Tom L. Evans Oral History Interview, August 8, 1962

Notice
This is a transcript of a tape-recorded interview conducted for the Harry S. Truman Library. A draft of this transcript was edited by the interviewee but only minor emendations were made; therefore, the reader should remember that this is essentially a transcript of the spoken, rather than the written word.

Numbers appearing in square brackets (ex. [45]) within the transcript indicate the pagination in the original, hardcopy version of the oral history interview.

RESTRICTIONS
This oral history transcript may be read, quoted from, cited, and reproduced for purposes of research. It may not be published in full except by permission of the Harry S. Truman Library.

Opened August, 1966
Harry S. Truman Library
Independence, Missouri

[1]

MR. FUCHS: Tom, we might as well go back to Kansas and pick up the story from there.

MR. EVANS: Well, I don't know too much about the story in Kansas except my mother told me I was born September 1, 1896 in the big city of Larned, Pawnee County, Kansas. My father, incidentally, was somewhat mixed up in politics because I've been told that he was constable in the big city of Larned and sheriff; but I left there -- my folks left there in 1903.

FUCHS: What were their names?

EVANS: My father was Joseph W. Evans, and incidentally,

[2]

the W. was for Washington and my mother's first name was Ada; her maiden name was Roe. They moved to Kansas City in 1903. It was in 1903, before I was seven years old. However, I remember my father in Larned being the proprietor of a livery stable. He boarded horses and rented horses out and all the boys who were courting girls rented horses to take their girls driving. That's about all I remember.

FUCHS: Was that known as the "Evans Livery?"

EVANS: Yes, "Evans Livery." So I know or remember little about Larned.

FUCHS: Where did they come from originally. Were they born in Kansas?

EVANS: No, my father was born in Kentucky -- Carlisle, Kentucky and my mother was born in a little town near Quincy, Illinois. Father's father, which was my grandfather, homesteaded in Pawnee County, Kansas. I don't know how mother got there, but

[3]

that's where they were married.

FUCHS: They met and married in Larned. Do you have any recollections of Larned?

EVANS: Oh, yes, I have a number of recollections of Larned, much to my amazement. As a child I remember the people, of course, the people who were much older than me. I didn't remember the people who were my age. Although I did to some extent, but not a great deal. I remember the older people whom I looked up to and just a short time ago I went to Larned for the dedication of Fort Larned, which is just outside Larned. Much to my amazement I met dozens of people that I remembered, and everybody was so amazed that I would ask about people that they hadn't heard about for years, and to think that I would remember them. And I'm a little bit amazed myself at some of the people I remembered, such as a man out there who cut ice out there on Pawnee Creek and stored it in an old ice house with straw

[4]

and hay. He had a very peculiar name; his name was Fudicker -- don't ask me how to spell it because I don't know. But I said to some of my friends out there, "What happened to Mr. Fudicker, the old ice man?"

"My, you can't remember him, can you?"

"Yes, I remember the name; I remember his ice wagon and remember him storing the ice."

"Well, he's been dead for a good many years."

But that happened a number of times. So, I remember the school very well where I went, which of course has now been torn down. There's a very modern school built across the street from the school in Larned where I went. I guess we didn't call it kindergarten in those days, we called it "chart-grade," but that's where I went to school. Across the street from that school was -- in my childhood memories -- a great, big, beautiful home. It seemed to me like a gigantic mansion. It was owned by one of our very rich people in the big city of Larned. I don't suppose he ever knew who

[5]

I was or anything about it, but I marveled at that big home. So on this trip, which was last year, when I went back to this Fort Larned, I met this Mr. A. A. Doorer, who owned this home, and who owned a great big department store -- furniture store. He was, like in most small towns, also the undertaker in the town. I met his daughter who lives in that home, and Mrs. Evans, who accompanied me, and I were invited to this home. Of course, it was the first time I was ever in it. It's a beautiful, old, old place with great big, high ceilings and finally after, let's say sixty-five years, I finally got in that big, beautiful house. That's about the memories I remember of Larned.

FUCHS: Do you have an idea of the size of the town when you were living there?

EVANS: Well, I thought it was probably the biggest town in the State of Kansas when I lived there, but I guess it was really one of the smallest; but it was a town when I lived there, of about

[6]

5,000 and it's about the same now. It hasn't grown very much.

FUCHS: Was the main street paved then?

EVANS: No, not when I lived there, but it's paved now and every street in Larned.

FUCHS: Of course that's quite a while ago, but I was wondering if, at that age, you were aware of the connection with the Fort and were the Fort ruins there? I don't know whether the ruins remain...?

EVANS: Yes, as a child there, I remember the Fort very well. It was an Indian fort and the buildings are still standing. That's what was turned over, by the way (the present owner turned them over to the Government) and it was accepted at this ceremony. As a child I remember the Indian fort and in fact had been there a number of times and with younger friends of mine whom I don't remember. When I was back last year, Mr. Frizell, who owned the property there -- the big wheat farm where the Fort is -- and

[7]

donated it to the Government (he was the one who invited Mrs. Evans and I to come out) took me down to these old sandstone buildings and there was the initials, "TLE" along with "BCB", and I remembered who "BCB" eras. It was an old-time friend of mine whom I haven't seen since I left Larned. And nobody in Larned knows where he lives. It was a boy by the name of Ben Baldwin, so apparently Ben Baldwin and Tom Evans cut their initials there and the date was five, something, 1902. So, apparently that was my initials at the old fort.

FUCHS: You think five represented the day rather than the month?

EVANS: No, I think it was May of 1902. The date was there but I've forgotten what it was. Five, something, '02.

FUCHS: That's very interesting. That was about when you were six years old?

EVANS: Incidentally, my brother who just recently

[8]

passed away, Joseph Earl, was six years older than I, and that's how I got to go places, because I was the little kid brother. He was always very kind to take me with his friends, who were much older, and that's probably how I got to go to the fort so often. He had his horse -- see he was twelve -- and he had his own horse and he would drive it and I would get to go with him. That's the reason I got to go so much.

FUCHS: By "Indian fort" you meant a fort for U. S. Cavalry soldiers to fight the Indians?

EVANS: That's right.

FUCHS: You mentioned your brother, Earl. What other brothers and sisters did you have, if any?

EVANS: Just the brother that I mentioned and a sister, Ethel M., who has been married for many years and her last name now is Bair. She now lives in California.

FUCHS: Do you recall what street you lived on in Larned?

[9]

EVANS: Well, when I was there they didn't have numbered streets or named streets, but I later found out that the street where I lived when we left Larned in 1903 was West 4th Street. "Two hundred and seventeen," I believe, was the number; but of course they didn't have that when I was there. But it was the same house where I lived in 1903; it was still standing when I was back there last year. I visited on the trip a lady by the name of, well, I knew her as Ella Reece. Her husband was Ed Reece and died probably in 1910 and she had since remarried a man by the name of Nedrig and of course, her name was Ella Nedrig. She was eighty-seven years old when I was there last year, and Mrs. Evans and I went there to visit her and we had a wonderful visit. She looked perfectly wonderful; her mind was clear and we talked about a boy she had who was about my age but died when he was about fourteen -- and she was so glad to see me and to visit with me. I was glad to see her. We talked about all the old times of my family and

[10]

her family. They lived next door to us and within the last three or four months, she passed away. I have some very fond memories of the city of Larned.

FUCHS: It sounds as if you had an interesting visit.

EVANS: Oh. I did. Wonderful, wonderful:

FUCHS: You say you went to what would be comparable to kindergarten and then did you go to the first grade there?

EVANS: Yes, I was told when I was there that I was in the first grade when I left and somebody told me or asked me if I remembered my teacher and I said I remembered her very well. Her name was Love. One of my friends here said, "You mean you were in 'love' with your teacher."

And I said, "I think I was but her name was Love, too." That was in the first grade.

FUCHS: What was the name of the school or did it have a name?

[11]

EVANS: They didn't have names. They just had the one in those days, but now they have a number of them.

FUCHS: How large was the school? Was it several rooms?

EVANS: Oh, yes. It was all the grades plus the high school in the one building and it was quite a good sized building when I went to school there.

FUCHS: I see. Then you left in 1903, about what time of the year, do you recall?

EVANS: Yes, it was warm and it was during the big flood in Kansas City, when we arrived in Kansas City. I remember being up on the high hill which now overlooks the airport -- in those days that was where some of the better homes were -- called in those days "Quality Hill." I don't know whether it was a relative or a close friend of my family's, but anyway we went there and we stayed at this lady's home which overlooked "Harlem" (as we called it in those days), which is now where the airport is.

[12]

Everything was covered with water because that was the year of the big flood. They had a boy, but I know nothing about them. Their names were Riley; I know that, but I don't know whether they were distant relatives of my mother's or father's. Anyway, we stayed there and mother and father were busy looking for a place to live. Father bought a home at 408 Kensington here in Kansas City, Missouri, that spring, during the flood. He then went back to Larned and shipped our furniture; we stayed with this Mrs. Riley in her big lovely home until the furniture arrived and we moved into what I thought was a pretty big house, at 408 Kensington. It still stands, I don't know how, but it still stands. I was there a week ago and it's a pretty small house now, but in my mind that was a gigantic, big house.

FUCHS: Just where would that be about, from the center of town?

EVANS: Way out northeast. Kensington is forty-four blocks east of Main Street and it was North

[13]

Kensington, so it would be four blocks north of Independence Avenue. Forty-four blocks east of Main and four blocks north of Independence Avenue. That's where I lived and went to the Lykins School at 7th and Spruce, in those days.

FUCHS: Did you start in the second grade there, or was it the third?

EVANS: It seems to me I was started back to the first grade; they didn't give me credit for what I had achieved in Larned in the first grade. I got put back to the beginning of the first grade again So I really went through two first grades.

FUCHS: How many grades did you have then in grade school?

EVANS: Well, out in Larned we had eight grades and here, when we came to Kansas City, we only had seven. I thought how fortunate I was to get to move to where I would be able to cut off a year; I found out that wasn't true; they had one in

[14]

between seventh grade and high school. So I had to really go the full route.

FUCHS: They had another grade between the seventh...

EVANS: It wasn't called a grade, it was junior high, I think -- before I went to high school.

FUCHS: Then how many years of high school did you have?

EVANS: Four years after that. So it really was eight grades. There was seven grades in the grade school and then junior high and then four years of high school. So I didn't gain that eighth grade by losing it; I had to take it.

FUCHS: I was interested, in part, because Mr. Truman had seven grades of grade school (not counting kindergarten) and then three years of high school.

What ward were you in out there, on Kensington?

EVANS: Well, that was before I was very much interested in politics and I have no idea what ward it was or

[15]

anything about it. I don't even know who any of the political bosses, so-called political bosses were out there. Let's see, I was seven years old, and later, it seems a short time later, but I don't remember when, father bought a livery stable. It seems to me it was in November of 1903. He bought a livery stable at Independence Avenue and Monroe. He operated that for a good many years. Sometime later, how long I don't know, but I would judge it must have been maybe three or four years later that we moved from 408 Kensington to 1322 Euclid. It was an apartment. I'm told that my sister, who was eight years older than me, and my brother who was six years older than I, were away at school and we didn't need the house and mother wanted to get an apartment, so we moved there. Father sold his livery stable at Independence Avenue and Monroe and bought one that was at, in those days, at 15th and Montgall. 15th Street is now called, as you know, Truman Road. We lived at 1322 Euclid and father operated that livery stable at 15th and Montgall,

[16]

I guess for a good many years until the automobile beat the horse out of his job. I don't remember when, but I presume it was 1910 (I seem to be under that impression) when father went out of the livery stable business.

FUCHS: Do you recall these livery stables as being the "Evans"' or did they have some other Name like "Ace"..?

EVANS: No, they were all Evans'.

FUCHS: How far would the one on Monroe have been from your home which was then on Kensington?

EVANS: Oh, let's see. (My grandkids are always amazed at how I can call streets.) Let's see, Monroe, Cleveland, Myrtle, Norton, Jackson, Spruce, Kensington -- so it was about ten blocks.

FUCHS: Do you have any memories of the livery stable? Did you go down there and ride on a horse now and then?

[17]

EVANS: Oh, yes. I remember the first time, after father bought the first livery stable at Independence and Monroe, he bought me a pony. So, I stood pretty well with the kids in the neighborhood because they all got to ride my pony. Mother had her horse that she drove and father had his horse; sister had hers. A few years ago I used to have horses and they were awfully expensive to feed. I've often wondered how father was able to feed so many horses that he bought us kids and mother and himself; it was pretty expensive. But I guess feed wasn't as costly then as it is now.

FUCHS: Well, you moved to Euclid then about, you say three years after you had been on Kensington; would that have been about 1906?

EVANS: I think 1906. We were there and my father operated a livery stable at 15th and Montgall and it might be 1910 when he sold or maybe liquidated. I think the livery stable went out of existence and where his livery stable was, they built a

[18]

ball park. The ball park was on part of the ground where father's livery stable was. It was down a block from Woolf's Laundry, and across the street on the north side of 15th. It was a gigantic laundry and Woolf's Laundry is still there and still doing business, which is amazing. Even to this very day. Then, I forgot the school that I went to from Lykins after we moved on Euclid. Oh, I remember. I was wondering what happened to my memory, but the school's been gone for many years, is why it slipped my mind. It was the Chase School (you won't believe this) but it was at 14th and Paseo, right in the middle, where today is the parking between the two streets -- Paseo going south and Paseo going north. Chase school was at 14^th and Paseo. Let's see, that was Paseo, Vine, Highland, Woodland, Michigan and Euclid, so it was about six blocks from my home to go to that school. That's the school that I graduated from. One year, I believe, they were doing some repairing at the Chase School, so part of the year I went to Whitaker School.

[19]

It was at 11th and Indiana, but I believe it was because of repairs at Chase School. In 1909, I graduated from Chase School and then went to Manual High School at -- I stayed around 15^th street pretty well, didn't realize it -- 15th and Forest which was also within walking distance of my home at 1322 Euclid and not too far from father's livery stable at 15th and Montgall.

FUCHS: Was Manual High one where they taught trades?

EVANS: No, it was a regular high school in those days and then it was made Manual Training High School.

FUCHS: But what name did it have in those days?

EVANS: Manual -- Manual High School -- not Manual Training. They added Training to Manual years after when it was made into a trade school.

FUCHS: And what year did you graduate from there?

EVANS: Well, as near as I can remember -- well, I didn't graduate from there. I was there two years and we moved. Anyway, I got out of the neighborhood

[20]

and I graduated from Westport in 1911, I think it was.

FUCHS: You moved south? Where did you live then?

EVANS: Say, you're taxing my memory good. I wouldn't take an oath, but I think it was 2552 Charlotte, which to you and I now; isn't very far south, but it was quite a ways south in those days, 2552 Charlotte.

FUCHS: And what year was that?

EVANS: I think, 1911.

FUCHS: That would be a little early, wouldn't it? You would have only been fifteen then.

EVANS: I think I was sixteen, so it was 1912 probably. During the summer vacations I worked in drugstores.

FUCHS: What year did you first start in a drugstore?

EVANS: Oh, I worked in drugstores when I was probably eight years old or nine -- delivery boy -- working

[21]

around the soda fountain out on Independence Avenue and Spruce. I'm trying to think of the name of the store I worked at there. I remember the druggist. He had one eye. Swearingen -- I knew it would come to me. Mr. Swearingen's drugstore. I must have been, oh, I couldn't have been much over eight years old.

FUCHS: You would have been living on Kensington at that time.

EVANS: 408 Kensington, that's right. It seemed like I was always working around a drugstore. I worked, when we lived on Euclid, one summer vacation, in a drugstore at 15th and Brooklyn, Kent Brothers. While I was in high school, I worked at various stores. One summer I worked at a wholesale house of the Parke-Davis Drug Company. I think that was 1910, and then I worked, while I was in high school, in the summer, I worked in the Crystal Pharmacy at 26th and Prospect.

FUCHS: That was around 1911 that you started?

[22]

EVANS: It was 1911 or '12.

FUCHS: I saw this earlier date someplace, where about August, 1910, you had your first job in a drug store.

EVANS: Well, I think I had it before then, probably, out in Swearingen's drugstore as a delivery boy. I guess maybe I wasn't working in the drugstore. I was the outside man.

FUCHS: Then it was about 1911 that you went to the Crystal Pharmacy.

EVANS: That was on summer vacation. Then I went to the Kansas City College of Pharmacy and worked part-time.

FUCHS: That was after graduation?

EVANS: That was after graduation. In those days you didn't graduate and have a license to practice pharmacy; you went to the school and then you had to take an examination. Today, you go four years to college, then you are licensed to practice.

[23]

But when I went two years and then took the state board examination in both the state of Kansas and the state of Missouri and became a registered pharmacist.

FUCHS: That would have been about what year then?

EVANS: Oh, that was long after that. I think I had to go three different courses before I was bright enough to pass, in fact, I think my certificate's dated 1915. So I got my pharmacy license in 1915.

Working at the old Crystal Pharmacy at 26^th and Prospect was where I first got inducted, I guess is the proper word, into politics because that was quite a political set up there. That's where -- well, frankly, I never heard of Republicans around 26th and Prospect; it was always "Goats" and "Rabbits." Around election time, there were tremendous fights and arguments between the so-called Goats which were the Pendergast faction and the Rabbits which were the Shannon faction. There at 2535 Prospect, second floor, was the old Goat

[24]

Democratic Club headed by Mike Pendergast.

FUCHS: Was that the 10th Ward Democratic Club?

EVANS: That was the 10th Ward Democratic Club and that's the one that Mike Pendergast, brother of Tom Pendergast headed. He didn't go beyond the 10th Ward, but he ran the 10th Ward; he was the political boss.

FUCHS: That would have been just a little bit north of your drugstore.

EVANS: Oh yes, just half a block. That was just the 10th Ward, as I say, he didn't run or have anything to do with anything outside the 10th Ward. That's where, if you were a Goat Democrat, you were supposed to go to the Goat club meetings every Thursday night and be a member of the club. I became a good Goat Democrat in rather a strange way. By the way, in the meantime, my folks (I've lost track of the moves) moved on Park Avenue in an apartment.

[25]

FUCHS: You were still living at home with your folks?

EVANS: Oh, yes. At about -- I should know the number. Someday I'm going back because the apartment is still there, but I think it was 2208 Park. Some day I'm going by and check that address.

FUCHS: That's rather interesting. Mr. Truman, earlier of course, lived at 2108.

EVANS: So I understand. That was just a block north and I remember him as living there but only just as an individual that lived there.

FUCHS: Well, he didn't live there after 1902, I believe.

EVANS: I don't remember him living there but being told where he lived -- having lived there. And I lived -- I'm almost sure -- at 2208. I well remember that that's where we lived when my brother, who was much older than I,

[26]

enlisted and went into the service in World War I. He was six years older than I. It broke my mother's heart. He enlisted and went overseas. He, incidentally, was in the 35th Division but in the 110th engineers, not in Mr. Truman's Battery.

FUCHS: Earlier you said your family moved to Euclid to an apartment -- and your brother and sister were away at school and you didn't need as big a place -- where had they gone?

EVANS: Well, I don't think away -- I don't mean out of town. I think they were both here in town, but busy in school and not around the house very much.

FUCHS: They were still living at home?

EVANS: Yes, they were still living at home.

FUCHS: And were they still living with you when you moved to Park?

EVANS: Yes. That's where we lived when my brother was in the service. I have a picture at home of myself and brother -- my brother in uniform -- in front of that apartment with the number on it.

[27]

Someday I'm going to take a look and get the exact number.

Well, getting back to 26th and Prospect and the Democratic Club, I was what we called in those days, a "soda-squirt" -- I guess the polite name is soda dispenser -- in the famous Crystal Pharmacy at 26th and Prospect. I would see Mr. Mike Pendergast many times every day in and around the corner and people talking to him. Of course everybody who had any kind of a problem went to Mr. Pendergast. As a kid I looked up to him as a big man with so much apparent power and influence and people going to him.

FUCHS: Had you met him?

EVANS: Well, I of course knew him, met him. I don’t think we met people in those days.

FUCHS: He did come in your drugstore?

EVANS: Occasionally. But there was a drugstore across the street run by a man by the name of J. J. Flynn and he seemed to patronize that

[28]

because he didn't have to cross the street. At least I think that was the reason. I think we ran as good a drugstore, but he lived west of Prospect and J. J. Flynn was on the northwest corner and our Crystal Pharmacy was on the southeast corner so it was closer for him. I presume he didn't have any idea who I was or anything, although I belonged to the club and I went on Thursday nights. It was always packed. I knew he didn't know who I was or anything.

FUCHS: What year do you think you joined the club?

EVANS: I imagine about 1910, when I was working.

FUCHS: When you would have been fourteen years old?

EVANS: Yes. I don't believe we paid any dues; if so, I don't remember. At least I'm sure I didn't.

FUCHS: Was that customary for children of fourteen or fifteen -- of course, there was, I presume, more interest in politics then.

EVANS: Yes, I think it was more or less encouraged

[29]

to get them there, because I passed our handbills at polling places long before that and got accustomed to going to the club. I well remember one day, there was an emergency order for some medicine while I was working on the soda fountain; he asked me if I would run up on Wabash with a package of medicine. As I came back around the corner, here was Mr. Mike Pendergast walking down the street. He stopped and said, "Are you Tom Evans?"

And I said, "Yes."

He said, "Are you a Democrat?"

I said, "Yes."

He said, "What kind of a Democrat?"

I said, "I'm a Mike Pendergast Democrat--a Mike Pendergast Goat Democrat."

And I well remember he said, "Well, that's fine; that's what you ought to be." He says, "Here's a present for you." And he reached in his pocket -- remember I didn't think he even knew I existed -- and he handed me a little envelope and

[30]

in it was a pass to the Kansas City Blues baseball park, good for any game, myself and one -- a season pass. And I might say, Jim, it made me about the biggest guy around 26th and Prospect. I always had six, eight or ten fellows waiting to see who I would take to the game and I missed very few of them. That's one reason why I'm a pretty good ball fan today, I guess. And also, I guess the main reason why I became a Pendergast Goat Democrat.

FUCHS: Now, this was after you were going to club meetings?

EVANS: Oh, yes.

FUCHS: He knew your name when he addressed you?

EVANS: He had the pass made out in my name -- "Tom Evans and One."

FUCHS: He just wanted the right answer in so many words?

EVANS: That's right and thank goodness he got it

[31]

without any effort. But I had that pass that year and a renewed pass the next year. Then, I guess I got married and got too old, because they soon quit coming. I don't remember. I know I had it two years and maybe three. It was a tremendous big thing in my life and as you can well imagine, a good way to make a good Goat Democrat. I, of course, regularly attended the meetings and there at those meetings were dozens of men that later became famous one way and some another.

FUCHS: How many might have been at one of those meetings?

EVANS: Oh, I would say anywhere from -- I don't believe hardly ever less than seventy-five and probably as many as a hundred and fifty.

FUCHS: What would a ward registration have been in those days?

EVANS: Well, I don't know. Whatever figure I'd give would be a guess. It just never occurred to me

[32]

to check. But those were workers. Now one of my friends around 26^th and Prospect, who, incidentally, was five years older than me -- but I was always tremendously big for my age and didn't want to run around with kids my own age because I was so much bigger than them, so I took friends that were older -- and one of my good friends around 26^th and Prospect was a boy by the name of Ernest Webster. He was about five years older than I am and I think he thought I was nearer his age because I would take him to the ball games with me -- that's where I met him, with my pass. Later he went to work for the county and drove the Locomobile that drove Mr. Mike Pendergast around. He had a political job.

FUCHS: He was a member of the 10th Ward club.

EVANS: He was a member of the 10th Ward club and that's the way he got me in, and I was about fourteen probably; he thought I was about eighteen. Frankly, I always lied about my age; in fact, I lied to my wife about my age. She didn't find it out until

[33]

after we were married a couple or three years. He got me to go to the 10th Ward Democratic Club meeting regularly and in fact, said he'd get me a political job. I had worked, trained in the drug business, and I got a job later with a wholesale house, and Ernest Webster and I had a couple of girls that we'd go out together with all the time. My mother didn't like the girl that I was going with for some reason. She was having a big party at our house and she asked me to bring a girl and come. My brother was bringing a girl; my sister was having her boyfriend; and I, of course, was much younger. She said, "Don't bring Alice." And I didn't have any other girl. I didn't know what to do. I worried about it and I finally said to Ernest, "Do you suppose I could get your sister. Would you talk to her and ask her if she'd just go with me to a party at my house? That's all I want her to do. I don't want anything else."

And he said, "I'll ask her."

[34]

And in later years, he's told me that he had to plead with her to get her to do it -- and she says that -- but she went. I made a pretty good hit with the family, with Ernest's sister, Mamie. She's quite a gal, took me out of a crack let us say, by going with me.

I don't know whether you've heard this story; it's rather interesting. It was customary around 26th and Prospect, to loaf around the fire station.

FUCHS: Where was that?

EVANS: Right across the street from the Democratic Club, which would probably be 2536 Prospect. Incidentally, the fire station is still there. The captain there was Tom Hardwick who was quite a Goat politician. He became assistant chief of our Kansas City Fire Department and during World War II was in charge of the fire department out at Lake City, east of Independence.

Well, he was captain of that fire station. One night after we closed the drug store I went over to the fire station. It was shortly after

[35]

this party that Ernest had got his sister to go with me to my mother's house. We were upstairs -- I don't know, we may have been playing penny poker -- maybe shooting craps. Anyway, a fire alarm came in and the firemen of course left. I had slid down the pole hundreds of times and everybody else had; it was no trick to slide down the pole, but as I say I was always big for my age. There was one of the boys there who was a little guy and instead of putting one leg around the pole and one arm around the pole and sliding down, he just put one arm around the pole and threw his legs out and went down rather gracefully. Then I tried it, but I didn't slide; I fell. I broke my hip and when the fire department came back I was laying on the floor in plenty of pain. I sent for my pal Ernest Webster and he came over. Tom Hardwick, who was the captain, called Mr. Pendergast, Mike Pendergast, and said that I had fallen and was apparently hurt bad. I didn't want to go to the hospital and I wanted to be taken home and would they arrange to have the ambulance

[36]

from General Hospital come and get me and take me home. I wouldn't let anybody touch me unless they promised to take me home. He got it arranged and they took me home. It was wrong; I should have gone to the hospital, but anyway, they took me home. For a long time I was laid up with this broken hip. Alice, that I referred to came and called on me and I was feeling pretty bad. She'd stay much too long and mother was aggravated. Much to my amazement, it aggravated me, because I didn't want company. Ernest Webster's sister would come down and bring me a pie or some homemade candy she'd made and stay about three minutes and leave. I came to the conclusion that that gal was pretty smart and a pretty nice gal. I finally asked her to marry me and she did and we've been living together for about forty-seven years.

FUCHS: That was when?

EVANS: We were married in 1915 when I was nineteen years old. When I was twenty my first

[37]

daughter was born, and when I was forty my first granddaughter was born, so I got an early start.

Now, around that club I would see Harry Truman. Harry Truman didn't mean any more to me in those days than a half a dozen other fellows because he was just a regular attendant almost every Thursday night. I would see him at the Club as I would see dozens of others.

There was a man by the name of Harry Hoffman. Harry Hoffman was sheriff of Jackson County. He was quite a power politically, not only in the 10th Ward but I think he was quite a power in other wards. He had a lot of people that he employed and he was sheriff. But he attended regularly the meetings, and he was quite an outstanding citizen, so I thought. And naturally, being sheriff of Jackson County he was quite a fellow. He turned out later to be the man that when the Ku Klux Klan became so big here many many years ago was the head of it. Of course, this is hearsay, but I understand he made a tremendous amount of money out of the fact that the dues that the

[38]

members paid, he got a big part of the dues. He turned against Mr. Pendergast who had made him.

FUCHS: Are you speaking of T. J. or Mike?

EVANS: Well, Mike went to his brother and got T. J. to appoint him, because T. J. was the powerful.boss.

FUCHS: To appoint him as..

EVANS: To approve him to run for sheriff. There in that job, I understand he -- which, by the way, is all hearsay, but I'm sure it's true -- he made a lot of money and became tremendously powerful and then later deserted the Pendergasts and joined the Ku Klux Klan.

As you know, Jim, I traveled with President Truman on his campaign tours, Mrs. Evans and I, when he ran for Vice-President, and in Chicago the news broke that Mr. Truman had been a member of the Ku Klux Klan. That news was given out by this great wonderful guy, Harry Hoffman, who was the head of the Ku Klux Klan. An investigation

[39]

later revealed that he had been paid a substantial amount of money to make that statement in the heat of the campaign when Mr. Truman was running for Vice-President.

FUCHS: Do you know who might have provided the funds?

EVANS: I personally don't know, but there was quite an investigation and I'm sure that was true. Your files will show of the tremendous thing that that statement caused throughout the country, that here was a man running for Vice-President of the United States who was a member of the Ku Klux Klan and had always been supported by Pendergast people who, incidentally, were Catholics.

Mr. T. J. Pendergast -- that's one thing that they can't ever say against him -- he was a devout Catholic. He attended the Catholic Church almost every morning, not just on Sundays, but almost every morning.

It was a terrible thing. Well, it was later proven that this was -- when I say proven I mean to

[40]

the satisfaction of all, and those are pretty well-known facts that Harry Hoffman was just making a statement for the payment of cash.

FUCHS: He was sheriff of Jackson County and then you say he deserted Pendergast. Do you mean he became an acknowledged Republican or he went with the other faction?

EVANS: He joined up with the Ku Klux Klan which were trying to get in politically in Kansas City. He became the head of the Ku Klux Klan.

FUCHS: By 1944 you think it was primarily a matter of monetary gain because he wasn't a Republican then?

EVANS: No, he wasn't a Republican. Of course, the Klan had gone out of existence I guess for twenty years, or more. He had gone down, as I understand it. I've even forgotten where he was; he lived in Indiana or someplace back East and was not doing at all well, and I'm told -- and I'm not sure that this is true -- he had become an alcoholic and

[41]

had gone down to practically nothing.

FUCHS: In other words, it wasn't a political thing with him.

EVANS: Oh no, it was just a matter that somebody dug up, as they're prone to do in all political campaigns, as you well know; dug up the fact that he was head of the Klan here in Jackson County and he would be the logical man to make the statement, which was I'm positive not true.

Incidentally those meetings, ordinarily never lasted more than fifteen or twenty minutes, unless there was something special come along like election time, then they lasted a lot longer. It was regular every week in the year.

FUCHS: Now Mike would have presided at these meetings?

EVANS: Usually he presided.

FUCHS: Was he the president?

EVANS: I'm inclined to think that he was the president because he always presided.

[42]

FUCHS: Harry Hoffman, you say, was important at that time in the club? What position did he hold, if any, or what was his relationship to Mike?

EVANS: Well, he was just a member of the club and probably a director of the club because Mike went to his brother and got him approved as sheriff. Of course, when you were approved by Pendergast you were always elected; there wasn't any question about it. The sheriff's job was a big job.

I remember another man there, George Harrington, who just attended the meetings along with Harry Hoffman, along with Harry Truman, Tom Evans and so forth -- George Harrington is now dead -- but he went on and became county collector with Pendergast's approval. I guess he held that job for twenty years. Well, that was the best job politically in Kansas City, because as I understand it, the collector got a commission on hunting licenses and made some other fees; but at least I've been told it was good for twenty-five or thirty thousand

[43]

dollars a year, which in those days was a tremendous amount of money. A lot of the people that were later elected to office, I can remember as being members of that old 10th Ward, Mike Pendergast, Democratic Goat club.

FUCHS: Were you on a first name basis with Mike Pendergast or with Harry Hoffman, or were they "Mr. Hoffman" and "Mr. Pendergast?"

EVANS: Most people called him "Mike." I never did because as I say, to me, as a kid he was most powerful, and I would be taking a lot upon myself to ever call him "Mike." I would refer to him as Mike, but to him, it was always Mr. Pendergast. I believe at a later date, I got to calling him "Boss," and as I remember, Mr. Truman always called him "Mr. Pendergast," in those days, I'm talking about. I was a member of the 10^th Ward Democratic Club, which, incidentally, is not the same 10th Ward that exists today, the boundaries have all been changed, but I guess I remained a member of the 10th Ward Democratic Club until

[44]

many years later, probably 1920, after World War I.

FUCHS: If you were in it as early as age fourteen, which would have been about 1910, Mr. Truman would have been twenty-six. Was he "Harry Truman" to you or was he "Mr. Truman" because of his age?

EVANS: Oh, I think everybody was, Tom, Dick and Harry in those days. But I paid no more particular attention to him than I did to a hundred other fellows. He, I'm sure, knew me better than I knew him, because of the fact that I later married the sister of Ernest Webster, who was Mike Pendergast's driver of his Locomobile.

FUCHS: I think I interrupted your thought about the various important people at that club. Did you have something more you wanted to add?

EVANS: Oh, not particularly, that meant very much. There were any number of them, but they really wouldn't mean a great deal. I remember one in particular was a fellow by the name of Johnny

[45]

Walsh. Johnny Walsh later became distributor here, I think, for U. S. Tires and practically all the members of the old 10th Ward would go to Johnny for their tires. You know, it just went in like that -- went along like that.

FUCHS: Was Jim Pendergast a member?

EVANS: Oh, yes, sure.

FUCHS: He lived in that ward? You had to live within the ward?

EVANS: He lived with his father; he lived in the ward, although there was lots of people that belonged to the club that did not live in the ward.

FUCHS: At that time Mr. Truman was back on the farm, so apparently you didn't have to.

EVANS: Lots of them did not live in the ward; it wasn't a requirement by any means.

When I was married, I was working at McPike Drug Company. This is a rather interesting story

[46]

and brings in the Pendergast situation. I was working at McPike Drug Company and when we were married I was working on what you call a "city desk." That’s the desk where the druggists would phone their orders. We on the city desk would take them down and send them out to have them filled and then price them. On the city desk at McPike Drug Company, incidentally the president of McPike Drug Company was Judge Bland, who had married Mr. McPike's daughter, and Mr. McPike, Sr. (the president) had passed on and Judge Bland became president of the McPike Drug Company. Bland was a well-known name in those days in politics and even up to this day; there's a judge of the Circuit Court of Appeals, Ewing Bland, who I think is a brother to this Judge Bland of McPike.

But anyway, on the city desk I discovered a man working there who was very dishonest, using the proper term, I think in this case, crooked as he could be. He was writing up orders for certain of his friends who had drugstores, of eight, ten or twelve pages amounting to fifty or sixty dollars.

[47]

The druggist had no credit, was C.O.D., and this order would go out and be filled, maybe fifty, sixty or seventy-five dollars worth and come back and this man on the city desk working beside me would change the order to three or four items where it would be three or four dollars instead of maybe sixty or seventy-five dollars. The driver would deliver this box of drugs and collect three dollars and he would get seventy-five dollars in merchandise. This boy, Harry Frye, who worked on the city desk with me, I later learned, would go out there at night and get ten or fifteen bucks for doing it. Well, it worried me because I had just gotten married and I was afraid if I turned him in, I'd be in a lot of trouble, and I was afraid if I didn't turn him in, I was going to lose my job because it would reflect on me. I didn't know what to do. I worried about it and worried about it. My wife knew there was something wrong and I finally told her what was bothering me. It was a night there was a meeting over at the 10th Ward Democratic Club and she said,

[48]

"Why don't you talk to Mr. Pendergast? Tell him about it, ask him what to do?"

So that evening after the meeting was over, I went up and told him what the problem was. And he says, "You wait here." He went to the telephone and he came back and he said, "Come on, you're going with me." I didn't know what was going to happen, but I got in this old Locomobile, incidentally, Ernest Webster wasn't driving it that evening. I don't think he was working there then; I think he had gotten out of politics.

FUCHS: Was Mike driving it himself?

EVANS: No, he never did drive. Another fellow by the name of Mike Lawless drove us out and we went out on Warwick Boulevard and wound up at Judge Bland's home, who was a good friend of Pendergast's. He asked me to tell him. Well, that was my big boss and he was almost the Almighty. I was scared to death; I couldn't hardly talk. Well, he said, "You did the right thing."

The next day, they caught Harry Frye. Not

[49]

only was he doing that, he was doing a lot of other things that amounted to a good many thousands of thousands of dollars that he had defrauded McPike Company out of. He wound up with a fifteen years sentence in the penitentiary.

FUCHS: They prosecuted him?

EVANS: Oh, yes, and a number of druggists that he had had this deal with.

FUCHS: Where was McPike Drug Company?

EVANS: Where they've been all these years up until about six months ago, 7th and Central street. They've moved now, down in the northeast industrial district.

But, that was probably the biggest problem I'd had in my life up until that time, because I knew it was wrong; I couldn't bear to turn the fellow in and suffer the consequences and I knew I'd probably lose my job if they ever found it, because they would have to know that I couldn't be that dumb, not to know it. Couple of the

[50]

other boys knew and they said, "Don't do anything about it." I knew it was too wrong. So that was another reason why I guess I have always been a Goat Democrat -- a Pendergast Democrat.

FUCHS: Do you remember Mr. Truman coming in the Crystal Pharmacy?

EVANS: No, actually I don't remember him coming into the Crystal Pharmacy at all. He would come into the meetings and stand around. I'm under the impression that he held a job of road overseer, and they had a lot of them in those days. I was one of the few that didn't have a political job. Most of the people had political jobs and that's why they had to come to that club. I didn't have a political job. I didn't have to go to the club but my friend Ernest Webster did and I thought it was a good thing; that's how I got to go. I'd see Harry Truman come in and leave. A number of us afterwards, when the meetings were over, would (you won't know what this is, Jim, you've never heard of it -- well, you may have heard, but

[51]

I know you never have bought a bucket of beer) -- we used to get a big bucket of beer for fifteen cents and that was eight or ten of us. We'd sit around the club room and drink. A number of fellows, this fellow Johnny Walsh I spoke of, had the record of, or it was at least understood to be the champion beer-drinker of the area around 26th and Prospect. But Harry Truman never stayed around for that; he just came to meetings and would leave. I knew who he was, but he was just along with a dozen others. Incidentally, in case somebody really wants to know about my background -- if they do I want to know why -- I aspired once to be the champion beer-drinker of 26th and Prospect and I challenged this Johnny Walsh to a drinking duel. His wife, Allie, and myself (this was before I was married) -- I think Johnny thought I was about six years older than I was; I think I was about sixteen; I'd been drinking in saloons since I was fourteen because I was so big, so I'm sure Johnny thought I was -- we went to King Joy Lots Restaurant

[52]

down on Grand Avenue and the agreement was that we would see who could drink the most bottles of beer. When one got to the point he couldn't drink when the other one asked him to, why he lost. I don't know if I'm very proud of this, but this is a true story. Just Allie, his wife and John and myself. Oh yes, the loser had to pay for the beer. I didn't have much money in those days; I wasn't getting very much salary, but I figured he was going to pay for it anyway so it didn't bother me. When one would finish his bottle, whenever he was ready, if the other one hadn't, he could demand (that was our rule) that, "Well, drink up; I want another bottle of beer." So we had gone down to twenty-two bottles of beer apiece. I was in great shape and I'm sure Johnny isn't. We had twenty-two bottles of beer and so Johnny said, "Well, mine's gone; get yours down." I drank the rest of my twenty-second bottle of beer and Johnny said, "Bring two more." That's the last I remember. I never remember the twenty-third. Johnny took me home and I was the sickest

[53]

guy for three days. I was too sick to pay the bill and Johnny had to pay it, but I owed it. So I didn't gain the championship.

FUCHS: That's an interesting story. Who was Frank Barnes?

EVANS: He was the owner of the Crystal Pharmacy.

FUCHS: Was he a young man?

EVANS: Well, no, I guess he was, but to me he was awfully old. He was the owner. He was probably twenty years older than I was. I thought probably he was real old. I suppose when I was twelve, I guess he was thirty-two or three and that was pretty old to me.

FUCHS: Was he interested in 10th Ward politics?

EVANS: No, except he was a Democrat. He took no part in the local Democrats around 26th and Prospect. He was busy running his drugstore.

FUCHS: Politics wasn't talked much in the drugstore

[54]

then?

EVANS: No. Politics really wasn't talked very much in the drugstore, that was always reserved for the club.

FUCHS: What was the club like? Did Mike have an office?

EVANS: Yes, there was two offices there, one with a telephone in it. I guess it was Mike's office. It wasn't occupied very much except on meeting nights and during political campaigns. But there was a telephone in there.

Incidentally, when my wife and I were married, we lived with her folks; it was the only way I could get married, to be honest with you. They lived right next door on the second floor to the 10th Ward Democratic Club.

FUCHS: Was the Club on the second floor?

EVANS: Yes. For me to go to the club, I just had to step through a window off of our back porch; I don't think we were there quite a year. We would

[55]

have entertainment at the club maybe once a month of some kind. We'd get the breweries to donate beer and we'd have beer parties. I used to hand out the beer to my father-in-law. Of course, the women didn't drink beer in those days -- in the club, particularly. When I got ready to go home, I'd just step out the window.

FUCHS: Then there were two little offices plus a meeting room?

EVANS: That's right and a platform.

FUCHS: There wasn't always someone in the office, except on meeting nights?

EVANS: Just meeting nights and during political campaigns. Yes, I was a clerk in a precinct when I was fifteen years old.

FUCHS: You didn't have to be of age?

EVANS: Oh, yes, sure. You had to be of age; I had lied so much about my age, I had them sold. In fact, when World War I broke out and the draft

[56]

came along, I actually was not eligible for the draft because I was not old enough, but I had lied so much about my age because as I say, I was so big.

FUCHS: Is your wife -- I shouldn't ask this -- older than you?

EVANS: Yes, she's older than I from January 23rd every year to every September lst, she's older than I am. She was born January 23, 1896 and I was born September 1, 1896, and between January 23 and September 1 each year I never let her forget that she's older than I. On September 1, we become the same age.

FUCHS: Apparently when you were going with her, you wanted her to think you were considerably older than she?

EVANS: I wanted her to know I was as old as her brother who was six years, I think, older than me, maybe five. We were married and our daughter was on the way and we were down at mother's house for

[57]

Sunday dinner and she picked up the old family Bible and found out that, as she said, I was just an infant and she was just mad that she had been deceived. Now, she says she got me young and trained me her way. You know, women always have a way of working things out to their advantage. No one actually knew my right age except my mother and my brother and sister. My good friend Ernest Webster didn't know it and my wife didn't know it -- no one. Along came the draft and I went to mother and mother had a fit because my older brother was then overseas. As I told you, that upset her a great deal. And then to think that her little baby boy, the youngest, who did not have to register for the draft was going to register when he didn't have to, she just said, "You can't."

I said, "That's all right. Do you want me to go to jail; I've been voting, I've been twenty-one years old to all my friends, I've got to."

[58]

FUCHS: Oh, you were voting then?

EVANS: Oh sure. Yes, I must tell you this and remember the statute of limitations has run.

FUCHS: Well, I should have known you were; if you were working in a booth they would expect you to vote.

EVANS: Sure. When I was fifteen (I may have been sixteen) we lived on Park and I told everybody that I was nineteen -- twenty. I had been nineteen so long, I had to be twenty-one. Incidentally, Mr. Truman loves this story; has me tell it now, quite often; he's heard it a dozen times, and when I do tell it I always say, "Don't get excited, I've checked .the statute of limitations has run on it." Joe Clifton was precinct captain at 22^nd and Olive and there he had a little confectionery store -- ice cream cones, drinks. It was really a decent little confectionery store, but gosh, I don't see how he could have ever made a living there, but he did -- Joe Clifton and his wife. Joe

[59]

had a political job too; his wife ran it in the daytime and he and his wife ran it at night. Joe, being the good precinct captain that he was there, of course, insisted, knowing that I was twenty-one years old, should register and vote. So I did; I registered. Then came the election. I'm not sure myself what election it was; Mr. Truman has told me but I'm not even sure that he knows. Anyway, it was in November because there was snow on the ground (I well remember that) election day, and I voted. They gave me a long ballot with the various names of the people seeking various offices on the long, long ballot. Under each one of these was a blank space, I presumed to write in a write-in candidate if a voter wanted to vote for somebody who wasn't on. Anyway, I took that ballot and took it into the booth and wrote Tom Evans on each one of those names all the way down. So, in fact, I voted for myself for every office on the ticket, because I well remember I signed "Tom Evans" probably twenty-five times on that ballot and took it over and handed it to them, and they put

[60]

it in the box. That evening, about seven thirty or quarter till eight, the door bell rang and mother went to the door and she said, "There's a policeman who wants to see you." Well, I had sense enough to know that what I did was wrong--that I knew, but I didn't know quite how wrong. I was scared to death, I don't mind telling you. I looked and that was the biggest policeman I ever saw in my life, and he said, "Get your coat on and come down to the precinct -- the confectionery store." And I got my coat on and I went down there by the side of him and, gee, he was a big policeman. I was so scared I wasn't walking, I was just floating. I didn't know what was going to happen. I wasn't worried so much about me as I was worried about that mother of mine -- that's what I was worrying about. I always wanted her to think her son was a pretty decent guy. I got in and old Joe Clifton, who was also a great big man said, "Now, there's the young man that has reached the age of twenty-one years and has voted for the first time and you want to throw

[61]

his ballot out. I'm ashamed of you. Tom, we have asked you to come down here for one reason. Apparently you didn't understand exactly how to vote. What did you intend to vote for?"

I said, "I intended to vote a straight Democratic ticket."

"See, I told you, you're not going to throw his ballot out. Thank you, Tom. That's all we need."

I was the happiest guy in the world. Now actually, what had happened, when they come to this ballot, the opposition wanted to throw it out, because it was improperly marked. Joe Clifton, being a good precinct captain, said, "No, here's a boy just reached twenty-one years old -- his first vote and you're not going to throw his ballot out. So they finally agreed that if I said I voted, that they would honor it and let me tell them what it was; that's why they brought me down. I must have been sixteen years old. As I say, I checked the statute of limitations has run and they can't...

[62]

FUCHS: That's what you were scared of though. You didn't know you had marked your ballot improperly, by writing your name in?

EVANS: No, I was scared to death that...I figured that was it. So when all the vote frauds came on in Kansas City, I've often said that I was lucky I wasn't in it, because I voted long before I was twenty-one years old; but I'm sure I wasn't the only Goat around there at 26th and Prospect that voted before they was twenty-one years old.

FUCHS: Did your mother hear your sigh of relief clear out to the house?

EVANS: No, I never told her about it. I think I gave her a good story that they wanted me to do some errands for them is why they wanted me down there; I don't think I ever did tell her the truth.

FUCHS: Did she know you had voted?

EVANS: From then on, I'm sure. That's why when the draft came along and I wasn't twenty--ne in the

[63]

first draft, I had to register. That's when I told her I had been voting for all these years. Of course, I was married then. I told you when I registered for the draft, I was married, of course. The baby was on the way.

FUCHS: To go back a little bit, regarding Mr. Truman as a road overseer -- do you recall thinking of himas a road overseer when you were in the meetings at the Democratic 10th Ward Club?

EVANS: I'm under this impression, and I'm going back to the memory of those days. I heard a discussion with him and someone else in the club about some oil and contracts for this oil that they were using on the road, in which he was fussing about the quality of the oil and if the quality wasn't improved, he was going to recommend to the court that they get another source of supply. From that I took that he was a -- frankly, I've never asked him if he was a road overseer or not, but I got it in my mind that he was.

[64]

FUCHS: That's interesting. There is a story that he was a road overseer, succeeding his father who died in November 1914. So he would have been a road overseer -- say from the end of 1914 for an undetermined length of time. The dates we have to establish yet.

EVANS: Well, I think that was about that time, probably. Road overseer didn't mean anything to me, but I remember him -- something to do with the consistency of the oil, it was foreign to me, that gave me the impression...I think my friend Ernest Webster told me that he was an overseer -- my friend then, now my brother-in-law.

FUCHS: I want to establish one fact. Of course, I've read the article about you that appeared in the Kansas City Star and was later published in book form as Leaders in Our Town. In there it stated that you, as well as attending the Kansas City College of Pharmacy, went a year to the University of Kansas. Is that right?

[65]

EVANS: No, that is not true. Where they got that was, after attending the Kansas City College of Pharmacy, I went for what they called a "cram" course at the University of Kansas (K.U.) where you could go and cram on the pharmacy course before you took the public examination. I took the first examination in the pharmacy board at the University of Kansas. It was conducted not by the University of Kansas but in the chemical building at the University of Kansas by the state pharmacy board. So that is probably where that got out.

FUCHS: That was just prior to your getting your state certificate?

EVANS: Becoming a registered pharmacist.

FUCHS: Had you, as they said in that story, always thought of the pharmacy or the drug business as a public service?

EVANS: Well, it was just always second nature with me. Back in Larned, Kansas, my sister whom I said was eight years older than I, had a job

[66]

working in Barber's Cash Drug Store in Larned, Kansas. Let's see, she must have been fifteen when she worked there. I don't know, it just seemed natural for me to always be around the drugstore, plus the fact that father had two brothers, both were doctors, and two of their sons were doctors. Mother had several brothers, but one of them was a doctor. I don't know, it was just sort of second nature with me.

As I said, when I worked for McPike Drug Company, that's when my wife and I were married, and then I went on and was made a salesman with McPike, calling on the drug trade. Then, I figured I'd make more money in some other line and I went into the cigar business. Well, I went into the candy business first -- selling candy.

FUCHS: I understood you were quite successful as a salesman for McPike the wholesale druggist.

EVANS: Well, I was pretty successful, Jim, but not due to any great ability on my part.

One of the city's salesmen when I worked for

[67]

McPike Drug Company, was a man by the name of Harry Pierce, who was a wonderful fellow; he was city salesman. He used to phone the orders into the city desk. He would ask for me and liked to have me take his orders because I could take them faster than some of the other boys. He was always in a hurry. So we became pretty good friends, mainly because I could take his orders to his satisfaction and he got few errors on them. One day, he came in and he said to me, "I want you to go up and see the boss. I'm going up to resign. I'm buying a drugstore" -- this will be peculiar to you -- "at Independence at Monroe." (That's where my father had the livery stable if you recall, Independence Avenue and Monroe.) "Nobody knows yet and I want you to go up as soon as I come down, and apply for my job and I'll recommend that you have it."

So he went upstairs and turned in his resignation and I followed him right up the steps and asked for his job. Let's see, at that time I

[68]

was -- Harry Pierce thought I was much older -- I was twenty years old. Mr. McPike said, "How old are you, Tom?"

I said, "Twenty-six."

He said, "I don't believe in putting a man out on the road that young; there's too many pitfalls for a young man."

And I said, "Yes, but I'm married and I've got a baby on the way; I won't have any trouble like that."

"Well," he said, "it's against my better judgment to put a man twenty-six years old out, but I'm going to put you out."

I suppose, bless his heart, he'd turn over in his grave if he knew I was only twenty, but I'd lied all my life about my age, as I told you. So I got the job. Well, I didn't know any more about selling than flying an airplane right now; I just didn't know anything; I was scared to death. Harry Pierce, whom I had succeeded, was too busy with his drugstore. He bought his store; he quit. I had to go out by myself. He gave me

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his route list and that's all I had.

Well, I had been going to work on the city desk at seven o'clock in the morning, and on Mondays we'd work until ten or eleven o'clock at night. I was always glad to do that, because when we did we got fifty cents for supper money. We'd get supper for about twenty cents and I'd have about thirty cents profit. Fridays we only worked from about seven until five, but we put in long hours; and when I got this salesman job drugstores opened at seven o'clock in the morning and I'd be at the drugstore at seven o'clock. It was no effort; I was used to it. They didn't close until midnight or eleven o'clock and I'd work until eleven o'clock. In the evening I'd take my wife with me in my little Ford and she'd sit outside while I was in calling on drugstores, and I called on thirty-five or forty every day.

FUCHS: This was all within the town?

EVANS: Yes. Later I went out on the road. After two months on the job -- never will forget it – I walked

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in (and the boys all used to talk about when there was a green slip in the box you were fired. The green slip came from the boss' office and you always had to report there.) and here as a green slip. I was scared to death. I knew I wasn't selling anything; I didn't know what a salesman was supposed to do and I was probably going to lose my job. I was married and had this baby on the way and what a terrible thing it would be. I walked in and was scared to death, and the boss man got up and shook hands with me. "Oh, you did a wonderful job," he said. He handed me a letter and in the letter it said, "Your sales for the month" (whatever month it was) "were $11,500 compared to sales of $3,500 the same month a year ago." And I got a $15.00 a month raise. The next month I got a letter with about the same increase. So I called my friend Harry Pierce and I said, "Harry, were you ill this time last year?"

He said, "No, I've never been ill. Why?"

And I said, "Well, I just got the first

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report on my sales and you only did about $3,500 last month and I did about $11,000."

He said, "Why, no, I wasn't ill; you're just a damn fool; you're working too hard. You shouldn't do that." He said, "I never got out before ten o'clock in the morning. When I used to phone you those orders at seven thirty or eight I was still in bed; and then in the afternoon I went out to the field club at 51st and Swope Parkway and played baseball and tennis. You don't want to work but about three or four hours a day on that job."

Well, I started out working fourteen or fifteen hours a day, six days a week, and I couldn't afford to quit because I would have lost my job, so I kept on; therefore, they thought I was a good salesman, but I wasn't a good salesman.

Incidentally, yesterday, I was visiting with the president of McPike Drug Company, Merle Sperry, who is a young man of thirty-five or thirty-seven years. He's a wonderful fellow, and he was showing me the figures, taken off their punch

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card system, of the sales of the various salesmen. Nowadays, they run about 60 to $80,000 a month; that's how times have changed since 1915 and 1916. Isn't that funny?

But honestly, I did have a good record with McPike, but it wasn't due to anything except the fact that I didn't know any better than to work. I today say -- I said to our general manager's son who just graduated from the university, I said, "Joe," (he's just gone to work for IBM and they're a fine outfit -- wonderful opportunity), and I said, "you've got only one thing to do and that is to work; if you just work you can't help but succeed." He's got a nice personality.

That's all I did; but I'd be at the drugstore at seven o'clock when they'd open and get home about five thirty or a quarter till six and we'd have dinner, and then Mrs. Evans would get in the car and by a quarter of seven I was calling on another drugstore. I enjoyed it; it was just fun. It wasn't any brilliancy on my part; I just worked all the time, that was all. If you go in and call

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on enough people, you can't help but get some business; that's what I was doing. When I decided I wanted to get a retail store of my own, I certainly had no money to buy one. All I had was the desire to own one. I had been calling on them and seeing how horrible they operated; and I just knew that my partner that wanted to go in with me and buy a store could do pretty well if we could buy one, I went to every bank in town except one to borrow money, and everybody said, yes, they'd let me have it, if I'd get so and so to sign my note -- you know, somebody of prominence. Well, I couldn't do that. I finally went to Judge Bland and told him I'd like to borrow $2500 to buy a drugstore, and I wanted to quit my job and buy a drugstore. He loaned it to me. Then I went to the last bank and told them my boss had loaned me $2500 and they loaned me $2500 (he borrowed $2500) and I borrowed $2500 from McPike Drug Company and $2500 from the Columbia National Bank. We hired no help; my wife helped on my shift and Mr. Payne's wife helped on his shift (the only help we had was a soda dispenser

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and a porter and a delivery boy), and one of us was there all the time and both of us were there most of the time. So we practically had no expense and at the end of twelve months, we had paid back the full $10,000. We had put in a new set of fixtures that cost $5,000; we had those paid for. We put in $11,000 worth of inventory and that was paid for, all in the first year. We had a lot of money the first year. One of the reasons we made so much was because we worked eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. All the money we had to draw out of there to live on was enough for groceries, which didn't run very much, and to pay the rent, the lights, heat, water, and the gas in the little apartment we had; so we did pretty well.

FUCHS: What was your principal money-maker in those days? Drugs proper -- patent medicine?

EVANS: Soda fountain. Fifty-five or sixty percent gross on soda fountain and this probably accounted for about forty percent of our business. The prescription business was a good money-maker but only

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about ten percent of our total business.

FUCHS: You said that when you were at McPike Drug Company, you were an order clerk; first, how long were you on that desk before you became a salesman?

EVANS: I think less than a year. It was less than a year when Harry Pierce quit; it seemed like a lot longer. By the way, Harry Pierce still has the same drugstore at Independence Avenue and Monroe on the northwest corner. I see him once in a while; he's still a wonderful guy. But I didn't have any more sense than to go on and add drugstores and add drugstores and add drugstores because I found out I could borrow the money and pay them off in a year, After I paid off the first one in a year, why, my partner and I bought the second one and the profits from that one and the profits from the first one paid off in seven months; we bought the third one and the profits from the three paid off in six months and then we bought the fourth until we went on and on and on. In 1929, we had

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twenty odd stores; and I'll say this, none of them made as good a money as the first one did.

FUCHS: When did you become interested in the cigar business?

EVANS: I resigned my job at McPike's and went into the cigar business, that is, selling cigars, traveling the city and a small territory in eastern Kansas and a small outside territory in Missouri.

FUCHS: Who did you work for?

EVANS: The Schnoor Cigar Company. They sold Portina Cigars. Ed Oberholtz was the Kansas City manager. It was a Wichita concern with a branch office in Kansas City.

And then I went into the candy business. The candy company was Fritche-Henderson Candy Company. They were on West 9th Street in those days. Ed Fritche had been a salesman for Niles & Moser Cigar Company and Art Hendrickson had been a salesman for Stickney Cigar Company in St. Louis, and they started this wholesale candy business. They'd

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seen me working on the street -- found out I was silly enough to get out at seven o'clock in the morning and work until midnight, so they hired me and I had to keep on doing that.

I was working for Fritche-Henderson when World War I came along, and they had a great ruling that anyone in non-essential business had to get into an essential business or the draft boards had a right to pull you out. Selling candy was not very essential plus the fact the sugar allotments were cut down and couldn't get much candy. Anyway, I wanted to get in the service; but I was married and was actually exempt from it. My wife was raising the dickens when I wanted to get in the service. Because of my pharmaceutical training, I was able to go into the chemical warfare branch and was stationed in Nitro, West Virginia, in a chemical warfare plant and adjacent to it was a munitions factory. That's where I spent World War I.

FUCHS: How long were you in the military then?

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EVANS: Not too very long, really. I've forgotten the date that I went in, but anyway, I was there in Nitro, West Virginia, probably about sixty to ninety days when I took sick with the famous flu of those days, when so many people died. I was put in the base hospital. My wife and daughter, who was then about a year old as I remember, were on the way to Nitro, West Virginia to see me when I took sick. Before giving up and going to the hospital, I waited until they arrived and met them at the train. I'll never forget, when my wife stepped off with our little youngster, I reached up to get her and passed out, and they took me to the base hospital where I had the 1918 famous flu and pneumonia and, in fact, they had given me up. My wife came down with the flu and Ella Mae, our little one year old daughter, she came down with it. They had her in one hospital and Mrs. Evans in another and I in another. Some kind soul wired my mother and she and my sister came back and my sister got it. She was in another hospital. The daughter was terribly ill; they had given up on her entirely,

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but thank goodness she made it, and I made it. But I was terribly weak and after about six weeks in the hospital, there in Nitro, and a month there in our quarters that I had for my wife and I, I was given a medical discharge with apparently an infected lung. I was told that I had tuberculosis and was sent to a town I've heard of but never got there, Battle Mountain, Nevada. That was, I am almost sure, in December of 1918, after the war was over because the Armistice celebration -- incidentally we had two; I guess they did every place, but I remember the second one in Nitro; I had just gotten home from the hospital, that is, home in Nitro. And the first fake celebration, I was in the hospital; so that was the period when it happened.

My wife, the baby and I started for Battle Mountain, Nevada and the train came through Kansas City. I weighed, I think, eighty-one pounds; I had weighed a hundred and sixty-five when I went in the service. I know I could take my trousers around my leg (there was just skin and bones) and wrap them clear around and half again. It doesn't

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seem possible now, when I think about, I'm sorry to say, weighing this morning, 207 pounds. anyway, Mother had just returned with my sister (she got well too, thank goodness) and we got off the train and was going to stay a couple of days. I went home and walked in the house, Mother was cooking and I sat down and, I guess, ate probably the biggest meal I ever ate in my life. To make a long story short, apparently all I needed was some good home-cooked food and a lot of rest, because I never went any farther. I stayed there; I never went on west and I ate six or eight meals a day for probably a month or six weeks and gained back my weight and strength and got to feeling good. The only effect I ever had from that terrible flu and pneumonia was apparently, in those days, a weak lung and with a cold I could very easily go into pneumonia. I had been subject to pneumonia as a real young youngster, having had pneumonia a dozen times, I guess, which most people can't believe. Then after that I had pneumonia at least four or five times and, of course, that was

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in the days before antibiotics and most people, I guess, died when they got pneumonia; but I managed to make it. I had, in my left side, a notch cut in my ribs where they could put a tube for draining purposes. That only lasted about three years and then I completely got over it and I've never had any trouble since. I had pneumonia once, about five years ago, but that's the only time since 1920, except once in between. So that was about my history in Nitro. Most of it was spent in the base hospital with all my family.

FUCHS: You were going to Battle Mountain to be discharged?

EVANS: No, I was going to Battle Mountain, which in those days was a Government camp for Tuberculosis personnel.

FUCHS: Did you have your discharge?

EVANS: No, I hadn't had my discharge.

FUCHS: When did you get your discharge?

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EVANS: They gave it to me here when I reported here that I was well and they sent me for an examination and just gave it to me here. I think I went to Leavenworth and got it, but I got it here. I never did go to Battle Mountain.

FUCHS: Were there other Kansas City men at Nitro that you knew?

EVANS: No, the only one who accompanied me was my wife's brother. We both went into the service at the same time. Incidentally, he never got sick. He was about the only one of the whole group that didn't. There must have been other Kansas City men, because when we went, we went full of military personnel and all bound for Nitro. I think they were all from in and around Kansas City. I wasn't there too long until I got sick, so I never did know any of them.

FUCHS: Well, then, by the end of 1918, you were out of the service. What did you do in the interim between that time and when you acquired your own

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drugstore?

EVANS: Actually, I think it was just before Christmas of 1918 when I was en route to Battle Mountain and stopped over in Kansas City; and then, as near as I remember, it was April before I was really, fully recovered and received my discharge. Then I went back to work for Fritche-Henderson, selling candy, where I was when I went into the service. I took back my old territory and I think that was April 15, 1919, when I was able to go back with Fritche-Henderson and on my territory. I had a friend, C. C. Payne, who was also born in Larned, Kansas, and lived there (he was older than I); but we were well-acquainted and he was a druggist. Incidentally, he worked for the same drugstore where my sister did in Larned, Kansas -- the old Barber's Cash Drugstore that we've mentioned before.