by Mim E. Rivas
The program in the Auditorium, which culminated with a short speech from President McKinley, Ohio’s favorite son, offered a spontaneous highlight just after he was called to the platform when an outburst of applause came in response to the sudden appearance of Mrs. McKinley. On the arm of an official, the First Lady slowly made her way down the aisle toward the stage as row after row stood to applaud her presence. She wore her trademark smile, at once kind, brave, and sad, and accepted the audience’s approval with a modest low tilt of her head. Her effort to participate in some degree in the formal exercises was overwhelmingly appreciated, since the public knew that Mrs. McKinley was not, as it was said, in the most robust of health. But the moment that truly electrified the Auditorium was the sight of the President abruptly leaving the speaker’s platform and hurrying to meet his wife to help her to a seat on the stage. In that small, fine detail—so the Southern newspapers and the authors of the Official History acknowledged—McKinley revealed his true self, allowing “the real man” to show himself.
“Deeds of knightly chivalry we see only occasionally,” recalled the Official History, “and then generally they appear in books…. It was not the ruler of a great nation performing a remarkable act that the audience on this occasion applauded, but the gentleman and the husband discharging a simple courtesy.”
William McKinley proved once and for all, at least to every Southerner present, that he was one of them.
Albert R. Rogers was unfortunately absent from the Exposition during the two special days celebrating his native state and his hometown. Rogers did, however, read and hear countless reports of the President’s victorious visit. He heard McKinley’s approving words that the Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition, “in fine, is a gem, and at night a perfect dream,” inspired by the sight on the first evening of the electrical illumination of Centennial City, reputed to have outdone all previous expositions, as well as a pyrotechnic display that included a lifelike fireworks portrait of William McKinley emblazoned across the night sky.
Rogers heard that the receptions held at the Women’s Building in honor of Mrs. McKinley were the crowning social events of the Centennial season, the “bewildering profusion” of floral arrangements notwithstanding. Other than the stifling heat on Friday and a smattering of humidity-driven rain on Saturday, the festivities planned for Ohio Day and Cincinnati Day surpassed every expectation.
From many quarters, Rogers kept hearing about President McKinley’s fascination with a horse he had seen at the Negro Building, an “educated” horse named “Jim.”
Though the possibility of a visit to the Negro Building had been left for late on Saturday, time permitting, the President insisted that it be scheduled as part of his general inspection of the grounds earlier in the day. The Committee of Arrangements should have known better, as McKinley was a fairly vocal proponent for the advancement and education of people of color. He was a professed admirer of Booker T. Washington, founding president of Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute in Alabama, established in 1881, and he, in fact, would a year later be the first U.S. president to visit Tuskegee.
Fortunately, in the expectation that the President would look favorably upon an impromptu visit, the Negro Department’s Executive Committee was prepared, so that when he arrived midmorning—after stops at the buildings of Kentucky, Illinois, and New York—a huge, appreciative crowd awaited him and his entourage. The Official History observed that McKinley toured the entire contents of the Negro Building—its three tiers of over eighty-five exhibits swathed in the flags of the United States, Tennessee, and the lands of Africa—and that he showed exceptional “interest and surprise” in everything, including demonstrable delight in the several numbers sung by the Mozart Society of Fisk University. After Chief Richard Hill introduced each of the musical artists along with the members of the department’s Executive Committee and the Negro Woman’s Board, in a momentary hush, with all eyes focused on President McKinley, Hill said, “Mr. President, that God may bless you and yours is the wish of millions of black men and women in this country.” No more passionate and sincere an ovation was ever delivered to him than the one that followed.
Then, having saved Jim Key for last, Chief Hill turned to Dr. Key to lead the President and his party toward seats in front of a railed-off platform that was preset with a chalkboard, steamer trunks, a shelf of mailboxes, a rolltop cabinet with alphabetized file drawers, Jim’s spelling rack, and his folded screen displaying letters, numbers, and an assortment of names of the dignitaries present. President McKinley and some of his cabinet members were apparently puzzled by the bewildering profusion of the five thousand rabbit’s feet that were festooned over the stage. Dr. Key explained—“gravely” noted one of the Northern correspondents—that these were all left hind feet of graveyard rabbits, caught at midnight at the dark of the moon, many from battlefields and burial places of the Civil War. Jim relied on them, he added, to concentrate.
With that, the Doc gave the signal, and a magnificently groomed Jim Key entered from a side door and was escorted onto his platform by Stanley Davis. Lean and strapping, his coat brushed to a silken shimmer, his black ropey mane and tail both tied in ribbons of red, white, and blue, Jim strolled past the President of the United States with a demure nod, and then seemed almost to smile in a self-congratulatory way, as if he had long expected to entertain royalty and was happy to finally get the show under way. But in contrast to Jim’s equine composure, and Dr. Key’s grand, stately calm, a bout of incredible nervousness had struck seventeen-year-old Stanley, obviously having something to do with being in the presence of President McKinley himself, plus three cabinet members and a former postmaster general, along with Nashville’s Mayor McCarthy and more than forty newspaper correspondents. Among others.
From the time that his sister had died, less than a year before, Stanley had worked for his brother-in-law as Jim’s groom. Dr. Key, in his capacity as head of the Negro Department’s Livestock Committee, had also put him to work in helping to oversee the well-being of animals entered in the various competitions and races held throughout the course of the Exposition. The Doc had already begun making inquiries of new contacts about where to send Stanley for veterinarian studies and had learned of Collins College for Veterinary Surgery in Nashville, the place where Stanley later attended.
Luckily no one seemed to notice Stanley’s state of awestruck immobility as Dr. William Key took his place downstage, facing the audience with his back to Jim, his short riding crop held motionless in one hand throughout. Dr. Key introduced himself and gave a brief background on his educated stallion, sired by Tennessee Volunteer, a Hambletonian, and whose dam was Lauretta Queen of Horses, a pure Arabian that had once belonged to P. T. Barnum. Before beginning a demonstration of the results of patient, kind, intensive education, Dr. Key explained that his Southern-bred horse was a gentleman who could not start without first greeting the ladies present. Since Mrs. McKinley and many of the women traveling with the presidential party were still at a breakfast in the Women’s Building, the ladies in the audience were either from the Negro Women’s Board, from Fisk’s Mozart Society, or there as newspaper correspondents. With a gallant bend of the knee and a slow bob of his head, Jim bowed individually to each female he spotted, waiting afterward for a surge of applause. Upon hearing one round of clapping, he found another lady in his sight lines, then bowed again. And again, and again. It became evident that Jim Key was quite taken with one of the ladies in particular, apparently not one of the younger or prettier women, but a rather matronly correspondent to whom he bowed several more times. Smiles, laughter, and applause rippled through the crowd as Doc Key, wearing his poker face, discreetly urged Jim to get on with his performance.
The program followed the standard format of this time period, starting with Dr. Key’s polite request that Jim go to the steamer trunk to his left, remove the brass bell, ring it, and replace it, and then to remove a silver bell and ring that. To demonstrate that Jim
had not rehearsed a set order, Dr. Key invited a volunteer from the audience to request that he take out and ring either bell. With his ears rotating and twitching to capture each infinitesimal sound wave, Jim, a good schoolboy, promptly and correctly responded to a series of requests for the two bells.
The President was said to be utterly transfixed throughout the demonstration, which continued to be performed in response to random questions from the audience. Bringing letters to his spelling rack, Jim spelled a couple of first names of cabinet members with no problems, and then, after a volunteer came up to the alphabet rack and rearranged the order of the remaining letters, he was asked to spell his own name in full—J-I-M K-E-Y—which he did successfully after a thorough search of the rack. Next was a learning exercise in the operation of a post office, Dr. Key explained (with apologies for its simplicity to the former postmaster general). A gentleman in the group was prompted to direct Jim to go to one of the mailboxes of his choosing and retrieve a letter from it. The name on the envelope was read aloud by Dr. Key, and Jim was told to take it to the cabinet and file it under the proper letter of the alphabet.
Without hesitation Jim went to the cabinet, letter in mouth, pulled out a slide at the bottom with his nose, placed the letter on it, raised the rolling cover of the cabinet also with his nose, and opened the correct drawer with his teeth, put the letter into it, and then pushed the drawer closed. Jim repeated this task several times at the instruction of different audience members, removing different letters from different boxes and filing them in the correct mail drawers without error.
For arithmetic problems suggested from the crowd, Jim added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided with only a few mistakes, as long as sums did not exceed the numeral 30. He could figure 17 divided by 4, for example, by picking out the number 4 and responding to the question of how much was left over by striking the ground once with his front hoof. But he was stumped when it came to the question of 17 minus 18, negative numbers having not yet been covered in his curriculum. Jim didn’t bother trying to look for a number to select but instead shook his head no at Dr. Key, twisting his mouth and squinting his eyes to suggest that someone was trying to trick him.
Jim appeared to be relieved when math questions gave way to playing cashier, a game that involved selecting the correct coins for hypothetical amounts of change as suggested by audience members. He was even more pleased at a prompt from Dr. Key to “write” his name, Jim, on the chalkboard. A skill he had only recently learned, Jim did it by holding a small eraser in his mouth and moving it in the pattern of the script letters on a chalkboard covered with chalk dust. Doc Key had taught him the pattern by forming it first on the chalkboard with sugar water and training Jim to lick it off with a swirling motion of his tongue and head. Bit by bit, he diminished the amount of sugar until Jim understood that he would be rewarded with it after he performed the writing motion. Bill had been working on ways to teach Jim to manipulate a piece of chalk in his mouth so he could actually write letters on the chalkboard, but so far the chalk pieces kept breaking off, not to mention that Jim was none too fond of the taste.
The President and his entourage had their breath taken away by Jim’s feat of retrieving a silver dollar from the bottom of a glass barrel full of water and laughed to the point of tears at the bit at the end when the big bay feigned lameness in response to hearing that he was to be sold. But the showstopper, as might have been predicted, was when Jim Key acknowledged President McKinley. The moment followed a challenge to Jim to go to his folding screen and select the cards on which were printed the names of the President’s cabinet members—Secretary of State SHERMAN, Secretary of War ALGER, and Secretary of Agriculture WILSON. Even after an audience member had rearranged the order of the display, Jim successfully chose the name of each cabinet member as announced. Apparently two names were left on the screen—McCARTHY (the mayor of Nashville) and McKINLEY. Dr. Key said, “There are two remaining names on the board. One of them is the name of our fine Mayor, and the other is the name of our great United States President. Jim, please bring me the card that has the President’s name on it.”
Naturally, Jim Key was quite familiar with the name of the President of the United States. Not at all thrown by its similarity to the mayor’s name, he speedily delivered the card to the Doc. Then Dr. Key asked, “Jim, can you show me where President McKinley sits today?”
Jim turned directly to the President, for the first time in the performance, and bowed slowly and respectfully.
Governor Taylor, sitting by the President, paved the way for the bit he knew, announcing loudly, “Jim Key is a good Democratic horse.”
“Ho, ho,” President McKinley was heard to laugh. “I will change his political views before I leave. Jim,” he asked, “now, aren’t you a good Republican?”
Jim swayed his head from side to side, as firmly to the negative as if he wasn’t responding to the chief executive of the United States, a good Republican.
Respectfully, Dr. Key turned toward McKinley and assured him, “I vote Republican, sir, and voted for you.” The President accepted this news graciously. Dr. Key went on, “Jim voted for you too, right Jim?”
Jim Key repeated his earlier “no” response.
McKinley chuckled, echoed by giggles and guffaws that fluttered through the gallery. The Doc appeared to be embarrassed and twisted his questions to convince Jim to pretend to have voted for McKinley, but nothing worked. They went through the routine, Bill and Jim milking it for all it was worth as they got down to debating the horse’s politics. Was he a populist? No! A socialist? No! So, was he a Democrat, after all? Why, yes, but, of course! A “silver Democrat” in point of fact. The mention of replacing the gold standard with silver that had been William Jenning Bryan’s unsuccessful platform when running against McKinley caused Jim to nicker outright, snorting and blowing foam from his lips.
The President and the rest of the audience exploded into applause and uproarious belly laughter that reverberated through the exhibit space and filled up the three tiers of the Negro Building.
Two days later, in New York, Albert Rogers read the story originally from the Nashville Sun, reprinted in a New York newspaper—which he cut out and put into his files. A Tennessee correspondent had submitted the piece from Nashville, on Sunday, June 13, 1897, writing, “Of the many points of interest visited by President McKinley, none seemed to interest him as much as his visit to ‘Jim Key.’” Albert Rogers was surprised to read that the horse had become, in the words of the Nashville reporter, “the greatest attraction at our exposition.” He was also very intrigued by the following excerpt from the article:
After the exhibition was over the President seemed loath to leave and after patting the horse and shaking hands with the Doctor, he said, “This is certainly the most astonishing and entertaining exhibition I have ever witnessed. It is indeed a grand object lesson of what kindness and patience will accomplish.”
Within the week, Rogers returned to Nashville. With the growing number of attractions he was now booking in fairs around the country, he had many items to handle. But a singleness of purpose drove him. He had to own that horse.
Differing accounts emerged over the years as to the details of the actual agreement made between Albert Rogers and William Key.
Some oral renditions passed along by folks in Shelbyville were in keeping with a version submitted for publication to the Shelbyville Gazette on October 13, 1945. The article’s author had been a boy of nine or ten in 1897 but clearly recalled:
It was during the Tennessee Centennial and Jim Key, the celebrated educated horse, owned and developed after seven years intensive training by Dr. William Key, the personal cook and caretaker of the horse for Nathan Bedford Forrest in the Civil War. Well, he was in Nashville exhibiting Jim Key at his first prominent exhibition in the Centennial and the news came over the wires—yes, we had some kind of telephone or telegraph wires then—that Jim Key had been sold to Mr. Albert Rogers, a capitalist of Orange,
New Jersey, and a Vice President of the American Humane Society for a large sum. Variously estimated from $10,000 to $100,000. At least the former price is a safe bet for soon thereafter Dr. Key gave my father $10,000 to purchase the Johnson Ryal’s farm on the Tullahoma Pike. Anyway, the little berg of Shelbyville was all excited on this memorable day at the big sale and most of all that Dr. Key, who had spent seven years in extensive training for his education program would part with Jim but later we learned that Jim was to remain in possession of Dr. Key as long as either lived, and that a good salary usually referred to as $125.00 per month was to be given the Dr. for attending him.
A second version, passed down through oral accounts from Dr. Key’s family members, was much more likely. In this telling, Rogers went to see Jim at the Negro Building and had to push his way through a crush of spectators that encircled Jim’s platform. The instant he laid eyes on Jim and then turned to survey the astonished crowd reaction, he decided, then and there, to make an offer to buy the act, on the spot, for a hefty cash price. But the purchase didn’t proceed as planned.
When the dapper Rogers approached Dr. Key, after the lines to meet Jim had at last dwindled and the young groom had led the big, smart horse out to where he was stabled, Rogers committed a bit of a faux pas by asking, “Who trained this horse?”
Obviously, Albert Rogers had assumed that Bill was a hire, a sideshow performer or stage persona cast by the act’s promoter to personify the kind of wise, old, kindly black man, such as were often sought in the South for tending to horses. This made sense to Rogers because he knew, after all, that the managers of the Old Plantation exhibit hired Negroes to play the roles of slaves. Besides, a trainer with the gifts to train such a horse would have to be one of the most famous animal experts in the world.
Patiently and kindly, the Doc assured Mr. Rogers that he was, in fact, Jim’s trainer.