JAMES WILLIAMS
AS HE WAS.
DRUNK TWENTY-THREE YEARS.
REMARKABLE STORY OF "WHISKY JIM'S" WASTED LIFE AND FINAL CONVERSION. HOW THE WORK WAS EFFECTED.
The work that Steve Holcombe is doing is well known, in a general way, but the public understand but little of the wonderful good that man is doing. The reformations he has brought about may be numbered by the hundred, and the drunkards he has reclaimed would make a regiment.
But of all the wonderful and truly startling examples of what Mr. Holcombe is doing, the case of James Williams is the climax. Williams has been known for years as "Whisky Jim" and "Old Hoss," and there is not a more familiar character in the city. Until the last two or three weeks no man in Louisville ever remembers to have seen Jim free from the influence of liquor. He was always drunk, and was looked upon as an absolutely hopeless case, that would be able to stand the terrible life he was leading but a year or two longer.
The story of his life and reformation as related to a Times reporter is very interesting. He had asked Mr. Holcombe when his protégé could be seen, and was told at nine o'clock at the mission. Williams was seen coming up the steps, his face clean shaven, his eyes bright and his gait steady. Mr. Holcombe said: "There he is now, God bless him; I could just kiss him. I knew he'd be here. One thing I've learned about Jim is, that he is an honest man, and another is that he will not tell a lie. I feel that I can trust him. He has had the hardest struggle to overcome the drinking habit I ever saw, and I feel sure that he has gained the victory. I began on him quietly about one month ago and got him to attend our meetings. But here he is." The reporter was introduced, and Mr. Williams readily consented to tell anything concerning himself that would be of interest to the public and calculated to do good in the cause of temperance. He said: "I was born in Paducah, Ky., and am forty-eight years old. My father's name was Rufus A. Williams. While a boy I was sent to school, and picked up a little education. I was put at work in a tobacco manufactory, and am a tobacco-twister by trade. My father died when I was nine years old, after which our family consisted of my mother, now seventy-five years of age, my sister and myself. We now live on the east side of Floyd street, near Market. Shortly after I grew up I found work on the river and have been employed on nearly every boat between Louisville and New Orleans. That is what downed me. I began to drink little by little, and the appetite and habit began to grow on me until I gave up all idea of resistance. Up to yesterday a week ago, I can truthfully say that I have been drunk twenty-three years, day and night.
"In 1862 I got a job on the 'Science,' Number 2, a little Government boat running the Ohio and Cumberland rivers. Coming down the Cumberland on one trip I was too sick to work, and the boat put me ashore about twenty miles above Clarksville. The woods where I was dumped out were full of guerrillas, but I managed to secure a little canoe in which I paddled down to Clarksville. There I sold it for three dollars and with the small sum I had already I came to this city, where we were then living. I then drank up every cent I could rake and scrape. I could get all sorts of work, but could keep no job because I couldn't keep sober. I finally depended on getting odd jobs along the river front, such as loading and unloading freight, etc. But the work was so hard I could scarcely do it, and finally I had to give that up, especially after falling and breaking my leg while at work on the old 'United States' several years ago. That accident laid me up in the Marine Hospital for several months, and just as I felt able to get out I broke the same leg again at the same place. After recovering I yielded entirely to the appetite for strong drink and cared for nothing else. As I say, for twenty-three years I have not known what it is to be sober until a few days ago.
"For the past six years I have earned my drinks and some free lunch by picking up old boxes and barrel staves which I would dispose of to the saloon-keepers along the river front who knew me. I did not often ask any one for money with which to buy whisky, for I could always earn it in this manner. I usually slept at my mother's house. As to eating I did not eat much and was getting so I could scarcely eat at all. I am getting over that now, and have a good appetite, as Mr. Holcombe can testify.
"Well, about one month ago Mr. Holcombe came to me and gave me a little talk. He did not say much, but he set me to thinking as far as I was capable of thinking. He saw me the second time, and then several times. Of course, I was always drunk but I understood him. Finally he said to me 'Jim, if you're bound to have whisky, come around to the Mission and let me give it to you.' I promised him I'd come around, and I did so, for I wanted some o' the liquor. After I had gone around several times and he had given me a few drinks, not to make me drunk, of course, but to help me get sober, if possible; he invited me to go in and attend the religious services. I did so and he invited me to come again, which I did. At last he insisted that I should take my meals at the mission, and I have been doing so for some days. Finally I made up my mind to quit drinking altogether, and I intend to stick to the pledge I have taken. I was full last Sunday week for the last time. I was trying to taper off then, but a saloon-keeper on Market, just below Jackson, knowing my condition and knowing that I was trying to quit, gave me a bucket of bock beer. I knew he meant no good to me, but I couldn't help drinking it. Other saloon-keepers have been trying to get me to drink again, and I think they are trying to get me to do a great wrong.
