I WAS BORN NEAR HARRISON AND CLARK STREETS IN CHICAGO, THE SON
of Mr. and Mrs. Otto Weil, who were reputable, hard-working
people. They ran a grocery store which brought them a modest
sustenance. I was sent to the public school at Harrison Street and
Third Avenue. I can, without boasting, say that I was a bright pupil.
Proficient in all my studies, I was particularly good at mathematics.
After classes, I helped Mother in the store, though there were times
when I sneaked off to the racecourse. Horse racing had a strong
appeal for me, especially the betting. But my folks could not afford
to give me money to bet on the races. When I was seventeen, I "quit" school and went to work. For
about two years I worked as a collector. The salary was not large —
by no means enough to satisfy my wants. But I soon discovered that,
by the use of my wits, I could earn more on the side than my regular
salary.
There were other collectors, cashiers, and bookkeepers. If there
was a scrupulous one in the lot, I don't recall him. Each was en-
trusted with the handling of money. The bookkeepers were supposed
to record everything that the collectors brought in. I quickly dis-
covered how much skulduggery went on. The collectors were not turning in all they collected, the cashiers were holding back a little out of each collection, and the book-
keepers were not recording all that finally reached them. By various
means, they managed to cover up their peculations.
I was just a young fellow, but I had a sharp eye and a quick wit.
When I quietly made it known to my fellow employees that I was aware of their peccadillos, they became ready, without further urging,
to contribute small sums so that I would keep their secrets. All told,
these sums amounted to considerably more than I was ever paid in
salary.
During this time, I met a beautiful girl. I called on her regularly
and, before long, we were engaged to be married.
One day I took her to meet my folks. My mother looked her over and approved. She called me to one side.
"Joe," Mother whispered, "she is a beautiful girl. But she is a
girl for a rich man. She should not be a poor man's wife."
"And I'm not going to be a poor man!" I replied. "I will give her
everything she wants."
Having seen my parents struggle for their existence — my mother
got up at five in the morning to open the store — I knew that such
a life was not for me. Further, I had seen how much more money
was being made by skulduggery than by honest toil. In my travels about the city as a collector, I had run into a customer
who interested me very much. At other times, I saw him at the race- courses and in the saloons.
Doc Meriwether always seemed to have an inexhaustible supply
of money, a large part of which he spent at the race tracks. One
day we got to talking over a glass of beer.
"Joe," he said, "you're a bright young fellow. How much do you
make on that collecting job?"
"Not much," I admitted and told him the amount.
"It's not enough. How would you like to go to work for me?"
"I'd like to," I replied. "But what do you have that I can do?"
"Plenty," he declared. "And I'll pay you three times what you're
making now."
He explained his proposition in detail. I didn't need much
time to make a decision. At the end of the month, I left my job and
went to work for Doc Meriwether.
Doc Meriwether was one of the most picturesque characters in the
Middle West. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and gaunt. He wore
a Van Dyke beard and pince-nez glasses. He usually dressed in black — black trousers and black frock coat with extra longa flowing black cravat that covered half his shirt front.

Out on the far west side of Chicago, Doc Meriwether had a "plant"
where he manufactured "Meriwether's Elixir," — good for the ills of
man or beast. Doc particularly urged it as a sure cure for tapeworm.
Meriwether's Elixir was put up in tall, thirty-two-ounce bottles. It was a dark liquid with a pleasant taste — Doc saw to that by putting
in a little of the right flavoring. He left most of the bottling and
manufacturing to his wife, a buxom, pleasant-faced, industrious
woman. The Doc felt that he had done his share of the work when
he made up the formula.
I don't remember the exact recipe now. But the chief ingredient
was rain water, caught and strained in big cisterns in the back yard
of Doc's combined home and factory. This rain water was drained
oflf a barrel at a time, and into it Mrs. Meriwether mixed the other
ingredients.
One of these was cascara, just the right amount in each thirty-
two-ounce bottle to get results — plus alcohol. It was an evil-looking
concoction, but pleasant enough to take, thanks to the alcohol and
flavoring which Doc had thoughtfully included.
I cannot truthfully say whether anyone who took the Elixir ever got rid of a tapeworm or not. But many thought they did, for the cascara worked on everybody. As matter of fact, I doubt if very
many people had tapeworm, though nearly all imagined they did.
For in that period we had a tapeworm fad. Everybody who was
undernourished, anemic, or suffered from some form of malnutrition,
was firmly convinced that a parasitic tapeworm was eating away his
substance. Consequently, Doc Meriwether's Elixir was a pushover at a dollar a bottle.
Meriwether's Elixir was not on sale at drug stores, though a few
grocers and general merchants carried it. Most of it was sold by the
Doc himself, during the summer months when he toured the bucolic
areas. Farmers and residents of the smaller towns were easily con- vinced that they harbored the tapeworm.
The Doc had a medicine show which appealed to men. In addition
to Indians, he had a couple of girl dancers. He made it a point to park his big wagon at a spot where the males congregated. It man's world — in those days. Any crowd in a public place was likely to consist largely of men.

I acted in various capacities, depending on the locality. In some
instances, I was a barker and helped to attract a crowd. At other times,
I remained in the background and was the "shill," posing as a customer from another community.
As soon as Doc had entertained the crowd a while, he would go
into his spiel. "Some of you men are healthy," he would say. "I can
tell that by looking at you. But there are many of you who are not. Why? I think I would be quite safe in saying that a tapeworm is eating your life away. A sallow complexion, hollow cheeks, lean
faces, wrinkled brows — these are all symptoms of the existence of a tapeworm.
"Are you men going to let a parasite eat away your body, your very
life? Or do you intend to do something about it?" Here, he put up
a hand as somebody started to speak. "I know what you're going to
say. You've had the family doctor in. He's given you something for
it, but it didn't work.
"Well, I've got something that will work. It's absolutely guaranteed
to get results. Meriwether's Elixir is the product of years of research.
It has been found to be an absolute cure, through elimination, of the
worst tapeworm that ever preyed on a man's life." He exhibited the bottle with the fancy label and the black liquid.
If there was good response. Doc Meriwether kept up a constant, jovial
flow of patter and took in the dollars. But if business was slow, that
was my cue to step in.
"I'll take two bottles," I would say.
"Two bottles, sir? But one bottle is enough to rid you of tape-
worm."
"It's not for me," I would say. "It's for my two children."
"Have you used this preparation before?"
"Indeed I have, Doctor. In fact, I owe my life to it." "Would you mind telling us about it?" Doc would invite.
"Well, all right. A year ago, I was so run down and emaciated
that I was not able to walk, let alone tend my farm. Doctors had
done all they could for me, but my case had been given up as hopeless.

The mortgage on my farm was nearly due. I thought that I would
lose everything and that my poor wife and children would go hungry."
I would pause here to brush a sleeve across my eyes.
"Then I heard about Meriwether's Elixir. I bought a bottle of it. I didn't think it would do me much good, but everything was lost,
anyhow. So I took it. Before I had finished the bottle, my tapeworm
had been ehminated. I was able to walk again. I got my strength
back. Soon I began to recover. I felt so much better that I was able
to do twice as much work. My crops were extra good. The mortgage
was paid off. "And I owe it all to Meriwether's Elixir. I'm going to give it to
my two kids. I'd buy it, even if it was five dollars a bottle."
"Sir," would be Doc Meriwether's tremulous reply, "you have
stirred me deeply. You have made me feel that I have done some-
thing worth while for humanity. As a token of my regard, let me
present you with two bottles — absolutely free."
This bit of play-acting usually brought the crowd around. They
almost pushed each other over in their rush to hand in their dollars
for the wonderful mixture.
This may sound unbelievable, due to the naivete of the rural people
of the nineties.
It is true that the medicine man and his traveling show have nearly
disappeared from the American scene. But the same old fraud is still going on. In a new and fancier dress it's being promoted by medicine
men with millions at their command. Their audience is nationwide
and includes more city people than farmers. I refer to the patent-
medicine radio shows.
In addition to the bottles. Doc Meriwether offered a "special" treat- ment at his suite for those who wanted to get rid of their tapeworms
in a hurry and were willing to pay extra for it. The success of the special treatment was mainly a matter of having
the right stage setting and the props. The most important of the latter was a potato. This was peeled into one long coil which, for all I know,
might look like a tapeworm. In an unbroken spiral it was deposited
in a basin and water was poured over it. The basin was carefully hidden in a darkened room.
When the patient arrived, he was treated first in an outer room. Now the mixture was more potent: the chief ingredient was epsom
salts. The patient was allowed to recline on a couch while the medi-
cine took effect. Then he was led into the darkened room. As soon as the dose had acted, he was led into the outer room. That
was my cue. I fetched the previously prepared basin with the potato
peel to the outer room, and handed it to Doc Meriwether.
"There my friend," Doc would say, displaying the basin, "is your
tapeworm! Evil-looking thing, isn't it.''" Every victim of this hoax was deeply impressed. Not one ever questioned it. He paid the ten-dollar fee and left with the feeling
that he had been vastly benefited. Maybe he had.
For he had had a good cleansing, in more ways than one!

What you got here is a real beauty OP. Keep it coming!