BIG FEET
One day a very large man, well over sixty years, and with three fingers
off each hand, in a very modest way said to me, “I am so ashamed to tell
a lady my needs,” and he turned up his foot and showed me where the sole
was worn out, so that at every step he made he left a track in blood.
“You poor fellow, you need not be ashamed to tell me of need like that.
I shall arrange for you to stay at the Mission till I get shoes for
you.”
He was of the class who sell shoestrings and pencils, but in very cold
weather people do not stop to buy from street merchants. That night,
after the midweek service of my church, I rose in my place and asked for
a pair of shoes number 9½ or 10. The men hooted, no one of them ever
wore that size, declaring, of course, that I wanted them to wear myself.
“Well,” I said, “whether you wear them or not, you get them for me,” and
I told the story of the bleeding feet. I did the same at my boarding
house. By the next day one of the elders of the church came with two
pairs of shoes which looked nearly big enough for boats, also one of the
men of the boarding house sent to Annapolis to his father, a very large
man, for a pair of shoes, which came to me by express. I put the three
pairs into a basket and rushed to the Mission, when lo! the poor man
could barely get his toes into the shoes. With trembling lip, he said,
“It is simply disgraceful to be old and poor and so awful big that even
one's friends cannot help a fellow.” “Indeed, it is no disgrace to be
old, poor and big, but it is a disgrace to be a bad man of any size or
age. Don't you worry, I shall find the shoes.”
That afternoon I met a Board composed mostly of men eminent in city
affairs, among them was a distinguished lawyer, a very large man. He sat
with his foot across one knee, when I leaned over and said, “Brother,
would you mind walking home in your hose, and giving me those shoes for
a poor chap as large as you are?” “Do you really mean it?” “Yes, I do;
only I will let you wear them home, then send them to me with hose,
under clothes, and any other clothing you can spare.”
By the next morning I had clothing for the poor fellow, and Mr. G.'s
number 11 shoes fit as if made to order.
If the poor man had successfully sold pencils and shoestrings all winter
he could not have been so well clothed as he was that day. But, best of
all, while he was obliged to wait he read the four Gospels through
several times, and he sought and found salvation in Jesus Christ. That
was November, 1911. Since that he has gotten a place as night watchman
in a large building, and he is a good and faithful man.
In Missions we have a large number of deserted wives with children, whom
we clothe. By that help they can by their own labor keep their little
families together, and then on every holiday, such as Christmas,
Thanksgiving, etc., we bring them all to the Mission for reunion and a
big dinner. The joyous seasons for the rich are the saddest times for
the poor and the bereaved. It is such a privilege to be the
administrators of the church people who send money and clothing for
these purposes. In return, the Missions are the real protection of the
city. A hungry man is dangerous, and a man with a hungry family is a
menace.
My maid told me, one extreme cold day, that a man was at the door to see
me. I found there one of the most dangerous housebreakers in the
country. “Murphy,” I said, “I do not want to see any of you men at my
home. What do you want?” “I am starving.” “Well, go to the Mission, we
never turn a man away there.” “I wouldn't be caught dead there.” “Why
not?” “Well, I hate Kline (the Superintendent) and the whole outfit, but
I am starving, I tell you.”
I knew by that he had been stealing at the Mission. Thieves fold up the
sheets and pillow-cases, even when they have been entertaining free, put
the bedding under their coats and get away with it. In time we get to
know them and will not put them in the dormitories, but only in the
barracks fitted with shelving but with no pillows or covers, but fire is
kept all night. The bath and toilet-room adjoins or is part of the
barracks, so that men are made comfortable. I took Murphy to an eating
house near by and filled him up, but at the same time warning him to get
out of town as soon as possible or change his course and become a good
man. Now, if that man had not been given food he would surely have
gotten it, if it cost a human life. Bad as he was, he would have been
fed had he gone to the Mission. I feared he would not go, but would
commit some depredation. Speaking of thieves, reminds me of the case of
a man whom I shall call
JAMES MANN.
One evening a tall, fine-looking man came into the Mission chapel. One
gets to know thieves somewhat as you know an Englishman, a German, an
Italian, by the marks environment have left on the person. I knew on
sight that he was a thief. We had a Salvation Army man at the Mission
that night from West Virginia, who gave the message. His subject was,
“Be sure thy sin will find thee out.”
He had been a thief, had served time, but now he told how happy and safe
he felt serving God and in being a good citizen. Several men knelt at
the altar that night, so when 9.30 P.M., the time for dismissal, came,
the men were permitted to go to the dormitories while one or two workers
prayed with the penitents.
Mr. Mann retired, but he could distinctly hear the praying. He declared
that a voice said, “_Mann, now or never_.” He tried to go to sleep, the
inward voice persisted, “Now or never.” He put on his clothes, went back
to the chapel, threw himself down at the altar and cried to God for
mercy for himself.
The workers gathered about him, he told God his story of sin and shame,
and God heard his cry for mercy, and he rose a forgiven sinner. His kit
of burglar tools were thrown into the Potomac River. He had come to
Washington to burglarize in the northwest section of the city during the
time when Mr. Taft was being inaugurated. His portrait could have been
seen in the rogues' gallery in every large city of the country, but in a
few weeks God so changed his face that the man could not have been
recognized by the old portrait.
We told Major Sylvester, Chief of Police, of the case, and Mann was put
on the special police force at the Union Station at inauguration time,
and never before nor since was there ever such a quick nabbing of the
noted thieves as at the Taft inaugural occasion.
Mr. Mann's mother came on from her western home. She is a sincere
Christian woman. It was doubtless the answering of her prayers which
brought conviction, then salvation to that dangerous man. Once she said,
“James, I never heard of you for two whole years; where were you then?”
He made an evasive answer, but we knew that he had spent them behind
bars.
After the inauguration the special police were discharged, and Mr. Mann
went to work as a carpenter. He made a good assistant carpenter. About
six months after that one of the Northern States was making a search for
large men for their mounted police. Major Sylvester recommended Mann, as
he was six feet four inches tall, and from that day to this he has been
on the mounted constabulary of a great State, engaged in enforcing the
law, rather than breaking the laws of his country.
Now, is not that real service to the State? This man was restored to his
family, to society, to God. He became a factor for righteousness,
instead of an element of danger to the commonwealth.
We are not always fortunate enough to see men of that class seek God. On
one occasion three young thieves came into the Mission, they were of the
traveling men of their base business. After I returned to my home I
called up the police and told them my suspicion, and asked them to watch
the Mission very closely from eleven o'clock until morning. They were
all captured between twelve and one o'clock midnight as they were
leaving the building and escorted to the station and told to leave town,
which, of course, they did immediately.
[Illustration: FREE SUPPER SERVICE]