years of research. It has been found to be an absolute cure, through elimination, of the worst tapeworm that ever preyed on a man’s life.”
He exhibited the bottle with the fancy label and the black liquid. If there was good response, Doc Meriwether kept up a constant. jovial flow of patter and took in the dollars. But if business was slow, that was my cue to step in.
“I’ll take two bottles,” I would say.
“Two bottles, sir? But one bottle is enough to rid you of tape, worm.”
“It’s not for me,” I would say. “It’s for my two children.”
“Have you used this preparation before?”
“Indeed I have, Doctor. In fact, I owe my life to it.”
“Would you mind telling us about it?” Doc would invite.
“Well, all right. A year ago, I was so run down and emaciated that I was not able to walk, let alone tend my farm. Doctors had done all they could for me, but my case had been given up as hopeless. The mortgage on my farm was nearly due. I thought that I would lose everything and that my poor wife and children would go hungry.” I would pause here to brush a sleeve across my eyes.
“Then I heard about Meriwether’s Elixir. I bought a bottle of it. I didn’t think it would do me much good, but everything was lost, anyhow. So I took it. Before I had finished the bottle, my tapeworm had been eliminated. I was able to walk again. I got my strength back. Soon I began to recover. I felt so much better that I was able to do twice as much work. My crops were extra good. The mortgage was paid off.
“And I owe it all to Meriwether’s Elixir. I’m going to give it to my two kids. I’d buy it, even if it was five dollars a bottle.”
“Sir,” would be Doc Meriwether’s tremulous reply, “you have stirred me deeply. You have made me feel that I have done something worth while for humanity. As a token of my regard, let me present you with two bottles - absolutely free.”
This bit of play-acting usually brought the crowd around. They almost 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
