The Syndicate, 1916

Chapter I

In the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and sixteen the Syndicate, by unanimous vote, decided to take an outing in the northern part of Minnesota, in what is commonly known as the "wonderful Leech Lake country."

The Syndicate! What is that? In this instance, it is a number of good fellows who have banded themselves together for the purpose of enjoying the vacation of 1916.

Now that the happy hours have passed and we are back in our native land, I shall endeavor to recall the various members as they appeared; the things they did and said; their inner life, as exposed in travel and about the camp. In doing so, it will be my pleasure to reveal a great number of the many idiosyncrasies, characteristics and philosophies which have tended to make their lives worth while.

Chapter II

Of course, with our party there must be a merry-faced man. He is a little over six feet in height; yet, by reason of his good nature and corpulency, he does not have the appearance of being exceedingly tall. He is one of the big boys of this world both of mind and body. His inner soul might be romantic, yet he is so brimful of reality that his friends have little or no time to enjoy his romance. Like a great many other merry-faced men, he has large blue eyes from which radiate joy; and, of course, they are subject to all sorts of winks, blinks and rolls, such as the joke he is just playing, or is about to play, demands. He possesses a very pleasant face indeed, such as you will find on the body of a man of his stature. It is clean-shaven, excepting for a princely mustache he raised for the occasion of this vacation; and this, together with a beard, he also raised and cut — according to the old German style — might have raised a doubt as to his nationality; yet, when you come to know him, as I have, and do, you will find him an American through and through.

From my association with him, he is fond of bright colors. I find him on the bank of ,Kabekona bay (a tributary of Leech Lake) in a style most becoming to the taste of one of the southern portion of Italy.

In my memory, I shall always see him as he appeared there. A very large western hat is resting upon his head, pushed well back, revealing a large portion of the top of his head, which looks as if it might have been the battle-ground of two common warriors: brain versus hair; and, while the generals of hair have been persistent, and for many years seem to have had the better of the contest, yet, now, owing to the fact that my dear friend has allied himself with the commanders of hair, he shaved the major portion of the top of his head, and thus, he appeared like the majority of our party, slightly bald. Yet he does love bright colors, for around his neck he wore a big red bandana handkerchief, which blended very harmoniously with the color of his head, cheeks and arms, after he had spent his first day on the water and was a sun-kissed beauty. Around his waist he wore, much to his pleasure and comfort, and, slightly, shall I say, to the discomfort of a certain member of his family, a large Scotch plaid vest. The vest had the appearance of being one of his true loves. He wore it upon all occasions, and to look at it, a casual observer could readily see that it had been worn upon equally as many more.

This particular friend of mine was a doer. He was quiet about doing everything excepting sleeping. When he was doing that — oh, well, with the joy and delight that sleep i brings to a little child, he could turn the veritable wilderness of the banks of Kabekona Bay into a sawmill center. You could hear the buzz, buzz, buzz of the saws; the popping of the engine, and every now and then you could hear the saw strike a knot; then you could hear the big logs roll, the engine hiss and groan; the foreman giving orders; yet, with all, he would enjoy a refreshing night's sleep and be up and doing long before the rest of the crowd were through talking about the duties they were to perform.

And such is a small portion of the character of my friend, Remus F. Atwood, Commercial Agent of the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway Company.

For his happy smiles and harmless pranks, pure logic and good reason, I shall always enjoy my association with him at Leech Lake.

Chapter III

There is another member of the Syndicate, which the Syndicate could by no means and under no conditions or circumstances spare. He is a chief mechanic, chief fixer, chief everything. If there was water in the gasoline, he was to blame for it. If a "do-dad," as one very distinguished member of the Syndicate was bound to call everything not particularly mentioned in an insurance policy, wouldn't work, he was the one to fix it. He was always ready and willing, never tiring, would not shirk, always ready to do anything or everything.

He was considerably older than any other member of the Syndicate at four a. m. and eleven or twelve p. m. He liked his sleep, and with all he possessed a virtue which was absolutely foreign to all other members of the Syndicate. He was a quiet sleeper; or, at any rate, I never did hear him after he tucked himself into his blankets. Possibly this might be accounted for by reason of the fact that there were so many noisy fellows in and about the camp. When morning came to him, and it seemed always to be coming to him, he was one of the early birds, fixing this, fixing that, putting the proper amount of oil into the gasoline and preparing the motors for the trip of the day. He always had a good appetite, like the rest of the Syndicate. He was one of the boys, always ready to seine for minnows early in the morning; was ready and willing to drag the net through the cold water, when the frost w*as on the ground; always on hand for everything, and had plenty of time to look after the wants of everybody.

When I think of his willingness — and God bless and reward him for it; some may, yet I fear too many will not — I can't help but feel that he is going to be a very busy man.

He doesn't look much like his father in size, yet when it comes to being a good fellow he is a chip of the old block, and the old block can be well proud of him.

This member of the Syndicate is Mr. Dan Atwood.

Chapter IV

There are two other distinguished members of the Syndicate. One is plump, yet not too fat; the other is thin, yet not what you would call skinny; one has a fine suit of hair on the top of his head, while the other would have equally as much on his face, would he permit it to grow there. In common, they both have blue eyes; and in this way they resemble each other, while in most other things and undertakings they are different, yet their inner souls may interlock in many of the finer conceptions.

One of these dear friends enjoys canoeing; the other did at one time in his life, but owing to the trials and tribulations of this cold world, and water as well, doesn't care so much for it as he used to in days gone by. One likes to explore the lake, while the other would rather fish in it; one enjoys telling a good story, while the other delights in listening; and yet, with these divergencies of character, God never put me in touch with two such pleasant individuals as the "Two Pettibones": to know one of them is to enjoy the hidden characteristics of the other. Each of the two are well educated. They have read all sorts of books and know something interesting about everything.

One of them enjoys cooking and is an old master in the culinary art; and under his instruction, a bronze looking fellow — who has by the humanity of the balance of the crowd been permitted to become a member of the Syndicate — has gained some distinction, while the other, Mr. Ira Pettibone, would rather chop wood.

The chief chef, Mr. Charles I. Pettibone, usually covered his very bald head with a soft hat. He dressed himself very dudishly in khaki clothes at camp. He wore, among other things, a khaki coat, a khaki vest, a woolen shirt, a blue tie and khaki trousers.

Mr. Ira Pettibone at camp wore clothing of a sort that sounded very much like khaki but spelled differently. In fact, he was very much like a number of other prominent members in dress: might have been taken at first blush in and about Leech Lake for anyone excepting himself.

Such is a small glimpse of my two friends, Mr. Charles I. Pettibone and Mr. Ira Pettibone.

Chapter V

There is another young man of our party. He is a proud father of three boys, who have grown to be young men. He is as young as our other good friend, Doctor Leonard. In fact, they were, and are, boys together. To know him is to like him, and to like him is to form a desire to become better acquainted with him; and when one does become acquainted with him, you can't help but feel good, and very good, too, over knowing him. He is a sturdy man, nearly six feet tall. He has blue eyes and a very kind face. Upon his face you see a cunning smile, and a sharp twinkle flashes from a pair of shrewd eyes.

He has become acquainted with everybody and through his frankness always slips into the inner chamber of their graces or vices. He, too, like his young friend, Doctor Leonard, possesses a heap of charity for the weakness of others, and is always willing to reason a fellow into the better way of living, rather than to push him down.

He is a Baptist through and through. From my acquaintance with him, a good Baptist. He appeared to me to have a far better command over his religion than many good Baptists, in that his religion tends to make you like him better for it and to make his associates happier.

He is engaged in the railroad business, and when the railroad business demanded his attention I am quite of the notion that a good many of the sharp horse traders gave a sigh of relief, for I am sure that his cunning eye could always detect a spavin or a ringbone.

At Kabekona he was by trade, or profession, a woodchopper. He kept the wood box full of nice dry wood, and did a multitude of other things which made life easy and comfortable for the older members of the Syndicate.

He has maintained that he was in the possession of a cake of shaving soap when he first arrived at camp, and has since contended that he has been divested of it by strategy or otherwise; and he has filed suit for everything but the possession of said soap, or its value, before one of the Supreme Courts of Bunkum, wherein each members of the Syndicate sits as a justice. I suspect, through his cunning, he intends to win his case, yet the shaving soap at our camp, I am afraid, is much like time and tide: it waits for no man.

Another characteristic is that he is thoughtful of everything and everybody. Yes, many of us feel very thankful indeed to him for his thoughtfulness in bringing the shaving soap. Were it not for his thoughtfulness, in this regard, the faces of those in and about the camp would have been a veritable brush pile.

So, with these few remarks, I have the pleasure of introducing to my friends Mr. DeWitt Clinton Stephenson, hereinafter known as Clint.

Chapter VI

When I recall our vacation I cannot help but think of another very — yes, very distinguished member of the Syndicate. He has lived in Kansas City for a long time. He was connected with the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway Company for twenty-five years. He was its General Agent. The railroad company, however, did not appreciate his talent to its fullest extent and at the expiration of this period of faithful service he started in the insurance business for himself. He has made a great success both in business and in life, and is now General Agent of the President Life & Trust Company. This is his minor consideration; his major undertaking is that of a proud father. He is the possessor of a dear wife, to him the dearest of all heavenly charms; for whom he would brave the rough waves of the lake, go through thick or thin; and even while on our trip would venture at night to travel from camp to Walker for a letter from his "honey." I mention this little characteristic of my friends as it portrays his whole life. He is sincere. Yes, sincere in everything. And, of course, we love him for his sincerity, and his many, many other virtues. He is one of the big, strong men, always willing to do more than his share of the hard work; never admits he is tired; up early and goes to bed late. God seems to have given him so many virtues that possibly some of his hearing has, in this way, been crowded out. I mention this to explain some of the things which happen.

This particular friend, being a strong character, wears a strong face and sometimes a stern look; yet he is so full of love for his fellowman that his sternness is always forgotten by his pleasant smile and good endeavors. He weighs something; over two hundred pounds. He is nearly six feet tall. His hair is verythin on the top of his head, while his beard is veryheavy. He has a strong chin, a determined mouth, a continental nose, grayish blue eyes, which look into the very depths of your soul.

In his business life his clothing is in harmony with his taste. While at Kabekona he wore a costume very similar to that of my friend Ira; yet the cut of his trousers was slightly different, in that he had cut away from the bottom of the legs all of the surplus cloth. Thus from a distance he appeared as one in gaiters: a veritable Mr. Pickwick of the party. Indeed, he had a way of wearing a pair of glasses on the end of his nose and looking over the top of them which very closely resembled our eminent friend; and then so many things happened to him, as a result of his honest endeavor, that possibly it will be pleasant to so consider my friend, Mr. Frederick W. Segur.

Chapter VII

There is another very prominent member of the Syndicate. In his character you will find all of the cardinal virtues, and the greatest of all: charity, charity for the frailty of humanity. A greater portion of his life has been spent for the good of his fellowman. To become really acquainted with this rare jewel of humanity is a particular privilege. I feel very thankful, indeed, for the time I have been with him.

On our trip, and, as far as that is concerned, everywhere — let what come that would, and he will be the same.

He is one of the young men of our party.

His hair, what little time and trouble has spared him, is white. For a while, at Kabekona, he wore a shaggy mustache and then a certain member of the Syndicate cut it.

This distinguished friend of mine delights in cooking. Yes, in cooking everything, especially cakes; and when I think of what a wonderful filler his cakes were at breakfast I can't help but feel that the medical and surgical professions have robbed us of one of the greatest chefs. Yet, what care we for a chef when we are sick?

He is known to the Syndicate as Doc. It is Doc this and Doc that; Doc, drive the nail here to hold the dock; Doc, here, please, for goodness sake, pull this fish bone out of my throat; Doc, for a story; Doc, for philosophy. In fact, and as a matter of fact, it is Doc for everything, at all times and on all occasions; and the best of it all is that he has time for everything and everybody, and especially the ladies. In fact, one of our party — I will not say which one because I mean each one — coveted his standing with the ladies to such an extent that I believe that the particular one, and I mean each one, wanted to be known as Doc, so that he would have free admission into the hearts of the fair ones. Yet, when we come to think of it, that would be of no avail, so we will have to consider his success due to his personality.

Such is a portion of the personality and life of my good friend, Doctor Homer O. Leonard.

Chapter VIII

There is another individual who has been honored bybeing a member of the Syndicate. He is six feet tall. He weighs over two hundred pounds. In the summer of 1916 he was of a very bronze complexion. He has blue eyes. He is strong and active, capable of doing most any kind of hard work, yet it has been a long time since anyone has accused him of it.

He is a lawyer and enjoys that profession as a livelihood, and is now a member of the law firm of Williams, Guffin & Field.

He lives on Sixtieth Street, in the Swope Park vicinity of iKansas City, where he enjoys life to its fullest extent.

He is the father of two darling girlies.

You will find a number of interesting things about him at home: there is a lovely wife, a preacher's daughter, who delights in keeping a good home for him and his family. In the spring time you will find him among the roses, honeysuckles and sweet peas; and, as summer progresses, in his garden, where a number of his friends enjoy going with him; while around his house you will find a number of chickens and a yellow dog, who possesses a family tree.

When he was a small boy destiny robbed him of his father and mother, and thus he has been confronted with an innumerable lot of experiences. He has a varied education; has studied at many schools and has graduated from, among other institutions, Yale University.

He enjoys associating with men, and especially prizes the time he has spent with the Syndicate.

At camp he wore an old pair of corduroy trousers, a heavy pair of shoes or rubber boots, a woolen shirt, a sweater and a hunting coat.

He enjoyed everything, even cooking for the whole Syndicate. He apportioned the amount of food he would cook by his own appetite, and thus the Syndicate to a man was well fed. Besides being cook, he was a sort of a general engineer of the big launch and spent a considerable time wrestling with the motor.

While in the northland country he wore a Charlie Chaplin mustache and a beard on the end of his chin.

Thus we have some of the peculiarities and characteristics of Percy C. Field.

Chapter IX

Friday, August the 11th, 1916, the sun shone very brightly indeed. Everything was happy and gay with the Syndicate notwithstanding the fact that we were in the midst of a long hot, dry summer. It was the 11th day of August, the day set for the Syndicate to travel to a new land, upon which the sun shines with comfortable warmth and where the air is delightfully cool; where, at nights, we could sleep under blankets and enjoy the same cool restfulness as we experience at home in the latter part of October or the first part of November.

Percy Field arose at an early hour this morning. He was awakened by a stream of sneezes. These sneezes, while they announced the oncoming of what is commonly called the hay fever, were of no consequence, for it was only a little while until he, together with a number of others, would be fishing in the cold waters of Leech Lake and its tributaries, where the sneeze would be a thing of the past and he would be refreshed.

He anticipated this pleasure with such keenness that long before the time for the Rock Island northbound train to leave for St. Paul he had purchased his tickets and made his reservations. He was thoroughly prepared. His trunk was packed. First of all the fishing tackle, poles and fishing boxes were placed in his trunk; then his fishing clothes, his heavy blankets, heavy underclothes, sweater, woolen shirts and all sorts of winter wear, which seemed in the midst of the hot month of August, at Kansas City, to be a comedy upon nature itself. So by afternoon all was in readiness, as far as Percy Field was concerned, and, I dare say, the rest of the Syndicate, for he was, and they were, going into God's great out-of-doors in the far, far away Northland; to get close to nature itself; to live; to fish; to enjoy the fresh air; to exercise; to swim; to fall into the lake; to swim out; to dry his clothes on the old-fashioned clothes line, the limb of a tree; to have a genuine recreation and leave the world and all behind; and, most of all, to associate with his friends; to be a companion of men, who have lived near the standard of what was intended as best for them, a rare opportunity and a treat for a young man. This was his pleasure and such did the time and occasion promote for each member of the Syndicate.

By nine o'clock p. m. the keen anticipation of Percy Field for the trip prompted him so that he went down and boarded the Rock Island train. The train was billed to leave at eleven fifteen p. m. At nine the train was on track, and as the berths were all made he tucked himself in, and in a little while sneezed himself to sleep.

Near the approach of the midnight hour there was a considerable commotion on the train. A number of sonorous voices were heard. A whole crowd of men had taken charge of the sleeper. They were busy finding their berths and quarters for the night. I was awakened by their hearty laughter; yet. not being thoroughly aroused, I lay still and listened.

"Where is he?" demanded a pleasant voice.

"I am sure he is here somewhere/' answered another familiar voice.

A general search followed; seven men were looking for someone; and thus the porter came to their rescue, as does a Pullman porter at all times and on all occasions, while aboard a sleeper.

"Dare's a man in low' tin, dat's dun bin do'n a heap of sneezing; is he da purson?" offered a round-headed, black-faced man in a blue uniform and nickel-plated buttons.

Upon the direction of the porter to lower ten my friend Remus pulled back the curtains and exposed me to the full view of all standing in the aisle, including the Syndicate. I was delighted to see their happy faces and to shake their hands. I explained to them my condition and was permitted to lie a bed while they went to the smoking car and talked.

I was told by Remus, the next day, that Mr. Segur had kept guard over the balance of the crowd until the late hours of the night and had also out-winded all aboard in a little talkfest on the subject of life insurance; that there was a black whiskered man from Minneapolis, and also a newspaper reporter, who seemed to hold their own with him for a while; that is, until twelve thirty a. m., or later, at which time Remus felt the call of old King Slumber and went to bed. Remus said that they were chucked full of insurance — didn't have time to tell any stories, but just kept on, pro and con, but mostly con, until a late hour — one of the parties, and I will not have to mention his name, debated the issue as to whether a millionaire could afford to put one-third of his income into insurance, while the other took the opposite side of the proposition.

Chapter X

Saturday morning, August 12th, 1916, came after a restless night. I was awakened this morning, not from a quiet and refreshing sleep, but from something in the nature of a coma, which had come upon me from the constant rumbling of the wheels, the putting on of the brakes, and all of the kindred noises of a railway car in motion.

There I lay in a shelf on the side of the car. The night before, while no one was looking, I had slipped off my clothing and plunged into bed. I was now ready for another effort. There I lay, clothes here, there and everywhere, and not a stitch of clothing which I was just ready to put on. I could find my trousers and my coat, but my underclothes seemed to have been left behind. My stockings had disappeared, and likewise my shoes, so just to be accommodating with the situation and my personal comfort, I lay there and thought about it. ■ Suddenly a large human foot plunged through the curtain and was in the act of stepping unceremoniously upon my stomach.

"Good morning," cried I, as I proceeded to arrange a more satisfactory resting place for the foot of my early caller, when suddenly the foot made a gesture as if it desired to step out of the window.

"Is you in distress?" called a familiar voice, goodnaturedly.

"Yes," I shouted.

"Well, suh, one at a time, gents — just put your han' on my shoulders, dis foot on dis here round; dat's it." And then my early caller reached in his pocket for some token of real Pullman appreciation.

"Yes, suh; thank you, suh — them up'rs is suah an abomination," said the porter, with an old-fashioned laugh.

My curtains were pulled back, and there followed a very bald head into my compartment, apologizing for his intrusion, suggesting that he had a "narry" call. My early morning caller then drew his head out and up, when, of course, any ordinary fellow knows that the proper way to take a head out of a lower berth is to follow the same line of entree, at least — when suddenly he struck the mahogany above and fell away.

Realizing my undressed condition and feeling the pleasure a breakfast with the Syndicate would bring to me, I proceeded to worm myself into some clothing. Never before did I imagine to what an extent I could twist and squirm. I was a contortionist. I managed to fish my underwear out from a portion of the mattress and by means of standing on the back of my head and one foot slid into my trousers, first one leg and then the other. I didn't have any particular trouble in getting into my shirt, yet when it came to getting my shirt into my trousers I was confronted with a more serious difficulty. I had the biggest shirt imaginable, but, being in the habit of wearing a large, roomy shirt, proceeded to buckle my belt, thinking all was well. I made a dash for the dressing room in bare feet, when suddenly I was confronted with the reality that I was picking up my bed as I went. I stopped short and uncoupled myself from my unnatural caudal appendage.

This was done to my satisfaction and chagrin. At that time a very charming faced lady of possibly twenty-five summers, in her natural color, as the hour for paints and powders had not yet come, laughed outright, and then turned her head the other way. In my embarrassment she did not think of the propriety of turning her head the other way before she had time to see and to smile; yet, the train at that moment gave a lurch which turned her head toward me, and with outstretched arms I was greeted. Of course, I said "Excuse me," and, of course, she begged to be excused; and so did a large, heavy-set, middle-aged gentleman, who had slept the night before across the aisle, beg to be excused for butting into the charming lady; and the charming lady, upon seeing a portion of his bald head emerge from the partly drawn curtains of the berth, for some unknown reason to me, of course, blushed and hurried away.

I finally managed to get into the dressing room. I was there for a shave. I found my shoes and stockings, after finding everybody else's shoes and stockings, and succeeded in putting my feet into my own shoes, while another guest and a swish of the train proceeded to give me a shower bath and prepare me for my tonsorial effort. Being thus duly and truly prepared, I took out my broadside razor and steadied myself upon my right little toe and left heel, hung on to the rail and proceeded to draw the sharp edge of the knife over my jugular vein. Upon finishing this operation with a free heart and easy nerve I turned about to find a number of the Syndicate and a few of the other passengers holding their breath.