The determination of that rum anarchy in Topeka, Kansas, was such
that three consecutive times I was put in jail because I went into these vile
dens. Dr. McFarland, pastor of the First Methodist Episcopal church of
Topeka, came down at my last trial to see what the trouble was. The
police, when put on the witness stand, swore positive falsehoods and
Judge Magaw, the republican police judge, appointed there by the democratic
Mayor, Parker, that these two might unite their force of corruption,
knew that these police were swearing falsehoods but were winking
at the crime. I saw that the Doctor was getting ready to offer his
protest when the time came, and it came when I was sentenced to jail for
contempt of court, because I insisted on asking what kind of business
these dive-keepers were carrying on, which the judge wanted to keep out
of the witnesses mouths. Dr. McFarland arose and said: "I suppose you
want to fine me judge. I say this is an infernal outrage," repeating it
the second time. Judge Magaw said: "Yes I will fine you twenty-five
dollars." "You may make it a hundred." "Well, I will make it a hundred,"
said Judge Magaw. I was taken to jail. Dr. McFarland was
not, but walked out and said it was worth a hundred dollars to tell them
what he thought of such travesty on justice. Dr. McFarland had plenty
of friends who offered to pay the amount but I believe he paid it himself.
Then he began some investigation of the corruption at the police station.
He preached a sermon telling of this. It was published. I was in jail
next door to the room in which the mayor, Parker, and the police gathered
to discuss a suit for slander against Dr. McFarland, but it was only
a bluff. Before this all night long there was loud talking and swearing
in the room under mine as if around a card table. After Dr. McFarland's
sermon I heard no more of it. There were several of these poor degraded
girls in jail. I knew of actions and words that were not decent between
the officers and these girls. This exposure of Dr. McFarland's was very
salutary. Before that, officers would come into my room without knocking
and address me in a rough manner. After this they knocked at the
door and were respectful and even kind. The Reverend Doctor did a
great work by that sermon which was to the point and effective.
I went to Bangor, Maine, to lecture once. Stopped at the Bangor
House, run by one Chapman. Roosevelt had stopped there just two
weeks before. I heard this hotel had one of those traps, called "dives."
When I went into the dining-room I asked a young lady waiting on me,
if she could get me a bottle of beer? She said they kept it and that she
would ask the head waiter to get it for me. She spoke to him. He left the
dining-room and in a few minutes the man Chapman came out of the
winding way to his dive; the proprietor rushed up to me in a drunken
rage. He threw me against one of the pillars, then literally knocked me
out into the hall in the presence of the guests, perhaps a hundred; then
he kept knocking me down every time I rose to my feet. He would not
allow me to get my things. I was invited to go home with a prohibitionist,
Dr. Marshall. This Chapman was a noted dive-keeper, a rummy, and
ran a representative rum-soaked republican hotel. He was angry, because
I dared to expose him, in his sneaking way of drugging and robbing
his guests. It was marvelous what rages these law-breakers used
to have when I came around at first. It is not so now. Their bands
have been smashed and they are not as bold; and more marvelous that
I was not seriously hurt.
Once in Nebraska City, Neb., I was knocked in the temple by a
saloon-keeper. I reeled and fell and while I knew he struck me with his
clenched fists as hard as he could, so it seemed to me, I did not have a
bruise.
I always prayed to God to take care of me, but to lead me into these
tumults to rouse the people to think and to talk.
