Speaker 1: Colonel Crockett's Cooperative Christmas by Rupert Hughes forward. Of all
the strange gatherings that have distinguished Madison Square Gardener, the
strangest was probably on the occasion last Christmas, when the
now well known Colonel D. A. Crockett of Waco rented
the vast auditorium for one thousand dollars and threw it
open to the public. As he is going to do
it again in this coming Christmas. An account of the
con in and reception of his scheme may interest some
of the thousands who find themselves every Christmas in the
Colonel's flight. My plan to describe it was frustrated by
the receipt from his wife of three letters. He wrote her.
It seems only fair, then, that the author of an
achievement which is likely to become an incas institution, should
be allowed to be the author of its history. I
shall therefore content myself with publishing, verbatim, two of the
colonel's own letters. Rupert Hughes, Letter one, New York, New York,
December twenty sixth nineteen at four Friend Wife. The miserablest
night I ever spent in all my born days. The
solitarist with no seconds. Was sure this identical Christmas night
in New York City, And I've been some lonesome two
in my time. I've told you how as a boy
I shipped before the mast, the wrong mast, and how
the old tub bumped a reef and went down with
all hands and feet except mine. You remember me telling
how I grabbed a holt of a large wooden box
and floated onto a dry spot. It knocked the wind
out of my stomach considerable, but I hung on, kind
of unconscious till the tide went out. When I come to,
I looked round to see where in sam Hill I
was at, and found I was on a little pinhead
of an island about the size a freckle would be
on the moon. All round was mostly sky except for
what was water, and me with nothing to drink it with.
I sat down hard on the box and felt as
blue as all the swear words ever swore. There was
nothing in sight to eat, and that made me so
hungry that me and the box fell over backward. As
I laid there, sprawled out with my feet up on
the box, I looked between my knees and read them
beautiful words, eat Buggins biscuit in plane sight before me
on the end of the box. Well, me and friend
Buggins inhabited that place about as big as one of
Man Friday's footprints were going on four weeks when tide
was in. I held the box on my head to
keep my powder dry. Long toward the end of my visit,
just before the ship that saved me hove in sight,
I began to feel a mite tired of that place.
I kind of felt as if I saw about all
that was interesting on that there island. I thought I
was unhappy, and I had a sneaking idea I was lonesome,
But I see I was mistaken. I hadn't spent a
Christmas night alone in a big city. Then then once
when I was prospecting for our mind, I was snowed
up in a pass I reckon. I've told you how
I got typhoid fever and wrestled it out all day
by my lonesome, unparalleled thirst, Boston baked brains, red flannel tongue,
delirium dreamings, and self acting emetic down to the final
blissful where am I at? And on through the nice
long convalescence till my limbs changed from twine streams to
human members. Six weeks doing time as doctor, patient, trained nurse,
and fellow mason, all in one was being alone, right smart,
But it wasn't a patch on the little metrolopis of
Manhattan on Santy Claus Day. Then, once I had a
rather unrestful evening out in the western part of Texas.
A fellow sold me a horse, right sheep, and later
a crowd of gentlemen accused me of stealing it, and
I was put in jail with a promise of being
lynched before breakfast. That would be an uncomfortable sum too,
But I wished last night that my friend Judge Watson
hadn't come along that night and identified me. It would
have saved me from New York itis. Then there was
the night when I proposed for your hand, and you
sent me to your paw, and he said if I
ever come near again, he had sick the dogs on me.
I spent that night at a safe distance from the dogs,
leaning on a fence and not noticing it was barbed
wire till I looked at my clothes and my hide.
Next day, I watched your windows till the light went out,
and all my hope with it, and on that till,
as the bullet says, till daylight dust appear. Then there's
the time I told you about. When I bet there's
no use of making a catalog of every time I've
been lonesome. I have taken my pen in hand to
inform you that last night beat everything else on my
private list of troubles. My other lonely times was when
I was alone. But the lonesomest of all was in
the heart of the biggest crowd on this here continent.
There was people of plenty, but I didn't know one
gall During galoot, I had plenty of money, but nobody
to spend it on except tip takers. I was stopping
at this big hotel with luxury spread over everything thicker
than sorghum corn pone. But lonely, Why, honey? I was
so lonely that as I walked along the streets, I
felt as if I'd like to break into some of
the homes and compel them at the point of my
gun to let me set in and dine with them.
I felt like asking one of the bellboys to take
me home and get his mad to give me a
slice of goose and let her talk to me about
her folks. There was some four million people in a
space about the size of our ranch. There was theaters
to go to, but who wants to go to the
theater on Christmas? It's like going to church on the
fourth of July. There were dime museums, penny Vaudeville's dance halls.
There was a big dinner for newsboys. The Salvation Army
and the volunteers gave heeds to the pool. But I
couldn't qualify. I was a poor I had no home,
no friends, no nothing. The streets got deserted her and
deserted her. A few other wretches was maroon like me.
In the hotel corridors. We looked at each other like
sneak thieves patrolling the same street. Waiters glanced at us pitiful,
as much as to say, if it wasn't for shrimps
like you, I'd be home with my kids. The worst
of it was, I knew there were thousands of people
in town in just my fix. Perhaps some of them
were old friends of mine that I'd have been tickled
to death to foregather with, or leastways people from my state.
Texas is a big place, but we'd have been brothers
and sisters or at least cousins. Once removed for Christmas sake,
But they were scattered around at the Saint Regis or
the Mills Hotel, the Martha Washington or somewhere while I
was at the Waldorf hyphen Ass Storia. It was like
the two men that Dickens, I believe it was. Dickens
tells about somebody gives a a concertina, but he can't
play on it. Winter coming on and no overcoat. He
can't wear the concertina anymore than he can tootle it
a few blocks away. As a fellow mister b he
can play a concertina something grand, but he hasn't got one,
and his fingers itch. He spends all his ready money
on a brand new overcoat, and just then his aunt
sends him another one. He thinks he'll just swap one
of them overcoats for a concertina, so he advertises in
an exchange about the same time he advertisers that he'll
trade one house broken concertina for a nice overcook. But
does either A or b ever CB's or a's advertisements
Not on your beautiful deck garrow type. That was the
way with us all in New York. The town was
full of lonesome strangers, and we went moping around, stumbling
over each other and not daring to speak. They call
us transience here is like a common sailor that's lost
at se. He's only a casualty. So us poor homeless
dogs in New York are only transience. Why do you
know I was that lonely. I could have stood out
in the square like a lonely old cow in the
rain and just mood for somebody to take me in.
I had a telegraphed for you and the children to
come to town, but Texas is so far away, and
you'd have got here too late, and you couldn't come anyway,
being sick as you wrote me, and one of the
kids having malary. How is his blessed self today? I
hope you're feeling better, telegraph if you ain't, and I'll
take the first train home. Well, last night I ate
a horrible mockery of a Christmas dinner in a deserted restaurant,
and it gave me heartburn in addition to heartache and
a whole brood stable of nightmares. I went to bed
early and stayed awake late. Gee, that was an awful night.
I tried philosophy the next station. Beyond despair. I said
to myself, you old fool, Why in the name of
all that sensible should you feel so excited about one
day more than another. I wasn't so lonely the day
before Christmas. I ain't so lonely today. But then I
was like a small boy with the mumps and the
earache on the fourth of July. The firecrackers will pop
just as lively another day. But well, the universe was
simply throwed all out of gear, like it must have
been when Joshua held up the moon or was it
the sun? You remember reading me once about I reckon
it was mister Aldrich's pleasing idea of the last man
on earth, everybody killed off by a pestilence or something,
and him sitting there by his lonely, little lonesome And
what would he have done if he had heard his
doorbell ring?
Speaker 2: Well, I reckon he'd have done what I'd have done
if I'd met a friend given one wild whoop, wrapped
his arms around his neck, kissed him on both cheeks,
and died with a faint gurgle of joy.
Speaker 1: I'd have been glad to have died so too. Finally,
I swore that if I ever foresaw myself being corralled
again in a strange city on Christmas, I put on
a sandwich board or something and march up and down
the streets with a sign like this, I'm lonely, I'm
homesick for a real Christmas. There must be others. Let's
get together. Meet me at the fountain in Union Square. Well,
hang our stockings on the trees. Perhaps some snow will
fall in them. Come one, come all, both great and small.
I bet such a board would stir up a procession
of exiles a mile and a half long, and we'd
get together and have a good crying match on each
other's shoulders and wring each other's hands while the band
played Old Lang's sign. But it's over now. I've lived
through the game of Christmas Solitaire in a big city,
and I feel as relieved as a man just getting
out of a dentist's office. He's minus a few molers
and aches considerable, but he's full of a pleasing emptiness.
But let me say right here and put it in
black and white. If I'm ever dragged away from home
again on Christmas. I'll take a laughing at enough for
a day and two nights, or I'll take some violent
steps to get company. If I have to hire a
Cayu Senta lariat and Russell Broadway, rounding up a herd
of other unbranded stray cattle. Well, this is a long
letter for me, honey, and I will close loving kisses
to the sweet little kids and to the best wife
a fellow ever had, Your loving Austin PS. I pulled
off the deal, all right. The syndicate buys the mind.
I get five hundred thousand dollars in cash and five
hundred thousand in stock, and I start for home in
three days. We'll hang up our stockings on New Year's Day.
Between letters, the fates accepted Colonel Crockett's challenge, and, by
an irresistible syndication of events, forced him to be alone
in New York again the very next Christmas. After a
series of masterly financial strokes, he had felt rich enough
in his two millions to spend a year abroad with
his family. A cablegram called him to America early in
December to a director's meeting, expecting to return at once.
He had left his family in Italy. A legal complication
kept him postponing his trip from day to day, and
finally an important hearing in which he was a valued witness,
was postponed by the referee or deferry till after the holidays.
The colonel saw himself confronted with another Christmas, far away
from any of his people. The first two days he
spent in violent profanity and in declining invitations which he
received from business acquaintances to share their homes. Then he
set out to make the occasion memorable once more. We
may leave the account to him. Letter two, New York,
New York, December twenty eighth, nineteen ought five. Friend, wife, Well,
I've been and went and gone and done it, and
golly bud, it was fun. Barron, wishing you and the
little ones had of been here too. Next year we'll
arrange it so for I'm going to do it again.
You remember Artemus Ward's man who had been dead three
weeks and liked it. Well, that's me. This camping out
in New York is getting to be a habit. I'm
sending you a bundle of newspaper clippings as big as
a stove pipe, all about yours truly. As soon as
I saw that circumstances had organized a pool to corner
me and my Christmases, I spent a couple of days
sending up rain making language. Then I settled down to
work like a bronco does to harness. After kicking off
the dashboard and snapping a couple of traces. If I've
got to be alone this Christmas, I says to myself,
I'll make it. The gall blamed is crowded. Is solitude
ever heard of? This side of the river. I looked
for the biggest place in town under one roof Madison
Square Garden. Was it? You remember it? We was there
to the horse show so called you recollect. I reckon
that the garden holds right smart of people at a
political meeting. Once they got fourteen thousand people into it
and there was still room for Grover Cleveland to stand
and make a speech. Well, feeling kind of flush and
reckless like I decided to go and see the manager
or janitor or whatever he is, and go I did.
I says to him, Could I reach a cute little
shack for one evening Christmas night? Certainly, sir, he says,
there happens to be nothing doing this Christmas. How much
would it set me back, I says, very polite. Only
one thousand plunks, says he smiling. But my dear Gaston,
I says, with a low bow, I don't want to
buy your little Noah's ark for the baby. I only
wanted to borrow it for one evening. One thou is
our bargain counter limit, he says, I couldn't make it
less for the poor old tzar of Rushie. I kind
of hesitated, remembering the time when a thousand dollars would
have kept me comfortable for about three years. It's hard
to get over the habit of counting your change. Then,
mister Janitor, seeing me kind of groggy, says a little
less polite. If that's more than you care to pay
for a single room, you can get a cot for
five cents on the bowery for a quarter, you can
get a whole sweet That riled me. I flashed a
water bills on him that made his eyes look like
two automobile lamps. He could see it wasn't Confederate money either.
Then I shifted my cigar to detract attention while I
swallowed my Adam's apple and I says, I was only
hesitating my boy because I wondered, if you're nice little
garden would be big enough. You haven't got a couple
more to rent at the same price. He wilted and
caved in, like a box of ice cream does just
before you get home with it. Then he began to
bow lower, and we cut for a new deal. He
took the lead. He says, what might I be wanting
to use the garden for? Oh, I won't bulge the
walls or strain the floor, I says, I only want
it for a Christmas tree. I am going to invite
my friends to a little party. Who but you must
be popular, he says, Who the Dickens? Are you, brother
Teddy or mother Eddie. I'm Colonel d Austin Crockett of Waco,
I says, as meek as I could, pleased to meet you, Colonel,
he says, what you're running for District Attorney? Or are
you starting a new mutual benefit life assassination? Neither? I says,
I'm a stranger in New York. But these friends of yours,
he gasped, Is all Waco coming up here on an excursion?
Is the town going to move bodily. Mister prosecutor, I says,
if you'll stop cross examining a minute, and that means
tell how it all happened, it will save right smart
of time. I'm a stranger here to about four million people.
They are strangers to me. We ought to know each other.
So I'm going to give a little Madison Square garden
warming and them in what are you going to sell them? Prize,
poultry or physical culture? I have nothing to sell. I'm
just going to entertain them. Well, I've heard of southern hospitality,
he says, But this beats me. How much you're going
to charge ahead and nothing. Everything is to be free,
admission included, not on your dear old lost cause, he exclaims,
these ways, not in our little dolls house, not for
ten thousand dollars. Why, man, do you realize that if
you offer these New York Brooklyn, Bronx, hackensack Ana Hoboken
folks a free show, more than two thousand women would
get trappled today. Did you ever see a bargain counter
crowd on twenty third Street. Well, that's only for a
chance to get something they don't want at a fish
bait price. But if you offer them a free take
one chance. Holy key whiz, I can just see it now.
The garden ain't half big enough in the first place.
There's enough take winners in these parts to fill the
old colosseum, and they'd make the wild animals look like
a cage of rabbits or white mice. Well, the upshot
of it was he persuaded me to charge an admission,
so we set it at a dollar a head. On
the hoof, I wrote out a card and sent it
to all the papers to print at advertising rates. It
costs rights smart, but it looked neat to every stranger
in New York and his lady. If you are not
otherwise engaged on Christmas Night, the honor of your presence
at Matta Wilson Square Garden is requested by David Austin
Crockett's Colonel fifth Texas Calvary CSA music, dancing, refreshments, souvenirs
for the purpose of keeping out the undesirable element. A
charge of one dollar will be made. I knew that
them magic words, refreshments and souvenirs would hit him hard.
In order to wet the public interest, I ask the
papers where I advertised to give the things, some editorial
or other reference. But they was very cold and said
the best they could do was to send their dramatic
critics to criticize the show afterwards. A lot of good
that would do me, so I took more space in advertising.
In a day or two, I was visited at the
hotel by one of the most in parents looking fellows
I ever met up with. He sent up a car,
James j James, publicity expert. I said to show him in,
and he sort of oozed through the door. He was
that oily. He looked about to see if we was alone,
then winked slow and important and says, what's your game, Colonel.
It looks pretty slick, but I can't quite make it out.
It's a new Bunco, all right, But slick as it looks,
it ain't quite so slick as it ought to be.
Look here, you cup, I roared. If you imply that
I have any evil motives in this, I'll shoot you
so full of holes you'll look like a mosquitoet He
wasn't a bit scared. He said, wink the other eye
and said, in a kind of foreign sounding language, forget it, colonel.
Cut it out. Back to the alfalfa with your buffalo
bill vocabulary. If you are really on the level, you
don't need to prove it with artillery. But it makes
no diff to me about that. My business is producing fame,
not merit. Once more, I ask what's your leg I
overcame a desire to kick him through the ceiling and
told him I proposed to entertain the strangers in New York.
Strangers in New York. Why that means everybody. There's been
only one man born in New York since the war,
and he's kept an alcohol at a dime museum. Your
idea is really to give old old New York a
Christmas party. Hanh very pretty, very pretty indeed. But if
you insist on exploding money all over the place, I
don't see why you shouldn't get a run for it. Besides,
I need a bit of it myself. What you want
is a press agent. You're starting all wrong. People in
New York can't understand or believe anything except for the
language of the press agent. You take one on your staff,
and in three days you'll be so famous that if
a child in a kindergarten is asked who is the
Queen of Holland? It will answer Colonel Crockett of Waco. Well,
he poured out the most remarkable string of talk I
ever heard, and before I knew it, he had made
me promise to trust my soul and my scheme to him,
to be surprised at nothing that might appear in the papers,
and to refer all reporters to him. The next morning
I found my name on the front page of every journal,
with my picture in most of them. It seems I
had held at bay two hundred angry Italians who were
trying to mob a Chinese laundermen. The evening paper said
that I had stopped at Runaway Coaching for on Fifth
Avenue that morning by lassoing the leader. On the coach
were Missus Aster, Missus Fitch, Reggie Vanderbilt, George Gould, Harry Lear,
and a passel of other among those presents. That night,
I went to a music hall, according to the next
morning's papers, and broke up the show by throwing a
pocket full of solitaires to the chorus girls. The next day,
three burglars got into my room. I held them up
in a corner, took away their masks, spanked them, and
gave gave them each one hundred dollars bill to help
them to avoid temptation. That afternoon, the three big life
insurance companies asked me to be president, and so on.
You can read for yourself, and the clippings only, for
Heaven's sake, don't believe any of it. In every article
was a neat allusion to my Christmas party. I wanted
to kill James j James, and I scoured the town
for him, but he dodged me. He kept his word.
Though for the last few days I'd been the most
talked of man in town. Looks like I'd been the
only man in New York. And now to tell about
my little party. For two days a regiment of men
was working in the garden under my direction and at
my expense. It was like paying the war appropriation of Russia,
but it was worth it. At six o'clock Christmas night,
the crowd began to line up at the garden doors.
At six thirty, a platoon of police arrived. At six
forty the line reached twice around the garden. At six
forty five they sent for more police. At seven point fifteen,
every street was solid with people. They called out the
police reserves and clubbed about four hundred innocent bystanders insensible.
At seven forty five the fire department was called and
played the hose on the crowd. This then them off
a bit on the outskirts. Then the ambulances give out
and the fainting women was carried home in express wagons
and wheelbarrows. The subway was the only line that could
run cars. At eight thirty the doors open. You should
have seen in the rush the Gallaston flood wasn't in it.
At eight forty five the garden was so full they
closed the doors that sent some of the outside crowd home.
The garden was a beautiful sight. On the tower outside
in big electric letters was a sign Merry Christmas to
you and yours. Inside it was decorated with holly leaves
and berries, tons and tons of it. At one end
was built a big house with a chimbley and an
old fashioned fireplace. The roof of the house was covered
with snow cot and the sky back of it was
full of electric stars that twinkled something beautiful, and there
was a moon that looked like the real thing. There
was four bands in the balconies and of angels with
real wings and electric haloes. They sang Peace on Earth,
Goodwill to Men, written for the occasion by mister Dick
coven By, and by all the bands bust out gorgeous,
and then santy Claus appeared in a sleigh drought by
six real live stuffed reindeers. He ran along the sky
on unseen grooves and drove up to the roof of
the house and slid down the chimbley with a pack
of presents. He filled all the stockings with candy, corny
kopies and toys, and a lot of attendants passed them
out to the children. You should have heard them squeal
with joy, poor little talks living in hotels and apartment
places where sandy Claus would have had to come up
the steam radiator or the gas log pipe to get in. Well,
my santi Claus had to make sixteen trips to satisfy
the children. The garden was divided into sections, one for
every state and territory, with its own shield in electric
lights and colors. There was a native of every state
in charge, and every state had its own big Christmas
tree and reception room and refreshments. Some of the people
I noticed seemed to have been born in several states
at once the way they passed from one boot to another,
filling up their pockets and stomachs. I reckon they paid
for it the next day in doctor's bills. But there
was narri a sign of rowdyism. That dollar admission was
a regular sieve for straining out the tufts. Then there
were policemen everywhere, and every other man nearly was a
plainclothesman or a detective. Besides, after sober consideration and on
advice from the gardeners, I cut out all drinks except
soft stuff, so there were no jags except what some
people brought with them from their Christmas dinners and loaded
plum puddings. And then, of course that peculiar something we
get into us at Christmas time filled everybody with a
sort of loving fellowship and a hankering to hug their
neighbors and divvy up their funds like a mutual life
insurance company Prospectus says, it's a going to do someday.
In the center of the hall, there was a big
sign in electric letters, everybody is hereby introduced to everybody
else for tonight only. At every state booth you'd see
people gathering, recognizing old friends or introducing theirselves to new ones.
It was surprising how each state had its gathering. At
the Texas booth, there was a big, immense crowd. A
lot of them turned out to be old friends of ours,
school friends of yours, ranch friends of mine, people I
had worked for, people who had worked me or for me.
A lot of them sent their love and a merry
Christmas to you. I remember especially here we omit a
list of names, somewhat lacking in universal interests. I had
advertised that people who wanted to give each other Christmas
presents could have them hung on the state trees. Attendants
gave them checks for their gifts, and there wasn't many
mix ups. Ol Miss Samanthy Clay got a box of
cigars meant for Judge Randolph, and he got a pair
of silver buckle garters meant for her. But most of
them came out right, and several of them was so
surprised at getting presents in New York they bust out crying.
Major Calhoun's whiskers was soaking wet with tears when he
got a bottle of old bourbon from Judge Peyton. Rich
folks who had been poor men met charter members of
the I'm on to your origin association. But the Christmas
spirit made them forget to be snobs. You'd hear millionaires
telling plain people how they used to play Halloween jokes,
how they scraped up to buy their mother's little Christmas gifts,
what ridiculous things they used to get and give. All evening,
as fast as anybody went out, they'd let somebody else
in along. About eleven o'clock, a lot of the people
began to go home. Then a new crowd came in.
People who had taken their children home and put them
to bed would come back for more fun. Others who
had spent the evening dining began to dribble in. All
the actor people and singers came. It was good to
see them. Some of them told me what a God's
end such a thing was to them. Homeless by profession.
A lot of them brought their wives and babies. One
father was playing Romeo in Newark, his wife was playing
Little Eva in Harlem, and their daughter was playing Camille
on Broadway. You should have seen them rejoicing round the
Kansas Tree. About midnight, the big refreshment hall was opened,
and everybody that could squeeze in set down to long
tables where I had supper served. I had some of
the best after dinner speakers in town come in, and
you should have heard some of the funny stories. It
would have brought back to your old childhood memories. Mayor
McLellan gave us all a welcome, and then there was
Chauncey Depew, of course, and Simeon Ford, and Augustus Thomas,
and Wilton Lackay and Job Hedges, and let mel Evie
Quigg and General Horace Porter, and a passle of others.
They all made the most surprising allusions to your poor
old husband. They call me Daddy and sang about me
being a jolly good fellow, and one of them christened
me Santy Crockett. Why my ears burned so hot? I
near set my collar on fire. It sure was worth
all I spent. And I had a terrible time to
keep from blubbering. I must have swallowed about four hundred
and eleven Adams apples. Finally they called on me for
a speech. I just kind of gibbered. I don't know
what the papers say. I said, Merry Christmas, my children.
This old world sure is some comfortable. After all. The
only trouble is that the right people can't seem to
get together at the right time often enough. But this
year Christmas Supper tastes to me terrible, much like more,
I'm gonna try it again, and I hereby invite you
all that ain't in any better place or any better world,
to meet me here a year from tonight. And so
God bless you all, and and God bless everybody. Then,
after a lot of songs, singing and hand ringing, we
all went home, tears in every eye and smiles on
every mouth. The remnants of food and toys made more
than the twelve baskets full of scripture. I sent them
round to the hospitals and orphaned the solomons. I've engaged
the garden again for next Christmas and paid a deposit down.
It ain't the extravagance it looks. For while the expenses
was high twelve thousand dollars dollars they took in at
the door nearly eighteen thousand dollars. I sent the profit
to the Salvation Army and the volunteers. And now I'm
being prayed for and hal aluyed for everywhere there's a
base drum. But I do it again. If it cost
me twenty thousand, It's worth that and more to have
your heart nearly break wide open with joy and fellowship.
It was broad daylight when I got to bed, all
wore out with happiness. I cuddled up like I was
a little boy once more, in the days when I
used to get up Christmas morning, cold and early, and
look at my presence, and then crawl back under the
covers again with a double armful of toys to keep
warm and sleep some more. If only you and the
chicks had have been there, next time, you shall be
your loving Austin. End of Colonel Crockett's Cooperative Christmas by
Rupert Hughes