The Use and Need of the Life of Carrie A. Nation [58]
(This was a test to try my faith.) The cloud
was lifted and I told Mr. Cook to tell the men that a "million a minute
would not catch me." My dear friends especially Mrs. Goodwin, Dr.
Eva Harding and others used their influence to have Stanley, the governor
pardon me, this he refused to do, the joint-keepers were those he
favored more than me.
I had never thought of going before the public as a lecturer. I
knew those people only wanted me as they would a white elephant. I
did not at this time see the stage as a missionary field.
At this time I was entirely out of means, was in debt and the duns
I got while in jail were a terrible trouble to me. The ten cents I got
for my bread and milk came in almost daily for copies of my papers. I
paid my milkman sometimes in stamps.
I never wanted to get out of jail so badly in my life, as I did at this
time, when the offers to make engagements were so many. Two days
after the New York managers were there, I got a letter from James E.
Furlong, a Lyceum Manager of Rochester, N. Y., who had managed
Patti and many of the great singers. He told me if I would give him
"some dates", he would assist me in getting out of jail. I hardly knew
what he meant by "dates". Mrs. Goodwin of Topeka called to see me,
I showed the letter to her and asked what this man meant by "dates?"
She said: "He may want you to lecture or you could tell of your experience."
"I wonder if the people would like to hear me, I can tell my experience,"
I said. I asked her to tell Mr. Duminel, my lawyer, to come to
my cell. I told him of it, and he said he would call the commissioners
together and would have them let me out by paying my fines by monthly
installments. This he did. So Mr. Furlong sent the money needed and
Dr. Harding and Mrs. Goodwin collected seventy dollars from my friends
to help me out. When I got to Kansas City, I lacked fifty cents of having
enough money to pay for my ticket east, so I borrowed that of the man
at the fruit stand in the depot. In about a week from that I spoke at
Atlantic City for the Philadelphia American, the proceeds being used to
give the poor children an outing. Thousands of people were present.
I never made a note or wrote a sentence for the platform in my life.
Have spoken extemporaneously from the first and often went on the
platform when I could not have told what I was to say to save my life,
and for several weeks God compelled me to open my Bible at random and
speak from what my eyes fell on. I have literally proved that: "You
shall not think of what you shall speak but it shall be given in that
hour." The best thoughts have come to me after being asleep, waking
in the night or in the morning.
The way I happened to think of a hatchet as a souvenir, some one
brought me one and told me I ought to carry them. I then selected a
pattern and got a party in Providence, R. I., to make them. These have
been a great financial aid to me; helped me pay my fines and expenses.
People have often bought them from me, at my prison cell window. I
sell them everywhere I go.
The summer of 1902 I was at Coney Island, speaking in Steeple-
Chase Park, and a man was very insulting to me, and always took occasion
to say something against women. I can scarcely remember how it was,
but I broke or smashed his show case of cigars and cigarettes. I knew
I would have to pay for it, but I did not mind paying for the object lesson
that it would be, for tobacco is a poison, and the use of it is a vice.
I was arrested, stood my trial and was being sent to jail, when Mr.
Tilyou, Manager of Steeple-Chase Park, took me from the "Black Maria."
The policeman who had the prisoners in charge was purple and bloated
from beer drinking, he wanted me to go in a place in the front that was
already crowded with women. I refused and he struck me on the hand
that was holding to the iron bars of the little window and broke a bone,
causing it to swell up. I said: "Never mind, you beer-swelled, whiskey-
soaked saturn faced man, God will strike you." In six weeks
was lifted and I told Mr. Cook to tell the men that a "million a minute
would not catch me." My dear friends especially Mrs. Goodwin, Dr.
Eva Harding and others used their influence to have Stanley, the governor
pardon me, this he refused to do, the joint-keepers were those he
favored more than me.
I had never thought of going before the public as a lecturer. I
knew those people only wanted me as they would a white elephant. I
did not at this time see the stage as a missionary field.
At this time I was entirely out of means, was in debt and the duns
I got while in jail were a terrible trouble to me. The ten cents I got
for my bread and milk came in almost daily for copies of my papers. I
paid my milkman sometimes in stamps.
I never wanted to get out of jail so badly in my life, as I did at this
time, when the offers to make engagements were so many. Two days
after the New York managers were there, I got a letter from James E.
Furlong, a Lyceum Manager of Rochester, N. Y., who had managed
Patti and many of the great singers. He told me if I would give him
"some dates", he would assist me in getting out of jail. I hardly knew
what he meant by "dates". Mrs. Goodwin of Topeka called to see me,
I showed the letter to her and asked what this man meant by "dates?"
She said: "He may want you to lecture or you could tell of your experience."
"I wonder if the people would like to hear me, I can tell my experience,"
I said. I asked her to tell Mr. Duminel, my lawyer, to come to
my cell. I told him of it, and he said he would call the commissioners
together and would have them let me out by paying my fines by monthly
installments. This he did. So Mr. Furlong sent the money needed and
Dr. Harding and Mrs. Goodwin collected seventy dollars from my friends
to help me out. When I got to Kansas City, I lacked fifty cents of having
enough money to pay for my ticket east, so I borrowed that of the man
at the fruit stand in the depot. In about a week from that I spoke at
Atlantic City for the Philadelphia American, the proceeds being used to
give the poor children an outing. Thousands of people were present.
I never made a note or wrote a sentence for the platform in my life.
Have spoken extemporaneously from the first and often went on the
platform when I could not have told what I was to say to save my life,
and for several weeks God compelled me to open my Bible at random and
speak from what my eyes fell on. I have literally proved that: "You
shall not think of what you shall speak but it shall be given in that
hour." The best thoughts have come to me after being asleep, waking
in the night or in the morning.
The way I happened to think of a hatchet as a souvenir, some one
brought me one and told me I ought to carry them. I then selected a
pattern and got a party in Providence, R. I., to make them. These have
been a great financial aid to me; helped me pay my fines and expenses.
People have often bought them from me, at my prison cell window. I
sell them everywhere I go.
The summer of 1902 I was at Coney Island, speaking in Steeple-
Chase Park, and a man was very insulting to me, and always took occasion
to say something against women. I can scarcely remember how it was,
but I broke or smashed his show case of cigars and cigarettes. I knew
I would have to pay for it, but I did not mind paying for the object lesson
that it would be, for tobacco is a poison, and the use of it is a vice.
I was arrested, stood my trial and was being sent to jail, when Mr.
Tilyou, Manager of Steeple-Chase Park, took me from the "Black Maria."
The policeman who had the prisoners in charge was purple and bloated
from beer drinking, he wanted me to go in a place in the front that was
already crowded with women. I refused and he struck me on the hand
that was holding to the iron bars of the little window and broke a bone,
causing it to swell up. I said: "Never mind, you beer-swelled, whiskey-
soaked saturn faced man, God will strike you." In six weeks