Beautiful Jim Key

by Mim E. Rivas

  Unable to gather his strength to leave, at any rate, Rogers described some of these events and others in a letter that he wrote to his friend Louise, a confidante:

  rains last two weeks hurt business & we were in a great hurricane & nearly blown to pieces had to drop the tent and all hang on the poles all night while the wind hurled & the rain poured. Next experience a drunken man got into my room & I pitched him out & then he tried to shoot me. But I am still alive.

  Came here in a special train…it looks like another rainy week. Jim cut his foot badly & nearly killed himself last night—he is very lame & I am greatly worried (if I ever worry) about him.

  I have been very sick indigestion I guess—am staying at the Hotel until I can get out—I send by same mail some cotton I picked for you the other day & Enclosed find a photo of a friend you can always swear by—I never meet any ladies—except dancing girls & these I just say good morning to as they speak to me in the grounds—I hope you keep well. I am feeling to miserable to write at length (if I ever do) Kind regards to your good mother. Yours as ever, A. R. Rogers

  After Albert tucked his sentimental cotton plant and photo of himself into a Carrollton envelope, he had second thoughts about mailing off his tale of woe and instead kept the letter folded away behind his press materials. Doc Key sent word that the Davis brothers had been located and were returned unharmed. Dr. Key and Albert Rogers expressly kept the episode out of print, not wanting anyone else to get any ideas.

  As to Jim’s injury, no mention of it hit the papers either. Evidently Rogers took the public relations stance that celebrities, like gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus, were immortal and therefore immune to illness and aging. In fact, he began around this time to lie about Jim’s age, keeping him at approximately eight years old until reporters started doing the math, at which point Beautiful Jim Key became permanently eleven years old. Rogers also started adding the line “he was bred in Old Kentucky” to his press releases, simply because it had a ring to it, probably until Bill Key expressed his disapproval. Why insult Tennessee? Besides, the truth was much more interesting.

  Under the Good Doctor’s care, Jim’s foot healed rapidly, leaving him with a bandage and a limp but able to perform at the Piedmont Tobacco Fair in Winston and make his much-publicized December debut in Atlanta. Here the humane group was a welcoming and eclectic group of clergy, Christian and Jewish, humanitarians and literacy proponents, who actively embraced Beautiful Jim Key into the bosom of Dixie. For weeks before he arrived, the Atlanta Constitution had trumpeted his engagement, so that by the day his “royal procession” rolled into town in Jim’s customized palace train car that advertised the dates and times of his performances, thousands reportedly came out to the train tracks, if only to say they had seen him pass by, while another several thousand flocked to Atlanta to see the show. The Constitution declared that “Jim Key the Fashion” was why so many theater parties were planning to attend his opening and subsequent shows, suggesting that as much attention was being showered on “the intelligent beast” as on an operatic star. The Constitution’s December 19, 1898, breathless review of opening night, written by the newspaper’s editor, included a mention of the fact that when asked by a member of the audience Jim had spelled C-O-N-S-T-I-T-U-T-I-O-N “unerringly” (although he had remained motionless for a full minute to think it through first). Constitution!

  The Atlanta Humane Society was applauded for the theatrical decor of the Hall at No. 80 Whitehall Street and the display window with its assortment of rosy apples surrounded by lumps of sugar and a printed message that read: “Beautiful Jim Key was taught by kindness, apples and sugar, and not by a whip.”

  The editor described Jim’s physical appearance in fairly standard terms, noting the white star on his forehead, the white tip on his nose, white on a fore and a hind foot. Also: “He has a clean set of limbs, and no blemish. Jim’s neck is finely arched; he has a powerful, fine eye, and sharp and small ears. He has the widest forehead of any horse, being thirteen inches from center to center of eyes.” (This width was often given as evidence of the stallion’s high IQ.) But the editor of the Constitution was fascinated by elements beyond the physical:

  If there is aught of truth in gentle Buddha’s teachings, the soul of a gentleman and scholar inhabits the Beautiful body of wonderful Jim Key—whom the Atlanta Humane Society has brought to Atlanta to demonstrate in brute creation’s behalf that animals reason and think…. It will not be so very many cycles before that soul re-enters a human frame and adds another mighty figure to the book of time.

  As if the editor had experienced a spiritual awakening, he wrote that Jim Key was proof of a Divine Creator who could endow Jim Key with intelligence “equal to most children of its age,” a Universal Mind who could similarly create a Michelangelo, Napoleon, or Shakespeare. He went on:

  All of which Theosophists say goes to prove that Jim does possess a soul, and all of which materialistic scientists argue is convincing that a man no more has a soul than a brute; but the difference between the two is merely a difference of mentality, and Jim to them appears human, for they argue because his trainer, Dr. Key, by long association and persistent suggestions, “has ejected his own intelligence into Jim’s long head.”

  First minds, now souls? In traditional circles, the suggestion that animals could possibly have souls was downright heresy. The old guard insisted that Man’s Dominion over Nature was an absolute and unshakeable tenet of Existence. But with Jim Key now complicating the distinctions, others were starting to ask if instead of merely exploiting nature and its inhabitants to fulfill human desires and needs, wasn’t a reverence for all creation just as much ordained?

  In Nashville, another new humane group composed of ministers, rabbis, university officers, and prominent citizens said yes to that question and came together to find a way to welcome their native sons back to Tennessee in February 1899. In fits and starts a plan emerged that would soon have Beautiful Jim Key leaving a hoof print of sorts on the history of country music.

  The Nashville Humane Society’s timing was impeccable. Emboldened by Jim’s success in Atlanta, a committee of influential Nashvillians—including J. K. Kirkland, the chancellor of Vanderbilt, and community leader Rabbi Isadore Lewinthal—proposed to the Reverend Sam P. Jones that they rent the Sam Jones Union Tabernacle for two days of performances, even though the magnificent barn-styled hall—with its curved tiers of wooden pews that could seat six thousand and with its unparalleled acoustics—had been expressly built for the purpose of saving souls, not for popular entertainment. This was a firmly held policy.

  The benefactor of the Tabernacle, Captain Thomas Ryman, was a self-professed former sinner and operator of a riverboat gambling operation who, back in 1885, had gone to heckle Jones at a tent revival meeting where the reverend was preaching. In an effort to clean up Nashville’s rowdy saloon-and-brothel-infested neighborhoods and riverfronts, Reverend Jones had targeted Ryman and fellow proprietors by demanding that they stop the sale of liquor in their establishments. No booze in saloons or gaming parlors? Who did Sam Jones think he was? But when Captain Ryman and an entourage walked into the tent revival meeting on May 10, 1885, ready to disrupt the event, he was shocked to hear Jones announce that the subject of his sermon was the importance and goodness of mothers. As it so happened, Thomas Ryman loved his dearest mama above anyone or anything; Reverend Jones knew that and had planned his sermon for effect. It worked, well beyond what the man of the cloth had wagered. Ryman was so possessed of the Spirit that he promised he would not only halt the sale of liquor on his boat but also build a church so that Reverend Jones would never have to preach in a tent again. Seven years later, Sam P. Jones held a revival in the completed Union Tabernacle and pledged to his friend Captain Ryman that the house of God would remain so, and would not be used or rented out for entertainment purposes.

  By 1899, that policy had been bent only once, for a concert given by the Chicago Orchestra the year before, the logic for t
hat being that the musical repertoire was religiously themed. In asking that the rules be amended again for a performance to benefit their work in animal protection, the Nashville Humane Society argued politely that the horse and his Negro teacher were, after all, missionaries doing God’s work. The educational themes were also stressed, since the Tabernacle had been used in 1897 for graduation exercises for Meharry Medical College, an African-American institution. It was further pointed out that it had been used during the 1899 Tennessee Centennial for a gathering of the Confederate Veterans Association that had prompted the addition of the balcony commemorated as the Confederate Gallery. Jones and his board deliberated, many protesting that such a shift in policy could open the door to every sort of entertainment. What was next? Plays? Vaudevillians? Minstrels? Opera divas? Where would it end? There were those, however, who remembered that Jim Key and Dr. Key had been the talk of the town at the Centennial, winning praise from no less than the President of the United States. Meanwhile, the pragmatists reminded the board that the income from renting the Tabernacle for two days when it would normally be dormant could be put to good uses, which were, after all, God’s uses. At last a decision was made to grant the request to the Humane Society for two days in the middle of the week, February 14 and 15.

  The Nashville Humane Society went to work, arranging school closures and performances for entire student bodies from primary and secondary schools as well as college students, along with a special show for students from black schools and colleges. Mayor Richard Dudley helped the cause by contacting the local press. In failing health and about to leave town for warmer climates, Dudley regretted not appearing at the show but wanted his fair city to know the stories of Fort Bill and the mortgage that the Young Doc had paid off for the widow of John W. Key. The mayor told the Nashville American:

  “I regret very much that I cannot fill that engagement, but I have written to Governor McMillin, and asked him to take my place on the programme…. Outside of the good accomplished by the exhibition…a feeling of sentiment actuates me. You may not know it but William Key…and I were boys together in Bedford County.”

  After the reporter asked the mayor why he was so proud of “Old Bill Key,” Dudley told of the deeds of his friend during the Civil War and went on to say that the Good Doctor was not satisfied with just tearing up the mortgage. “To help his old mistress he earned more money, educated her children and set them up in business.” Dudley corrected the reporter, “That’s Old Bill Key, now Dr. Wm. Key to you.” The interview concluded, “So you can see why I feel kindly disposed toward William, and any enterprise with which he is connected. I hope the people of Nashville will give the performances the support which they richly deserve.”

  The Nashville American jumped on the promotional bandwagon with headlines such as “Chesterfield Among Horses Is Jim Key, the Wonderful Animal to be Exhibited Here: Has a Checkered Career. Began Life as a Scrub Colt and Is Now Doing Missionary Work for his Equine Brothers in Bondage.”

  Before the impact of the advance press could be gauged, a record-breaking freeze paralyzed Nashville and most of Middle Tennessee. The Nashville Humane Society board members were able to postpone the performances to the following week, but they were certain that the turnout would be significantly hurt by the change in dates. In desperation, the benefit committee wrote to Reverend Jones and asked, in the most complimentary way, if he wouldn’t, with his grand powers of persuasion, preach to his Sunday following about the potential for spiritual improvement inherent in attending one of Beautiful Jim Key’s performances. The Reverend Jones acquiesced, and all parties held their breath to see how many would come. To everyone’s astonishment, despite the still freezing temperatures, 17,610 came out to wait in line to purchase tickets, not including the several thousands of students with reserved seats at special matinees.

  Those who had predicted that Jim Key’s appearance would set a dangerous precedent and open doors to other forms of entertainment turned out to be right. More touring symphonies soon came to the Tabernacle, followed by the staging of nonreligious operas, and the appearances of nonordained lecturers. The pattern continued after 1904—the death of Captain Ryman prompted Reverend Jones to rename his house of worship Ryman Auditorium—including sold-out performances by Sarah Bernhardt and Marian Anderson. After Sam P. Jones died in 1906, the antientertainment forces fell further by the wayside as the Ryman was visited by thespians of every stripe, by vaudevillians, magicians, comedians, dancers, minstrels, bands, lecturers, movie stars, musicians, and singers. It could be argued that entertainment without overt religious themes would have never been permitted at the Ryman had it not been for the precedent set by Jim Key. In no small credit to this history, in 1943 Ryman Auditorium became the official home of the Grand Ole Opry, also known as the Mother Church of Country Music. On the same stage where the Equine King had preached the gospel of kindness, came future legends that spanned the country and western spectrum, including that other King, Elvis Presley, who in 1954 blended music that was black and white, from the church and from the saloons, and shocked the Ryman to its core.

  Nashville did not take to Presley at that time as fast as it had embraced Beautiful Jim Key in 1899. In competing rave reviews after the shows, the Nashville American and the Nashville Banner had a war of words over who had actually discovered Jim Key a year and a half earlier when he was only part of an exhibit at the Tennessee Centennial. Neither paper was responsible. It was, in fact, the Nashville Sun that first wrote about Jim and claimed he was the top draw of the Exposition.

  Competitions arose among cities, states, fairs, humane societies, school systems, benefits, and box offices. Where were more seats sold? More money raised to rescue mistreated animals or investigate reports of cruelty to nonhumans, children, and the elderly? More testimonials? More publicity? More delightful and astonishing anecdotes about the most famous horse in America?

  When the Pittsburg Press welcomed Jim back to their fair city’s Exposition for a third season, the newspaper took one of Albert’s earlier ideas and made a novel offer to the West Pennsylvania Humane Society to promote a fund drive to raise $400 for a much-needed horse ambulance. Contributors’ names were publicized in the Press with amounts ranging from as high as $100 from presidents of prominent companies, down to donations of as low as $1 from a certain “Fido.” With promotional help from Jim’s live performances, the drive also got a huge boost from a half-page cartoon of a bespectacled Beautiful Jim Key, in his lounging attire, reading a copy of the newspaper. Plugging the Press Animal Ambulance Fund, its headline read “Pittsburg Needs an Animal Ambulance,” and the caption for Jim’s comment read “That’s the best bit of news I’ve read in a long time!”

  The drive raised $1,000, enough to buy a derrick to rescue animals who regularly fell into excavation areas, as well as what became known as the Jim Key Ambulance of Pittsburg.

  Not to be outdone, the Women’s Pennsylvania SPCA in Philadelphia, having heard about the 1897 Cincinnati newspaper-sponsored essay contest, decided to improve upon the concept and use the occasion of Jim’s school performances at the Export Exposition on the Esplanade to sponsor a citywide composition contest on the topic “What Patience and Kindness Will Accomplish with Animals.” Every entrant received a large souvenir button with a picture of Jim and Dr. Key on it, as well as the name of the “Women’s Penna SPCA,” while medals in the shape of copper coins with Jim’s likeness were awarded to the contest winners.

  The frenzy to own one of those copper coins became a contagion that spread through Philadelphia, inspiring the Women’s Society to mint Commemorative Beautiful Jim Key pennies for sale. They soon became collector’s items across the state and the country, signifying the value of both humane beliefs and education.

  Inadvertently, in these and other ways, the self-taught veterinarian and his horse spurred an ad hoc literacy movement, which in turn continued to sound the themes of the humane movement, and vice versa. Teachers and school administrators li
stened carefully to William Key, examining their own attitudes toward the discipline and instruction of young humans. How realistic was an approach of “kindness, kindness, and more kindness”? Many were willing to try to find out.

  In Philadelphia, where on the dare of a student, Jim correctly spelled P-E-N-N-S-Y-L-V-A-N-I-A, and responded to another child’s question of “how much is four times five, plus five, minus three?” by plucking up the card with the number 22 on it, one formerly skeptical reporter quipped, “What will he learn next, square roots?” Another less caustic Philadelphia reporter called him the “Equine Marvel of the Century” and the newly erected Beautiful Jim Key Palace on the Esplanade a shrine to humane education. This reviewer described the atmosphere at the start of the show as charged with excitement and applause:

  …with all eyes centered on the beautiful horse as he comes on stage. A large bay, fully sixteen hands, with a head of exquisite turn, large eyes, soft as a deer’s, half hidden by the dressed forelock and ears sharp pointed and well sloped forward, the nostrils open, the upper lip in motion. “Who are you?” he asks as plainly as man ever spoke. He is, indeed, entitled to his name, for every muscle of the rounded body, instinct with glorious life, is swelling and diminishing with his every graceful motion. As he advances upon the stage, he bows to the audience, with all the grace of a debutante, and stands waiting to respond to the questions that are so rapidly put to him.

  If kindness and patience could do that for a horse, what other applications could they have? More than one newspaper adopted the modern notion that perhaps “to spare the rod” would not spoil the child, or horse, or any other creature.

  Because every performance continued to be different, flowing in an order based on the questions being asked, there were no pronounced differences between the presentations Dr. Key and Jim gave to younger audiences and those performed for adults. But in Philadelphia, as in every other city where schools were closed for half or whole holidays, local youth took a most proprietary stance toward the Equine Wonder, and they came in crushing armies to his shows. Wherever school matinees were held, police reinforcements were often called in to assist in what the “blue-coated” officers must have thought was akin to the “‘Charge of the Light Brigade’—barring the shot and the shell” (so observed by a Minneapolis reporter) as fanatically enthusiastic children clamored to be let into the next show.