by Mim E. Rivas
At a reception held in honor of President McKinley in the Temple of Music, a fairgoer named Leon Czolgosz, described as an unassuming man of average height dressed in a nondescript black suit, joined in a crowd of well-wishers to shake the President’s hand. When he approached, at the range of two feet, Czolgosz raised his outstretched hand, which held a concealed revolver, and fired it twice, striking fifty-eight-year-old McKinley in the chest. One bullet became lodged in his breastbone and another in his stomach. As Secret Service men apprehended Czolgosz—an anarchist seeking to overthrow the government—McKinley’s first concern was to admonish his aides to be gentle in telling his beloved and fragile Ida about the shooting. He also insisted that he was not seriously injured and asked that his assailant not be harmed, even as lynch mobs thirty thousand strong began to assemble.
Eight days later, William McKinley died in Buffalo, and Theodore Roosevelt, age forty-two, located in the middle of the night on a manly adventure off on some mountaintop and escorted at top speed to Buffalo, was sworn in as the youngest man ever to serve as president of the United States.
It was only one month after ascending to the presidency that Roosevelt hosted Booker T. Washington at the White House, a controversial yet courageous act that definitely earned him the admiration of Dr. William Key. Arriving in Boston two weeks after that historic occasion, Dr. Key told reporters that Jim had always been a Democrat but had switched his party affiliation. Beautiful Jim Key was so upset by the news that one of his first famous fans had been assassinated that he decided to support McKinley’s party in his memory. The horse also liked Roosevelt, a friend to the Negro people, and because the new President had spoken out against docking the tails of horses. As far as other candidates for other offices, it seemed that Jim would make up his mind, depending on the individual, not the party.
The Boston Globe reporter couldn’t prevent a mocking tone from entering the article, commenting after Dr. Key’s statements that readers could decide for themselves “whether or not horses have minds.” This dubious stance appeared motivated not so much by journalistic integrity as it was by Bostonian snobbery, or that’s how it must have felt to Albert Rogers, who’d had little success until now booking Beautiful Jim Key for any major exhibits in Boston. The sophisticated New York City audiences were almost provincial when compared with the elitist tastes not just of the Brahmins but also of most every Bostonian he encountered. Even with vibrant letters of introduction from George Angell to exhibition planners and school board directors, Rogers could not seem to find an opening. It mattered not that The Scholar and a Model Office Boy at the Star Theatre on New York’s Broadway had been reviewed as daring (the choice of a vaudeville context at a melodrama theatre was “out of the usual line”) or that it was described as a tonic for the jaded playgoer. “It is worth going below Twenty-third Street just to see theatergoers laugh until the tears run down their cheeks,” one New York critic promised. “The star of the show was a horse, ‘Beautiful Jim Key.’ His tricks were entertaining and he seemed to get as much fun out of his part as the audience did.” Nor were theater owners in Boston swayed by the money the play had made in other cities.
In 1900, one area theater had been willing to do the play, provided there was a name change, since, heaven forbid, what producer of any taste would open a show that had been done last in—now, where was that place, Shelbyville? Rogers didn’t argue, thinking that a name change wasn’t such a terrible idea, and brought The Horse of the Twentieth Century to Boston for a short run that thrilled George Angell and his colleagues and made a lovely splash with the general public but still didn’t pave the way for the kind of receptions that were being bestowed on Beautiful Jim Key everywhere else.
The Food Fair planners may have finally been influenced by news of an unprecedented decision that Angell announced in a letter to A. R. Rogers:
It gives me pleasure to inform you that at the annual convention of the American Humane Association recently held at Pittsburg, Pa., Beautiful Jim Key was elected an honorary member of the Association. I think this is the first instance on record of such an act on the part of our organization. It was an expression of our appreciation of the intelligence of the horse, the kindness of his trainer, and the generosity of his owner.
No newspaper account or piece of correspondence could accurately convey the significance of this honor to Jim or Bill. The romantic Rogers couldn’t resist having Jim “write” a letter to George Angell that described what it was like when Mr. Rogers read the news to a large auditorium full of children and he learned of his status as the first nonhuman to be elected to so august and important an organization, and he promised to serve faithfully on behalf of every species. Despite this overly cute conceit, the event marked an evolution in Jim’s demeanor as a celebrity, as though he genuinely recognized he was now a diplomat for his kind and had to be on his very best behavior. He shirked off his former modest blush along with his extra pounds, carrying himself less like a first-run and more like an unbeatable champion.
More honorary memberships followed. Jim Key soon became the first nonhuman honorary member of Angell’s other organizations, the Massachusetts SPCA, the American Humane Education Society, and the Parent American Band of Mercy. Not to be left out, a literacy group elected him as the first nonhuman honorary member of their Pen and Pencil Club.
Dr. William Key was next elected to all four branches of Angell’s humane groups, and at last Albert Rogers, for his energy and innovation, was made a vice president of the Education Society. He sensed that there had been resistance to this symbolic gesture from some of the other officers. Nonetheless, now that he could legitimately call himself a philanthropist, he was determined to live up to the example of his greatest inspiration, George Angell. He was even inspired to look for property to buy in or around Boston, seemingly preferring the aristocratic social set there to the New York and New Jersey elite. One of his first acts as an officer was to form the Jim Key Band of Mercy with the outlandish promise to sign up one million or more children within five years (this number was in addition to the one million signers of the Jim Key Pledge card he had been collecting), and he devised a kind of pyramid scheme for enlisting membership, with himself, “Uncle Bert,” as the presidential figurehead. Also as an honorary member of the Parent American Band of Mercy, he daringly told Angell that he would boost the three million adult members of the various bands to ten million within those same five years.
Angell laughingly encouraged him, believing that if anyone could do it, the persistent A. R. Rogers could. Albert became more relentless than ever, securing engagements for Jim for dates more than three years ahead, flooding the planning committees of the world’s fairs in Charleston, South Carolina, and St. Louis, Missouri, with petitions for buildings. He promoted practically in his sleep, soliciting testimonials from animal experts such as Professor J. W. Gentry of the Gentry Dog and Pony Show (“Beautiful Jim Key stands without a compeer on earth, and I have seen them all”), and from James A. Cathcart, owner of the famed educated Bartholomew’s Horses (“I have never seen a horse the equal of Jim Key”), as well as from the most respected animal trainer alive, Adam Forepaugh Jr., who quipped, “I revere Dr. Key.”
Free passes to educators and booking agents were now a fixture everywhere Jim performed, as were Jim Key Pledge cards and application forms for establishing a Beautiful Jim Key Band of Mercy (“sign up ten other friends and have your names pasted on the great Jim Key banner roll”). Albert’s AHES vice presidency didn’t diminish his zeal as a promoter as he sent out press releases with Jim’s new honorary memberships listed, and with new potent catchphrases: “Refined. High class. Interesting.” “In New Acts More Wonderful Than Ever.” “Higher Educated.” “The Society Pet and Children’s Delight.” “The Talk of Every City.” “The Pride of the South.” And not to be forgotten: “He Was Bred in Old Kentucky.”
Out of all the honors, the most prestigious one that the AHA, the MSPCA, the AHES, and the Parent America
n Band of Mercy chose to bestow was to Dr. William Key, with its presentation set for November 1, 1901, of the Service to Humanity Award. George Angell insisted that in spite of a spell of ill health he himself be present to award the gold medal to his friend and colleague in a public ceremony. He had to witness the moment for himself when Dr. William Key received his due.
So with that event in the works, the planners of the Boston Food Fair realized that it really couldn’t hurt to exhibit the horse. True, the horse had nothing to do with food, but neither did the musical entertainments that were scheduled to perform. There was also the thought that Beautiful Jim Key did have a certain fondness for the ladies, who came in determined hordes to this fair to enjoy both the bountiful food giveaways and the lectures on topics such as new salads or the latest ways to prepare stag. Once the Food Fair had booked Beautiful Jim Key, the Cambridge and the Boston school superintendents decided to schedule special school matinees for their students after all.
But honorary memberships and national celebrity notwithstanding, Bostonians continued to be coy, wanting to be wooed. Even though Jim’s show was staged in the massive hall at the Mechanics Building, for the first and second weeks of the Food Fair he was listed at the bottom of the newspaper ads, as an afterthought. Day by day, however, his name started moving up in the ad, as word of mouth spread. By the third week he was at the midpoint of the bill, and by the fourth week he was second from the top. By the last week, he was the lead attraction, ahead even of the Royal Marine Band of Italy whose conductor, Signor Giorgio Minoliti, composed the music for “The Beautiful Jim Key Two-Step” and began selling the sheet music, soon a collector’s item, wherever the Italian musicians appeared.
There was no question. Boston had fallen in love with Beautiful Jim Key. The standoffish Globe reporter who had mocked Jim’s politics and the suggestion that he had a “mind” now wrote tearful testimonials, describing how the big bay could spell “G-L-O-B-E,” or how anyone could stand up and ask him anything. “Tell him to multiply 6 by 8 and divide by 12, and he brings you the right answer”—4—“on a card from the rack.” Could he identify the name of the President? “He picks out the name Roosevelt.” Operate a general store? Indeed, “he slams the drawer shut on the cash register with as much dash as a girl in a lunch room who has fingers.” The Globe reporter had his suspicions banished with this incident:
A lady called for a letter from the alphabet and Jim fetched E. Dr. Key remonstrated and said, D. And the woman thereupon stated that she had called for E and that the horse had understood her correctly while the man had made a mistake.
Incredibly, the Boston Globe then proceeded to publish human-interest stories about average citizens around town committing humane acts, with headlines such as “Man Rescues a Cat from a Tree at Great Risk to Himself,” as well as in-depth articles about Bostonian companion animals like Mrs. Dr. Thornton’s “mascot” named Filipino (Pino for short), a mischievous and lovable Java monkey known for stopping by police headquarters and firehouses, and for joining the fellows in drinks and a smoke during off-hours.
Jim Key had started something rather remarkable. But infatuation was not enough for a true and lasting commitment from Boston, Massachusetts, unless there was a way to prove there was not one iota of deceit involved in Jim’s exhibition. Hoaxes were very much in the news after the scandal at the Pan American World’s Fair over the discovery that the lucrative exhibit of a ten-foot-four, 2,900-pound petrified Cardiff Giant once said to be the Eighth Wonder of the World was a fake.
That’s when someone, most likely George Angell, proposed that Dr. Key and Jim be subjected to a rigorous examination by a delegation of Harvard’s leading authorities. President Charles Eliot was present for the duration of the study but did not make any comments, asserting that he would defer to the professors in their findings. (Eliot’s own testimonial later read: “It is really the most remarkable exhibition I have ever witnessed. I have seen him several times.”)
And that was how Bill Key found himself very much entertained by all the fuss.
During the first show, the curious group had repressed the usual reactions, neither laughing nor indicating amazement. They watched, listened, asked questions of Jim in loud, professorial voices, and occasionally took measurements. In between the two shows, they buzzed around the stage in a cooperative hive, peeking under props and in drawers, searching through Dr. Key’s clothing and conducting a very thorough examination of the Educated Arabian-Hambletonian. They asked the Doc all the usual questions, looking for his system, and honed in on the short whip. Without objection, Doc Key agreed not to use it for the second show.
They seemed to focus much more closely now on their various specialties. During questions related to spelling and reading, the linguist paid the most careful attention; when the questions were mathematically related, the math professor jotted down several notes. After the show concluded, they shook hands with Dr. Key, thanked him for his patience, bid adieu to Beautiful Jim Key, and left to confer with one another before making a pronouncement.
The following day, October 27, 1901, the Boston Globe ran only a short piece with the headline “Examined by Harvard College Professors”:
A number of Professors from Harvard made a special trip to see Jim Key, the celebrated horse, yesterday, for the purpose of examining him from a psychological point of view, some persons having expressed the opinion that the animal is kept hypnotized.
Just what was the secret the finest minds in America had uncovered about Bill and Jim? Their determination was unanimous. There was no hoax. No hypnosis. Jim was not a freak of nature. He was naturally of a high intelligence, but not a genius. Their explanation for his mathematical wizardry and humanlike reasoning and abstractions was succinct: “After a stay through two performances, during which the Professors made a careful examination of Jim Key’s mathematical ability, and interviewed Dr. Key, the horse’s teacher, they came to the conclusion it is simply education.”
Bill began to think that he and Jim needed to take some time off from the rattling pace they had been maintaining for nearly five years. Maybe permanently. At almost seventy years old, he had started to ask himself why shouldn’t he retire. Especially after reaching the pinnacle of his life’s achievement on the day when he accepted the Service to Humanity medal from George Angell in front of a Boston auditorium filled to overflowing. How could any attainment surpass that high point? To make it that much sweeter, two weeks prior to his award ceremony, in the embrace of Bostonians who knew the real thing when they saw it, Jim had been feted and presented with a similar award, the Living Example Award from the Parent American Band of Mercy. Beautiful Jim Key had become to the humane movement what Black Beauty had been only on paper as a fictitious standard-bearer, it was said, while a crossbred “scrub colt” had grown up to be an actual living example that animals could think and feel; proof of the power of kindness. Jim’s medal was fittingly beautiful, but the Doc’s Service to Humanity medal was a priceless treasure, a gold five-point star that hung from a gold bar inscribed with the credos of the sponsoring organizations: “Glory to God, Peace on Earth, Kindness to All Harmless Living Creatures,” dated November 1, 1901, to Dr. William Key by the Parent American Band of Mercy and the Massachusetts SPCA.
In December, Jim and Dr. Key were featured in their first of three appearances in Our Dumb Animals, which Albert Rogers was quick to promote as the publication of the American Humane Education Society with its motto of “Kindness, Justice and Mercy to Every Living Creature.” As Uncle Bert, Rogers plugged the article in his next newsletter:
This paper should be read by every lover of animals. It is the most quoted from paper in the country—full of crisp up-to-date facts, full of interesting information in the humane cause. Edited personally by Mr. Angell, whose terse signed notes are always to the point, and famous the world over. They are little acorns from which great oaks have grown and will grow. Mr. George T. Angell, of Boston, is the great Apostle of Humanity towa
rd the Birds of the Air and All Animals, and without question has done more to educate the masses to consideration and kindness towards animals than any one else. He is one of God’s own noblemen, whom all love and revere for his unselfish devotion to the Humane Cause.
Dr. Key knew that George Angell had made sure that the magazine’s staff, in their offices in Boston’s Goddard Building at 19 Milk Street, wrote and placed the story in a way that acknowledged him and Jim, yet also promoted their mutual cause. On what better note to take their bow, the Doc couldn’t imagine.
Whether or not William Key saw himself as lucky, he knew to count his blessings and knew that he had also worked for those blessings. He had shared his wealth, had repaid debts of kindness, and had lived an honorable life, bringing honor to his family and community. He had used his gifts well, had reaped what he had sowed, and recognized that there were responsibilities that came along with the privileged position in which he moved, as a traveler between different worlds. It might have been a long time since he had officially gambled, but deep down in him there was probably a feeling of not wanting to tempt fate any longer.