Eytinge had not been in Arizona very long, however, until he was under suspicion of murder. A man with whom he had become quite friendly and whom he had taken care of in a financial way was found dead in the desert one day after Eytinge had been seen to leave the city with him for a buggy ride. When the body was found Eytinge had disappeared. He was found later in California and in his pockets were some of the belongings of the dead man.
Eytinge was brought back to Arizona and placed on trial for his life. He was convicted on circumstantial evidence after William A. Pinkerton, one of the greatest detectives of the time, had declared that it was improbable that Eytinge had killed the man “as his criminal bend did not gallop in that direction.” Judge A. C. Wright, of Phoenix, who defended Eytinge, was so sure of the prisoner’s innocence that he went into his own pocket to pay for the appeal of the case.
Eytinge was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. How long can he live in prison? That was the question asked by all who had seen him on the witness stand. Eytinge was near death’s door at the time. His allowance had been cut off and he did not have the funds with which to purchase fresh milk and eggs, two delicacies almost absolutely necessary for the tubercular patient. The State prison was then at Yuma, Arizona. It was a hell hole with its mosquitoes which swarmed into the cells that looked out on the Colorado river. The quarters were damp, dark and dirty, and afforded excellent means of killing a man who at the time was ready to die.
But right there is the story. Eytinge was not ready to die. He was not 30 years old. He clung to the hope that something would bring about his release. He wanted to live, wanted to breathe again the fresh air of freedom and hobnob again with the pals, association with whom had placed him behind steel bars. Eytinge was still a crook.
Enough of the crook! Let us get to Eytinge the business builder and man. It is a great, broad jump we admit, but the telling of how Eytinge accomplished it is a thousand times easier to do than the battle which Eytinge himself had to go through in bringing about that end. Seven years ago Eytinge was a crook of the first water, seven years, mind you, and—today Eytinge is a man. He is looked up to by professional advertising writers the country over. His business letters are the best that are being written today. Eytinge is the star of them all.
The strange part of this great accomplishment is the manner in which it was brought about. Eytinge made the road light for himself. He started out with weak hands to carry the torch that showed him the way. Today Eytinge is his own light; he has thrown away the torch and walks alone. Honesty is his greatest asset, and it was through the writing of business letters that Eytinge found his way.
When Eytinge entered the State prison he realized that he must find some means of making money. One could not forge checks in prison. Eytinge was placed in the chronic ward. Around him were Indians, Mexicans and others who in their spare moments made hat bands, watch fobs and other articles out of horse hair. They decorated these with rosettes hammered out of Mexican dollars. These articles were sold whenever possible to chance visitors at the prison, but it was a slow way of making money.
And then one day the big idea came to Eytinge! Opportunity knocked on the steel bars and Eytinge was there to talk to Her! The crude handiwork of the prisoners was the vehicle by which Eytinge began to make his way. He began by writing letters to retail dealers on the outside asking them to take the agency for the hat bands, belts, watch fobs and other articles. It was not long until the money began to pour in. There was a big demand for the articles, but it was the letters that Eytinge had written that opened up the field. In these letters Eytinge had given the dealers a straightforward account of what the articles really were. He told the truth absolutely and unvarnished, and one day he discovered that he had been doing this.
Does honesty pay? This was the question that Eytinge asked himself. He did not have to ask others—he had the proof before him. He had discovered that honesty did pay and that it paid well. But just at that time this new business received a severe setback. Prison officials became suspicious that many of the letters going out from the prison were not what they purported to be. Some of the salesmen were suspected of filling their letters with fake statements which were little short of appeals for help.
Word went out from the warden’s office that each prisoner could write but two letters a week. Eytinge had been dealing with forty retail merchants. Many a man would have thrown up the sponge and quit. To have thirty-eight customers taken away in that manner would have proved a shock that few concerns would have been able to withstand. But Eytinge did not admit defeat. He soon recovered from the shock and saw that something must be done. Two letters must be made to do what forty had been doing before.