A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The Romance and Tragedy

W >> William Ingraham Russell >> The Romance and Tragedy




There were many like this man.

I had to fight against practically unlimited wealth in the hands
of a score of bitter enemies, men without conscience in the matter
of crushing a competitor. Anything to beat Stowe was the war-cry;
get the orders away from him, no matter what the cost, the plan
of campaign. Those men knew I could not long survive if they could
keep me from getting business.

To fight them back I had complete knowledge of the trade, great
personal popularity with my customers, and only eighty-five hundred
dollars capital. The last item was the weak point. Had I controlled
even only one hundred thousand dollars I believe with all their
wealth I could have beaten them to a standstill.

My customers stood nobly by me. There were hundreds of instances
when telegrams came to the office advising me of my competitors'
quotations and giving me the opportunity to meet the price and
secure the business. I never lost an order that the buyer did not
write and express his regret at our failure to secure it; but I
could not do business at a loss, my competitors knew this, and that
sooner or later they must surely win the fight.

From business on the Exchange I was barred until after final
settlement with creditors. As a matter of fact this was more of a
loss to the Exchange than to me. During 1895 our name had appeared
on the contracts of fully ninety per cent. of all the business
done on the floor, and in the five years immediately following our
failure the entire business did not equal that of any two months
in 1895.

On December 3lst, I found the volume of business for the year had
been less than a million of dollars as compared with nearly fifteen
millions in 1895.

Competition had cut into the percentage of profit to such an
extent that what I had made was insufficient to counterbalance my
expenditures.

Office and home expenses had been kept down to small figures;
I had made the regular monthly payments to Mrs. Slater and to Mr.
Pell and in addition made some payments of interest on the moral
obligations to our Connecticut friends, but my little capital had
to some extent been impaired.

The year at Westfield in its home life was far from unpleasant.
Our reduced circumstances had not deprived us of the ordinary
comforts. We still had our library and the handsome appointments of
our former home, and though these latter were out of keeping with
the house we enjoyed them.

The game of billiards after dinner, while I smoked my cigar, served
to distract for the time being my thoughts from business worries,
and for out-of-door exercise we took almost daily spins on our
wheels, which had been substituted for the horses.

We made one delightful trip on those wheels during the summer. With
my wife, a son, and a daughter, we started on Friday afternoon,
and after spending the night in Morristown, went on the next day
to Lake Hopatcong, returning home on Monday (Labor Day).

On Sunday, in our wandering, we visited all the familiar spots and
recalled the many drag trips we had taken there with our friends
as our guests and wondered if we would ever again repeat those
pleasant experiences.

We dwelt particularly on one trip, brought to mind by a visit to
the Bertrand Island Club. While there we looked back in the register
at a sketch made by my friend and architect, Charlie Fitch. He and
his wife were included with our guests on that occasion, and after
asking me to allow him to register the party he filled a page with
an artistic sketch of "Redstone" with the drag in the foreground.

Charlie Wood and his wife also were of that party, and at a dinner
at "Redstone" on our return he sang a song composed by himself for
the occasion. I quote a few lines:


"Here's a good health to the Lake in the hills,
Here's to the hand that our glass ever fills,
The Kodak and Banjo;
But principally, mind you,
To the fellow who pays the bills."


This chapter covering the first year after my failure would be
incomplete without its testimony to the devotion of my wife and
children under the new conditions. My wife was a glorious sunbeam
whose rays of cheerfulness never dimmed. Her wonderful spirits and
courage lifted me out of the Slough of Despondency, and her love
and tenderness supported me through every trial.

The children, from my elder son, who had cut short his college course
and joined me in the office, down to the baby of the family, then
a girl of eight years, were constant in their efforts to contribute
to my comfort and happiness.




CHAPTER XL

THE STRUGGLE CONTINUED



At the commencement of 1897 it seemed as if everything was against
me. In the trade the fight for my customers was waged with renewed
vigor, and one after another names which had been on our books for
years were dropped from the lists of our supporters. We tried to
retain them and they tried to have us do so, giving us every possible
advantage, but it was useless.

We could not compete against the wealth of our competitors. In our
efforts to do this we made losses, small in individual instances,
but we knew if continued our little capital would soon be exhausted.
Our banking facilities since the liquidation of the old affairs had
been greatly restricted. The business was now too small to be of
any interest to the bankers and the commissions exacted cut into
the profits to such an extent there was nothing left for us.

With no capital, our London connection had entirely lost its value,
and this same lack of capital prevented us from doing business with
our old speculative clients.

With my mind harassed by the weight of my monthly obligations,
support of family, office expenses, payments to Mrs. Slater and Mr.
Pell, and the more or less constant inquiry from some of my moral
(as I call them) creditors as to how soon I could commence making
them monthly payments, my brain was well-nigh turned.

I was beginning to realize the true meaning of the word desperation.
Is it any wonder that in this condition of mind my judgment should
have failed me or that my operations should turn out badly? At all
events, such was the case. Whatever I did in the market it always
seemed as if a relentless fate pursued me.

I felt as if I must make money and I lost it.

Through this time of trial my wife was still the same loving,
cheerful helpmate. Nothing could daunt her courage nor depress her
spirits. If she had her hours of worry, she kept them from me.

We decided to move into a smaller house and sell our surplus
household appointments, works of art, and my library. It was hard
to part with all the beautiful things we had lived amongst so long,
and when it came to the library I fear our tears were very close
to the surface.

We arranged for a small house at Sound Beach, Connecticut, a new
and pretty cottage directly on the Sound. Our small payments were
to apply on the purchase and we hoped in this way to once more own
a home.

Early in April there was a three-days' sale at the Knickerbocker
auction rooms. I attended the sale and witnessed, with aching
heart, the slaughter--for such it proved. With the exception of an
exquisite set of Webb cut glass, manufactured on an original design
and never duplicated, and a very small part of the rare china, the
prices realized averaged but little more than ten per cent. of the
cost. The great chest of Gorham silver brought hardly its bullion
value.

A few pieces I could not see so sacrificed and bought them in. The
fine hall clock, which had cost me six hundred and fifty dollars,
I could not let go for seventy-five. An imported cabinet, costing
two hundred dollars, at eighteen; a Tiffany vase for which I had
paid seventy dollars, at eight, and so on; but I had to stop some
where, and so most of the things were sold. Within a few days I sold
at private sale what I had bought in, but realized only a little
more than the auction prices.

Then came the paintings. These were sent to a down-town auction
room. All but four, which I withdrew, I saw sold at absurdly low
prices. The four and the hall clock, representing a cost value
of twenty-seven hundred dollars, were taken by Charlie Wood in
cancellation of a debt of five hundred and seventy-five dollars,
borrowed money. He certainly was well paid.

And now the library. Two small cases had been reserved from our
furniture sale, and these were to be filled with--what? There was
hardly a book in the whole library we did not love and cherish as
a friend. How were we to make the selection?

Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, Fielding, Prescott, Irving, Hawthorne,
the British Poets, Dumas, Lever, Cooper, Strickland, Kingsley,
Bulwer--these, all beautiful sets bound by Riviere, Zahnsdorff and
other noted binders, must be sold on account of their money value.
Over and over again we went through the catalogue and finally our
task was completed.

As I carefully packed case after case of the books destined for
sale, it seemed almost like burying a child when I nailed the covers
down.

The sale was at Bangs. The first day I attended but had not the
courage to go the second day. There were but few private buyers, and
hundreds of the volumes went back to the shelves of the booksellers
from whom I had purchased them. They told me afterwards they were
amazed at getting them so low.

In April we took possession of the cottage at Sound Beach. The house,
though very small, was comfortable and cozy, and the lawn extended
to the shore of the Sound, at that point rocky and picturesque.

With freedom from care I could have been very happy in the new
home; 'but with constant worry over the struggle for existence,
this was impossible. Despite my best efforts, matters continued
to go wrong, and before the summer was over I had reached the end
of my resources.

Then commenced the bitter struggle with real poverty.

It was impossible to keep out of debt for current expenses at
home and in the office. For the first time in my life I had become
"slow-pay" to small tradesmen. "Buy nothing you cannot pay for"
is all right in theory, but let those who preach it put themselves
in my place in those dark days. There were days and weeks when the
house would have been bare of food if the grocer and butcher had
refused me credit. There were days at the office when letters had
to be held over night for lack of money to pay postage.

My wife, unknown to me and in hope of helping me over the hard
spot, wrote to Mr. Viedler, asking him for a loan of a few hundred
dollars. He never replied to her letter. Then she wrote to Charlie
Wood. From him came a reply, that if I had not read it, I would
never have believed him capable of writing.

It was the first wickedly cruel blow dealt me by one whom I regarded
as a warm personal friend, and the cruelty was vastly accentuated
by dealing it through my wife.

In his letter he gave as a reason for not making the loan that
I had caused him to lose fifty thousand dollars--that as a result
he had been compelled to pay for his home, recently completed, and
one of the handsomest in Orange, New Jersey, in part by mortgage;
further, in writing, he went out of his way to express himself,
with an ability for which he is noted, in most unkind and bitter
terms.

Here are the facts:

At our first interview after my failure I said, "Charlie, I am sorry
for your loss." To which he replied, "Walter, you do not owe me a
cent." He had invested with us fifty-four thousand dollars, but he
had drawn in profits thirty-two thousand, so that his actual loss
was but twenty-two thousand dollars.

In 1890, _only two weeks_ after he had declined to share with me
that small investment in the Connecticut concern to benefit the
estate of his deceased partner, because he "could not go into any
outside investment," he came to my office and asked me to take
eighteen thousand dollars, to be--and was--later increased, for
operations in our market. I took it, not that I wanted it, but for
the reason that he was a friend who asked me to help him and as
was the case with every such investment, except Caine's, it was
distinctly understood that the risk of loss was the investor's.

When I negotiated the sale of this man's interest in those properties
to Mallison I secured him at least twenty-five thousand dollars
more than he expected or could have gotten himself, and it was on
that occasion his wife exclaimed, "Oh, Walter, what a friend you
have been"! He also was one of those investors whom I relieved from
being held as an undisclosed partner at the time of my failure--_and
this man was my friend!_

To the letter he had written to my wife I replied, resenting
indignantly the falsity and injustice of his charges and offering
the vouchers to prove my statements. His answer was conciliatory,
and admitted that "the facts were really much better" than he
supposed.

In those days I thought often of the many I had assisted in the
past and wondered if the "bread cast upon the waters would return
to me after many days" Of course I did occasionally find a friend
who helped a little, but these were few and far between.

There was one man whom I had once loaned three hundred dollars.
He asked for the loan, to be returned in two weeks. I never asked
for the money and it was not until more than two years had passed
that he had returned it. I wrote him in 1897 asking a loan of one
hundred dollars for a few weeks. In reply he wrote: "You will be
surprised at my not granting you this small favor, but I have lost
so much money through loans to friends that I make no more personal
loans."

Throughout the year there was no improvement in my affairs. I
managed to keep the debts for current expenses down to small figures,
altogether not more than a few hundred dollars, but I was always
a month or two behind, both in the office and at home.

We welcomed the end of the year, for we felt that any change must
be for better. I could not see how it could be much worse.




CHAPTER XLI

THE DARKNESS BEFORE THE DAWN



The winter dragged slowly along while we led a hand-to-mouth
existence. Even those dreary times did not drive the sunshine from
my home. Love reigned supreme in the family circle and my wife
and children continually petted and caressed me, made light of our
troubles and stoutly affirmed that brighter days would surely come.

Fortunately all kept well, and while they must have felt the awful
strain of our impoverished condition, they concealed from me such
feelings, if they existed. My wife's wonderful health has, through
all our troubles been maintained. She is the only woman I ever
knew who never had a headache and in all our married life she has
never been ill.

We were to leave Sound Beach in the spring. I could not carry out
my arrangement with the owner of the property and he released me.
Where should we go next to seek an abiding place? And in my mind
was the thought, how long will we be able to remain there when we
find it.

My thoughts reverted to those days of 1876 on the little farm. "Let
us try farming again," said I, and try it we did.

At Ramsey, New Jersey, I found a modernized, comfortable house
with fifteen acres of land. There was an asparagus bed, plenty of
strawberries, and some other fruit. This place I rented for a year
at four hundred dollars and removed there on the thirtieth of April.

I employed a man with horses and plow by the day and soon had my crops
planted. About half the land was rich grass and I left this for a
hay crop. As in the old days, so now I was successful in my farming
experiment. Our crops considering the acreage, were enormous, and
again I astonished the natives. I found a ready market with the
vegetable peddlers and the profits went a long way toward paying
the rent.

At the office matters were unchanged. I was doing neither better
nor worse than for many months previous. The summer had passed and
with the early fall I foresaw a change in market conditions that
I longed to take advantage of, but I had no capital, nor could
I think of any one who would assist me--yes, I did think of one
friend who through all my trials had been stanch and true, but I
could not bring myself to the point of calling on that friend for
financial aid.

It was Mrs. Slater. Her father, Mr. Pell, had been dead for some
months and had been deprived of no comfort through his loss by my
failure.

When my payments ceased in 1897 Mrs. Slater had been compelled to
reduce her expenses and with her boy was now living in an apartment
in New York. Her income was still sufficient to enable her to
live very nicely, and though her loss had made it necessary to be
careful in her expenditures this had not in any way affected her
friendship for the man who was the cause. On the contrary, she
always stood up for me when my affairs were discussed by others
in her presence, and when occasionally I called on her she always
expressed a sympathetic friendly interest in my trials without
adding to my unhappiness by referring to my indebtedness to her.

As the days went by developments proved that my judgment of the
market was correct. An opportunity to make money was at hand and
if I was to take advantage of it I must get some capital quickly.
I felt certain with a little capital I could do a profitable
business that would not only relieve me from the terrible distress
I had been under for so long, but would enable me to commence again,
at least in part, my payments to Mrs. Slater.

After careful consideration, I put the matter before her in a letter
and then called to talk it over. She had a strong desire to help
me and of course would be glad to see her income increased, and
she very willingly let me have five thousand dollars.

Success came from the start. Of course with this small capital there
was no fortune to be made, but that was not what I was looking for
at that time. The bitter experience I had been through had put a
limit to my ambition. The acme of my desires then was a comfortable
living for my family and the ability to send to Mrs. Slater her
interest cheque promptly each month. This I was now in a fair way
to accomplish and my spirits and courage rose rapidly.

We had a very happy Christmas that year. The accounts with the
butcher and grocer had been paid up, and our gifts, consisting of
much-needed additions to the family wardrobe, gave us, I believe,
more pleasure than in the old days of prosperity when the gifts
represented large intrinsic value. Everything now was viewed in
contrast with the days of poverty which we hoped had departed never
to return.




CHAPTER XLII

BRIGHTER DAYS



Opening with a promise of better times, which was fulfilled to a
marked degree, the year 1899 witnessed a great change in my affairs.
Again I was making money, not in such amounts as during many years
prior to my failure, but there was a steady and substantial gain
each month.

With but two employees, a stenographer and typewriter, and an
office-boy, I was kept very busy at the office. My hours were long,
and with nearly four hours each day passed in the trip to and from
the office, we decided it would be better to seek an inexpensive
home in New York.

The thought of what our housekeeping had been for the past three
years, moving each year, no maids and with scanty means, led us to
believe that boarding would be an agreeable change for all, and so
we stored our furniture and in the early spring secured pleasant
accommodations at a very reasonable price, in an apartment hotel,
the St. Lorenz, on East Seventy-second Street.

With our return to the city we renewed our former intimacy with
Mr. and Mrs. Curtice, George Todd and his wife, and a few other
friends, though we did not see as much of them as in the old days.
They had a large circle of friends and led an active social life,
while we were living very quietly, doing practically no entertaining.
There were a number of pleasant little dinners, my wife and I
occasionally attended the theatre, and we were very happy in our
improved circumstances.

The business outlook encouraged me greatly. Mrs. Slater had increased
my capital with another five thousand dollars, I was getting back
many of the old customers I had lost after the failure, and it
seemed as if a return to prosperity, which would be lasting, was
assured.

In June we went to Nyack-on-the-Hudson for the summer and in
October returned to our apartment in New York. The pleasure of our
residence there was contributed to by the society of Mrs. Slater.
Her boy had been sent to boarding-school and she took an apartment
at the St. Lorenz.

We had an experience that winter which will never be effaced from
my memory.

One evening I took my wife and Mrs. Slater to the Casino to witness
a performance of the "Belle of New York," Our seats were in the
center of the orchestra, third row from the stage. The house was
crowded, with many people standing.

The first act was over, when there came to me suddenly a feeling of
great uneasiness. I knew not how to account for it. The performance
interested me, we were conversing pleasantly, there was nothing I
could see or think of to explain the feeling, and yet it existed.

The curtain rose on the second act. I was no longer interested
and could not keep my attention on the stage. My eyes continually
wandered over the house, and after what seemed an endless time the
act was over. I then thought I would mention my feeling to my wife
and suggest leaving the theatre. This was unreasonable. The ladies
were enjoying the performance and I disliked exceedingly to spoil
their evening with what appeared to be nervousness on my part.

Again the curtain rose. I found myself irritated by the performers,
every word and action dragged so slowly in the mood I was in. I
looked at the people between us and the aisle and it was only by
strong exertion of will that I was able to keep my seat. Again I
looked around the house. Everything was perfectly quiet.

Five minutes later the folds of the curtain, one of those that open
in the center and are drawn up high on each side, on the right
of the stage, were a mass of flame; the curtain was lowered and
instantly the other side was on fire.

The panic was on. Amidst cries of fire and shrieks of women came
the rush for the exits. Instantly the aisles were choked with a
frantic, struggling crowd. A man sitting in front of my wife stepped
on the back of her seat and narrowly escaped kicking her in the
face with his other foot in a useless rush. He did not get ten feet
away.

At the instant the flame appeared Mrs. Slater said in a quiet voice,
"Do you see that, Walter"?

"Yes," I replied. "What shall we do"? she said; and I answered,
"Sit still." My wife, always brave, was urging the women around her
to sit still and keep quiet. There was nothing else to do. Either
that fire would be extinguished or we were doomed. There was no
possibility of escape through the mass of people behind us and I
realized that fact instantly.

Fortunately the people on the stage kept their presence of mind,
the firemen had the hose at work quickly, and we escaped with a
slight sprinkling from the spray.

Was there ever a clearer warning given by intuition?

The year ended bright with promise of continued prosperity. We had
enjoyed the comfort of living amid pleasant surroundings and I had
saved nearly three thousand dollars. I looked forward to commencing
again payments of interest on my moral obligations and some
liquidation of my debt to Mrs. Slater, but I wanted, if possible,
to first get a larger capital, that I might make these payments
without impairing my facilities for doing business.




CHAPTER XLIII

SMOOTH SAILING INTO ROUGH WATERS



The year 1900 was very closely a repetition of 1899. In May we
again went to Nyack for the summer, and in the fall, instead of
returning to the St. Lorenz, rented an apartment on Park Avenue,
and taking our furniture out of storage resumed house-keeping. It
was somewhat less expensive and we had tired of hotel fare.

Business was fairly good on the average, though there were dull
periods which made me restless. There was so much to be done I
was eager to make money faster.

In July the balance of the amount due to Mrs. Slater under the
contract with Mallison, which had expired, was paid over to me,
and pending some permanent investment I loaned it out on call.

Through the formation of trusts the trade had entirely changed in
its character. Many of our best customers had been absorbed by one
gigantic combination, and the supplies of the commodity we dealt
in, required by these consumers, were now furnished under a contract
made with the leading firm in the trade, this firm having been one
of the underwriters in the flotation of the securities and also
was represented in the board of directors.

This one consolidation took out of the open market a demand equivalent
to fully one-third of the entire consumption of the United States.
Then there was another trust, a comparatively small affair, but this
too absorbed a number of our customers. A third trust was in course
of organization, and when completed would, with the others, leave
for open competition less than half of the country's requirements.

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