"Well, you can get in with me. It's a two o'clock call. I'm going to
spread a couple of blankets under the band chariot. I sleep better there
than in a hotel."
The blankets spread, Alfred's carpet sack served as a pillow for him.
They were about to crawl in when the other asked Alfred if he had been
to "peck." "Not within the last week."
The man looked at him pityingly. There was a lunch stand nearby. The
man, returning from it, handed Alfred a half of a fried chicken and an
apple pie. Although Alfred insisted, the man would not eat any of it.
He ordered Alfred to eat it all, remarking "You need it."
Alfred found himself the object of considerable sympathy the following
day and not until someone asked him how it was he had been without food
for a week did he learn that "peck" in show slang signified
meals--eating.
Boy-like, he had worn his new Sunday shoes. His feet were feverish and
sore. Even had Alfred not been footsore, the snoring of the other would
have made sleep impossible to him. How long he lay awake he had no
reckoning of. It seemed to him he had only closed his eyes when he felt
a yank at the blankets and a rough voice ordering him to get up. It was
the lot watchman.
The big band chariot was slowly ascending the foothills of the
mountains. The east was ahead over the mountain. The curtain of night
was being lifted by the first streak of gray dawn spreading over the
sky. All were asleep in the wagon excepting the driver. Halting his team
he began winding the long reins about the big brakes. He was about to
climb down when Alfred inquired as to the trouble. The driver advised
that the off leader's inside trace was loose and the lead bars dragging.
Alfred advised the driver to sit still.
"I'll hook it up. How many links do you drop?" he asked as he pushed the
horse into place. He was on the wagon in a jiffy. The driver was greatly
taken with the boy. Further up the mountain at the big watering trough,
Alfred assisted in watering and washing the horses' shoulders. It was
only a day or two until Alfred was permitted to handle the reins over
the team, a favor this celebrated old horseman had never conferred upon
anyone previously.
Never will Alfred forget that journey up the mountains. Every turn of
the wheels of the big chariot, as they ground the limestone under their
weight until the flinty pebbles shed sparks, made him feel more lonely.
In the dim gray of the early day the distance seemed greater than when
softened by the light of the morning sun. He had often from afar viewed
the mountains over which they were traveling. As they ascended, he gazed
long and wistfully towards home, a home that lives in his memory today
as clearly as on that morning in the long ago.
[Illustration: On the Band Wagon]
When the crest of the ridge was reached and the descent on the other
side began, looking backwards, he imagined the world between him and
home. Right glad was he of the friendly advances of the old driver--they
were friends.
Soon the band men began to awaken, taking out their instruments,
arranging their clothing, and making preparation for the entrance into
town. The baggage wagons had preceded the band and performer's wagons.
There was but one animal van, Charley White's trained lions, the feature
of the show.
The teams halted. The driver placed plumes in the head gear of the
horses. The band men pulled on red coats and caps. As the horns tooted
and the cymbals clashed they entered the town.
Alfred assisted the driver to unhitch his team. Mr. Noyes arrived,
meanwhile. Alfred volunteered to take charge of his team. He drove the
handsome horses to the barn and saw that they were fed and watered.
Mr. Noyes remarked: "You seem to be fond of horses. Have you handled
them before?"
"All my life," proudly answered Alfred.
"Well, you ride with me tomorrow. It will be more pleasant than in the
band wagon. I want you to go in the concert today."
He had no orchestrated music, but Phil Blumenschein, the bandmaster, was
an old minstrel leader. The orchestra played over Alfred's stuff two or
three times and played it better than it was ever played before. In
those days an orchestra furnished the music for the entire circus
performance.
There came a heavy rain. The attendance at the concert was very light
insofar as the paid admissions were concerned but all connected with the
circus were there to witness the debut of the new boy who had joined to
strengthen the concert.
No opera house or theatre ever erected has the resonance, the perfect
acoustics of a circus tent when the canvas is wet and the temperature
within above 70 degrees. There was a chord from the orchestra. Alfred
ran to the platform in the middle of the ring. (The gentleman who
announced the concert assured the audience there would be a stage
erected). This stage was a platform about ten feet square resting flat
on the uneven earth. As Alfred stepped on it and began his song and
dance, in which he did some very heavy falls, the platform rocked and
reeled like a boat in a storm. Every slap of the big shoes on his well
developed feet made a racket, the sound twofold increased by the
acoustics of the damp tent. Alfred's voice sounded louder to himself
than ever before, notwithstanding he worked his whole first number with
his back to the audience. (In theatres the orchestra is always in a pit
in front of the performers--in a circus concert the orchestra is behind
the performer).
Alfred faced the orchestra; his back to the audience, his work made a
hit, even more with the show folks than with the audience. Dick Durrant,
the banjoist, taught Alfred the comedy of the familiar duet, "What's the
matter Pompey?" This was in Alfred's line and the act became the comedy
feature of the concert.
Salary day came on Sunday. The employes of the circus reported to the
room of the manager, where their salary was counted out to them by the
treasurer. When Alfred's turn came he was asked: "How much does your
contract call for?"
"I have no contract. Here is the letter under which I joined," assured
Alfred, passing the letter to the treasurer.
Glancing at it: "Yes, I wrote that letter but you'll have to see Mr.
Thayer." As Alfred opened the door to depart he said, "You had best see
Mr. Noyes."
"How much are you going to pay me, Mr. Thayer?"
"Well, let me see, ten dollars a week will be about right, won't it
Charley?"
"Eh, no, pay him fifteen. He's worth it. He's the best boy I ever had
around me," was Mr. Noyes' answer.
Charley Noyes paid Alfred the first salary he ever earned with a circus
and it was so ordained that Alfred should pay the then famous circus
manager the last salary he ever received, years after the day Charley
Noyes declared Alfred the best boy he ever had around him. The once
famous manager, broken in health and fortune, was seeking employment and
it fell to Alfred's lot to secure him an engagement with a company of
which Alfred was the manager. When the salary of the veteran was being
discussed, Alfred's intervention secured him remuneration far in excess
of that hoped for. Soon after this engagement ended, Mr. Noyes died very
suddenly. The end came in a little city of Texas. It happened that the
minstrel company, owned by the one time new boy of the circus, was in
Waco. Letters on Mr. Noyes' person written by Alfred led the hotel
people to telegraph the minstrel manager, who hastened to the city where
his friend had died. Ere he arrived, the Masonic fraternity had
performed the last sad rites. Mr. Noyes was the friend of Alfred when he
needed friends and it was his intention to send all that was mortal of
him to his old home. Telegrams were not answered and Charles Noyes
sleeps in the little cemetery at Lampasas, Texas.
As the Thayer & Noyes Circus was one of the best, Alfred has always
considered his engagement with that concern as the beginning of his
professional career. Dr. James L. Thayer and his family were highly
connected. Mr. Noyes married the sister of his partner's wife. The
families did not agree and this led to a separation of the partners,
disastrous to both. Chas. Noyes' Crescent City Circus, and Dr. James
Thayer's Great American Circus never appealed to the people as did the
old title, nor was either of the concerns as meritorious as the Thayer &
Noyes concern. In the prosperous days of the show the proprietors and
their wives were welcome guests in the homes of the best families in the
cities visited. The writer remembers that in the city of Baltimore, the
mayor, the city council and other high dignitaries attended the opening
performance in a body.
The company was the cream of the circus world: S. P. Stickney, one of
the most respectable and talented of old time circus men; Sam and Robert
Stickney, sons; Emma Stickney, his daughter; Tom King and wife, Millie
Turnour, Jimmy Reynolds, the clown whose salary of one hundred dollars a
week had so excited the cupidity of Alfred; Woody Cook, who came from
Cookstown, Fayette County, only a few miles from Brownsville, and who,
like Alfred had left home to seek his fortune; James Kelly, champion
leaper of the world; James Cook and wife, of the Cook family, were of
the company.
All circus people in those days were apprenticed, all learned their
business. One of the latter day hall room performers would have received
short shrift in a company of those days, when every performer was an
all-round athlete; in fact, in individual superiority, the circus actor
of that day outclassed those of the present. The riders were very much
superior as they had more competent instructors.
The only particular in which the circus performance has progressed is in
the introduction of the thrillers--the big aerial acts, the mid-air
feats. Combination acts are superior in the present circus and in this
alone has there been improvement. The circus people of old bore the same
relation to the public as does the legitimate actor today.
There was an aristocracy in the circus world of those days that could
not be understood by the circus people of today. Some twelve families
controlled the circus business in this country for years. They were
people of wealth and affairs.
The Robinson family was one of the oldest and most famous of their
times. The elder John Robinson left an estate valued in the millions.
The numerous apprentices of this master of the circus were the most
famous of all of their times. James Robinson who was the undisputed
champion bare-back rider of the world, was an apprentice of "Old John"
Robinson. Assuming the name of Robinson, he held a place in the circus
field never attained by any other. He toured the world heralded as the
champion, yet he would never permit himself to be announced as such. He
earned two fortunes. Today at an age that leaves the greater number of
men in their dotage, Mr. Robinson is healthy and active. He enjoys life
as few old persons do. In the office of his friend, Dr. J. J. McClellan,
he may be found almost any day, the center of a group of good fellows
and none merrier than the once champion bare-back rider of the world.
The Stickneys were one of the greatest of the old time circus families.
In the summer the family followed the red wagons and in the winter Mr.
Stickney managed the American Theatre on Poydras Street, New Orleans.
America's noted players all appeared in this theatre. Young Bob Stickney
was born in this theatre. He made his first appearance on the stage as
the child in Rolla, supporting Edwin Forrest. No more talented or
graceful performer ever entered a circus ring than this same Robert
Stickney. Only a few weeks ago the writer attended a performance of that
improbable play, Polly at the Circus. The grace and dramatic actions of
Mr. Stickney in the one brief moment in the scene where Polly rushes
into the ring, were more effectively and dramatically portrayed than any
climax in the play.
When Thayer & Noyes' Great American Circus exhibited in Baltimore a
special quarter sheet bill was printed, the program of the performance.
Al. G. Field was one of the names on the bill, in two colors. The agent
mailed one of these bills to the show. It was not until the portly
proprietor, Dr. Thayer, explained to Alfred that his name was entirely
too long for a quarter sheet, and that if he, Alfred, desired to be
billed, he must curtail the name. "I've just knocked your hat off,"
laughed the good natured showman. Alfred thought little of the matter.
He only regarded the name as a _nom-de-plume_. Other bills were printed
bearing the name of Al. G. Field; when nearing the end of the circus
season the management of the Bidwell & McDonough's Black Crook Company
applied to Thayer & Noyes for two or three lively young men to act as
sprites, and goblins, Mr. Thayer recommended young Mr. Field as a
capable person to impersonate the red gnome; this name went on the
bills. Alfred never signed a letter or used the newly acquired name
until years afterwards circumstances and conditions had fixed the show
name upon him and it was absolutely imperative he adopt it. Therefore in
1881, by act of the legislature of Ohio and the Probate Court of
Franklin County, Ohio, the name of Alfred Griffith Hatfield Field was
legalized, abbreviated on all advertising matter to Al. G. Field. It is
so copyrighted in the title of the Al. G. Field Greater Minstrels with
the Librarian of Congress.