Radio Script #1261

Little Talks on Common Things
February 1, 1981

A few weeks ago I told you about the work of John Dooly, grandfather of Waterville’s renowned Leonard Mayo. I told you about Mr. Dooly’s founding of the famous Bowery Mission in New York City, and of his contacts with many prominent persons, his work in the prisons and his concern for the derelicts of the New York slums. When I closed those two broadcasts, I said that even more interesting were letters that Mr. Dooly received from allover the world. Today I want to tell you about some of those letters.

Many of them expressed appreciation. From Western New York State a fellow Irishman wrote on July 17, 1877: “You may remember that last month you got me a job as messenger and general runabout for a large grocery store. The mean disposition of the owner caused me to give up that job. He was the most unparallelled hypocrite I ever saw. Then I got work with a farmer out here. It ended today with the close of the haying season. So once again I turn to you.”

You will note about that letter something characteristic of most of those that Dooly received. One might expect that former Bowery bum to be almost illiterate. Some were, but like this man, many of them had been well educated before they fell into the New York gutters.

Some of Dooly’s beneficiaries went so far as to send him money. From far-away Marseilles, France, Luther Mathew wrote Dooly on July 15, 1877: “Before I leave here, I send you $65 draft on Mrs. Belmont of New York and a $5 bill a friend brought me from America. It comforts me to think that I whom you helped can now help you a little with your work. Use the
money in your usual way.”

From the Convalescent Hospital on Hart’s Island a man wrote in November 1877: “I received a letter from a New York lawyer asking me to send a statement of the assault on me, and why the case has not been presented by the District Attorney. When you took me in, an assaulted, battered wreck, you had Mr. Stanton get me into this hospital. I promised him I would not move on this matter without his knowledge. I referred the lawyer’s letter to him and urged speeding prosecution. I have waited in vain a month for his answer. About 8 months ago Mr. Stanton offered to undertake a civil suit for me. I had planned a criminal suit, but Stanton advised a civil claim for damages. I told Stanton I had no money and was dependent wholly on Mr. Dooly’s kindness even for food. Now I urgently seek your advice. Should I respond to the letter from the New York lawyer, or should I forget all about a civil suit and turn to criminal action? I have no money even for a stamp so I send this to you by hand.”

When Dooly got a man a job, the fellow often left some property in Dooly’s care at the mission. In January 1878, a man in Woburn, Mass. wrote to Dooly: “I have a little work in a carriage factory at $4 a week. That is not good, but it is better than nothing. Please forward my trunk. It is in your basement. I need the old clothes in it, for my work is not of the cleanest. Adams Express delivers here. I ask you to prepay the charge for me. My total capital now amounts to 75 cents.”

In 1878 this letter came from Cheyenne, Wyoming. “When I got a check for $80 from my aunt in England, I placed it in your hands. You went across the street to the bank and got me the cash. I told you I was going to Memphis, Tenn. I did so but stayed only four months. Then I came here to Cheyenne. I have quit drinking and now have a business worth $15,000.
But I must confess that I still chew tobacco.”

Some of the letters tell of past experiences. From Omaha in 1887, a man wrote: “I was born a Roman Catholic, the faith to which all my relatives belong. I came to this country at the age of 16. After working in New York City, where you helped me, I was urged by an uncle in Nebraska to come to this state. From that time began my downfall. I secured employment as a public school teacher in Wood River, Nebraska, but the job lasted only one term. It earned me about $300. I was urged by a priest to go to Omaha, and he gave me the address of a lodging house. It turned out to be a gin mill of the worst kind, everything but what the priest had represented. This experience shocked me because I have always been taught to believe whatever a priest of a church told me. For the first time in my life I got drunk and was robbed of every penny I had. I then enlisted in the army and you know the rest. Now I am back in Omaha, determined never to drink again. I have a good job as bookkeeper in a small factory. I shall never forget all you did for me.”

Many of the letters to Dooly were from women. From Savannah, Georgia, Dora Rollins wrote: “I am compelled to ask a favor of you. When a few weeks ago I burned some papers. I made the mistake of burning my marriage certificate. Would you kindly send me another. I hold it sacred and want it very much.”

A few months later, Dooly received another letter from the same woman. “Once again I bother you with my troubles. This letter is unknown to my husband, but I am sure he will not object to see that a woman can earn her living in New York by making cigars. I want you to get me a situation to do that work. I do not think it would take me long to learn. A woman cannot go to work without people talking about her. I want a place where white women, not just Negroes, can get work. I thank you for sending me my marriage certificate. My husband will take any kind of work you can get for him in New York, but I will gladly work for both of us if you can get work only for me.”

In 1874 a letter came from Martha Brock in Glastonbury, England. “I hope my dear boy has now arrived in New York on the Great Western, and I will soon hear from him. I told him to call on you as soon as he arrived. No doubt you know that Lord Carson is lecturing in New York. He is one of our neighbors and we know him well. My sister is also writing you, urging you to see Lord Carson. She wants you to know each other. She may ask his Lordship to call on you and through you see my son, Frank, Moody and Sandy have been here holding meetings. They are two gentlemen from your country who have been a great blessing to our country. They are not in Ireland where thousands are attending their meetings, and hundreds are being converted. I want you to be sure to see his Lordship, he is such a humble, good man.”

Many letters from women sought news about sons or husbands.

“Windsor, England, Nov. 25, 1874. I ask you for information about George Harris, single, age 20, a grocer’s assistant at 192 23rd Street, New York City. My last letter from him, four months ago, was on stationery of your Branch. ”

From Dublin, Ireland, came this letter. “I am very grateful to you for being so kind to my son. George is the only child now spared to me, and I fear he was a little spoiled. He is now in a far country. I fear he has fallen into bad company, but your letter gave me hope. I sent George two pounds and hope he has received the money by this time. I now send you two more pounds to get a decent suit of clothes. I fear he is getting shabby. You were very kind to get him employment, but he has always lived in the city and has never done any farm work. Can he hold this kind of job?”

Here’s another letter from Ireland. “I am grieved about my son John Fleming, who has lately written me in great distress and is desirous to come home. Alas, I have no home for him to come to. A drunken husband left me to earn my bread in my old days as best I can. He had a good position as a gardener on the estate of a nobleman, but got into foolish company and drank so much that he was discharged. He is now in America. My husband is out of my life forever, but I want your Christian aid for my son. If he cannot make a living in America, how can he do it here, where conditions are much worse? Can you not get work for him? I will not answer his letter until I hear from you.”

Here’s another letter from Dublin. “I am grieved that my son George has turned out so bad. He knows very well the result of evil ways. I am very sorry that you should have trouble with him. He is now a man and ought to be a comfort to me. He is able to earn his own bread. If he does not he can expect to go hungry. For the last twenty years I have been without any person to give me a shilling. I thank God I had the health to earn enough to keep George and myself during these years. At present I have no money to pay his passage home, but I do send him thirty shillings to get any little things he may need. I buy little for myself, but I must keep myself respectable. I am nurse to a lady’s children, and I must look decent. I hope George will still be a different person. Do help him to overcome his bad habits.”

Interestingly, some of the letters received by John Dooly at the Bowery Mission came from Maine. “Falmouth, Maine, March 18, 1878. I left New York, came to Boston, and from there to Portland. I came to Falmouth last October. Since I left you I have not tasted what had long been a curse to me. I have connected with a church here and have a few times supplied the pulpit. The people now want me to be their pastor. I have no credentials so I now ask you to send me a statement I can use. You recall that I returned to you one that you gave me, because I thought my behavior had forfeited it. I have had a long trial and can safely say that I am a better man than I have ever been before. With the Lord’s help I shall remain steadfast.”

Here’s one from Auburn, Maine, in 1874. “I have long felt that I ought to write you to apologize for my bad conduct in leaving you in such a disgraceful manner. The fact is that I failed to write any policies for the fire insurance company with which you got me work. In desperation, I again turned to drink. I left New York and went to Springfield, Mass. where I found an old acquaintance, who got me transportation to Boston, from where I got assistance home to Auburn. I have now been home for three months, and your instruction was not entirely in vain. I spend a lot of time reading the Scriptures and religious works. I feel that I have espoused the good fight.”

Then there was this letter from the Veteran’s Hospital in Togus. “I am in the hospital here, and I am interested in forming a hospital library. When I get papers and magazines I put them on the reading table. I keep adding a few books, and before long I hope to have a real library. It requires a lot of tact to get along with the help and nurses here. Many of them are inebriates. As I am an officer to the Surgeon, I have to enforce discipline, and I assure you it is not easy. I can only do my best which often is not enough.”

From allover the United States Dooly received letters written in prisons. Naturally, because the inmates crimes had been committed in New York State, many of those letters came from Sing Sing.

“July 7, 1875. Everything seems dark and cheerless when I think over the past and my repeated failures to do right. I have a deep fear that it is now too late for me. But with God’s help I will try again. I have no trouble getting along here, but I cannot earn much in the prison shop, though I am promised a better position there. (men do get more money, I will send some to you. I left a package at the Tombs when I was sent to Sing Sing. Will you please get it and hold it at your office for me? I do emphatically protest my innocence, but my lawyer could not convince the jury.”

Another from Sing Sing in 1875 has this to say. “I thank you for sending someone down to the Tombs to look into my case, although he believes I was guilty. I was sent up here to Sing Sing for two years, and was not guilty. I stole nothing. I received a dollar from Small for helping him carry the trunk. I did not know what was in it. I pleaded guilty because the prosecuting attorney told me he was sure I would be sent up for five years, but I would be let off with less if I did not put the state to the expense of trial. When I get out I will find the man who got me into this, and prove to you that I am innocent.”

Now a letter from Joliet Prison, Illinois. “After I came to this country from Scotland, I got into trouble in one of the southern states. I got sick, without money or friends; so I did not know what to do. I fell in with a notorious old thief on the river. He got me into contact with every crook between New Orleans and St. Louis. I got sick again and was helped by some of them. Of course I had to do something in return. I went to Alabama and got into trouble there. I came to New York, determined to change my ways. But the attraction of the Bowery was too much for me. I got into a fight and got three months in the Tombs. When I got out, I joined a circus and went west, got no pay, only bed and meals. I left them,
took to drink, stole again, and got 18 months in jail. I came to New York where you helped me again. My own brother will do nothing to help me. If you knew the circumstances that sent me to this prison, you would not judge me harshly. I am still determined to do right.”

And that completes our story of a man who spent his life heeding the injunction of the Master, to feed and clothe the hungry, lend a lifting hand to the outcasts, help those in prison, and forgive seventy times seven. And what a splendid successor that man, John Dooly of the Bowery Mission, had in his renowned and internationally known grandson, Dr. Leonard Mayo of Waterville, Maine.

Year: 1981