pushed each other over in their rush to hand in their dollars for the wonderful mixture.
This may sound unbelievable, due to the naïvete of the rural people of the nineties.
It is true that the medicine man and his traveling show have nearly disappeared from the American scene. But the same old fraud is still going on. In a new and fancier dress it’s being promoted by medicine men with millions at their command. Their audience is nationwide and includes more city people than farmers. I refer to the patentmedicine radio shows.
In addition to the bottles, Doc Meriwether offered a “special” treatment at his suite for those who wanted to get rid of their tapeworms in a hurry and were willing to pay extra for it.
The success of the special treatment was mainly a matter of having the right stage setting and the props. The most important of the latter was a potato. This was peeled into one long coil which, for all I know, might look like a tapeworm. In an unbroken spiral it was deposited in a basin and water was poured over it. The basin was carefully hidden in a darkened room.
When the patient arrived, he was treated first in an outer room. Now the mixture was more potent: the chief ingredient was epsom salts. The patient was allowed to recline on a couch while the medicine took effect. Then he was led into the darkened room.
As soon as the dose had acted, he was led into the outer room. That was my cue. I fetched the previously prepared basin with the potato peel to the outer room, and handed it to Doc Meriwether.
“There my friend,” Doc would say, displaying the basin, “is your tapeworm! Evil-looking thing, isn’t it?”
Every victim of this hoax was deeply impressed. Not one ever questioned it. He paid the ten-dollar fee and left with the feeling that he had been vastly benefited. Maybe he had.
For he had had a good cleansing, in more ways than one!
During my travels with Doc Meriwether, I met an itinerant merchant. He appeared to be very prosperous. He told me he lived in Chicago. When I got back the following winter, I looked him up. Over a glass of beer, he related how he was able to make enough during his summer travels to support him the year round. He invited me to join him the following spring.
He was a traveling salesman who sold various items to farmers for small profits. But I had ideas of my own, though I did not tell my partner that. It was not my intention to labor among farmers for small profits. Before we left Chicago, I bought a sizable stock of the equipment we would need, in addition to the stock items my partner carried.
Once on the road, I told him my plans. He fell in with them. As soon as we reached the farming section we began to put them into practice.
Among the items my partner sold was a magazine - Hearth and Home, I believe. Catering exclusively to bucolic interests, it was a great favorite with rural folks and not difficult to sell. A year’s subscription was twenty-five cents; the bargain rate was six years for a dollar. My partner was allowed to keep half of the money and was generally satisfied to sell one year’s subscription at each farm.
“Let me do the talking,” I proposed, “until you catch on to my scheme.”
He was willing enough. Later, we pulled in at a farmhouse.
“How do you do, sir?” I said to the farmer who answered my knock on his door. “I am representing that unexcelled journal of rural life, Hearth and Home. I’m sure you’re acquainted with it.”
I produced a copy and offered it.
“That is the magazine for the womenfolks,” he replied. “My wife might want it. How much is it?”
“Only twenty-five cents a year, sir.”
“Wait till I call the missus.”
By the time the farmer returned with his wife, I had my “clincher” out of my bag.
“Yes, I would like to have this for a year,” the farmer’s wife said. “Pa, give the young man a quarter.”
“Madam,” I said, “I have a special offer to make. For a limited time only, with a six-year subscription at the special rate of a dollar and a half, we are giving away, absolutely free, a set of this beautiful silverware.”
I unwrapped my clincher. It was a box containing six bright and shining spoons. “These silver spoons, Madam,” I continued, while she gasped in admiration, “are worth the price of the subscription alone. As you can see, they are the best sterling silver.”
The woman’s eyes shone as she took the spoons in her hand. “They certainly are beautiful,” she said. Then a flicker of suspicion crossed her face. “But if they’re real silver, they’re worth more than you’re asking without the magazine. How-”
“Quite true, Madam,” I said quickly. “But the publishers wish to put this magazine into every farm home in America. That is the reason for this extraordinary introductory offer. Of course, they will lose money on the transaction, but it will be made up by your good will, which will bring more readers and more advertising.”
“That’s right, Ma,” said the farmer. “Them papers make their money on advertising.”
The sale was quickly completed and I took down the name and address of the lady, giving her a receipt for the subscription. I also gave her the half-dozen spoons.
But my business did not end there.
“Incidentally,” I said, reaching into my pocket and withdrawing a pair of pince-nez glasses, “when we were coming down the road, my partner and I found these spectacles. Do you happen to know anybody in the community who wears glasses like these?”
“No, can’t say that I do,” the farmer replied, taking the glasses from me.
“Too bad,” I said regretfully. “If I could find the owner, I would return them. They look like expensive eyeglasses. I imagine the person who lost them would pay three or four dollars reward for their return.”
As I was talking, the farmer tried on the spectacles. He held up the sample copy of the magazine I had given him and the print stood out clearly. Probably he’d been intending to get a pair of glasses the next time he went to town. He looked at the rims, which appeared to be solid gold. They looked costly.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” he proposed. “I’ll give you three dollars and keep the glasses. I’ll look around for the owner, as long as you won’t be able to make a complete search.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “I can’t afford to go from house to house inquiring who lost a pair of glasses.”
So I took the three dollars and he took the glasses. Of course, he had no intention of looking for the owner - any more than I did. As a matter of fact, he was just as anxious to have me on my way, as I was to go. In time, he would discover that the frames were cheap and that the lenses were no more than magnifying glass. If he took the trouble to ask, he would find that he could duplicate them in the city for twenty-five cents.
His good wife would soon learn that the beautiful silver spoons I had given her were cheap metal. I had bought them before leaving Chicago for a cent each. My net profit on the deal was about $3.50, which I figured the farmer could well afford for a lesson in honesty. He had paid for the glasses because he thought he was getting something expensive at a fraction of their true value. His wife had thought she was getting something for nothing.
This desire to get something for nothing has been very costly to many people who have dealt with me and with other con men. But I have found that this is the way it works. The average person, in my estimation, is ninety - nine per cent animal and one per cent human. The ninety - nine per cent that is animal causes very little trouble. But the one per cent that is human causes all our woes. When people learn - as I doubt they will - that they can’t get something for nothing, crime will diminish and we shall all live in greater harmony.
My partner soon caught on, and we both worked the scheme throughout the trip. There were variations