Ever since they left the Philippines, Antero had been anxious for news of Truman’s group. So when Schneidewind came to find his interpreter one day to tell him they were in Chicago and that he, Antero, was going to see them, the young Filipino whooped with delight. Schneidewind hadn’t the heart to tell him about the terrible state of their village.
On June 14, 1906, Antero and Major Franklin O. Johnson got off the streetcar and walked through the gates of Sans Souci. With them were two other Igorrote men and two women from Schneidewind’s group who had relatives in Truman’s troupe and had begged to go too. Johnson noticed a sign advertising the wedding the following week of Daipan and a young man named Sadoy.8 Antero spied Truman standing by the entrance to the village.
Truman greeted his former house boy like a long-lost friend. Releasing himself from the showman’s embrace, Antero glanced up at the roller coaster overhead and covered his ears. Just yards from where they stood, Antero recognized another familiar face. It was Feloa. He had been given the job of barker, cavorting for the crowds at the entrance to the village to tempt them inside. Of all the demeaning tasks they were asked to perform, this was the Igorrotes’ least favorite. Mindful of this, Truman had taken to using it as a way to punish anyone who had annoyed him. Catching sight of Antero, Feloa momentarily stopped dancing and accidentally dropped his spear. Looking up, Truman shouted to him to continue.
Turning to Johnson, Truman introduced himself and his business associate, “Happy” Hill. Johnson shook hands with them both and told Truman that he was there to take a look around on behalf of the US government. If Truman was irritated to see them, he concealed it well.
Johnson reached into his pocket for money to pay the admission fee, but Truman shook his head. No, no, they were his guests; he wouldn’t hear of them paying. Showing them into the enclosure, Truman asked his visitors to forgive their appearance. The village was still under construction. From what Schneidewind said, it had been open almost three weeks. That was ample time for the industrious Igorrotes to build a village, thought Antero. Yet as they glanced inside, it looked anything but ready.
The enclosure was muddy and cramped. Back home their livestock lived more comfortably than this, thought Antero. Do the tribespeople sleep here too? asked Johnson. Truman nodded. As far as the government inspector could see, there wasn’t a single hut for them to sleep in. Where do they bed down for the night? Johnson asked. Truman pointed to a half-built hut and said that in time there would be several of these, enough to accommodate everyone. But for now they were sleeping over there, said the showman, pointing to three small tents.
Johnson, who had known the Igorrotes when he served in the Philippines in Benguet Province, asked Truman how many tribespeople were living in the village. Eighteen, came the reply. Without a hint of irony, the showman invited the inspector to take a look around. The Igorrotes were all happy, healthy, and well-fed, as he would soon see for himself. Johnson was about to ask where their food store was when he was interrupted by the cries of Truman’s Igorrotes. They had just finished giving a display and, spotting Antero and the others, they began running toward them. Johnson noted that they were in desperate need of a wash.
Truman’s Igorrotes were overwhelmed to see friendly faces at last. The inspector left them, and went off to explore the “village.” No wonder the poor people were filthy. As far as he could see they had no water closet and the only place to bathe or wash their clothes was using water from a hydrant in a tub in an unsheltered corner of the village, where they could be seen by all and sundry.
Johnson walked over to their sleeping quarters and felt his feet slither and slide in the mud. The A-frame tents were packed so tightly together you could hardly slip a hand between them. He peered inside. Boards had been laid on the ground to stop the tribespeople sinking into the mud as they slept. Could eighteen adults really sleep in these three small tents? Johnson wondered how any of them got any rest under such conditions. Truman had been blasé, but Johnson was appalled at the thought of it.
He walked over to another tent, sitting a little farther away. This one had been set up as a storeroom. The only provisions inside were rice, ground coffee, and sugar. He began jotting down impressions in his notebook. At that moment Hill appeared. Johnson asked him if the tribe had use of a water closet and wash block. Ah, said Hill, shifting his not insignificant weight from one foot to another. The changeable weather had delayed construction of these facilities, so they were currently sharing a water closet outside the village with a neighboring concession. When Johnson suggested that the tribespeople were in desperate need of a wash, Hill replied that the Filipinos did not have the same attitudes to cleanliness as Americans did. What nonsense, thought Johnson.
The government inspector walked over to join Antero and the others just as Truman arrived with Julio.
Johnson had asked to speak to the Igorrotes in private and Truman knew that if he refused, the government would simply send another inspector. Truman instructed Julio to stay with the visitors and make sure the tribespeople didn’t say anything that could make trouble for him. He no longer entirely trusted his young assistant after his shocking outburst in Memphis, and would have preferred to leave him out of it, but he had no choice.
Truman disappeared, leaving Johnson and the tribespeople alone. Antero looked at Julio, whose appearance was always immaculate, and noticed his clothes were filthy. His jacket looked as if it had been torn and sewn in several places. The two men shook hands and Antero introduced Johnson. Julio whispered to Antero in Bontoc that they needed help. Truman hadn’t paid them a penny of their wages and he was keeping them against their will. One of the men was suffering so badly with rheumatism that he could hardly stand up, but Truman was forcing him to work, and the showman had recently kicked one of the others when he demanded he send them home.
Antero didn’t recognize the man Julio was describing as his former boss. He had heard the rumors that Truman had stolen some of the St. Louis group’s wages. That was one of the reasons Antero hadn’t wanted to come to America with him again. But he was stunned to hear of Truman’s cruelty. The showman had changed since they left New York at the end of the previous summer, explained Julio. It was as if he had been taken over by a wicked, greedy version of himself. Julio was about to tell Antero about Truman’s heavy drinking, his violent outbursts, and the tribe’s escape attempt in New Orleans when he noticed Truman and Hill coming toward them.
Johnson got up and asked Truman if he could have a quick word with him in private. What arrangement had the showman made to pay the tribespeople their wages? Lowering his voice, Truman said he was keeping their earnings safe for them. He had put the money in the bank. If they got hold of it now, they would throw it all away on whiskey and gambling. They would be paid on their return to the Philippines. When did Truman propose taking them back? Truman said that three or four of them wanted to go home now, and added that he planned to send them on the steamship Dakota in July. The rest, he said, were happy to stay on. When Johnson asked to see the tickets for their return journey, Truman explained that he had not bought them yet because of the unpredictability of traveling with savages. Satisfied that he had seen all he needed to, Johnson told Truman they would not take up any more of his time.
Antero looked back at his countrymen and women before exiting the village. It pained him to leave them there. The roller coaster roared overhead.
21
A Worthy Opponent
THE WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, DC, JUNE 21, 1906
Aerial view of Sans Souci Park, Chicago, looking over the roller coaster under which Truman Hunt’s Igorrote group lived
DURING HIS YEARS in government service, McIntyre had learned to keep calm under pressure. Whatever the provocation, he never lost his temper. But now he had really had enough. Johnson’s report was damning. Not only was Truman Hunt shamelessly exploiting the Igorrotes, he was treating his own government like fools. McIntyre had to get Truman’s village closed down
before it blew up into a major scandal.
The Truman-Igorrote business had already taken up too much of McIntyre’s time. The bureau needed to put their most dogged agent on the case. McIntyre knew just the man for the job, and asked his secretary to send for him immediately. Frederick Barker was everything a good agent should be. The thirty-six-year-old was diligent, dedicated to serving the government, and would not rest until he got a job done. He always played by the rules and loathed injustice of any sort. There was a standing joke in the department that his expense claims were so low, he must survive on thin air when he was away on assignment. He was also a fluent Spanish speaker, which would help him converse with the Igorrotes.
McIntyre’s secretary had been instructed to show Barker in the moment he arrived. As she did so, she couldn’t help but note the visitor’s handsome features, his strong jawline and piercing blue eyes. McIntyre stood up from behind his desk and shook Barker’s hand. Then he got straight down to business. He had an assignment that needed to be handled sensitively. It involved a former Bontoc official who was exhibiting a band of Igorrotes in America. Barker listened with interest.
Barker had served as a law clerk in the Philippine Commission’s offices in Manila, and had met the Igorrotes during the three years he lived in the islands. He had read about their appearance at Coney the previous year. Though he was not about to share the opinion with his boss, Barker objected strongly to the exhibition of a native tribe in such a demeaning manner. He was both surprised and disappointed to hear they were still in the country. He also knew all about the Americans who went rogue in the Philippines.
He listened to McIntyre describe the poor living conditions of the group under Truman’s care, and knew immediately that this was a case he wanted to solve. Yes, he said enthusiastically, he would leave for Chicago the following day.
Barker must treat the case as confidential. The Anti-Imperialist League was trying to make political hay out of the situation. He should be wary of the Chicago press. The Daily News had published a report that week describing the sorry state of Truman’s group. Taking his leave, the agent reassured McIntyre that he would have the matter resolved as quickly and painlessly as possible. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife, Tudie, about his assignment.
Truman was about to encounter his nemesis.
Barker arrived at the Great Northern Hotel at nine o’clock on the morning of Saturday, June 23, 1906.1 Designed by the celebrated architects Burnham and Root, the handsome fourteen-story hotel was built in 1892 and occupied a prime location in downtown Chicago. By 1906 it was no longer the smartest hotel in town, but Barker didn’t care for luxuries. He wasn’t there to relax. After checking in at reception, he went straight up to his room and saw that it was bigger than he needed. He locked up and, taking his bag with him, went back downstairs. At reception he asked whether there was anything cheaper. Eyeing his smart dress, the desk clerk said there was one room, but it was tiny and had no view from the window. It sounded fine, said Barker putting his hand out for the key.
The first person he went to see was Major Johnson. What impression, he wanted to know, had Johnson formed of Truman during his own inspection. A poor one, Johnson conceded, adding that Truman and his associate Hill had struck him as “Entirely unfit persons to have charge of a band of Igorrotes.”2
The entrance to Sans Souci Park was on the south side of Chicago, on Cottage Grove Avenue, and had been built to resemble a German beer hall. Two park workers were unlocking the gates when Barker strode up to the entrance, at noon on Sunday, June 24, 1906. A large crowd of day-trippers was already gathered outside. Barker knew Truman was a night owl who didn’t usually get to the park until midafternoon, and he hoped he might be able to get a look around before the showman arrived. The government agent walked through the grounds, past the Japanese tea garden, the electric fountains, and the grand ballroom, and inhaled the aromas of hot dogs and freshly popped corn. He hadn’t slept much and found the atmosphere strangely invigorating.
Outside the ballroom he asked a young ticket seller if she knew where he would find the Igorrote Village. Well, of course, they’re over there, she said, pointing to a spot in the distance. They’re quite something, she continued, trying to engage the handsome visitor in small talk. Be sure to stick around for the dog feast, she added. But Barker had already hurried off.
He looked up and noticed a large sign inviting the public to come and see the “dog eaters.” Was that all that this fascinating tribe’s customs had been reduced to, two sensational words? He put his hand in his pocket and dug out a quarter. Handing it over, he went inside. The village was already filling up. Barker pushed through the crowd to get a better look. What he saw made him gasp.
The scene had none of the gaiety of an authentic tribal village. The Igorrotes were famed in their native land for their good humor and love of life. This group looked as if all the joy and energy had been sucked right out of them. Barker gazed around the “village” in dismay. The Igorrotes were filthy. Their home was a muddy scrap of land with one half-built bamboo shed. Several of the women sat around an open fire cooking. In another corner, a section of ground had been fenced off to make an exhibition space. Inside several men struck tom-toms in a slow, melancholy rhythm. Nearby, an American man sat watching over them. Barker knew from the description he’d been given that it wasn’t Truman.
The government agent looked at the faces of the visitors and wondered what they were thinking. Were they disgusted by the squalor? Or did they imagine this was how people really lived in the Philippines?
A voice interrupted Barker’s thoughts. You buy souvenir? said a native woman, pointing to a woven cloth filled with rattan rings, bracelets, and smoking pipes. He picked up a pipe and asked how much it was. Twenty-five cents, came the reply. He handed over two quarters and slipped the pipe in his pocket, telling her to keep the change.
Barker walked over to the tents, his feet slipping underneath him. It was a quagmire. He was horrified to think of the poor Filipinos sleeping there. Truman Hunt should be ashamed of himself. Under other circumstances Barker would have complained to the manager, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He walked back over to the exit and left the village.
The man in charge at Sans Souci was a Chicago millionaire by the name of Leonard Woolf. Barker found him in his office and, after explaining why he was there, he asked Woolf to describe his arrangement with the Igorrotes’ manager. Woolf had a contract with Hill, not Truman, and it gave him the right to exhibit the Igorrotes at Sans Souci for the entire summer season. Hill had told Woolf that he gave 60 percent of the net profits to Truman and kept the other 40 percent himself. After spending an hour or so in Woolf’s company, Barker formed the opinion that he was “entirely straightforward . . . reliable” and eager “to act fairly.”3 Getting up to leave, Barker asked Woolf not to mention his visit to anyone. The government feared that Truman might try to flee with the tribe if he learned they had sent an agent to Chicago.
Barker frequently got so caught up in his work that he forgot to eat. But on this occasion, hunger got the better of him and he stopped for a light lunch at a restaurant near the Igorrote Village. At around two o’clock, just as he was leaving, a disturbance broke out at the tribe’s enclosure.4 The park was packed with visitors, as it was every Sunday. Barker moved closer to get a better look.
A smartly dressed man in a pin-striped cream suit with a straw boater shouted that the village was closed. The tribespeople would not be doing any more shows. All visitors were kindly requested to leave immediately. No more tickets would be sold. The man then disappeared without saying any more. People began lining up at the ticket booth, demanding their money back. The Igorrotes looked on in confusion while their village emptied.
Barker returned to Sans Souci the following day and went straight to the Igorrote Village. There he discovered a thick chain and a heavy padlock on the gates. The government agent peered through the fence and saw the tribespeople inside. He
went off to find Woolf. Woolf explained that he’d heard rumors that Truman was planning to break contract and take the tribe to a rival park, so the Sans Souci attorney had served the showman with an injunction on behalf of the park owners, preventing him from taking the tribespeople out of the grounds. In retaliation, the Igorrote boss had ordered the tribe not to sing a note or dance a single step until the injunction was lifted. Woolf told Barker to go and speak to the man guarding the village. He knew Truman. He might be able to tell the government agent something of interest.
With a bit of gentle prodding, the park worker proved surprisingly loose-lipped. From what he said, it was clear that he wasn’t a fan of Truman. The park worker told Barker that Truman was in the habit of calling at Sans Souci every few days. He was an odd sort, tightly wound and not the easiest to get along with. Some days he was charm itself while others he wouldn’t so much as look at you. He liked to flash his money around. He was a drinker too, though that was hardly unusual in the parks.
Truman traveled out of town a lot for work. His wife was living in Chicago with their baby, and by all accounts she was always nagging him for leaving them alone in a city where they knew no one. Just the other day, Mrs. Hunt had been in the park and caused quite a scene. She’d got into a huge argument with Mrs. Hill, the wife of Truman’s business associate. The two women had traded insults and hurled all manner of abuse at each other. When finally they were dragged apart, each had screamed at the other that she would sue for slander.5 What a charming couple the Hunts were, thought Barker. He hoped he might get chance to meet Mrs. Hunt.
Barker’s best bet if he wanted information about the doctor would be Julio, the interpreter, said the man at the gate. He met regularly with Truman whenever the showman was in town and often knew more about his whereabouts than anyone else. Barker needed to find out whether Julio was in cahoots with Truman. If he was, Barker must tread carefully. But if the interpreter was as disgruntled as his countrymen and women, he could be a valuable ally.
The Lost Tribe of Coney Island Page 25
