In the Southern States several years ago a circus now disorganized was in high popular favor, and it was with great difficulty and at heavy expense that the “big shows” of to-day succeeded in convincing the population that its confidence had been misplaced. Finally, however, they were welcomed and accepted. The colored public was the last to forsake its cherished tradition.
An advance press agent strolling past the flaring billboards announcing the approach to an Alabama town of the metropolitan organization he represented, observed an aged, tottering darkey, supported by a small boy of his race. They were scrutinizing the posters.
“Read it to me, son,” directed the old man. “What dey say about dis new circus?”
The lad stared ruefully at the polysyllabic collection and began slowly: “Of all magnificent and master consolidations of rare, varied and illustrious menageries, circus and hippodrome possessions and possibilities this is greatest. Sept. 1, ——.”
“Dat’s enough, my boy, dat’s enough,” interrupted the attentive old listener, shaking his head grimly and chuckling, “’cept one, eh, ’cept one. I know dat one. It’s de circus I’s been seein’ for years. Dis false show don’t git none ob my money.”
A free ticket, produced on the spot, helped to shake his faith, but history does not record whether the performance made him a thorough convert.
Adam Forepaugh was as ready a man in an emergency as circus life ever developed, and was noted in the business for his skill in avoiding legal entanglements. A resident of Auburn, N. Y., does not know to this day how neatly the showman escaped a claim for damages at his expense. The man had been drinking heavily, and in the menagerie tent before the performance had begun offered Bolivar, an elephant noted for his size, a bottle filled with whiskey. The smell of the liquid always infuriates the beasts. In the spring of 1902, Tops, a usually good-natured elephant, stamped the life out of a man who offended her with whiskey, in Brooklyn, N. Y. The Auburn man was chased away unharmed by the watchful keepers, but Bolivar’s small eyes gleamed vindictively and he did not forget. The performance was well under way, and the menagerie tent was being rapidly emptied of its collection of animals and cages, when the man returned. The elephants and camels were lined up preparatory to the march to the cars. The scene was one of confusion and excitement, and the man was not observed by the attendants. Bolivar, however, had his eyes fixed on his persecutor and as the luckless stranger came within reach the big beast trumpeted, struck with his trunk and prepared to stamp upon the victim. Keepers rushed to the spot with pitchforks, subdued the angry elephant and dragged the unconscious form away. An examination showed no serious injury.
Visions of a sheriff, attachment and suit for heavy damages oppressed Mr. Forepaugh at once, but his quick wit suggested a way out of the trouble.
“Take this fellow to the cars,” he shouted to “Dan” Taylor, boss canvasman, “and keep him locked there. Don’t let him out when he gets his senses again, but bring him to me in the morning in Syracuse.”