Brass Bands and Snake Oil Stands

By Dennis Goodwin

What a multi-colored stream of one-of-a-kind characters flowed across the recreational landscape of early America! Where else would you find Blatz the "Human Fish," "Dinner Pail McNutt" or "Big-eared Zip?" And where else could you find the vivid scene of "Sparrow," a vaudeville performer who would catch pumpkins with his face. Or a fast-talking medicine showman "curing" corns right through a country bumpkin's shoes with a secret ingredient - gasoline!

From the gleaming gold and silver stream of the great circus street parades, to the pounding of the tambourines of the raucous minstrel shows, the sights and sounds of our country's early entertainment are filled to the brim with a restless energy. Annie Oakley, the Christy Minstrels, the "Boston Bird Man," "Slick and Sleepy" and all the rest, rise from the dusty pages of history and live again for a few golden moments. Like true entertainers of all ages, they smiled and bowed through hard times and lean years, with a whole-hearted rough-edged gusto.

If only we could transport ourselves back to those days, what a show we would see! The airwaves would once again tingle with excitement as The Shadow and The Green Hornet filled our imaginations and our living rooms with "mind pictures" of their crime-fighting adventures. The circus tents would once more host the forerunners of today's glittering spectacles as "Old Bet" the elephant and the donkey named "Zebra" performed for us. And the tent shows would again bring to life the rough-edged adventures of Deadwood Dick and Roarin' Ralph, the Ring-tailed Screamer.

As we strolled around America's early amusement parks, moon maidens would offer us green cheese, and three hundred midgets would welcome us to their "Lilliputian Village." And we could sit back and enjoy the fabulous talkies, smiling as the sound and picture synchronization problems of the early cowboy movies often showed us "talking horses." Yes, someone may someday invent a way to drift back through the mists of time! Then we can come face-to-face with the one-of-a-kind characters that painted these unique images on our country's amusement landscape. But until then, please sit back and enjoy a word trip back to the glorious days of Brass Bands and Snake Oil Stands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Goodwin
• Release date: Apr 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463700105

Dennis Goodwin

I am a free-lance historical nonfiction writer based out of Snellville, Georgia (near Atlanta). For over forty years, I have had an interest in writing about the American West, early entertainment, the Civil War period, and basically anything that catches my attention. I have written a number of books of short stories, as well as numerous articles for magazines like Wild West, True West, and Old West. My wife, Joan, has valiantly put up with my chronic writing addiction throughout the years...bless her heart.

Book preview

BRASS BANDS AND

SNAKE OIL STANDS

Colorful Glimpses of America's

Early Entertainment

by

Dennis Goodwin

Cover illustrations by the author

Revised 2020

Copyright  1995

by Dennis Goodwin

[e-mail]

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 93-90384

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To my wife, Joan, for her constant support and endless bowls

of ice cream as I slaved over a hot word processor

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Kickapoo Cures and Wizard Oils (Medicine Shows)

From Cat Pianos to Human Fish (vaudeville)

When the Air Began to Talk (the origin of radio)

Heroes, Hisses and Jolly Della's Deflating Bosom (tent shows)

When Wild Really Meant Wild (Wild West shows)

From British Blondes to Shimmy Shakers (Burlesque)

Hayrides, Oprys and Jubilees (radio barn dances)

The Most American Thing in America (Chautauqua)

Gargoyles, Griffins and Glistening Glamour (circus parades)

The Pounding of the Sheepskin and the Rattling of the Bones (minstrel shows)

Miracles, Midways and Mouse Ears (amusement parks)

Mystic Mermaids and the Marvelous Cherrie Burnham (museums)

The Greatest Mud Show on EarthTheGreatestMudShow (the early circus)

When Voices Grew Faces (vintage television)

The Talkies First Words (the first talking pictures)

Other Books by the author

Out of the West

Fate, Flukes & Fame in Country & Bluegrass Music

The Activity Director's Bag of Tricks

Ten-minute Tales

More Ten-minute Tales

Lives and Times

INTRODUCTION

What a multi-colored stream of one-of-a-kind characters flowed across the recreational landscape of early America! Where else would you find Blatz the Human Fish, Dinner Pail McNutt or Big-eared Zip? And where else could you find the vivid scene of Sparrow, a vaudeville performer who would catch pumpkins with his face. Or a fast-talking medicine showman curing corns right through a country bumpkin's shoes with a secret ingredient - gasoline!

From the gleaming gold and silver stream of the great circus street parades, to the pounding of the tambourines of the raucous minstrel shows, the sights and sounds of our country's early entertainment are filled to the brim with a restless energy. Annie Oakley, the Christy Minstrels, the Boston Bird Man, Slick and Sleepy and all the rest, rise from the dusty pages of history and live again for a few golden moments. Like true entertainers of all ages, they smiled and bowed through hard times and lean years, with a whole-hearted rough-edged gusto.

Some of the greatest men and women of our time stepped into our view on the platforms and stages that our country built to amuse itself. Carrie Nation, Booker T. Washington, and Presidents Grant, Garfield, Hayes, McKinley and Taft, all strode proudly across the Chautauqua stage. Each one left footprints that would lead thousands of Americans toward new frontiers of thought. Buffalo Bill Cody, William Jennings Bryan, Oliver Wendell Holmes and a legion of other famous people, turned their efforts toward entertaining their fellow countrymen.

Mixed in among these great names are those of the entertainers who didn't exactly carve a deep notch in history. Like Fleury, for example, the vaudeville showman who painted a face on his stomach. At the end of his act, he would flip up his costume and make faces at the audience. Or Silk Hat Harry, the medicine showman who would eat his own soap in order to prove its purity.

As the greats and the not-so-greats walked in and out of the spotlight, they left behind stories that simply have to be told and retold. They may not always have had the sophistication of many of the entertainers who followed in their footsteps. But when Sparrow took his stately bow, as the pumpkin pieces dripped from his chin...and when Fleury's stomach was at just the right position for his navel to pout at the audience, there was no doubt about it, this was entertainment at its purest.

If only we could transport ourselves back to those days, what a show we would see! The airwaves would once again tingle with excitement as The Shadow and The Green Hornet filled our imaginations and our living rooms with mind pictures of their crime-fighting adventures. The circus tents would once more host the forerunners of today's glittering spectacles as Old Bet the elephant and the donkey named Zebra performed for us. And the tent shows would again bring to life the rough-edged adventures of Deadwood Dick and Roarin' Ralph, the Ring-tailed Screamer.

From the shimmy shakers of the burlesque shows, to the mystic mermaids of the early museums, we could witness entertainment that wasn't exactly highly refined. We could savor the unpolished glittering fragments of amusement that were often as raw and uncultivated as many of the people who gathered to watch them. As we sat among the tobacco-spitting audience members, we would hear them shout out song requests during the theatrical performances. Then, when we returned to the present, we could relate colorful tales about the flurries of rotten eggs and insults that vividly expressed the viewer's discontentment.

Also, we would bring back stories of the poison pens of the early theater's uninhibited critics. We could tell about the reporter who reviewed the play The Battle of Eutaw Springs. He conceded that it wasn't such a bad play, considering the author must have had his brains blown out at the same battle! And we could watch the poor sweltering performers of the pioneer television broadcasts. As they faced the blazing studio lights, they had to wear black lipstick so the viewers of the snowy little screens could even see their lips move.

As we strolled around America's early amusement parks, moon maidens would offer us green cheese, and three hundred midgets would welcome us to their Lilliputian Village. And we could sit back and enjoy the fabulous talkies, smiling as the sound and picture synchronization problems of the early cowboy movies often showed us talking horses.

Yes, someone may someday invent a way to drift back through the mists of time! Then we can come face-to-face with the one-of-a-kind characters that painted these unique images on our country's amusement landscape. But until then, please sit back and enjoy a word trip back to the glorious days of Brass Bands and Snake Oil Stands.

KICKAPOO CURES AND WIZARD OILS

The Silver-tongued Masters of the Medicine Shows

My friends, do you suffer from that most dreaded of all diseases, rheumatism? If you do, take a bottle of my bitters, and if it doesn't cure you... The medicine showman paused dramatically as the wide-eyed crowd stared through the flickering light of the kerosene pan torch. If it doesn't cure you... he repeated, perched majestically on the runway of his wagon, staring intently into the quivering mass of country bumpkins, then prepare to meet your God, for you've got to die.

Modern-day high-pressure salesmen with their neon striped jackets and florescent smiles, didn't invent hard-sell salesmanship. Oh, no! They are no match for the old medicine showmen. Silk Hat Harry for example, would prove the purity of his product by eating his own soap right there in front of you. Milton Bartok would catch your attention by apparently setting himself on fire with a blowtorch. That's hard-sell salesmanship!

The doctors and professors and all the other characters of the old medicine shows were some of the most colorful salesmen the world has ever seen. They peddled everything from Doctor William's Pink Pills for Pale People, to the Little Wonder Electric Tibetan Rheumatism Ring. The rare formulas they discovered from far-off Indian tribes and brilliant German scientists were often concocted in such exotic environments as their hotel bathtub, the night before the show. They quoted statistics never to be found in medical journals, and promised cures that would top the miracles of the ages. For years, a steady stream of fast-talking German Doctors and Indian Chiefs sold relief for everything from biliousness to a loss of manly powers, in twenty-five and fifty-cent bottles.

During their golden age, before and after the turn-of-the century, they crossed and re-crossed the country by the hundreds, leaving salves, bitters, tonics, and well-entertained country folk along the way. The little country towns were the favorite picking grounds of the medicine showmen, especially the small towns in the mid-west and the south. For years after the city folk had become too sophisticated and suspicious for Kickapoo cures and Wizard Oils, the country yokels were happy to see the shows arrive, and eager to buy their magical remedies.

Not just everyone shared the friendly enthusiasm of the rural mid-west and south, however. Some stops along the circuit were definitely anti-medicine show towns. These hostile environments would either charge outrageous fees for a license, or simply tell the showmen there was no place available. Sometimes, even in a previously friendly town, a new sheriff might decide the town didn't need any Kickapoo chiefs, or German physicians peddling their miracles.

This unfriendly attitude was something most medicine showmen expected occasionally. After all, the medicine shows developed from the early pitchmen, who were not always the most welcome guests in town. These hard-sell specialists traveled alone, or sometimes with one or two entertainers. Until World War I, they traveled in wagons, on freight cars, or on foot with their supplies on pack burros. Following the war, many pitchmen adapted a truck with a tailgate that dropped down to form a small stage like the earlier wagons. The stage was often lit at night by alcohol torches made from old cans, or by a more expensive gasoline or kerosene pan torch made by a blacksmith.

Most pitchmen developed a spiel and stuck to it, sometimes for years. One of the exceptions to this was pitchman Curly Thurber. One time he would be Chief High Eagle, peddling a mystical Indian remedy, and at the next stop, he might be dressed as a swami. No matter how he was dressed, his silver tongue was always in prime condition. Buy this medicine, he would advise people walking by the sidewalk. Don't go to the doctors. What do they do when you go them? he asked. As the stunned bystander waited for the answer, he continued. I'll tell you what they do. They cut open your umbilicus and take out your tweedium. Upon hearing that horrid news, buying a bottle or tin of whatever Curly might be selling at the time, seemed like a small price to pay to avoid loosing your tweedium!

Soap pitchmen were a common sight, peddling a variety of perfumed and medicinal soaps. Their demonstrations were eye-catching as they took a bar of their soap, rubbed their hands together, and instantly produced mounds of foaming lather. Unfortunately, the customer had a little trouble creating the same bubbles at home; since usually the soap pitchman had either secretly palmed a soap-filled sponge or had previously dipped his hands in liquid soap. One of the best-known soap pitchmen, Silk Hat Harry would not only eat his soap to impress you but like Curly, he could reach out and reel in the yokels with his spiel.

People come forward every day, my friends, and tell me how this soap has cured them of skin diseases, he would say. Then he would describe some poor wretched customer who once had scabs and sores all over his face, and of course...bought a few cakes of his wonderful soap. That same poor soul, he would relate, saw him later, looking handsome and clear faced, and introduced his wife and his new twin babies. That's what this soap has done for me, he gratefully told Harry. But gentlemen, Harry would say, with a twinkle in his eye, I do not guarantee this same result for everyone who buys my soap.

Mineral salts became a favorite product for a lot of medicine pitchmen. The pitchman would often use graphic charts or models to illustrate the body's organs, and catch the eye of the bystander. One of the standard mineral salt pitches told the audience that the precious healing mineral waters were the gift of the Great and Wise Creator. He makes those treatments way down deep in the bowels of the earth, in a laboratory far greater than man could devise, and forces them to the surface in the form of mineral water, and gives them to us.

The rich people, the pitchman explained, had discovered the healing value, bought the springs up, and built immense hotels over them. The mineral salts being sold were the same exact ingredients as the curative ingredients in the mineral waters. During a lengthy dissertation, the listener learned that hardening of the arteries helps kill ninety-nine out of every one hundred working men and women in America today... Fortunately, however, they found that regular doses of the mineral salts would take them off the endangered list. It also took care of rheumatism, malaria chills, weak bladders, kidney stones, constipation, and a nearly endless list of ills. For fifty cents a package, it seemed like a pretty good bargain. Fortunately, after the spiel, they were told that anyone who would like to have lasting good health, that great gift of God and Nature, may now obtain it.

Herbs were another pitchman's standby. Violet McNeal, a pitch-lady remembered her days peddling herbs. The men who worked for her, she recalled, claimed the herbs could cure anything from hangnails to leprosy. One of her pitches involved two X-rays that had been taken of her when she had a series of operations. She fixed a rack with a light in back of the X-rays, so the yokels could get the full dramatic benefit of them. She then offered a thousand dollars to anyone who could prove the X-rays were not of her body. As she flashed the light on and she began to point out the various vital organs, the crowd surged forward. The natives stood there with their mouths open so wide, she remembered, I could have thrown marbles down their throats.

She had a vivid recollection of one particular day when one of the bystanders asked her if exercise is good for a person when they are taking the herbs. She had always been able to touch her palms to the floor without bending her knees, so she thought this might make an interesting demonstration. Yes, brother, she replied, I'll show you what a woman my age who takes these herbs regularly can do. With that, she quickly bent down to touch her palms on the ground. She had forgotten, however, that just prior to the demonstration, she had enjoyed a full meal with some friends in town. As she straightened up, she produced a resounding belch. Mortified at the incident, she quickly thought and after regaining her composure stated, As you see, gentle exercise and the herbs will expel all the gas from your stomach.

As interesting as Curly, Silk Hat Harry, and Violet were, most of the pitchmen and women realized they could draw in more people if they included entertainment with their pitches. Through the years, they tried nearly every type of act imaginable. Ventriloquists, comedians, banjo players, magicians, and singers took their place among the boxes and bottles of tonics and salves. In addition to the human entertainers, snakes, lizards, alligators, and monkeys also took their turns at drawing in the crowds.

After the singers sang and before the monkey danced, the pitches would fill the air. Interspersed among tapping feet and strumming banjos, came the silver-tongued pleas to prevent the ills of mankind and the woes of the world. Wide-eyed farmers learned that tonics and bitters could unleash the hidden powers of roots and herbs to cure everything from spots before the eyes to ague.

The demonstrations were sometimes more interesting than the entertainment. Old Doc Ruckner, for example, would not only cure corns right there on the stage, but he would cure them right through your shoes! The enthusiastic patient wasn't aware that the soothing coolness was created by the secret ingredient - gasoline!

Liver pads also gave instant relief right there on the spot. When the magical pad was put in place, a warm glow settled over the area. This instant health actually came from the red pepper mixed in with the other ingredients. As technology entered the picture, electric or galvanic belts became the new miracle cures. The belts were usually sold to cure sciatica and backaches. They also often used red pepper to deliver their electric tingle. One of the classiest models was hawked by a pitchman named Big Foot Wallace. Covered in purple satin, it used zinc disks soaked in vinegar to give the tingle.

The wonders came in all sizes. Thousands of customers slowly examined their aching knuckles to see if their Little Wonder Tibetan Rheumatism Rings had begun to start working. Along with the new miracles came, free of charge, an education about the mysterious world of medical science. It didn't matter much that this information couldn't be found in the more traditional medical books of the day. If a German High Doctor or Kickapoo Indian Chief provided the information, it was obviously too new and innovative to have been recorded yet in those stale old medical journals.

Illnesses thought previously to have complex causes, were simplified into easy-to-remember categories. Imperfect skin, the audience learned, was always the sign of bad blood, and could easily be corrected by a one-dollar quart bottle of Johnson's Sarsaparilla. They found that by using S.S.S., The Real Blood Medicine, they could cure themselves inside and out. Skin diseases, it turned out, were actually blood diseases in disguise. In fact, if the blood was in a pure and healthy condition, no poisonous elements could reach the skin. As fascinating as the individual pitchmen were, the medicine shows were usually more enjoyable because, in addition to the pitches, the shows were packed with entertainment. Like most other forms of traveling shows, they would set up in schoolhouses, vacant stores, barns, or whatever was available. No matter where they set up, the public would come, and they usually didn't even mind their far-fetched claims. After all, the medicine show might be the only live entertainment they would see that year.

Some showmen only sold one particular medicine right around their hometown. They were often called the forty-milers or the home guard, because of their limited travel. In the late eighteen hundreds, however, some medicine shows grew large enough to hire as many as forty performers. When these huge extravaganzas hit town, they would usually set up shop on a circus lot or some other wide-open space. They moved indoors if the weather was bad, into an opera house or some other large building. Most opera houses incidentally, never saw an opera during their lifetime. The name just seemed to imply a certain social prestige.

Most medicine showmen preferred the outdoor bookings since they could accommodate a larger crowd. And crowds were the name of the game - the more people in the audience, the more potential customers. Some of these huge shows began to resemble small circuses. The Big Sensation Medicine Company, for example, could seat up to 1,500 people under its 60 by 120-foot canvas. The entertainers even had the luxury of using dressing rooms set up behind the huge 40-foot stage. The show packed in a lot of entertainment (and money). On Wednesday nights, like many medicine shows, they would host a double show that featured more entertainment and shorter lectures.

While these huge shows would hit the cities, the smaller shows would tour the towns too small to draw real theater, nickelodeons, or Chautauqua. The smaller shows were often performed from the back of a specially modified wagon or inside a small tent. Some of them even used a roofless tent. These were easy to erect, but obviously not much protection from the elements. Regardless of the type stage they used, the people came. Showman T. P. Kelley remembered looking out from the medicine show stage at crowds of six to eight thousand people holding up their money to buy his medicine. ...From the stage, he reflected, it would appear like a waving sea of currency was before me. It was a beautiful sight. In addition to gaudy posters and banners, word of mouth would increase the crowds after the show hit town. Milton Bartok remembered the show as being the town's gathering place. The first night we would have a fair crowd; the next night that crowd should double.

Anna Mae Noell's parents ran a small show named the Jack Roach Indian Medicine Show. She recalled that country people, especially in the small towns, were simply entertainment starved. They loved it, she said, and out of gratitude they bought whatever my father and mother sold them. Some showmen also had their favorite states. Harry Leon Wilson, who played a character named Sooner Jackson, chose Iowa. Give me Iowa, he would say, where the boobs...simply come up and ask to be had...and I wouldn't crave another state out of our whole glorious union.

The entertainment of the medicine shows was probably as varied a mixture as any entertainment form in history. The showmen borrowed ideas from vaudeville, minstrel shows, circuses, burlesque, Chautauqua, magic shows and any other entertainment that would draw a crowd. It was, after all, the crowd that mattered. It simply didn't make much difference if the yokels had been drawn in by a high-toned orator or a dancing monkey. When the spiels began and the miraculous tonics or healing herbs were offered, the coins and bills appeared. Anything and everything became medicine show entertainment. Magic tricks, burlesque acts, vaudeville skits, pantomime and pie-eating contests were used. Punch and Judy shows, musical comedy acts, dog and pony shows and even early motion pictures all found their way onto the medicine show platform.

The entertainment wasn't the only thing that pulled in the audiences. Another big draw was the prize candy. Some large shows would take in several hundred dollars a night in candy sales. Usually prize candy was sold at the first of the show to start the cash flowing. Sometimes however, it was saved for the finale because of the showy prizes that could be won. When the audience bought the little boxes of inexpensive candy, they would find either a small Cracker Jacks-type of prize inside or a slip of paper that would allow them to claim a larger prize displayed on the stage. These ranged from dishes or vanity sets for the ladies, to French dolls and giant stuffed pandas for the children. The display of these colorful gifts made a flashy backdrop for the show, and lured the potential winners into digging deeper into their pockets for coins.

Along with the entertainment and the prize candy, the audience could usually count on hearing pitches for herb tonics, liniments, salves, catarrh cures, corn remedies, and perfumed soaps. A lot of the shows prepared their own medicines. As the supply of snake oils or