Gone Are Days of Flim-Flammers

1915

"Very Simple, Dear Friends. Doesn't Hurt a Bit."

Nowadays in country towns there are those who occasionally take a desperate chance at impromptu crimes, robberies, holdup or sneak thief jobs, but the day of the professional flim-flammer who set out deliberately to bamboozle the people — and invariably did — is gone. The people of the rural communities have grown too "wise." They recognize a four-flusher the moment he hits the town and his "line of stuff" simply doesn't go.

And how the professional Doctor Bunkmores long for "the good old days!"

Take the old-timers who worked the medicine game. They carried a full outfit, including orchestra, band and specialty performers, to attract and hold the attention of the population of the localities they worked. These good people, uninitiated into the workings of this highly specialized graft game, would stand gaping while Doctor Bunkmore would explain how his particular "cure all" was discovered by a missionary in some far-off land, who noticed the natives were never sick, and that they lived to a ripe old age without any pains or aches.

Doctor Bunkmore would dwell upon the wonderful effect of his "Liveo" plant — the basis of his remedy — and how the natives in the far-off lands derived great benefit from eating it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he would say, "I have here a remedy that will make you feel like an entirely new person. No longer will you need to suffer — no matter what your ailment. My good friends, the greatest trouble I experience is to induce a trial by the afflicted."

Then he'd ask for volunteers to demonstrate the curative effect of his medicine. He would urge those who suffered from toothache to pay special attention.

"I want you to come up to the platform," he would say in his most persuasive tones, "and see how easily and quickly I can save you further annoyance with your teeth. You can have your molars removed without pain by the mere rubbing of the gums with this 'miracle.'"

And then he'd arrange his chair and instruments.

"Come right up! Don't be a doubter!"

The cry of the doctor could be heard at a great distance for his voice had been trained to address large assemblages. Then a couple of supposed outsiders who traveled with Doctor Bunkmore all the time would step up, one with his jaw bandaged and claiming he had four teeth that several dentists had refused to remove, fearing to break his jaw and cause lockjaw.

With an air of confidence, the doctor would seat him and apply the remedy to the gums prior to an examination; whereupon the patient's legs would cease waving as from relief of pain.

While the operator inserted an instrument into the man's mouth, the audience would watch with breathless interest.

Old Doc Bunkmore Yanks Out the Offending Molars

Doctor Bunkmore would get a hold with his instrument of a tooth which he had slipped in while making his diagnosis. He would give a slight twist and pull and presto! out would come the tooth. After showing the offending molar to the crowd, the "doctor" would drop it into a tin pan so that all might hear it strike, and repeat the operation until three or four were extracted.

The patient, who had acted as tho asleep, would be asked to stand. Then he would open his eyes as tho awakened from a pleasant dream.

Doctor Bunkmore began to appear to the audience as a wonderful person and expressions of amazement could be heard on all sides. Then patient No. 2, another hired worker of the flim-flammers, would do his stunt equally as well.

And then came the big rush!

Often there'd be as many as fifty men — real, live ones, willing to pay cold cash — ready and anxious to go thru the "painless" operation of having their teeth removed by the great Doctor Bunkmore.

While the band would play so as to drown the squeal of the native as the "doctor" yanked out a tooth, the other victims-to-be would crowd and push ahead for their opportunity to have "Liveo" rubbed across their teeth before the simple — emphasis on the simple — operation was performed. The poor chump would have no chance to move for the doctor would stand straddling his knees as tho they were in a vice, while two husky attendants would hold down his arms and shoulders. No matter how much he squeaked, the slam, bang, bang, ta-rah-rah, of the band would out-noise him. When the teeth were out, one of the assistants would pat him on the back and say: "Ah, you're a game fellow, all right. You've got plenty of nerve." The patient would seek to cover up his yellow streak. He'd slip into the crowd without a murmur. Often he'd deliberately lie that the operation "didn't hurt a bit."

Doctor Bunkmore, having demonstrated the beneficial effects of his "Liveo" would start to place it on sale at $1 a bottle. How cheap! Cheap at twice the price. The bottles of "Liveo" would go like a house afire.

The story is told that one of such "doctors," whose home was in Illinois, who sent barrel after barrel of teeth home to gravel his walk and driveway.

An old-time circus man, speaking of this flim-flamming game, spun this yarn the other day:

"I was once spending the cold months in a Florida city years ago, and from reason of having owned a concession the season just passed was living on easy street. I was particularly impressed with the number of afflicted and crippled people, white and black.

"I had been there about three weeks when advance notice was posted of the coming of a 'classical concert and colossal band,' which was billed for the following week.

"Well, the following Monday the concert company blew into town like a circus. They owned a large waterproof tent seating about 2,000 people, carried a large number of musicians as well as performers, and distributed handbills announced that, commencing at 7:30 p.m. Monday, and every evening during the week, a free concert would be given on the ground.

"Monday night the tent was filled with working people and not a single speech from the doctor or even an intimation of the object of the visit.

"Tuesday evening the crowd was increased by half, and during the intermission between orchestra and vaudeville parts of the program the doctor arose and quietly announced that he proposed selling an absolute instantaneous cure for any swelling or trouble resulting in lameness or nonuse of limbs, as well as rheumatism or kindred ailments, informing them that not one bottle would be sold until acceptable proof had been given, and asked any present to bring a suffering friend, no matter how badly afflicted, the following night, for he desired proving his assertions by relatives and others who lived in the city, whom they knew, and in whom they had confidence.

:A victim was being led toward the stage by two friends. As he drew near I recognized him as 'Uncle Joel' who sold papers in front of the post office and who I understood was a preacher.

"I had seen him daily, seated in his chair with his crutches by his side and legs tied up in a bow knot, from reason, as he said, 'sitic rhum'tism' that had troubled him for 'fo-teen years.'

"He was gently lifted to one of the half dozen cots that had been placed on the elevation.

"Then the doctor pointed to the Col. Wilder negro and another man who from reason of his condition had been laying on the ground, and they were assisted up, groaning, swearing and praying in turn.

"The Wilder patient gave his name as Rufus Johnson, and said he had been hurt by a falling tree striking his back 'six years gone.'

"They were a queer bunch, each with his crutches and bandages, and the audience seemed to hold its breath in suspense as to what would come next, as the doctor quietly ordered his attendants to strip Rufus from the waist up.

"After his old coat and shirt had been removed, one of the attendants held a brilliant light while the doctor diagnosed the case, and that part of the crowd in his rear gasped when they saw the scars on his back.

"One of the assistants handed the doctor a bottle, from the contents of which he saturated a cloth and began applying to the back bones, then forced the patient to lean over in his chair with his head down, while he laid a strip of cotton along the vertebra and soaked it with the remedy, cautioning Rufus not to move, informing the audience that paralysis of the lower limbs was caused by pressure on the spinal cord and that it might require some time to secure results.

"The doctor then requested absolute silence as he turned to Rufus, felt his pulse gently, turned down the top of the cotton which plastered his back, and noted the result of the application; then motioned for his first assistant, who came over and took a peep, nodded his head and smilingly shook the doctor's hand, and it looked to me as tho the doctor dropped his worry mask.

"Turning to the negro he ordered him to raise his right foot. The man groaned and made effort, but failed.

"Turning suddenly, and in a commanding voice, he said: 'Stand up!'

"Rufus stood up with his mouth open and felt his legs, first the right, then the left; a peculiar look passed over his face as he carefully pinched his lower limbs.

"His walk improved with every step until he suddenly stopped and said, 'Gimme them crutches!' and when they were handed him he threw them off the platform to the ground, saying, 'Good-by, old sticks, we's pahted, and I'se gwine to walk widout you after this.'

"The audience began to sit up and take notice, and when one of the men who had been carried in on a cot sprang from his bed and jumped up and shouted a half dozen times and dropped on his knees to give thanks, then joining the four who were now walking around in excitement, it was then the crowd broke loose like crazy people. Then hundreds crowded up and demanded to purchase the medicine. Hundreds of bottles were sold at $2 per bottle, or two bottles for $3. I bought a bottle, tho I had to put up a hard fight to get to the platform.

"That night the doctor and his crowd left the city to fill an engagement somewhere, and early the next morning I packed my grip and went to New Orleans to dig up the best chemist money could induce to analyze the stuff.

"I paid $150 to be informed that the analysis showed only a few cheap ingredients, all harmless, and without curative properties.

"I learned later that the doctor had in his employ a dozen 'high-class' white men and about twenty picked negroes, whom he had carefully trained and divided into two or three companies, one of which would be sent to a city about three weeks in advance of his entry.

"The whites were furnished with plenty of money, stopped at the best hotels, and, as good mixers, under pretext of tourist or speculator, made friends with the best people. All were under strict instruction not to associate with one another; the negroes to always claim residence in the county, hobble on crutches in public, and each, under assignment of the white boss, asked to carefully cultivate the acquaintance of certain business or professional men, so that the latter would afterward recommend them for cure when called upon by the doctor's assistants.

"The company carried a good artist, who, prior to the public appearance of the patients, would paint scars, cancers and knots true to life on the person of the 'patient.' He could also shade a leg or arm to look large or small, and, naturally, when the doctor applied the remedy, under cover of the cotton, he would rub away the painting."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 12.