I was interested, directly and indirectly, in several gambling establishments, and my proclivities were in that direction. The passion of gambling controlled me to such an extent that I was capable of all sins and crimes to indulge in it. It was one day up, one day down; one day with plenty, another day without a cent.
I continued in this wild, reckless career, until fate turned my footsteps toward the city of Louisville. For it was fate, sure enough, or I don't know what it was. I was sitting one Sunday in front of the old Willard Hotel, Steve Holcombe was preaching that Sunday on the courthouse steps. His remarks were such as to elicit my closest attention; so impressive were they that he seemed to picture before me a panorama of my whole life, in referring to his own career. When he got through with his sermon, I walked up to him, and said: "Mr. Holcombe, you are the first man that I ever heard in my life who impressed me with the importance of preparing for death and meeting God." I then commenced attending the Mission, on Jefferson street, near Fifth, daily. I was there nearly every day.
I then went South, to New Orleans, and fell from grace again—commenced going through the same old routine—gambling, drinking, spreeing. In fact, I was a fearful periodical spreer; if I took one drink, I had to keep drinking for a month. As long as I kept away from it I was all right. I was very abusive when I was drinking; I would knock a man down with a club. I have been arrested, I guess, fifty times for fighting and drunken brawls.
From New Orleans I again came back to Louisville, the 6th of August a year ago, still going on in the same reckless manner, getting drunk, and being drunk, as usual, a week at a time—sometimes a month; in fact, I lived in bar-rooms here. One night, while Mr. Murphy was here—I do not recollect the night, but at one of Mr. Murphy's meetings—he appealed to us all to try and reform and be sober men. I met Mr. Werne and Miles Turpin there, and while there, Mr. Werne asked me if I did not intend to reform, or something like that—that was the substance of the conversation of himself and his wife with me—and he told me that Miles Turpin had reformed. I said: "If Miles Turpin has reformed, I can, too. From this day henceforth I will be a sober man." And I signed the Murphy pledge a short time afterward, and I have not taken anything intoxicating from that day to this.
Mr. Werne then asked me to come up to the Mission, and I have not missed attending this Mission but three nights since, and the benefits that I have derived—the satisfaction, the happiness of mind, the contentment of spirit—I would not exchange for my old life for anything in the world. I mean I would not exchange my present life for the old one for any earthly consideration. I attribute this reformation to the strong personal interest that Mr. Holcombe has taken in my welfare, and if he does not save but one soul, as he says, it would pay him for all the trouble he has gone through within the last ten years or more.
The two following letters, though in the nature of testimonies, are from men of high standing in the community, who preferred, on account of others, not to give their testimonies in the form in which the foregoing are given:
Louisville, Ky., July 24, 1888.
Rev. Gross Alexander:
My Dear Brother—Yours of 21st is just received. I can not see how a sketch of my life can do "The Life of Brother Holcombe" any good. As I understand it, you are writing the life and conversion of Steve Holcombe and not of others. My past history is sufficiently sad and regretful without having it paraded before the public in book form. I am far from being proud of it. I am exceedingly anxious it should sink into the shades of forgetfulness. Having marked out a new and brighter life, I am only too glad to let "the dead past bury its dead."
Most sincerely,
—— ——.
Louisville, Ky., August 2, 1888.
Dear Brother Alexander:
Your kind letter was received several days ago, but I have delayed answering, in the expectation of seeing you here in person.
I am now anxious for the successful issue of the book, on account of the great moral influence it will have upon all classes of the community. But I can not consent to what you propose. I am endeavoring every day to blot out and forget the dark and cloudy past of my life, keeping always a bright future in view. There are dark and painful episodes in the life of every man and though he may be willing to expose them to the eyes of the public, there are those who are bound to him by the ties of blood and relationship, who would blush at the recital. This is the position I occupy. I hope to see you here soon.
Yours truly,
—— ——.
