by Mim E. Rivas
If this had been onstage, Beautiful Jim Key would have bounded back to his feet and done his own famous two-step. But this wasn’t an act.
William Key watched Jim try to struggle then and there to his feet, much in the way he had as a spindly, shank-legged colt. The desperation and panic in Jim’s eyes must have nearly torn him in two, but the Doc showed no worry of his own as he tried to coax him up. Doc Key reverted to the old way of communicating, turning away and back, at such a stance that asked without words: How can I help? Teach me how to help you.
Jim replied in gesture and gaze: Give me a boost! He suggested in this nonverbal way that Doc Key catch him under his tail and pull him up.
It worked. Once up on his feet, Jim was seemingly out of pain and as nimble as a youngster. And that, for the time being, put an end to any retirement plans.
The annual report from the American Humane Association meeting might have validated other reasons to carry on. The work done by Key, Key, and Rogers continued to make waves. In the past year alone, Bill read, the member societies had collectively investigated nearly seventy thousand cases of cruelty to animals and over twenty-two thousand reports of child abuse. Societies had been formed where there had been none, and the memberships of local and regional groups were swelling. More and more officers were women, a most fitting development.
So onward they forged, cutting a wider swath across the country, appearing in places they had never been and returning to many cities and states for second and third encores. Jim now had a collection of keys to cities that he kept attached to a big stallion-size wooden key and had a ceremony ready for whenever keys were presented to him. His collection included keys to Newark, Philadelphia, Boston, Cleveland, Atlanta, Omaha, Detroit, Baltimore, Kansas City, St. Louis, Birmingham, New Orleans, Charleston, Syracuse, Columbus, and Atlantic City. In addition to spending several months again at Young’s Pier, the entourage was engaged for two months at Chicago’s million-dollar renovated White City, a full-fledged amusement park, while also giving regular benefits there on behalf of the Illinois Humane Society.
The year’s successes would have made any promoter and any champion of animal welfare proud. But Albert Rogers was not any promoter or any animal rights champion. He wanted to continue to grow, to reach higher heights, not to level off, or worse, coast on past glory. The problem, from a promotional perspective, was the press. Reporters might not have come out and said so, but it was obvious to Albert that they didn’t see his Beautiful Jim Key as a hot news item anymore. And more and more, he was releasing defensive-sounding press statements that referred to “my horse” and “my Beautiful Jim Key.” Again the resistance had to do with the sense that the Equine Millionaire had been overexposed. They had written about him from every possible angle. What more could be said? But there was another timbre he began to hear in their rejections. There was something of yesteryear about his horse, a quaint, sweet fairy tale that no one could disprove, with its message of kindness and patience, and the virtue of his missionary zeal. But this was a different day, a changing mood. Readers wanted sizzle and zing, scandal and mayhem, not sugar and rosy red apples.
A. R. Rogers was not a man to go down without a fight, and he vowed to show them all that they were wrong. But then, after he had pulled every string at his disposal to obtain new press during Jim’s summer at White City, he became quite unnerved when the best he could manage was just the one article that resulted in the Chicago Daily Journal:
Beautiful Jim Key is truly a wonderful horse, and Cummins Indian Congress does some good stunts in Custer’s Last Stand. But the thing that caught the crowd was the “Bumps.” They must be seen first and then tried before they can be appreciated. It is Shooting-the-Chutes that have warts on them. The cars are strips of cloth and the water is a surging mass of humanity gathered around to enjoy the fun.
The Bumps? Rogers was insulted. He envisioned this chink in the armor as potentially serious. If not halted, it could lead to the crumbling of the empire he had created. More than money was at stake. This was his reputation, his standing as a philanthropist, as the vice president of the American Humane Education Society and as Uncle Bert, president of the Jim Key Band of Mercy. As though by some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, around this time he began to get hints that in fact the officers of the American Humane Education Society wanted him to step down. George Angell was increasingly a figurehead, turning over decisions to his board of directors, and they seemed not to trust Rogers. They patronized him and his ideas, he felt; President Stillman of the board of directors of the AHA had even questioned his motivations by dryly signing off one response: “I take it for granted that you are somewhat interested in humanitarian work for its own sake as well as in the commercial side of your exhibition.”
Rogers grew more frantic as the year progressed. He wrote to complain to George Angell about the way certain individuals dragged their heels when planning a benefit, describing one society lady: “She is like a person on a raft in the middle of the ocean and don’t know which way to paddle.” Of course, he assured Angell, he would handle everything. Angell wrote back with his trademark encouragement, suggesting that Albert also pursue other channels.
In the midst of this flurry of correspondence, a late-breaking scandal hit the news, something with zing and sizzle—the managers of the St. Louis World’s Fair were investigating allegations of wrongdoing in the awards department. The National Cash Register Company was implicated because it appeared that they had bribed an official, although that claim too was eventually tossed. Caught up in the investigation, Rogers was then accused of contract infringement, related allegedly to underreporting profits, and he was fined a whopping $2,300.
Albert Rogers cried foul as he turned his attention to the activities of the Jim Key Band of Mercy by sending out his own newsletter from “Uncle Bert.” His first issue’s reminder was an impassioned plea. With the conviction of one who had found religion, he wrote:
Remember that animals feel just as keenly as human beings do, that the flesh and the bones of a dog or cat are just as tender as your own. It hurts them to be struck or handled roughly as much as it would you yourself. Try to protect all animals as much as you can. If you see anyone ill-treating them, do not hesitate to ask them to stop doing so, and tell them that you are a member of a Band of Mercy, and they will treat animals with more kindness and there will be less cruelty in the world.
Dr. Key and Jim applauded his message and the effort of the newsletter. But Doc Key didn’t know what to make of the next ideas that Rogers brought to him. They were the two wildest schemes their promoter had conjured yet.
The first was a traditional kind of publicity stunt but with a twist. The plan was to buy out all the passenger seats of a Santa Fe Railroad locomotive from Dallas to San Antonio and to call it the “Beautiful Jim Key Express.” Fans could purchase coaches, sleepers, and baggage cars to take the twelve-hour trip with Jim, allowing them one-on-one visits with the star in his palace car, and be part of his royal procession when he greeted the crowds along the way. It was the worst idea Dr. Key had heard from A. R. Rogers. But instead of saying so, he went along with it, proposing offhandedly that while in San Antonio he wanted to take Jim Key to the sulfur baths he knew of there.
This was the first Albert Rogers had heard of Jim’s worsening condition. Now he was morose. This risky train trip could well be the last engagement he ever planned for Jim. But Doc Key calmly soothed his fears, telling him that the symptoms were periodic, and that they reasonably had another five good years of performing and touring in both of them. The main thing was to avoid cold weather in the wintertime.
Rogers then unveiled his second scheme. From March through November of 1906, he would promote a tour to rival Sarah Bernhardt’s Farewell Tour. The Doctor and Beautiful Jim Key would be booked at every Music Hall or Opera House in the country and set new box office records at every stop. In an analogy to turf champions, which neither Rogers nor Key could ever resist, it would
be Jim’s own Triple Crown, his championship season, with each performance hall substituting for a famous track, a kind of year-long race against the likes of Bernhardt, Sousa, and Caruso, the big box office draws. There could even be bets taken before each engagement as to whether Beautiful Jim Key could break that particular record. And, no matter what, the attention created would prove to the press, once and forever, that Jim Key was truly the greatest star of the twentieth century.
William Key wasn’t sure. He loved the concept. But he knew it would be grueling. Would he be putting Jim’s health at risk? Or would he be giving him the opportunity to have his name placed in history? Speaking frankly, the Doc agreed to do it, but at a significant raise for himself, and for Stanley and Sam, effective immediately. Albert was apparently surprised by the amount of money and by the terms, but he didn’t argue, turning his attention instead to the logistics for each of his new plans.
The first scheme turned out to be a flop. Maybe the Texas public had enough smart horses of their own, or maybe they’d all been to the St. Louis World’s Fair. Whatever the reason, the Beautiful Jim Key Express that ran on October 29, 1905, failed to get any press and far from the number of tickets sold that Albert Rogers would have liked. The only good to come of it was the sulfur baths, which seemed to do wonders for Jim.
After making up some of their losses in New Orleans, Jim Key and company returned to Nashville’s Union Station and prepared to part ways for the winter. As Stanley and Sam led Jim and Monk toward the train that would take the Shelbyville contingency home, Dr. Key asked Rogers if he could have a word.
Rogers, running late as was his habit, may have known that the subject the Doctor wanted to address was money. After the embarrassment in Texas and other money issues plaguing him at the time, he was in no mood. The train for Cincinnati was already boarding when, without speaking a word, he hurriedly wrote out a check and handed it to Dr. Key.
Barely looking at it, the Doc shook his head and refused to take it, saying money was what he wanted to talk about. Visibly exasperated, Rogers shrugged, put the check in his bag, pointed to his watch, and dashed off down the platform, promising over his shoulder to be in touch later.
It had been many years and a few lifetimes since anyone had caused Bill Key to lose his temper. But if there was one thing he couldn’t tolerate, it was disrespect. Days later he composed the only typed letter he ever sent to Albert Rogers:
Dear Sir: Your letter in which you enclose check on Orange, N.J. bank for $250.00 was received today. I herewith return the check of $250.00 as I am satisfied there is a misunderstanding in regard to it.
My proposition to you was very plane and simple, and was this, that you pay me the sum of $2750.00 and all expenses, as heretofore, the sum of $250.00 cash to be paid upon closing contract, and $2500.00 to be paid in monthly installments from 3/1/1906 to 12/1/1906. I stated to you when you offered me the check of $250.00 and the expenses in addition at the depot, that I must have 2500.00 and all expenses in addition, to the check which I declined to take. In your haste to get on the cars at the Depot here you would not give me a chance to go into details.
In making you this proposition, my services and those of my horse, “Jim Key” will be rendered you just the same as I did at the St. Louis Exposition, and at White City, Chicago, with no privileges taken from me that I had at both St. Louis and Chicago. If you accept this proposition you must do so by the 25th of November 1905…. My proposition does not hold open for your acceptance letter later than Nov. 25, 1905. I also want 5 per cent on the books sold same as at White City. I will faithfully discharge my duty in talking up the book, and running the show to your interest. Yours truly, Wm Key
p.s. Stanley and Sam will write you
There was no mistaking William Key’s language. Jim Key was his horse.
The suspense began on February 26, 1906, at the Cincinnati Music Hall. After what must have been an immediate response from Rogers, maybe followed by a trip to Shelbyville to smooth over the misunderstanding in person, a total of ten top venues were secured, at all of which a person of significant note had previously set record-breaking box office numbers.
At seventeen years old, but not looking a day over twelve, Jim Key received a headline-making reception at the train station when he strode along the platform with Monk on his back, perched there contemplating the impressive size of the waving, cheering crowd. Jim’s clown, Gordon Bunch, went ahead of the group to help part the seas, as Dr. Key, flanked by Stanley and Samuel, followed behind Bunch, leading Jim.
There had obviously been much discussion between the Doc and Jim Key about the importance of enjoying themselves. The last thing the trainer wanted to do was put undue pressure on Jim or to endanger his health. The two made a pact that if, at any point, either one of them wasn’t feeling up to the task, a show could be canceled, or they could finish up the tour wherever they were in the season. Did Jim understand? Dr. Key was sure he did, even though he wasn’t so convinced that Jim would actually admit to being in pain. But from what the Doctor could see here at the outset, Beautiful Jim Key radiated health and vitality.
Over the next several weeks, anyone who’d been game enough to bet A. R. Rogers that Jim would fall short of expectations was forced to pay up. Jim surpassed anything Rogers could have dreamed, and made Bill Key more proud than he’d ever been. The Smartest Horse in the World, his latest moniker, stunned those he’d already stunned. He had never been wittier, never more dramatic, never wiser, never nobler. Everywhere he went, he made them laugh and he made them cry.
A new addition to the show, the pretty Miss Agnetta Floris had come from the head office of the American Humane Association in Boston to help Albert Rogers further organize the membership of the Jim Key Band of Mercy, whose numbers were soon to approach the goal of one million that Uncle Bert had set five years earlier. (One newspaper reported that Rogers had hired five secretaries and a few “minor clerks” just to respond to Jim’s fan mail.) Miss Floris not only gave a short introduction onstage about humane values but also made the rounds of schools in each city they played, reinforcing the message of kindness to all creatures. Her other duties were to officiate onstage during any spelling bees and writing competitions. Her addition to the show was a smart move on the part of Rogers for several reasons, but especially because she gave reporters their new angle to write about.
Plus, Miss Floris was easy on the eyes. Whenever she was onstage, Jim bowed to her with an Ira Aldridge–styled Shakespearean flourish. When Miss Floris left the stage, he looked longingly after her before turning his attention back to the audience. When she spoke about the different ways to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, Jim had a way of scanning the audience to make sure everyone was paying attention. He had attained the elusive quality that only real superstars ever master: intimacy. He made each and every person feel a special connection to him, as though he had a secret belonging to that individual, who could then call him my Beautiful Jim Key. Much like a racehorse whose number they had chosen to win, his audience members had an emotional investment in his victories, and he could feel them roaring for him, egging him on.
The numbers, with an average of 50 percent of net going to humane charities, spoke for themselves:
Music Hall, Cincinnati, Ohio—The week of February 26, 1906. Seating capacity 4,000; twenty-eight performances sold out. Broke record for paid admissions.
Memorial Hall, Columbus, Ohio—March 4 through March 8, 1906. Seating capacity 3,000; fifteen performances sold out. Broke record for paid admissions.
Tomlinson Hall, Indianapolis, Indiana—The week of March 12, 1906. Seating capacity 2,000; thirty performances sold out. Broke record for paid admissions.
Convention Hall, Kansas City, Missouri—March 19 through March 21, 1906. Largest-seating auditorium in the world; Jim declared by Louis W. Shouse, manager of the Convention Hall, “to hold the world’s record for drawing a greater crowd than any single attraction that was ever exhibited.”r />
In 1905, one year earlier, Sarah Bernhardt had performed Camille at the Kansas City Convention Hall to an audience of 6,500. The box office record there had been set in 1899 by John Philip Sousa, when he commanded an audience of 16,500. On March 20, 1906, Beautiful Jim Key played to 18,000, and the following night he broke his own record when he filled the massive hall with 22,000. In three days, total admissions were 52,804.
Tootle Theatre, St. Joseph, Missouri—March 22–23, 1906. Seating capacity 1,500; ten performances. Packed houses; broke record for paid admissions. “Captured the city!”
Omaha Auditorium, Omaha, Nebraska—March 26 through March 29, 1906. Seating capacity 3,000; sixteen performances. Broke record for paid admissions.
Auditorium, Minneapolis, Minnesota—Week of April 2. Seating capacity of 2,500; twenty performances. “Packed every time.” Broke record for paid admissions.
Jim made the editorial page of the Omaha World Herald in a column entitled “The Horse and the Boy,” which contrasted the upbringing of the famous equine with that of Jay O’Hearn, a local boy convicted of murder:
Suppose our boys and girls were all trained as Jim Key has been trained; suppose they were given education as fitted their needs and capacity, how many O’Hearns would there be to pay the penalty on the scaffold of mankind’s amazing neglect of its most precious product.
The Minneapolis Journal described Jim’s arrival into town by asserting that the “highest priced, most educated and most talked about horse in the world is here, to stay at Dr. Cotton’s veterinary establishment 617 Fourth Avenue. Accompanying his equine majesty are his prime minister Dr. Key, and three members of his royal guard” (referring to Stanley, Sam, and Gordon Bunch). In Minneapolis, Jim missed what was alleged to be the only show he’d ever canceled because of injuries sustained in a minor train accident. The article mentioned, “Jim betrays a slight stiffness in moving about the stage, having suffered a severe shaking up in a railroad accident a short time ago.” Whether this was an excuse to cover up his symptoms was never disclosed, but Dr. Key did cancel his next show. Even so, Jim energetically greeted the Journal writer backstage and welcomed his gift of a chocolate almond, looking for more after that, “with a persistency that lives up to his claim of being the best educated horse in the world.” Indeed, that afternoon Jim was challenged by five schoolboys to a spelling match in which he bested four out of five by outspelling the next-to-the-last competitor with A-A-R-O-N and I-S-A-A-C. The fifth challenger, “Young David Jones, son of the Mayor, tied with Jim on the word ‘Isaiah’ and the match was declared a draw, with the $1 offered as a prize going to the boy.”