who was on a visit from Burlington, Iowa.

Uncle Henry was born in Elk County, Ky. His mother died when he was very young. His father married soon after the death of the first wife. The younger sister and himself did not appeal strongly to the step-mother. She was deeply interested in church work, and had little time to devote to the half orphaned children or her home. A plantation and a hundred and fifty slaves engaged all the father's time. The boy and girl ran wild on the place and it was little wonder they often came in for censure and even more severe punishment. The sister seemed more aggravating to the new mother than the boy. Reprimands became more frequent, followed by bodily punishment. During the father's absence in Louisville, the step-mother's abuse of the sister became so aggravating to the brother that he assaulted the step-mother. The boy, fearing the wrath of the father, determined to run away. He had relatives, a brother in Newark, Ohio. Walking and working, he reached Newark, footsore, weary, lonesome and homesick. He felt he had reached a haven of rest.

The wife of the brother was the best man. She ran the husband, she ran the home. Ragged and miserable looking, his reception was anything but cordial. The recital of his wrongs, the abuse of his sister by the step-mother, instead of creating sympathy, brought censure. The brother's wife was a most devout church member and that a boy of fourteen had descended to the depths of degradation his condition denoted, was most abhorrent to her.

The boy realized that he was an unwelcome guest. It was not long ere the brother, influenced by the wife, informed him that he must go back to his home, to the old plantation in Kentucky, that he must submit to the authority of the step-mother, become a better boy, that his behavior, had disgraced the family, and that he, the brother, could not harbor him longer. The brother's wife assured him the prayers of herself and family would go up for him nightly. They gave him no food, they gave him no money. When the door of his brother's house closed upon him, all there was of love in his being for kith or kin went out of him, save for the memory of the dead mother and the living sister. He worked on a farm barefooted; he slept in an out-house without sufficient covering to keep him warm; he carried a clap-board to the field that he might protect his feet from the frost while he husked corn. He apprenticed himself to a blacksmith, learned the trade and came to Columbus. He established a shop at a crossroads in the country. It became known as Hunt's Corners. It is now the corner of Cleveland and Mt. Vernon Avenues.Uncle Henry, through influence, secured a contract from the penitentiary. He accumulated money, moved to Burlington, Iowa, became one of the prosperous, progressive business men of that beautiful city. That Uncle Henry's heart was hardened towards relatives did not change his generous disposition towards friends.

Alfred liked the rugged old blacksmith whose good nature and wholesome hospitality were the admiration of all who were fortunate enough to be his guests. He entertained as few men can entertain. The host of a home is a difficult social role to fill. There are no rules, no book-lessons that teach it. It is an inborn trait and comes only to a man who loves the companionship, the good-fellowship of human beings. Uncle Henry was noted for the good things to eat he so abundantly provided. However, had he served the plainest food to those whom he welcomed, his hearty hospitality would have made it a feast.

Uncle Henry

Uncle Henry soothingly addressed the mother: "Sis," (he always addressed her as "Sis,"), "Alfred's not going to England. He has walked many dusty roads, like myself, and he's all the better for it, but you can't walk back from England. I've told him so. Alfred's going to stay right here in this country. He's all right. He's going with a circus. He's a better circus manager than plenty of them that's making money. When he gets a little older, hard behind the ears, we're going to get up a company and start him out right. I've talked it all over with Grimes and two or three other friends. Now you and John just let that boy alone. He'll come out all right."

The mother said: "Alfred has promised me he will not go with another circus. It keeps us worried all the time. I'm afraid something will happen him.""Yes, something will happen him, and you take it from me, it will happen here or there, and it's more liable to happen here than there. Say, Sis, come on, be a sensible woman. Never drive your boys away. Never coax them to lie."

"Why, I haven't coaxed Alfred to lie," quickly answered the mother.

"Say, Sis, you've been coaxing that boy to lie since he was able to paddle his own canoe. Your coaxing him to do that, he will never do. That is, stay at home and paint wagons, houses or boats. Give him his way. He'll have it anyhow, you see if he don't. If he wants to start a grocery, I'll loan him the money. But, he'll never make a groceryman. Suppose they'd tried to make a preacher out me," (and all laughed), Uncle Henry said, "Yes, you laugh at the very idea of it. Let me tell you something, and I hope Alfred's high-falutin' preacher uncles and others won't get red in the face when they hear of it. If you all keep caterwauling Alfred around, he wouldn't amount to three hurrahs in Halifax."

"He may work for Doctor Hawkes forty years longer and he will be no better off than a living. There's no hope for a boy in working for a man like Doctor Hawkes. The Doctor's all right but he never assisted a human being to better himself. He's like all other rich men. He just uses men to pile it up for himself, and any man that can't pile it up for himself, or don't make a big try to do so, needs shingling. I never had any relatives to pull me back, and I never had any to put me forward."

"Where is your brother and his wife?" someone asked Uncle Henry.

"Wheeling cinders," came quick as a flash.

"Oh, Uncle Henry, I am surprised."

"Well, the reason I say that, is, they told me that people that did certain things would sure go there"—and he pointed downwards—"and they did those very things so what can I say when you ask me where they are?"

Peter Sells and Alfred were close friends. The Sells Bros. Show had opened early—April 16, 17, 18. It rained or snowed every day during their engagement in Columbus. The show was to appear in Chillicothe a few days after leaving Columbus. Peter Sells came into the stage office and arranged to go to Chillicothe. He had returned from Kentucky to confer with his brothers. Alfred accepted his invitation to accompany him to Chillicothe. The after concert, with no performers to present it, had been omitted for three days. Alfred advised Ephraim Sells that could he find wardrobe a concert could be given that afternoon and night. The wardrobe was secured. The announcer made much of the "great minstrel comedian" who would positively appear in the concert for this day only. Nat Goodwin and his company, who were to appear in the opera house that night, were in the audience.

Ephraim, Allen and Peter Sells, and Alfred were seated on a bench in front of the hotel. Allen Sells was endeavoring to persuade Alfred to remain with the show.

While the dicker was pending, a young clerk from a store door, yelled to a passer-by on the opposite side of the street: "Were you at the circus?" The other yelled: "Yes." "How was it?" "Bum, but the concert's good. That Al. G. Field that was here last winter in the opera house, is with them. The concert's the best part of the whole thing. I guess the minstrels are busted, or Field wouldn't be with such a bum circus."

The Sells Brothers appreciated the joke.

The argument ended abruptly by the engagement of Alfred.

Ephraim Sells was exacting in all his dealings. Severe with the drunkard, he endeavored to assist all temperate and deserving employes, advising men to secure their own homes. "Own your home. You will never accumulate anything without a home. Establish a home, raise a family, be somebody." There are many men living in Columbus today who owe all their possessions to Ephraim Sells' advice.

The Sells Brothers Shows were larger than the Thayer & Noyes. In fact, the Sells Shows had the advantage of a menagerie. The circus performance was not so meritorious as the first circus Alfred was connected with. The Sells brothers, with the exception of Peter, were not good showmen; that is, they were not producers, although good business men. Had the Sells brothers possessed the talent for originating and producing displayed by James A. Bailey, or Alfred T. Ringling, their organization would have been second to none, as they had the opportunities but did not take advantage of them.

They were undoubtedly exhibiting the finest menagerie in the country, the collection of animals, with the exception of a giraffe, was most complete. Peter, the advance agent, returned to the show. He severely criticized the appearance of the show, particularly the lack of decorations. Nashville was a two days' stand. Ephraim gave Alfred orders to buy all the decorations, banners, flags, etc., necessary to convert the interior of the tents into a bower of beauty. Nashville stores were ransacked. Printed calico or other goods with the national colors emblazoned on them were the only decorations available. Wagon loads of these goods were purchased. Side poles were festooned with the gaudy colored calico, and lengths of it hung in front of the reserved seats, on the band stand, the entrance to the dressing tents. The decorations were the wonder and admiration of the circus folks. Drivers, razor-backs, car porters, cook tent, side show people came again to gaze upon the riot of color presented by the decorations. It rained as it only rains in Nashville. The surrounding country is fame's eternal camping ground. Here sleep men from all the States of the North and South. It is the bivouac of the dead. The hills have trembled with the tramp of armies. Blood has flowed as freely as the rushing waters of the murky Cumberland. Hills now green with nature's garb were once stained with the blood of those who struggled for the mastery. But no battlefield near Nashville ever presented the sight that did the hill on which stood Sells Brothers tents in the soft haze of that October morning. Running rivulets of red percolated in a hundred gulleys from under the circus tents. The gaudy red calico was now white, but all the plains below were red. Thousands came to view the sight. One negro spread the news that "the varmints wus all loose and had et up all de circus folks case de blood was leakin' out de tents in buckets-full." Another surmised "De elephans had upset the lemonade tubs."

The decorations had faded white, the hills were red, Ephraim and Lewis made the air blue.

Lewis sarcastically suggested Alfred communicate with Peter advising we had decorations, but they ran away, and we didn't have time to go down in the hollow and dip them up.

One morning the startling news went around that the old man had fired the principal clown. In those days the old clown was best man with a circus. He was the entertainer—the leading man. He must be eloquent, nimble and a comedian. Every circus had it's popular clown. It was the days of Dan Rice, Ben McGinley, Pete Conklin, Johnny Patterson, Walcutt, Den Stone, John Lowlow, and others. Therefore, when Alfred was ordered—not requested—to prepare himself for the important role of principal clown, he was no little taken aback.

"I have no costumes, I have no gags, I have no make-up," were Alfred's excuses.

After all the boyhood day dreams, after all the preparations in his mind, after all the yearnings, all the ambitious hopes of a boy's lifetime, here was the coveted opportunity to become a clown in the circus. And, now when the opportunity to immortalize himself, to earn a salary as great as Jimmy Reynolds, and eventually buy a farm, he shied.

A performer from Chiranni's Circus in South America dug from the bottom of his trunk as funny a clown costume as ever Joy donned. When made up, all pronounced Alfred as funny appearing as any clown. "He has a beak like Dan Rice and feet like Dr. Thayer," were a few of the side remarks.

Alfred determined he would not use the jokes of the clown who had just left. The clown in those days was given unlimited opportunities. The tents were smaller—his voice reached every auditor. Sam Rinehart, good old Sam, was the ringmaster. Those of Jimmy Reynold's jokes Alfred could not bring to memory, Sam remembered. Therefore, the new clown was a success, with the circus people at least. Jimmy Reynolds' gags were new around the show, and if Alfred was not receiving Jimmy's salary he was telling his jokes. Alfred introduced local talks, which pleased the audiences greatly.

All efforts to engage a clown were terminated by the manager making an agreement with Alfred, installing him as principal clown, a vocation he followed many summers. Lin's prophesy was literally fulfilled: "You kin clown h-it in summer and nigger it in winter."

On that first day Alfred, nervously awaiting his cue to enter the ring as a clown, cautiously peered through the red damask curtains at the dressing room entrance. A boy on a top seat nearby caught sight of the white-painted face. In an ecstacy of joy he clapped his hands, shouting: "Oh, there's the old clown, there's the old clown." Sam Rinehart, sotto voice, standing near the band stand, remarked: "If that kid only knowed how dam new he is he wouldn't call him the old clown." Of all the roles enacted by Alfred, that of the circus clown was most enjoyed. With thousands around him, in sympathy with every mishap or quip, at liberty to introduce any business that would amuse, with constantly changing audiences, Alfred enjoyed his work as greatly as did his auditors.

"Alfred will come to town sum day a real clown in a circus, and the whole country will turn out to see him. Litt Dawson, the Congressman, won't be so much when Alfred gits to goin'." This was another of Lin's prophesies.

Alfred came back home a real clown in a circus. The whole country turned out. No circus ever attracted the multitudes in such numbers. Hundreds turned away at both performances. Alfred's only regret was that Lin was not present. Two children had come to her. One was named John, the girl Mary, in honor of Alfred's father and mother. Lin had trouble with the school-marm. The children, as children often did in those days, brought home a few insects in their hair. Lin pursued them vigorously with a fine-toothed comb. To more quickly exterminate them, Lin gave the head of each child an application of lard and sulphur. The teacher sent the children home with a note advising Lin the preparation on their heads was offensive to her, the smell could not be tolerated. Lin led the children back to the school, tartly informing the school-marm that her children were "sent to school to be larnt, not smellt."

When Alfred visited old Loudon County he fully expected to meet Lin and her family. When informed the big, hearty, wholesome woman had paid nature's debt and that nearly her last words were a message to his father and mother, the pleasure of his visit was greatly marred.

The Sells Brothers and the Barnum Show were having opposition in Indiana. The late James Anderson, of Columbus, who for years was the superintendent of Doctor Hawkes Stage, Carriage & Transfer Company, was the manager of Sells Brothers Show. Ben Wallace was the liveryman who furnished the hay and oats for the circus. Anderson and Wallace became acquainted. A few days later Anderson informed Alfred that he and the tall young liveryman in Peru had formed a partnership to organize a circus. They offered Alfred a much greater salary than Sells Brothers were paying him, and also a winter's work organizing the show. A contract already signed with the Duprez and Benedict Minstrels was cancelled, an office opened in Comstock's Opera House, Columbus, Ohio. Every performer, every musician, etc., with the Wallace Show that first season was engaged by Alfred. Neither Wallace or Anderson knew what their show was to be until rehearsals began in Peru. Both were pleased.

A bit of heretofore unwritten history: After Alfred had refused several offers, after all the best shows had their people engaged, Mr. Anderson, returning from Cincinnati, called on Alfred. The first word he uttered chilled Alfred's blood. "Call everything off, cancel all contracts, the show don't go out."

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.