PROMOTED
I had never lost sight of my friend Irvine. We used to see each other
often and have a good chat about things in general. He said he was going
to take charge of the Sea and Land Church and wanted me to come and be
the sexton. It would give me $30.00 per month, rooms, coal and gas. He
thought it would be a good thing for me to become reunited to my wife
Mary, and I thought so too, but she had to give her consent. We had been
separated for a number of years, and though I had been calling on her
for over a year she never took any stock in my conversion. Here I was
fifteen months a redeemed man, trying to get my wife to live with me
again. I prayed often, but I never thought she would consent.
CHURCH OF SEA AND LAND
I was married young, and she was only a girl, and though she loved me
she could not forget the misery and hardships she went through. I never
hit her in my life, but I wouldn't support her: I'd rather support the
rumseller and his family, all for that cursed drink. And I didn't blame
her for being afraid to chance it again. "A burnt child dreads the
fire." I had made her life very hard, and she was afraid. She was glad
to know that I had given up drink, but doubted my remaining sober.
Finally she agreed to live with me again if I remained sober for three
years. I was put on probation--the Methodist way. Now I had been on the
level for fifteen months, and I had twenty-one months more to go. She
was strong-minded and would stick to her word, so I did not see how I
could take the job as sexton.
I told Mr. Irvine that was the way things stood and for him to get
some one else. He said, "Pretty slim chances, but we will pray about
it." He and I went up to Sixty-seventh Street, where Mrs. Ranney was
working as laundress, and after a little talk we came to the point. I
was a go-ahead man, and tried every way to get her to promise to come
down, but she wouldn't say yes. I'll never forget that night in the
laundry if I live a hundred years; she took no stock in me at all. I was
giving it up as a bad job; she wouldn't come, and that settled it. We
got up to go when Mr. Irvine asked if she would object to a word of
prayer. She said, "No," and we had a little prayer-meeting right there.
We bade Mrs. Ranney good-night and left.
The next night she came down and we showed her all over the church. The
sexton who had been living there hadn't kept the living apartments
clean, and she did not like them very much, but when she went away she
said, "If I only could be sure you would keep sober I would go with
you, but I can't depend on you. Fifteen months isn't long enough; you
will have to go three years. I don't think I'll come." I said, "That
settles it! But listen: whether you come or not, I am not going back to
the old life." The next day I received a telegram from Mary saying,
"COME UP FOR MY THINGS."
I jumped on a single truck, drove up to Sixty-seventh Street, and got
all my wife's things, trunks, band-boxes and everything, and it did not
take me long to get down to the church. Mary was already there, and I
took charge of the Church of the Sea and Land at Market and Henry
Streets, where I remained as sexton for ten years. I would not take
$10,000 for the character I received from the trustees when I resigned.
I always look back with pleasure to those good old days at the church,
the many friends we made, and the many blessings I received while
there.
It did not take us long to get the run of the place. We sent for our
boy, who was in Ireland with his mother's folks. When he came I didn't
know him, as I hadn't seen him since he was a little baby. What a
surprise it was when at my sister's house, after supper, she went into
the front room, leaving me alone in the kitchen, when a manly little
fellow came in and looked me over and said, "Hello, father, I'm your son
Willie. How are you?"
I looked at him, but couldn't say a word, for I had almost forgotten
that I had a son. I opened my arms and the boy came with a rush, threw
his arms around my neck, and said, "I love you, dad."
I want to say here that this boy has never given me any trouble and we
have been companions ever since that night. He married a good Christian
girl and is in his own home to-day.
I heard a little laugh, and there were my sister and Mary taking it all
in. I could see then that it was a put-up job, this getting me to go up
to my sister's house.
Time passed and we were doing finely. One day we heard the boy playing
the piano, and we got him a teacher. In a short time he was able to play
for the smaller classes, the juniors. Then my friend Mrs. Bainbridge got
him a better teacher. He improved rapidly, and now he is organist in the
Fifty-seventh Street Presbyterian Church.
I tell you it pays to be a Christian and on the level. If I hadn't done
anything else but give that boy a musical education, it would have paid.
I'm proud of him.
MY FIRST SERMON
I remember the first meeting I ever led. It came about like this: I had
been sexton of Sea and Land Church about four years, was growing in
grace and getting on finely. One Wednesday night the minister asked me
if I would lead the prayer-meeting the following week, as he was going
away. I told him I did not know how to lead a meeting and I was afraid
to undertake it, as I couldn't preach a sermon. "Oh, that's all right,"
he said. "I'll write out something, and all you will have to do is to
study it a little, read it over once or twice, then get up and read it
off." I told him I'd try. I'd do the best I could. So he wrote about ten
sheets of foolscap paper, all about sinners. I remember there was a
story about a man going over the falls in a boat, and lots of other
interesting things as I thought. I took the paper home and studied as
hard as I could to get it into my head.
The night came on which I was to take the meeting--that eventful night
in my life. I got on the platform, took the papers out of my pocket,
and opened the big Bible at the chapter I was going to read, and laid
out the talk just as I thought a minister might do. I read the chapter,
then we had a song, then it was up to me.
Do you know I made the greatest mistake of my life that night! I went on
that platform trusting in my own strength and not asking God's help. I
got a swelled head and imagined I was the real thing. But God in His own
way showed me where I was standing and brought me up with a short turn.
I began reading the article written, and was getting on well, as I
thought, taking all the credit myself and not giving God any. I read
three pages all right, when some one opened the window. It was a March
night, very windy, and when the window was opened something happened,
and I thank God that it did.
The wind came directly toward me and took the sermon I was preaching and
scattered it all over the room. I didn't know what to say or do. I
forgot everything that was written on the papers, and I knew if I tried
to get them back I would make a fool of myself.
There was a smile on every face in the congregation. There I stood,
wishing the floor would open and let me through. I certainly was in a
box!
Just at this moment God spoke to me and said, "David, I did that, and I
did it for your own good. Now listen to me. You were not cut out for a
minister. Just get up and tell these people how God for Christ's sake
saved you, and I'll be with you."
I listened to the voice, bowed my head in prayer, and it seemed as
though the Lord put the words in my mouth. I told that roomful of people
of my past life and how God saved and had blessed me for four years. We
had a grand meeting and a number were saved that night, and, above all,
I received one of the greatest blessings of my life.
On his return the minister said, "I hear you had a great meeting. How
did the reading go!" I told him what had happened, and he was
astonished, but saw God's hand in it, and said so.
From that night on I never wrote up anything to read to my audience, and
I have spoken all over within a circle of fifty miles of New York, and
even farther away, including Boston, Philadelphia, Albany, and Troy. I
tell the Bowery boys I'm what is called an extemporaneous talker. I
don't know the first word I'm going to say when I get on my feet, but
God never leaves me: I just open my mouth and He fills it. Praise His
name!
It was a lesson to me and I have never forgotten it.
THE TESTIMONY OF A GAMBLER
While I was sexton of the old Sea and Land Church I met among other men
one who came to be a great friend. We called ourselves pals and loved
each other dearly, and yet I have never been able to bring him to
Christ. When I told him I was writing the story of my life he said he
wanted to add a few lines to tell, he said, what I could not. This is
what he wrote:
"'Lead, Kindly Light,' was the song; I'll never forget it. I heard it on
the Bowery fifteen years ago. I was passing a Mission, and hearing it I
went in--I don't know why to this day. After the singing some one
prayed, and I started to go out when the leader of the meeting called
for testimonies for Christ. I waited and listened, and I heard a voice
that made me sit down again. I shall never forget the man that was
speaking. What he said sounded like the truth. It was the greatest
sermon I ever listened to. He was telling how much God had done for him,
saved him from drink and made a Christian man of him. I knew it was the
truth. I went home that night to wife and children, and told my wife
where I had been. She laughed and said, 'Dan, you are getting daffy.'
From that night on I have been a better husband and father.
"I left home one night about six o'clock and went down Cherry Street to
a saloon where the gang hang out. I had been telling the boys about the
things I had heard at the Mission. A young man said, 'Sullivan, there
was a young preacher down at my house and asked me to come to a young
people's meeting at the Sea and Land Church. I promised I would go, but
I haven't got the courage.' In a moment I got churchy. I had never been
in a church in New York. I said, 'Come on,' and we went to that meeting.
I am glad I did. That night I met my friend Ranney. As I was passing out
of the meeting he greeted me--he was the sexton--with a handshake and a
'Good-night, old pal; come again!' There is something in a handshake,
and as we shook I felt I had made another friend. I'll never forget that
night. We became fast friends. There is no one that knows Ranney better
than Sullivan. I have watched him in his climb to the top step by step
to be in the grand position he fills, that of Lodging House Missionary
to the Bowery under the New York City Mission and Tract Society.
"One day we were going up the Bowery and passing a Mission went in. We
heard the testimonies, and I turned to Ranney and said, 'Are you a
Christian?' He said, 'I am.' I said, 'Get up, then, and tell the men
what God has done for you.' Now here I was a gambler telling this man to
acknowledge God, and I did not do it myself! Ranney rose and turned all
colors. He finally settled down to that style of talking which he alone
possesses. He told his story for the first time. I have heard him
hundreds of times since, but to me that night fifteen years ago was the
greatest talk he ever gave, telling how God saved him from a crooked and
drunken life. It had the ring! I loved him from that night on. When he
got through I said, 'Dave, God met you face to face to-night. You will
be a different man from now on. God spoke to-night, not you. It was the
best talk I ever heard. It took you a long time to start, but nothing
can stop you now. One word of advice, pal, I'll give you: Don't get
stuck on yourself. God will use you when He won't others among your own
kind. He will make a preacher of you to men of your own stamp.' And
Ranney is to-day what I said and thought he would be.
"You would think that a man who had been the pal of Ranney for three
years would never say an unkind word to one that he loved, but that is
what I did. We had a misunderstanding, and I said things to Dave Ranney
that he never will forget. I called him every name on the calendar. He
was speechless and I thought afraid of me. He never said a word. I left
him standing there as if petrified--his friend and pal talking to him
like that, his pal that sang with him, and joked with him!
"I went home and swore that never again would I have anything to do
with a Christian. I had forgotten for the moment all the little
kindnesses he had done and how after I had been on a drunk he had been
at my bedside, how he had spoken words of cheer and comfort and said,
'Dan, old man, cheer up. Some day you are going to cut out drink'; and I
want to say right now that I have not drank in over twelve years. I'd
forgotten all that. I only thought of how I might hang the best fellow
on this earth. I came to myself ten minutes after I left him, but the
work had been done, and I made up my mind I'd never see or speak to him
again. I'd go back to my old life of gambling and cheating, and I did.
"Five months passed. I had not seen Ranney in all that time. I was
playing poker one night, the 16th of September, 1899, with no more
thought of Dave than if he had never lived. It was in the old ---- ----
Hotel on Water Street, a little before eight in the evening. My partner
and I were having a pretty easy time stealing the other men's
money--some call it cheating--when my thoughts turned to my old
Christian pal Ranney. It was the eighth anniversary of his conversion.
Quick as a flash I jumped to my feet and said, 'Boys, I'll be back in an
hour. I've got to go!' My partner thought I had been caught cheating and
was going to cash his chips. I said, 'I'll be back in a little while.'
"I ran all the way up to the Bowery to the place where Ranney was
holding his meeting. The Mission was packed. There were a lot of
big-guns on the platform. No one saw me that knew me. Ranney was asking
for those testimonies that would help the other fellow. I got on my feet
and faced him. He turned pale. He thought I was going to set him out
then and there. He looked me straight in the eye and began to come
slowly toward me, and when I had finished we had one another by the
hand. This is part of what I said that night:
"'I make no pretense at being a Christian. I am a gambler. But the man
standing there--Dave Ranney--was once my chum and pal. We had a little
misunderstanding some five months ago, and I am here to-night to ask his
forgiveness. Forgive me, Dave. I just left a card-game to come up to
your anniversary and help make you happy. I know you don't believe I
meant what I said. I love you more to-night than any time since I first
met you. Why, men, I would lay down my life that Ranney is one of the
best and whitest Christians in New York to-night. It ain't the big
things that a man does that show his real character. No, it's the little
things. I have watched Ranney, been with him; his sorrows are my
sorrows, his joys my joys. I can't say any more to-night.'
"Dave begged me to stay. Mr. Seymour came down to speak to me, but I'd
done what I came to do, and I had got out quick--from Heaven to Hell,
from my Christian pal to my pal in crime at the card-table.
"I've never been converted. If I was I'd go like my pal Ranney out in
the world and tell how God saved me, and not let the ministers do all
the talking. At present all I can say is, 'God bless my pal! and some of
these days perhaps I'll be with him on the platform telling what God did
for me. God speed the day!'"
TRIED IN THE FIRE
I had been sexton for over five years, and had been greatly blessed,
when my wife became ill. Things did not always run smoothly, for there
are ups and downs even in a sexton's life, and I had mine. When Mary and
I took up again I determined to do all in my power to make amends for my
former treatment of her, to make life as pleasant for her as I could,
and I did. When she was first taken sick I sent her and the boy over to
Ireland to visit her parents, thinking the change would do her good. She
was better for a little while, but on the 14th of March, 1902, she died.
My boy and I were at her bedside and promised to meet her on the other
side, and with the help of God we are going to keep our word.
You know there are always "knockers," and I knew quite a few. In every
church and society there they are with their little hatchets ready to
trim and knock any one that goes ahead of them. Some of these people
said of me, "Oh, Ranney is under Christian influences. He is sexton. He
is afraid. Wait until he runs up against a lot of trouble, then he will
go back to the Bowery again and drink worse than ever." I do think some
of those people would have liked to see it happen. I've seen one of them
in a sanitarium to be treated for drink who was my worst knocker, and I
told him I would pray for him. I'm not talking of the good Christian
people. They don't know how to "knock," and I thank God for all such. I
had a thousand friends for every "knocker," and they were ready to help
me with kind words, money, or in any other way when I was in trouble.
Just as an illustration of this take the act of the poor fellows of the
Midnight Mission in Chinatown when my wife died. They wanted to show
their sympathy and their love, and a delegation of them came in a body
and placed a wreath on Mary's coffin. I learned afterwards how they all
chipped in for the collection--some a few cents, some a nickel. Don't
think for a moment that the Bowery down-and-out has no heart, for it
isn't so. Many a tough-looking fellow with a jumper instead of a shirt
has one of the truest hearts that beats. I only wish I could help them
more than I do.
When God took Mary away I thought it was hard, and I was sore and ready
to do anything, I didn't care what. There was a lady, Miss Brown, a
trained nurse, who had been with Mary all through her illness, whose
cheering words did me a wonderful lot of good. One thing she said was,
"Trust." God bless her!
A TESTING TIME
My old friend the Devil was in evidence during this hard time in all his
pomp and glory. I could hear him say, "You see how God treats you! He
don't care much or He wouldn't have taken Mary away. What did He do it
for? Why, He don't know you even a little bit. Come, Dan, I'll be your
friend; didn't we always have a good time together on the Bowery? Go get
a 'ball'; it'll do you good and make you forget your troubles. You have
a good excuse even if any one sees you." I was tempted, but I said, "Not
this time, you old Devil: get behind my back!" People said, "Keep your
eye on Ranney; he's up against it; now he will start to drink and go
down and out."
I'm going to tell you how God came and helped me in my hour of need. It
was the day of the funeral, the 17th of March, 1902. The people who were
helping had gone home to get ready to attend the service, and my boy and
I were left all alone with the dead. We were feeling pretty bad. My boy
had lost the best friend he ever had or would have in this world. Some
fathers are all right and love their children, but it isn't like a
mother's love. No wonder he was weeping and feeling badly.
We were walking about the room saying nothing, just thinking, and
wondering what would happen next. We happened to meet just at the head
of the casket (God's doing), and stood there as though held by some
unseen power, when my boy opens up like this: "Pop, you don't want me to
smoke any cigarettes, do you?" I looked at him, astonished at such a
question at this time, but I said, "No, Willie, I don't want you to
smoke and hope you never will." Then he said, "Father, you don't want
me to drink, do you?" I wondered at these questions, and looked at him
with tears in my eyes. I said, "No, Bill, my poor boy, I would rather
see you dead and in your coffin beside your poor mother, and know you
were going to be buried to-day, than to know you would ever drink or be
like your father was. Bill, don't you ever take the first glass of beer
or whiskey! Ask God to keep you from it."
I wondered what was coming next, but I didn't have to wait long. The boy
said, "The people are watching you and say you won't come back from the
grave without having a drink, and that you won't be sober a week from
now. Pop, trust in the God that saved you ten years ago, won't you? You
know we promised to meet mother. Fool these people and let them see that
you are the man and father I love."
I straightened up, looked at the lad, and out went my hand. We shook
hands and I said, "Son, with the help of God I'll never drink again."
And there at the head of the coffin we knelt and asked God to help us
and make us men such as He would have us be; we asked it in the name and
for the sake of the Christ who died for us.
That was March 17, 1902, and we have kept the faith up to the present
time.
I'll never forget that prayer. Don't you think it pays to be on the
level with God? If you ask Him to help you He will. Just trust Him and
have a little backbone, and you will win out every time. I know now that
this experience was God teaching me a lesson and drawing me closer to
Him.
Things went differently now; I could not run the church very well alone,
so after a few months I handed in my resignation. The trustees wanted me
to stay, but I couldn't; sad memories would come up, and I simply had
to go. I left the old church where I had spent so many happy days with a
record of ten years that money could not buy. I go there once in a while
even now.
[Illustration: THE CHURCH OF SEA AND LAND.]
[Illustration: MIDNIGHT MISSION, CHINATOWN.]