Beautiful Jim Key

by Mim E. Rivas

  But as Dr. Key would have had occasion to recall at that 1901 Boston Food Fair appearance, as the ponderous Harvard professors got their examination under way, the claims that he used hypnosis were frequently leveled at him because children often exited Jim’s shows in an almost serene state, as if the young audience was being mesmerized by trainer and horse.

  In Plainfield, New Jersey, there had also been a reporter’s suggestion that Doc Key might be leading Jim with tricks of his voice, clucks, or other coded vocal guides. But none could be discerned, and William Key’s tone and cadence were admittedly conversational.

  At the 1899 Export Exposition in Philadelphia, a man in the audience had stood up and questioned Dr. Key about his use of the short whip. It appeared that from time to time in the show the Doc would gently tap Jim with it, once, or maybe twice, but no particular scheme could be observed. William Key never explained the tapping. It might have been a secret signal, although how the code would have worked was just as much a mystery. It might have been a prod for Jim to focus on the task at hand and to let him know that it was not yet time for his reward. But rather than explaining the light tapping, Dr. Key offered not to use the riding crop at all during the performance. He put it backstage and returned, holding his arms at his sides without much movement.

  For most of the rest of the show, Beautiful Jim Key was as much of an intellectual prodigy as ever until the show was interrupted, at precisely 3:42 P.M., by an earth-shuddering commotion that was accompanied by a monstrous shrieking of whistles. Much of the audience, thinking there was a fire, rushed to the doors. The mayhem so terrified Jim that he lunged straight for the floodlights and into the screaming audience.

  “Jim!” William Key had been forced to bellow, stopping the stallion’s stampede in his tracks, right at the last second, just before serious injury was inflicted.

  The commotion was not caused by fire, but rather, the Philadelphia Inquirer reported the next day, an unscheduled departure of Admiral Dewey’s locomotive on its way to Washington. Dewey had asked that he be routed close to the Exposition so he could see the “gaily decorated buildings” and be able to wave to cheering crowds as he passed by.

  The incident was the example Dr. Key used from then on as to why he held the whip, in case of an emergency, and if he needed it to guide Jim out to safety.

  On another tack, the Doctor countered skepticism by encouraging audience members to try to confuse Jim, whether by rearranging the letters, figures, cards, and words on his display screen, or by removing them. If a spectator asked, “Jim, go get the eight of clubs,” and it wasn’t there, Jim’s usual response was to scan the screen a couple of times, just to make sure, and then to shake his head no, with one of his pseudo shrugs or even a put-on yawn to the Doc, as though they were having a private joke: Amateurs!

  Sometimes Dr. Key liked to see what would happen if he challenged Jim onstage. At a theater in Syracuse, he asked his costar to bring him the six of hearts. When Jim brought it to him, the Doc stepped forward, his back to his horse, held up the card to the audience—to great applause—and then discreetly tore off a corner with two of the hearts from the card.

  He turned back to his student. “Now, Jim, are you sure you brought me the six of hearts?”

  Beautiful Jim Key moved his head up and down emphatically, then gazed out at the crowd, asking for affirmation. Amid a chorus of applause some voices warned Jim, “Check the card! Two hearts are missing!”

  Acting confused, Dr. Key repeated, “You sure it was the six of hearts?” After Jim indicated yes once more, patiently, of course, because his trainer was getting up in years and it would be impolite to roll his eyes or act peevish, the Doc held out the card and asked, “Well, please count the number of hearts on this card.”

  Using his foot to strike the ground, he counted one, two, three, four hearts. What foul play was this? Dr. Key smiled, waiting for the audience to applaud him, but the Equine Marvel just then spotted the piece of the torn card on the ground with the two missing hearts. To laughter and a thunderous ovation, the man and the horse bowed modestly, proving their case, for the moment, that they couldn’t trick each other, let alone the world.

  Skepticism continued to grow proportionately to their success. But there was one place in all the nation where there was an entire city of true believers. Shelbyville, Tennessee. The suggestion to any of these citizens—or their descendants—that Dr. Key’s methods were suspect or that Jim wasn’t the most amazing horse who ever lived was to them an insult. Many in town had been up to the Tennessee Centennial to see Jim there, but almost nobody missed the grand event on January 27 and 28, when as had been agreed Albert Rogers brought a production of The Scholar and a Model Office Boy to the Shelbyville Opera House. The proceeds went to establish a Bedford County Humane Society that A. R. Rogers was on hand to help organize. The rallying cry of “Encore! Encore!” was enough to convince Dr. Key to return after their week in Nashville for two more nights in order to raise money for a humane society in Madison County over in West Tennessee.

  The joy that Dr. William Key must have felt at these command engagements was probably rivaled only by Jim’s pride. Three years back he was making political jokes at the county fair, and here he was, starring in his own play. Monk was obviously pleased just from the added attention. The engagement was likewise a celebration for the Davis family, who were able to witness the attention that Stanley and Sam received for being members of the troupe; not to mention that they were able to stay safely close to home. There was already talk around town about Stanley soon going off to Collins College for Veterinary Surgery in Nashville, which the Doc had recently arranged, and one day taking over Doc Key’s veterinary business. The family was likewise happy that Maggie Davis was doing well in her studies in Alabama and that it looked as if there was a budding, long-distance romance brewing between her and Dr. Key, their thirty-three-year age difference not at all a hindrance.

  It was, above all, the hometown crowd that experienced the biggest vicarious thrill for their conquering heroes. They could now certainly say they knew them when.

  Less than two years earlier, most people in America had never heard of Shelbyville. But now, suddenly, with every article, booklet, or promotional piece put out about Beautiful Jim Key, the town was becoming as much of a household name as he was. As the family members of the next two generations of these firsthand eyewitnesses could testify, both the horse and the man defined and changed their lives; Bill and Jim Key were charmed, magical even, and made the city so as well.

  As Bedford County breeders began to examine their horses for signs of the kind of extraordinary talent Jim had demonstrated, it was in this time frame that they started to notice that while there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary about their horses’ intellectual abilities, there was in fact something distinctive about the local equine gait.

  A mix of Narragansett and Canadian Pacers, Thoroughbred, American Saddlebred, horses of the Morgan strain, and, yes, Hambletonian blood (linking them to Beautiful Jim Key and his sire, Tennessee Volunteer) had coalesced into this emerging bloodline. These general utility horses that were sometimes called Nodding Horses, Tennessee Walkers, or Plantation Horses had a rolling, strolling walk that was smooth and courtly. Eventually, the three natural gaits observed came to be categorized as the flat-foot walk, the running walk, and the canter, each with enough lilt and rhythm so as to be dancelike but not so as to jostle a rider. The elegant nodding of the head resulted from the innate, unusual foot motion of these horses, as well as the undulating limberness of their backs. Another pervasive trait of this emerging breed was the Walkers’ incredible relaxation, which allowed the top athletes to travel as fast as six miles an hour with the special pushing stride that the horses had developed in adapting to the rolling hills of Middle Tennessee. With the imminent arrival in nearby Wartrace of Allen-F-1, who had actually been bred in Old Kentucky, the Tennessee Walking Horse would soon be named, an equine dynasty that was to p
ut Shelbyville and environs on the map as horse country forevermore.

  During this stop in Shelbyville, Jim secured a major celebrity endorsement deal. The arrangement Dr. Key made was with the Robinson-McGill Mfg. Co., makers of “harness, saddles, collars, and strap goods,” one of the oldest and most respected harness makers in Bedford County. For a premium, Robinson-McGill paid for the right to use Jim’s name and likeness on all their advertisements and products, calling them the “Jim Key Brand,” and the company also gave Doc Key salesman status, which provided him a significant commission on any orders he made while out of state when he was traveling. Albert Rogers was not involved in this merchandising opportunity, as it wasn’t covered under his promotional agreement. Then again, when Rogers had arranged an endorsement fee from National Cash Register, maker of the customized cash box with leather tabs that Jim used in his shows, that had not been split with the Keys. Meanwhile, when he negotiated with NCR’s competitor, Metropolitan Cash Register of New York, to use their nickel-plated Twentieth-Century Beautiful Jim Key cash register, at a sizable premium, that money was his. Rogers benefited from a similar arrangement with Amberg Imperial Letter Cabinet File.

  This was another hazy area of the Key, Key, and Rogers partnership, like how to split proceeds from the hot-selling souvenir photographs, postcards, buttons, pamphlets, and other Jim Key paraphernalia. The Doc was becoming concerned that his percentage of those immense profits was too small, but he had not yet figured out a way to broach the topic with A. R. Rogers. Dr. Key had limitless respect and appreciation for Albert Rogers, knowing in the depths of his being that without him he could not have made the journey into the worlds that the promoter inhabited. But Key had survived by being smart, and he would not tolerate any whiff of an inequity or any possibility that he was being exploited.

  There was another small problem. With the deluge of edible gifts—mainly sugar and apples—that Jim was receiving everywhere he went, he had begun to look a tad portly and didn’t seem to have his normal verve on his morning runs. It was not something Dr. Key worried about, but when they played three weeks in New Orleans for the Horse Show and the Louisiana State Fair, the topic of Jim’s added girth actually made the papers. Jim was, without question, the most illustrious equine there, standing out even more with the ubiquitous Monk on his back. Besides, the extra weight did little to change his handsome star presence, or so Albert Rogers pointed out in his latest edition of the increasingly read promotional pamphlet:

  Jim is a splendid saddle horse, and has led many big parades. His beautiful arched neck and the graceful curves of his body and long, sweeping tail, make a beautiful picture, as he keeps step to the music, though prancing and fairly dancing. At the New Orleans Horse Show, and many others where he has been on exhibition, he has taken all the blue ribbons in several classes.

  Rogers didn’t mention that when it was proposed that Jim participate in a one-mile trotting race, Doc Key, perhaps knowing better, couldn’t say no. He had, after all, boasted more than once to reporters that the proud great-great-grandson of Rysdyk’s Hambletonian could trot a mile under harness, if not at the two-and-a-half minute standard, then at least under the three-minute mark. Suffice to say, Beautiful Jim Key did not win the race and may have been rather embarrassed about it. The Doc shrugged it off, joking to the press that Jim’s excess horseflesh was on account of the excess wine the pampered bay had been drinking.

  Though Dr. Key devised a stricter diet and exercise regimen that Monk helped him monitor, Jim had his ways of sneaking treats. Coconspirators involved Stanley and Sam, as well as reporters, and Albert Rogers who could never refuse the lovable bay’s soulful entreaties. Still, Rogers was quick to do some damage control about rumors that the star was spoiled or out of shape, writing in the pamphlet:

  Either the Doctor, who trained him, or a groom is always by his side, and he could not be given more constant care and attention were he the fleetest racer in the world on the eve of the most important Derby of the turf. Even his grain and hay, though the choicest quality that can be bought, are examined very closely to see that no impurities are in them. His drinking water is not from the common hydrant, but is the purest spring water that can be had; often bottled water secured for him…. Every morning he has his gallop, and comes in reeking with perspiration to receive an hour’s rubbing and combing until his coat fairly shines, and is then in fine condition for his daily work…. Never has been sick; always takes especial delight in his work.

  Jim, Monk, Dr. Key, and Rogers were discovering, each to a different degree, that once you were famous, the public had a distinct sense of ownership about what you did or said, how you looked, and with whom you associated. Fans had a right to know everything, so it seemed, including one question that arose frequently: why had Dr. Key taught Jim to like sugar in the first place? Surely, he knew that so much sugar would be bad for Jim.

  Nonsense, countered the Doc. Sugar was easier to use when training because it could be used in such small amounts, as compared with apples or apple pieces, which if eaten in too great a quantity could upset Jim’s stomach. Moreover, he said, and Rogers quoted him in the promotional pamphlet, “Sugar I have always found good for animals.”

  The New Orleans performances produced a meaningful testimonial from Lew Parker, a manager of the St. Charles Theatre and Academy of Music, and a former contracting agent for Buffalo Bill’s Wild West traveling show, who wrote to describe his early years traveling the world on the lookout for gifted equines. “In all my travels I saw all the trained horses. And I am free to say that Jim Key is the greatest of them…. I firmly believe Jim Key will live in history as the greatest horse ever exhibited.”

  Regardless of the obstacles, challenges, mishaps, and pitfalls of celebrity, Jim was the beneficiary of what seemed to be an unstoppable momentum, much like the champion racehorses he was being compared to. The numbers spoke for themselves:

  One week—Muncie Street Fair. $1,847 (1899)

  Seven weeks—Export Exposition, Philadelphia. 173,263 admissions; $20,612.00 (1900, similar to box office for 1899)

  Six weeks—Pittsburg Exposition $7,000 (1900, similar to box office for 1899)

  March 17 to September 1, 1901—Young’s Ocean Pier, Atlantic City. “I have never had such a drawing card on my pier before; during our large attendance at Easter time, over 80 percent of the thousands who thronged my pier paid an extra admission to see Jim Key.” ( John L. Young)

  After their first engagement at Atlantic City, Rogers had not been eager to return in 1901, even with the promise of headlining a bill that included the likes of the incomparable palmist/astrologer team of Albert & Albert, the vaudevillians McMahen & King (“the funniest of all Black face Comedians”), the ever popular Colored Cake Walk dancers, The Gleckers (“baton manipulators”), the Irish comedians Mike & Dennis, Albert C. Waltz, skater and cyclist extraordinaire, a “light artist” and master of “clay modeling,” and Mademoiselle Dulce Durant, whose barefoot dancing was intoxicating. The summer at the New Jersey resort promised to be a profitable one too, with crowds pouring down to the seashore in breathtaking numbers.

  But there was a conflicting venue that had much more potential for reaching the masses. It was the Pan American World’s Fair at Buffalo, set to run during the same months as the stint at Young’s Ocean Pier. William Key weighed in on the decision, expressing some sort of bad premonition about Buffalo, sending a handwritten note to Rogers with two question marks by the event: “Pan American??”

  The Doc may have further consulted with astrologers Albert & Albert, to see what their predictions were for the world’s fair. They too, it seemed, saw a dark cloud over the enterprise. A. R. Rogers complied with Doc Key’s wishes and withdrew his application for a Beautiful Jim Key concession at the fair, but he did not alter his plans for some of the other attractions he continued to promote.

  At first, with the staggering words of praise issuing forth out of Buffalo, Rogers must have thought Dr. Key either overly
superstitious or simply wrong about whatever he had foreseen. At a cost of ten million dollars, the planners had executed a miracle, said papers across the country. In a daring departure from the uniform white finish to most buildings used at most expositions—which had been daring when it was first done to create the wonder of Chicago’s 1893 White City for the Columbian World’s Fair—the Pan American planners had erected a Rainbow City by finishing exhibit halls in shades of gold, green, red, and blue. The multicolored electrical night scene reportedly surpassed anything ever attempted, and the staging against the backdrop of Niagara Falls was exquisite.

  But several things that could go wrong did. There was the typical lateness on the completion of the Exposition, leaving early visitors unimpressed. The Pan American theme to promote unity among nations of the Western Hemisphere was also a flop, especially with rising criticism of U.S. imperialism at the doorsteps of neighbors. Then there was the May 9, 1901, stock market collapse, the result of a panic that erupted when financial titans J. P. Morgan and E. H. Harriman battled it out for a takeover of Northern Pacific Railroad, plunging stock prices to near worthlessness. Though not the last Wall Street collapse ever to shake the nation, it was the first time in history that the market closed early, after investors’ losses in the hundreds of millions. (The crash undoubtedly hurt the Rogers’s family fortune, making Albert’s income now necessary to support his loved ones, not just a hobby or, as he liked to say in the case of Jim, a philanthropic bet to see if he could prove to his friends that animals think and reason.) If the panic wasn’t enough to plague the world’s fair, the oppressive, unprecedented summer heat in Buffalo made more headlines than the exhibits. Then, in the fall, the weather finally cooperated with cool, glorious autumn days. But just when planners and investors hoped to recover from financial losses of more than $3 million and mushrooming lawsuits, tragedy struck on September 6, 1901, at the Pan American Exposition.