During the last eleven years, especially, I have traveled with him almost constantly whenever he has gone from home. I have been with him on three different trips to Europe, including the first missionary trip above mentioned, and on four trips to the Sandwich Islands. Everywhere, on all occasions, I have found him the same great, brave, true-hearted, noble and magnificent leader, so simple and unaffected, so entirely democratic and unassuming.
He was always careful with his expenditures, too. He abhorred debt, and no man have I ever known who was so prompt to pay an obligation to the last penny. He could not rest until the Church was out of debt, and though hundreds of schemes, and many of them extra good schemes, too, were presented to him, which no doubt would have meant an increase of wealth for the Church, yet he resolutely set his face against debt; and would not, under any conditions or circumstances, involve the Church in that way. Neither would he himself become involved in debt in his own individual affairs, but he stuck persistently to the old motto, "Pay as you go."
Many of the older people now alive can recall that forty years ago, or even less, he was considered a radical, and many a one of that time shook his head and said, "What will become of things if that fiery radical ever becomes president of the Church?" But from the time he was made president of the Church, and even before that time, he became one of the most tolerant of men, tolerant of others' opinions; and while he would denounce sin with such righteous wrath as you would seldom see in any man, yet for the poor sinner he had compassion and pity, and even forgiveness, if sincere repentance were shown. None more ready than he to forgive and forget.
One touching little incident I recall which occurred on our first trip to the Sandwich Islands. As we landed at the wharf in Honolulu, the native Saints were out in great numbers with their wreaths of leis, beautiful flowers of every variety and hue. We were loaded with them, he, of course, more than anyone else. The noted Hawaiian band was there playing welcome, as it often does to incoming steamship companies. But on this occasion the band had been instructed by the Mayor to go up to the "Mormon" meetinghouse and there play selections during the festivities which the natives had arranged for. It was a beautiful sight to see the deep-seated love, the even tearful affection, that these people had for him. In the midst of it all I noticed a poor old blind woman, tottering under the weight of about ninety years, being led in. She had a few choice bananas in her hand. It was her all—her offering. She was calling, "Iosepa, Iosepa." Instantly, when he saw her, he ran to her and clasped her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed her over and over again, patting her on the head saying, "Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama."
And with tears streaming down his cheeks he turned to me and said, "Charlie, she nursed me when I was a boy, sick and without anyone to care for me. She took me in and was a mother to me."
Oh, it was touching—it was pathetic. It was beautiful to see the great, noble soul in loving, tender remembrance of kindness extended to him, more than fifty years before; and the poor old soul who had brought her love offering—a few bananas—it was all she had—to put into the hand of her loved Iosepa!
On these ocean trips there was much spare time, and we often whiled away an hour or two playing checkers. He could play a good game of checkers, much better than I. In fact, he could beat me four times out of five, but once in a while, when I played more cautiously, and no doubt when he was more careless, I could beat him. If he was beating me right along and I made an awkward move, and could see instantly that I had moved the wrong checker, he would allow me to draw it back if I noticed it immediately; but on the other band, if I had beaten him for a game or two and should put my finger on a checker to draw it back, even though it were on the instant, he would call out with force enough, and that positive way of his, "No you don't, you leave it right there." It is in these little incidents that we show the human side of our natures.
He loved sport—manly sport. He was a natural athlete; and in his youth at foot-racing, jumping, wrestling, which were among the primitive sports of primitive days, he was a match for anyone. In later years I had induced him to take up with the ancient and royal Scottish game of golf. He got so that he could play a very good game, excellent indeed for a man of his years. But on one occasion, down at Santa Monica, when we were playing, we were up within about one hundred feet of the flag at the hole we were making for. A light stroke should have driven the ball nearer the flag, but the inclination to look up as one tries to hit the ball got the best of him, and the consequence was he topped the ball and it rolled only a couple of feet or so. He bent over for the next stroke, and the one thing which all golfers most fear, and the hardest to overcome, is that habit of looking up or taking the eye off the ball just as you go to strike. This he did, the second time, when he topped it again and it moved but a few feet further. The third time he went up to it and hit it a whack that sent it rolling one hundred feet beyond the flag. His son, Wesley, who was playing with us, called out, "Why, papa, what did you do that for? You knew it would roll away down there in the ditch!" The President straightened up and said, with a smile, "Well, I was mad at it!" I have laughed hundreds of times at that, "I was mad at it."
Of course, we agreed well together, otherwise we would not have been companionable during all these years. But sometimes I could not fully agree with him on some matters that we discussed. I recall one night we were on shipboard returning from Europe, in 1906. It was a bright, moonlight night, and we stood there leaning over the railing enjoying the smooth sea and balmy summer night air. The Smoot investigation, which had just occurred a little while before and which had stirred up so much controversy throughout the land, was fresh in our minds, and we were talking of it. I took the position that it would be unwise for Reed Smoot to be re-elected to the United States Senate. I was conscientious in my objection, and I had marshaled all the facts, arguments, and logic that I could; and I was well informed, I thought, on the subject, and had presented them to him in as clear and yet in as adroit a manner as I possibly could. It would take too much space here to go over the arguments, but it seemed to me that I had the best of it. I could see he began to listen with some little impatience, and yet he let me have my say, but he answered in tones and in a way that I shall never forget. Bringing his fist down with some force on the railing between us, he said, in the most forceful and positive manner:
"If ever the Spirit of the Lord has manifested to me anything clear and plain and positive, it is this, that Reed Smoot should remain in the United States Senate. He can do more good there than he can anywhere else."