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Buffalo Bill. Sharon, Pa., Nov. 5th, 1879. Editor Nebraskian:
Thinking that a letter upon general topics would interest your many readers, I forward you a few lines, commencing with things dramatic as a starter.
Opening my theatrical season Sept. 1st in Davenport, Iowa, my old boyhood home, and around which many sad and pleasant memories cling, I at once started upon the highway to what has proven the most successful business I have ever known.
In Davenport, I was received in a manner that touched me deeply, and proved that time had not obliterated the kindly feeling feel for my name there, and, that any reputation I have won in border warfare, and as actor and writer, was more than appreciated.
Driving out to my father's old home, I grieved to see that the homestead no longer met the eye, but had passed away, as many of those who dwelt there in the long ago have done. But the "homes of the dead" remained, and in the little country burying ground I sought for, and found the grave of my brother Samuel, who met his death twenty-seven years ago, having been killed by a vicious horse while we were out riding together. My wild ride for my father and the doctor, my brother's death, and the day we laid him in his last resting place came before me in all its vividness, and I went backward from manhood to childhood, as I stood by the lonely grave, and gazed down upon the little marble headstone, and moralizing as one must, who has often met death face to face and been spared, while others, the nearest, the dearest and the best have been cut down by his side.
But I must see moralizing and write of matters of a more general interest.
Davenport is a pleasant little city resting upon the banks of the Mississippi, and Rock Island. Immediately opposite is another thriving town that welcomed me with a rousing house, proving that its citizens are enthusiastic theatre goers.
Running through Iowa, I met the same success at Clinton, Dubuque, Cedar Rapids, Iowa City, Des Moines, and Keokuk, until I struck Illinois at Galesburg everywhere my dramas receiving the highest praise from the press, with the exception of Clinton, where a column was devoted to criticising a play which it was evident the reporter had not seen, having doubt in their lives, yet there are bogus people in all trades and professions. Others, mostly "kids," as the boys are called east, are often short a few cents, and ask to be let in for their stock of wealth in hand, which by the way, for some keep for safety in their mouths, and blow it out at the ticket seller, tobacco, taffy, or peanuts and all, for these "kids" are inevitable chewers of something.
At one place two youths of thirteen, ragged dirty and saucy, walked up to the door-keeper, and with all the sang froid of the bona file personages they pretended to represent, one of them introduced has companion as the "editor of the Journal," and that individual so introduced blandly remarked: "and this is one of my reporters, I suppose the press are welcome?" Of course they went in, and were given good scats too.
Another urchin, with one eye purposely closed, asked to be admitted for half price as he could "see but half the show."
At St. Louis we did a tremendous week's business, and, at the close of my week's engagement at Cincinnati, the management of the Opera House presented me with a handsome silver cup, for having played to the largest houses ever known there. And here I may as well say that we had to play there both Sunday afternoon and evening, both performances drawing the largest audiences and the most fashionable.
In one place, Jacksonville, Ills. we played against a Methodist conference, walking the town up with a parade and "sweet bye and bye" by the band. That night, "no more standing room" was announced early.
In Cleveland, we had an amusing incident as we were stopping at the same hotel with a Pinaforce company, one of whose members was an Englishman "just over," and wholly green as to American ways, Indians, and such like. His room-mate, a practical joker, persuaded one of my men, C.A. Burgers, of Nebraska, to "play Injun," and come into the room that night. Charlie Burgers consented and putting on the toggery and blanket of an Indian, he cautiously entered the room after the two had gone to bed, and, the victim was sweetly sleeping. His room-mate soon woke him up with the startling information in a whisper, that some one was in the room, and the next instant the long hair of Burgers swept the Englishman's face, and his beaded blanket pressed against him.
"It is one of those d--l Injuns!" of murder! help! murder! rang from the Englishman's lips, arousing the entire inmates of the hotel.
"Will never play Pinafore no more?" cried Burgers "Never!" "What, never?" "Hardly ever." "Where my tomahawk?" shouted Burgers, and the tenor of the Englishman becoming so great, the jokers were alarmed and Burgers fled from the room, leaving his tomahawk in the hands of the terrified man, but he took the joke kindly after all, though he changed his room-mate.
But I fear I have already tespassed too
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and Rock Island. Immediately opposite is another thriving town that welcomed me with a rousing house, proving that its citizens are enthusiastic theatre goers.
Running through Iowa, I met the same success at Clinton, Dubuque, Cedar Rapids, Iowa City, Des Moines, and Keokuk, until I struck Illinois at Galesburg everywhere my dramas receiving the highest praise from the press, with the exception of Clinton, where a column was devoted to criticising a play which it was evident the reporter had not seen, having doubtless been absent at some temperance (?) meeting, and written the criticism from his fertile imagination, for he spoke of Indians being sacraficed, horrid scenes, blood curdling deeds, and other things that do not exist in the play.
At Clinton, I played against the one time circus champion, Dan Rice, and my receipts of the evening, my vanity causes me to state, doubled the amount of his three performances. Poor "Dan," his days of greatness are over, and the sawdust ring will never again be the scene of his olden triumphs.
Also at Clinton, I was agreeably surprised by a visit from my partner, Major Frank North, than whom no truer, better man, has existance. I also met other bordermen there whom I had known and hunted with away off on the prairies towards the setting sun.
At many of the towns we played it was "fair time" and my Indians were gazed at with open-mouthed wonder by the countrymen as well as townsmen, and of course their curiosity to see "Poor Lo" in all the glory of his war paint and feathers, helped to fill my pockets with silver, oh yes! silver! from pennies to trade dollars with ten cents off the latter. It is enough to make a man sigh to be a greenbacker, or anything else, to get rid of very precious, but very numerous metal, yet I do not complain for a dollar is a dollar for a that.
And right her let me remark that the dull times are over in the places that I have visited, the cities are brisk with trade, the country loaded with grain of all kinds, the fairs were never better attended, the theatres never better patronized, and thrift is upon everything, so that the dark days are over and prosperity rests upon the face of man and nature.
In the theatrical business, one meets with many funny people, and beholds many ridiculous scenes, while to study human nature, there is no better school. For instance, many railroad men, to whom combinations pay large sums yearly think it their perogative to come free to a theatre, bringing with them their "cousins, their sisters and their aunts," If refused admission gratis, the "baggage smashers" in some instanes, " get even." But I am always glad to extend courtesies in season, though do not like to be imposed on. then we have innumerable "members of the press" who never drove a quill by midnight oil or set a type
inmates of the hotel.
"Will never play Pinafore no more?" cried Burgers.
"Never!"
"What, never?"
"Hardly ever."
"Where my tomahawk?" shouted Burgers, and the tenor of the Englishman becoming so great, the jokers were alarmed and Burgers fled from the room, leaving his tomahawk in the hands of the terrified man, but he took the joke kindly after all, though he changed his room-mate.
But I have fear I have already trespassed too much upon your valuable space, so will close, with the promise of another letter from the "laud of the sugar and cane," if you care to hear from
Very Sincerely Yours, W. F. Cody.