Steve P. Holcombe, the Converted Gambler: His Life and Work

by Gross Alexander

I kept that thing up, and on the first of January I was walking down the street. I had gone to bed pretty sober on the night before; and I got up on the morning of the first of January and dressed myself up nicely, intending to go to church. I met a friend of mine, who said he was going around to the office, and asked me to go with him. I said I would. On the way around there he suggested we should have a pint of whisky. I said, "I believe I will quit; I am getting tired of whisky." "Well," he said, "let us have a bottle anyway; it is the first of January." "Yes," I said, "as it is the first of January." We sat there and drank that, and sent out and got another pint and drank that. After that, I went down to Louis Roderer's and sat there, and some gentlemen came in and they got to throwing dice for the drinks, and I was invited to join them, and I did; and I took six drinks there with them. The weather was cold; the pavement covered with ice. As long as I stayed in the house, the liquor did not affect me, but as soon as I got out of the door, the cold coming right into contact with it, seemed to throw all the undigested alcohol into my brain. I went back to this friend of mine. He was not there. I walked up Market street, and went to my room and went to bed. It was there, I suppose, I mashed my nose and cut my face badly. The servant girl came up stairs and found me lying on the floor. She went down and got help, and they bathed my face, and they both together put me to bed. I had been unconscious from the moment I left the bar-room and was so up to five o'clock the next morning.

They put me to bed, and I was totally unconscious until I woke up the next morning at five o'clock. It occurred to me that something was the matter; I felt the wound on my face. I got up and lighted the candle and looked into the glass, and saw that my face was all bruised and bloody. I said, "I suppose I ran against something and mashed my face last night." The next morning I heard this servant girl in the next room. I heard her saying, "Poor man, poor man." Pretty soon she came in and said, "What in the world is the matter with you? How did you hurt your face?" She then told me the condition they had found me in; and if they had not found me I would have frozen to death. I said, "If this thing is going to work that way on me, I must call a halt." I could not eat anything but some milk. I lay in bed all day.

I could not pray. I had got into that frame of mind I could not pray. I did not believe in the efficacy of prayer. I had lost sight of Christ as God, but I had great respect for Christ as a teacher. I lay there all that day, Monday. I was then thoroughly sober; and I said, "I will just see if there is any efficacy in religion, anyhow. I believe I will try it." I had gotten up and dressed myself. I had not eaten any breakfast. I drank some coffee. Not having taken anything to eat, I felt pretty weak, and I said, "I believe I will take a drink." I went around to a friend of mine on First street, and he was not there. Then I walked around to a saloon on Third street. Several gentlemen were there that I used to drink with. I stood around there for awhile, hoping that some one would ask me to take a drink, but nobody asked me.

Finally I came up here to Mr. Holcombe's and found him here, and we got to talking the matter over. I told him that I was tired of this kind of life. I wanted to take a pledge. "I do not give pledges to anybody to stop drinking." He said there was but one remedy—reliance upon Christ; that Christ was all—Christ and the love of God. If I determined to live up to the teachings of the Bible, if I was willing about it, that he believed I would be cured. Well, I told him that I thought that my mind was sufficiently prepared; that I had made up my mind to quit if I possibly could; that if the Lord wanted to take me the way I was, I had made up my mind to believe; that I had not believed anything for a long time, and that if I did believe I would have to take it by faith, and not by reason.

Finally, after talking it over, Mr. Holcombe prayed, and after prayer I said I had better go down to my boarding-house. "No," he said, "you stay with me awhile." I said I could not do that; I had to go down to my boarding-house. He said, "No!" he thought I had better stay awhile; that I could stay with him just the same, as I was around there; that I might get out and get to drinking; that I was not strong enough. I concluded I would stay with him, and I stayed with him for three weeks.

I went down stairs to the Mission meeting that night, and stood up for prayer. After the prayer, I felt a great deal better—in fact, I felt as much converted as I am now. Since then, I have had no trouble.

I never had made a prayer in public in my life; I never had talked religion in my life, and I got up a week afterward and preached a sermon an hour long. The second or third night I made a prayer. Before that night I had never prayed in public. The only prayer I would say was, "Our Father Who Art In Heaven."

I have never taken a drink since then, and I do not now chew tobacco. I had either a cigar or a chew of tobacco in my mouth all the time during the last year. From the time I was fifteen years old, I used to smoke from three to a dozen cigars a day. My general average of cigars was six a day. I have not chewed tobacco, I have not smoked a cigar, I have not taken a drink of liquor since January. A man talking to me the other day said: "You have the strongest will power on earth. If I had the will power you have, I could do anything I wanted." I said, "I do not think so. I do not believe I ever would have stopped smoking and chewing without the change which has been produced in me through faith and prayer."

I will tell you what broke me of chewing tobacco. It was Monday that I came here to the Mission, the 3d of January, and on Tuesday night I professed conversion. Wednesday morning I went out to see Mr. Minnegerode, and had my name again placed on the church record as a member of Calvary church. The first Sunday in the month was our communion, and I was very anxious that I should perform all the obligations necessary to fill out the measure of my conversion, and to do it as soon as possible; and I happened to be down in Cyrus Young's office, and he told me that they were going to have communion. They had quarterly meeting at the Broadway Methodist church. Dr. Brewer preached, and there I took my first communion. From there I went over to the house of a friend of mine, who has since died, named Lewis. I took dinner with him, and stayed there until half-past three o'clock. Well, I took a chew of tobacco going down the street, and when I had just commenced chewing it, I said: "You are a pretty kind of a Christian. You have got your mouth full of that stuff that a hog would not eat, and immediately after taking the bread and wine commemorative of the death of Christ. It is not right for a Christian to take that after having partaken of these emblems." And I spit it out of my mouth. For two or three days it bothered me a great deal—much more than drinking. I never had a desire to take a drink since that Monday, although I have been asked repeatedly. I was down at a hotel with two or three gentlemen the other day, and somebody got up and suggested taking a drink. I said, "No; I have joined the church; I am a Christian, and I do not believe in Christians or church members drinking." Shortly after that they offered me a cigar, which I refused.

I have now charge of a chapel, and have preached two sermons up there this week, one Sunday night and one Thursday night. I preached on the Prodigal Son the other night. I have held seven or eight services up there. I hold forth here at the Mission one night in the week—that is Tuesday night. I never killed anybody; have never won a thousand dollars at cards; and I never was in the gutter. I was a refined tippler. I was a leader of society all these years, as everybody who knows me is aware. I was prominent in social life and prominent in church life before I was an infidel, previous to 1874, and a member of the vestry of Advent church here. I kept up my acquaintances. All the drinking I did was with the tony men, at the high-typed, tony saloons. I am now a communicant of Calvary church. I am a lay reader, and, for the present, have charge of Campbell-street chapel. I go up there two nights a week. I was going up to Campbell street, the other evening, to hold service and I met Bishop Dudley, who was going up to Trinity to confirm a class, and he asked me where I was going. I told him I was going over to Campbell street to hold service. He asked me who did my singing. I said I did all the preaching and singing myself.