Life of Hon. Phineas T. Barnum

by The Life Of The Honorable Phineas T Barnum [Rtf]

  The public health demands that we should pay attention to necessary drainage, and prevent the sale of adulterated food. The invigorating breezes from Long Island Sound, and the absence of miasmatic marshes serve to make ours one of the most healthy cities in America. Scientific experiments made daily during the whole of last year have established the fact that our atmosphere is impregnated with OZONE, or concentrated oxygen, to an extent not hitherto discovered on this continent. No city of the same size in America is so extensively known throughout our own land and in Europe as Bridgeport. It should be our pleasure to strengthen all natural advantages which we possess as a city by maintaining a government of corresponding excellence.

  It is painful to the industrious and moral portions of our people to see so many loungers about the streets, and such a multitude whose highest aspirations seem to be to waste their time in idleness, or at base ball, billiards, etc.

  No person needs to be unemployed who is not over fastidious about the kind of occupation. There are too many soft hands (and heads) waiting for light work and heavy pay. Better work for half a loaf than beg or steal a whole one. Mother earth is always near by, and ready to respond to reasonable drafts on her never-failing treasury. A patch of potatoes raised "on shares" is preferable to a poulticed pate earned in a whisky scrimmage. Some modern Micawbers stand with folded hands waiting for the panic to pass, as the foolish man waited for the river to run dry and allow him to walk over.

  The soil is the foundation of American prosperity. When multitudes of our consumers become producers; when fashion teaches economy, instead of expending for a gaudy dress what would comfortably clothe the family; when people learn to walk until they can afford to ride; when the poor man ceases to spend more for tobacco than for bread; when those who complain of panics learn that "we cannot eat our cake and keep it," that a sieve will not hold water, that we must rely on our own exertions and earn before we expend, then will panics cease and prosperity return. While we should by no means unreasonably restrict healthy recreation, we should remember that "time is money," that idleness leads to immoral habits, and that the peace, prosperity and character of a city depend on the intelligence, integrity, industry and frugality of its inhabitants.

  Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper of July 24th, contained a picture entitled "His Honor, P. T. Barnum, Mayor of Bridgeport, Presiding at a Meeting of the Common Council of that City." The editor's remarks are as follows:--"Mayor Barnum's message was a model of brevity and practical thought. Having at the beginning of his official career declared war against the whisky dealers, he next proceeded to open the struggle. For twenty years the saloons had been kept open on Sundays, and it was declared impossible to close them. Mr. Barnum has all his life acted upon the quaint French aphorism that 'nothing is so possible as the impossible.' He gave notice that the saloons must be closed. A select committee of citizens volunteered to aid in collecting testimony in case the sellers should disregard the proclamation, and leave the latch-string to their back doors displayed on the outside. Although the doors were open, the keepers refused to sell except to personal friends. The committee-men stood opposite the saloons, and took the names of a dozen or so who were admitted. The next morning the saloon-keepers were arrested, and when they found their 'friends' had been subpoenaed to appear as witnesses, they pleaded guilty and immediately brought out their pocket-books to pay the judicial 'shot.' This plan effectually broke up Sunday traffic in liquor, thus insuring a quiet day for the citizens, and greatly accommodating the saloon-keepers, the best portion of whom really favor a general closing on Sunday.

  "By nature an organizer of men and systems, he is his own best executive officer. No one knows so well as he how men may be best governed, and no one can so pleasantly polish off the rough sides of mankind. Successful beyond the usual measure as an intelligent, courteous and considerate showman, he has already proved himself the most acceptable of Mayors."

  In 1875, the Hippodrome was transported by rail throughout the United States, going as far east as Portland, Maine, and west to Kansas City, Missouri. Notwithstanding the depressed state of finances generally that year, the season was a fairly profitable one.

  A very painful event in connection with the show, occurred in July. The aeronaut, Donaldson, made his customary daily ascension from the Hippodrome grounds at Chicago, and was never heard from afterward. He took with him Mr. N. S. Grimwood, a reporter of the Chicago Journal, whose body was found a few weeks later in Lake Michigan. There was a terrible storm the night of the ascension and it was doubtless then that the men perished.

  About the middle of June Barnum visited Niagara Falls with Mrs. Barnum and a party of English friends. Leaving the party at Niagara, Mr. and Mrs. Barnum went to Akron, Ohio, where the "Travelling World's Fair" was to exhibit. The Mayor of Akron called upon them and invited them to a concert, where, in response to loud calls, Barnum gave a short speech; they were afterward tendered a reception and a serenade at the hotel. The next day they were escorted to Buchtel College by the founder of the institution, Mr. J. R. Buchtel, and the Reverend D. C. Tomlinson. The students received Barnum enthusiastically, and he gave them one of his delightful speeches.

  Returning to Buffalo, they rejoined their friends, and also met the Hippodrome. Early in the morning of the second day of the exhibition Barnum despatched a special train to Niagara Falls, with some hundreds of the Hippodrome Company, to whom he wished to give the pleasure of viewing the cataract. The band which accompanied them crossed Suspension Bridge playing "God Save the Queen," and "Yankee Doodle," and returned to Buffalo in time for the afternoon performance. In July, Barnum visited the Hippodrome at St Louis and Chicago, and then returned to Waldemere for the rest of the summer.

  During the autumn of 1875, under the auspices of the Redpath Lyceum Bureau, in Boston, Mr. Barnum found time to deliver some thirty times, a lecture on "The World and How to Live in It," going as far east as Thomaston, Maine, and west to Leavenworth, Kansas. When the tour was finished the Bureau wrote him that "In parting for the season please allow us to say that none of our best lecturers have succeeded in delighting our audiences and lecture committees so well as yourself."

  The National Jubilee year was celebrated by the Hippodrome Company in a very patriotic manner. It was said, that they gave the people, a Fourth of July celebration every day. The establishment traveled in three trains of railroad cars; they took along a battery of cannon, and every morning fired a salute of thirteen guns. Groups of persons costumed in the style of Continental troops, and supplemented with the Goddess of Liberty, a live eagle and some good singers, sang patriotic songs, accompanied with bands of music, and also with cannon placed outside the tents and fired by means of electricity. The performance was closed by singing "America," the entire audience rising and joining in the chorus. At night there were fireworks in which Revolutionary scenes were brilliantly depicted. The street parade was a gorgeous feature. It began to move when the salute was fired, and the town bells were always rung to aid the effect of the National Jubilee.

  Barnum's official term as Mayor of Bridgeport, expired April 3, 1876. Preferring to travel part of the time with his Centennial show, he refused a renomination. The last meeting of the Common Council under his administration, met March 29.

  The New York Daily Graphic, of March 30, read:--"Mr. P. T. Barnum, Mayor of Bridgeport, has uttered his valedictory message. The document is very much like the man. He disapproves of the reports of the Chief of Police and Clerk of the Police Commissioners, because they declare that liquor saloons and brothels cannot be closed, and he even reproves the latter for his 'flippant manner' of dealing with the subject. Barnum must have his joke or two, withal, and he can no more subsist without his fun than could a former Mayor of this city. He ventures to allude in this solemn document to the management of the New York and New Haven Railroad Company, as 'the good bishop and his directors;' makes a first rate pun on the names of two citizens; and says to the Aldermen, 'And now we have, like th
e Arabs, only to 'fold our tents and silently steal away,' congratulating ourselves that this is the only stealing which has been performed by this honorable body.' Mr. Barnum's administration in Bridgeport has been mild, but characterized by firmness and independence. His trouble with the Jews was of short duration, for he is most respectful toward all theologies. He has not been able to carry out his extreme temperance views; but he has made a very good Mayor of a city, for whose prosperity he has labored for half a lifetime."

  It can safely be said that Barnum amused and instructed more persons than any men who ever lived. In the course of his career as manager of public entertainments, the number of his patrons was enormous. Here is his own estimate, in 1889:--"During the forty years that I have been a manager of public amusements, the number of my patrons has been almost incredible. From a careful examination of my account books for the different exhibitions which I have owned and controlled, I find that more than eighty-two millions of tickets, in the aggregate, were disposed of, and numerous exhibitions which I have had at various times are not included in this statement."

  The traveling exhibitions which I managed during the six years preceding my purchase of the New York American Museum, in 1841, were attended by . . . . . 1,500,000 persons. The American Museum which I managed from 1841 to 1865, when it was destroyed by fire, sold . . . . 37,560,000 tickets. My Broadway Museum, in 1865-6-7 and 8, sold . . . . . 3,640,000 My Philadelphia Museum, 1849, 1850 and 1851, sold . . 1,800,000 My Baltimore Museum, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 900,000 My traveling Asiatic Caravan, Museum and Menagerie, in 1851-2-3 and 4, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5,824,000 My great traveling World's Fair and Hippodrome, in 1871-2-3-4-5 and 6, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7,920,000 ------------ Carried forward, 59,144,000

  My other traveling exhibitions in America and Europe, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2,200,000 tickets. General Tom Thumb has exhibited for me 34 years, and sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20,400,000 " Jenny Lind's Concerts, under my management, were attended by . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 600,000 persons Catharine Hayes's 60 Concerts in California, under my contract, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120,000 tickets. ---------------- Thus, my patrons amount to the enormous number of 82,464,000

  In addition to that, he delivered over seven hundred public lectures which were attended in the aggregate by 1,300,000 persons, and wrote three books of reminiscences. Is it to be wondered at, that such a well-known character should receive a letter from New Zealand addressed simply, "Mr. Barnum, America"?

  SOME REMINISCENCES OF P. T. BARNUM

  My first recollection of Mr. Barnum goes back to the period of my small-boyhood, when he came to the country village near my home to lecture upon temperance. I still remember the animation of his discourse on that occasion; its humor and its anecdote; and, with what absorbing interest the large audience sat out the hour and a half or more which the speaker so well filled. In describing the drunkard and the illusions which master him, he showed a keen perception of human nature; and, in every part of his address there was no end of spirited appeal and analysis, mingled with unbounded mirth and pathos, as the fluctuating argument went on.

  A few years later, when I had grown old enough to visit the metropolis, I made it one of the chief items of my concern to visit the old museum on the corner of Ann Street and Broadway, where the Herald Building now stands. There was, even then, no curiosity there more impressive than its proprietor, who was the very embodiment of life, kindly feeling, and wholesome joy. I noticed that he was in all parts of the museum in very rapid succession, and that nothing escaped his attention. Something in his manner caught every eye. It was said of Daniel Webster that when he walked through the streets of London, strangers who met him turned around for another look after he passed by. And, I confess I yielded in Mr. Barnum's presence, as others did, to this same sight-seeing inclination. It was not merely that he was so well known, and that his name had gone about the world with the circuit of the sun; it was because the force that made this thing possible worked also in other ways, and compelled you to give its owner attention.

  He had a kind word or an entertaining one for everybody who came near him, as occasion offered, whether he was an old acquaintance or a stranger. The occasion did not come to me, though I remember wishing it had, when I left the museum. Probably I should have deliberately sought it if I had had more assurance and experience at that time; and if I had known, too, that we were afterward to meet intimately, and that for more than twenty years the latch-string of his different homes, in Bridgeport and New York, was to respond so many dozens of times to my touch, for days and weeks of remarkable hospitality.

  My opportunity for knowing Mr. Barnum personally came about when I was, as a young man, conducting, almost single-handed, a lecture course in a very small country town in the later sixties, soon after the close of the war. The night for Mr. Barnum to come to us was a very cold and forbidding one in February. A snow-storm, the most formidable one of the winter, sprang up to apparently thwart the success of the performance; and so certain was Mr. Barnum that nobody would appear to hear him, he offered not only to release me from the contract between us, but, in addition to that, would pay me the price I was to pay him, or more, to be permitted to return to New York. "There is nothing on earth I hate to do so much," said he, "as to lecture to empty benches."

  I said to him: "Please trust me for the avoidance of that. If it had been a pleasant night, instead of this howling storm, I would have filled the hall and the yard in front to the front gate. But, as it now is, I will still guarantee to fill the hall." And filled it was, to our equal delight.

  Before entering and discovering this fact, I ventured to say to Mr. Barnum that, owing to the general untowardness and inclemency of the night, I would introduce him in my own way, and not in the conventional one, if he did not object. "By all means," said he; "if you can awaken any warmth or hilarity on as sorrowful an outlook as this, do not spare ME, or hesitate for a moment."

  On arriving at our seats on the platform, I arose and said, in some such words as these:

  "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN:--You will bear me out in saying it has been my usual custom to introduce the speaker of the evening in the briefest way possible, and not to trouble you with any talk of my own. To-night, in view of the storm, and while Mr. Barnum is resting for a moment, I will break my rule and tell you a story. Some years ago a queer fellow from the country went to New York, and, among the sights and experiences he had planned for, he went to Barnum's Museum. Mr. Greenwood was then its manager, and noticed with some interest his patron's rusticity when he called for a ticket. He asked Mr. Greenwood, after having paid for the card of admittance, 'Where is Barnum?' As Mr. Barnum happened to be in sight on the entrance floor, Mr. Greenwood, pointing to him said, There he is.'

  "At once the querist started in the direction named. He got very near Mr. Barnum and stood looking intently at him. Then he moved a little segment in the circle he was describing, and looked again. Several times he repeated these inspections, until he had from all points viewed the object of his curiosity and had completed the circle, when he started for the door, Mr. Greenwood watching him all the time. When he came near enough Mr. Greenwood said to him: 'My friend, you have not seen the Museum yet. There is a whale downstairs and any number of things up-stairs, a moral play soon to come off, etc.' 'I know it,' said the rustic, 'and I don't care. I've seen Barnum, and I've got my money's worth.'

  "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have not been able to bring to you the American Museum to-night, but I have done what is better--I have brought to you Mr. Barnum."

  Mr. Barnum then arose, not in the least nonplussed, but greatly pleased with the packed house and the hearty cheers which greeted him:

  "MR. PRESIDENT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN:--I cannot, for the life of me, see why you should have sent so far as New York for me to come and address you. I am not really a lyceum lecturer at all. I am only a s
howman, and it seems you have a man here who can show up the showman."

  The whole story may read very weakly in print; for Mr. Barnum's tones of voice, and gestures and mobility of feature are not communicable to cold type. But the playfulness of this unusual preface not only stirred the audience on a dismal night, but put the lecturer at his very best. Mr. Barnum's lecture was elastic. It might be shaped for an hour, as it was not fully written, or it might consume more time. On this occasion it was two hours and over. While the snow was still falling in open sleighs, that could find no shelter, their owners, not minding this, were enjoying one of the most delightful evenings of a whole winter--of many winters, perhaps.

  And all this leads me to say that Mr. Barnum, while claiming no part of a professional lecturer's endowment, and only made oratory a casual--if it was sometimes a frequent--matter, was, nevertheless, admirably equipped to entertain an audience. He could tell a story inimitably. His mimetic faculty, like Gough's, gave him something of the quality of an actor, so that he illustrated well what he had to say. No lectures have proved much more instructive and entertaining than Mr. Barnum's on The Art of Money Getting; and, wherever he went to address an audience, he was sure to be called again.

  When I met him in Bridgeport for the first time, I found he was easily the chief man of the place. He was living then at Lindencroft, on Fairfield Avenue. His Oriental palace, Iranistan, had burned down some years before. But, wherever he lived, his house gave open welcome to many guests, illustrious and other; and no one who had the good fortune to enter it, ever went away without connecting with his visit the happiest of memories. At the table he especially shone. Wit, repartee, and even puns, when occasion offered, coruscated over the meal, and diffused universal good humor. He had always at hand innumerable anecdotes, which he made peculiarly his own, and which he told with inimitable grace and unction. I am sure nobody will ever tell them again as he told them; for, contrary to the proverb, the prosperity of the jest in his case lay, nine-tenths, in his way of relating it--though it was never a dull one.