Hatrack, by Herbert Asbury

7/28/2019 Hatrack, by Herbert Asbury

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A MERCURY REPRINT

H A T R A C KBY HERBERT ASBURY

WHEN I was a boy in Fa rm ing ton ,Missouri, it was the custom ofour pastors and pious brethren, and ofthe professional devil-chasers whowere imp orted as reinforcements fromtime to time, to proclaim loudly andincessantly that our collective moralswere compounded of a slice of Sodomand a cut of Gomorrah, with an extract of Babylon to flavor the stew.Th ey worried con stantly and fretfullyover our amorous activities; they regarded every man except the veryaged and decrepit as a potential seducer, and every young girl as a prospective daughter of sin, whose salvation depended almost entirely uponthe volume of noise they themselvescould make.

In their more feverish discourses appeared significant references to the

great difficulty of remaining pu re, andin effect they advised our youngwomen to go armed to the teeth, prepared to do battle in defense of theirvirginity. These gloomy predictionsof the inevitabihty of seduction naturally had a tremendous effect uponyoung minds; very likely it was aftershe had heard the ravings of such anevangelist that the little girl of thefable, requested by her teacher todefine a virgin, replied, "A femaleperson under five years of age."

In all the small towns of the M iddleWest this sort of thing was the principal stock in trad e of those who w ouldlead their brethren to the worship ofthe current God. I do not recall everhaving heard an evangelist, whetherprofessional or amateur, who did notassure his hearers that their town wasHERBERT ASBURY leaped into the national sp otlight literally overnigh t with the appear-ance of "Hatrac\" which the New England Watch and Ward Society and other bluenosesdenounced as "salacious." For a time they managed to have that issue of THE AMERICAN

MERCURY barred from public sale and b anned from the mails. The editor personally went toBoston a nd had himself arrested, as a test case, on Boston C omm on for selling the issue. Thereensued a long series of litigations, during which " Hatracl(' achieved a popularity probably un-equalled in the history of periodical journalism. The article may appear somew hat tame now,but that is only because the public attitude toward ' 'salacious" literature has matured a ma-turity for which the crusading of the MERCURY is in large part respo nsible. The article, whichfirst appeared in April 7926, is one of a series of occasional MERCURY reprints.567

The American Mercury April 1926


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568 T H E A M E R I C A N M B R C U R Yoverrun by harlots, and that brothelsabounded in which leading citizensabandoned themselves to shamefulorgies while church attendance dwindled, and collections became smallerand smaller, and chicken appeared lessand less frequently upon the m i n i s ~terial table. Their tirades \Vere generally in this fashion:

Shall we permit these painteddaughters of Jezebel, these bedizenedhussies, to stalk the streets of this faircity and flaunt their sin in the face ofthe Lord? Shall we permit them tolure our sons and brothers into theirvile haunts and ply their nefarioustrade in the very shadow of the Houseof God?'No! I say NO! Jesus Christmust live in this town!Immediately everyone shouted,"Amen, Brother!" and "Praise the

Lord!" But it was sometimes difficult to determine whether the congregation praised the Lord for inspiring the evangelist to so courageouslydefy the harlots, or for permittinghim to discover them. I f the Man ofGod could find them, why not thedamned too? Certainly there werealways many who wondered if thebrother had acquired any good addresses or telephone numbers sincecoming to town. Not infrequently,indeed, he was stealthily shadowedhome by young men eager to settlethat question.

These charges and denunciations

were repeated by the evangelist at themeetings for men only, which were always a most interesting feature of therevivals. At similar gatherings forwomen, or ladies, as we called themin small tO\vn journalism, his \vife or adevout sister discussed the questionfrom the feminine viewpoint. \Vhatwent on at these latter conclaves I donot know, though I can guess, for Ihave often seen young girls comingout of them giggling and blushing.The meetings for men only \Vere juicyindeed. The evangelist discussed allangles of the subject, and in a veryfree manner. His own amorous exploits before he became convertedwere recited in considerable detail,and he painted vivid word pictures ofthe brothels he had visited, both as apaying client and in the course of hisholy work. Almost invariably theywere subterranean palaces hung withsilks and satins, with soft rugs uponthe floor, and filled with a vast multitude of handsome young women, allas loose as ashes. Having thus intimated, with some smirking, that formany years he \Vas almost the sole support of harlotry, he became confidential. He leaned forward and said;

"There are such Dens of the Devilright here in your town!"

This was first-class information, andimmediately there was a stir in theaudience, many of his hearers betraying an eagerness to be gone. But be-


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H A T R A C K

fore they could get away the evangelist thundered:"Shall we permit them to continuetheir wicked practices?"

I always hoped to be present someday when the audience forgot itselfand answered that question with thereply that was so plainly in its mind,namely, "Yes!" But alas, I neverheard it, although there was muchshouting of "Amen!" and "Glory toGod!" These meetings for men onlywere generally held in the afternoon,and their net result was that the business of the dru!!store increased im-

"mediately, and when night fell band$of young good-for-nothings scurriedhither and yon about the town, searching feverishly for the Dens of theDevil. They searched without fear,confident that modern science wouldsave them from any untoward c o n s e ~quences, and knowing that no matterwhat they did they would go toheaven if they permitted a ministerto intercede for them in the end, or apriest to oil them with holy unguents.

But the Dens of the Devil were notfound, neither in Farmington nor inany other small town in that region,for the very good reason that theydid not exist. The evangelist did notknow what he vvas talking about; hewas simply using stock blather that hehad found by experience would excitethe weak-minded to both sexual andreligious emotions, which are very

similar. He knew that when they werethus upset they would be less likelyto question his ravings - that theywould be more pliable in his handsand easier to convert. I t is, in fact,well-nigh impossible to convert anyone who can keep his head and retaincontrol of his emotions. Such a personis likely to giggle during the mostsolemn moments, and nothing is moredestructive of evangelical fervor thana hearty giggle.

II

Our small towns were not overrun byharlots for the plain reason that harlotry could not flourish in a smalltown. It was economically impossible;there were not enough cash customersto make the scarlet career profitable.Also, the poor girls had to meet toomuch competition from emotional la 4dies who had the professional spiritbut retained their amateur standingby various technicalities. And harlots,like the rest of us, had to live; theyrequired the same sort of raimentand food that sufficed their virtuoussisters; it was not until they died thatthey wore nothing but the smoke ofhell and were able to subsist on a dietof brimstone and sulphur.

~ v f a n y men who in larger comrnun.ities would have patronized the professionals could not do so in a smalltown. They could not afford to ; it wastoo dangerous. The moment a woman


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THE AMERICAN M B R C U R Ywas suspected of being a harlot shewas watched eagerly by everyonefrom the mayor down to the p r e a c h ~ers, and the name of every man seentalking to her, or even looking at her,went winging swiftly from mouth tomouth, and was finally posted on theheavenly bulletin board as that of animmoral wretch. A house in whichharlotry was practiced was picketedday and night by small boys eager tolearn the forbidden mysteries, and bybrethren and sisters hopefully sniffing.It was not possible for a harlot to keepher clientele secret, for the sexual lifeof a small town is an open book, andnews of amorous doings could nottravel faster if each had a tabloidnewspaper.

Exact statistics, of course, are notavailable, but it is probably true thatno small American town has everharbored a harlot whose professionalincome was sufficient to feed andclothe her. Few ifany such towns haveever been the a bode of more than oneharlot at a time. When I was a boyevery one had its own harlot, just as ithad its town sot (this, of course, wasbefore drunkards became extinct),and its town idiot. But she was gen-erally a poor creature who was em-ployed by day as a domestic servantand practiced her ancient art only inher hours of leisure. She turned to itpartly for economic reasons, andpartly because of a great yearning for

human companionship, which shecould obtain in no other way. She re-mained in it because she was almostinstantly branded a Daughter of Sa-tan, and shunned by good and badalike. She seldom, ifever, realized thatshe was doing wrong; her moral stand-ards were those of a bedbug. Shethought of harlotry in terms of newribbons and an occasional pair ofshoes, and in terms of social inter-course; she was unmoral rather thanimmorat and the proceeds of herprofession, to her, were just so muchextra spending money.Small town men who occasionallyvisited the larger cities, and therethought nothing ofspending from tento fifty dollars in metropolitan broth-els, were very stingy in dealing withthe town harlot. They considered adollar an enormous price for her, andfrequently they refused to give heranything. Many small communitieswere not able to support even a part-time harlot; consequently some mem-bers of the craft went from town tatown, taking secular jobs and practic-ing harlotry as a side line until drivenout by the godly or until the inevita-ble business depression occurred. Irecall one who made several townsalong the 0 . K. Railroad in North-eastern Missouri as regularly as theshoe drummers. Her studio was al-ways an empty box car on the townsiding, and she had a mania for in


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HA TRACK 571scribing in such cars the exact datesand hours of her adventures, and herhonoraria. It was not unusual to findin a car some such inscription as this:

Ten P.M., July 8. Fifty cents.These writings, scrawled in leadpencil or with a bit of chalk, weresigned "Box Car Molly." Once, in acar from which I had unloaded manyheavy bags of cement, I came acrosswhat seemed to be a choice bi t of veryearly, and apparently authentic BoxCar-Molliana. On the wall was this:

I was ruined in this car May 10 .Box Car Moily

I I I

Our town harlot in Farmington wasa scrawny creature called variouslyFanny Fewclothes and Hatrack, butusually the latter in deference to herfigure. When she stood with her armsoutstretched she bore a remarkableresemblance to the tall hatracks thenin general use in our homes, and sinceshe \Vas always most amiable andobliging, she was frequently asked topose thus for the benefit of drummersand other infidels. In time, she cameto take a considerable pride in thiscom plishment; she referred to herselfas a model, and talked vague!y ofabandoning her wicked life and goingto St . Louis, where she was sure shecould make a living posing for artists.Six days a week Hatrack was a

competent and more or less virtuousdrudge employed by one of our bestfamilies, but Sunday was her day off,and she thent in turn, offered her soulto the Lord and went to the devil.For the latter purpose she utilized theIvfasonic and Catholic cemeteries,which were side by side, al thoughtheir occupants presumably went todifferent heavens. Hatrack's regularSunday night parade, her descentfrom righteousness to sin, was one ofthe most fascinating events of theweek, and promptly after supperthose of us who did not have engagements to take young ladies to church(which was practically eq ui valen t topublishing the banns), went downtown to the loafing place in front ofthe Post Office and waited impatiently.

On week days Hatrack turned adeaf ear to the blandishments of ourroues, but on Sunday night she wasvery gracious and receptive. This,however, was not until she had goneto church and had been given to understand, tacitly but none the lessclearly, that there was no room forher in the Kingdom of Heaven. OurSunday night services usually beganabout eight o'clock, following themeetings of the various young peo#ple's societies. At seven thirty, regardless of the weather, the angularfigure of Hatrack could be discernedcoming down the hill from the direc-


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572 T H E A M E R I C A N M E R C U R Ytion of the cemeteries. She lived o m e ~where in that section and \Vorked byrhe day. She was always dressed in herbest, and in her eyes was the light of agreat resolve. She was going tochurch. and there \\'as that in herwalk and manner which said thatthereafter she was going to lead abetter life.

There was always a group of menwaiting for her around the Post Of-fice. But although several always muttered, "Here she comes!" it was notgood form to speak to her then, andshe \valked past them as though shehad not seen them. But they, withtheir wide knowledge of the vagariesof the agents of the Lord, grinnedhopefully and settled down to wait.Thev knew she would be back. She"went on up the street past the CourtHouse and turned in to the NorthernMethodist Church, where she took aseat in the last row. All about herwere empty seats; if they were notempty when she got there they weresoon vacated. No one spoke to her.!'Jo one asked her to come to Jesus. Noone held out a welcoming hand. Noone prayed for her. No one offered hera hymn-book. At the protractedmeetings and revivals, which she invariably attended, none of the brothers and sisters tried to convert her;she was a Scarlet Woman and belonged to the devil. There was noplace for her in a respectable congre-

gation. They could not afford to beseen talking to her, even in church,where God's love, bv their theorv," ,made brothers and sisters of us all.

It was painful to watch her; she listened to the \Vord with such rapt attention; she sang the hymns with suchfanatical fervor, and she plainlyvearned for the comforts of that bar-.baric religion and the blessings of easyintercourse with decent people. Butshe never got them. From the Christians and their God she got nothingbut scorn. Of all the sinners in ourtown Hatrack would have been theeasiest to convert; she was so eager forsalvation. I f a preacher, or a brother,or a sister, had so much as spoken akind word to her she would havedropped to her knees and given upher soul. And her conversion, in alllikelihood, would have been permanent, for she was not mentallyequipped for a struggle against thegrandiose improbabilities of revealedreligion. I f someone had told her, as Iwas told, that God was an old manwith long whiskers, she would nothave called him "Daddy," as some ofher more flippant city sisters mighthave done; she would have acceptedHim and gloried in Him.

But she was not plucked from theburning, for the workers for the Lordwould have nothing to do with her,and by the end of the service her eyeshad grown sullen and her lip had


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HA TR.ACK 573curled upward in a sneer. Before thefinal hymn was sung and the benedic-tion pronounced upon the congrega-tion she got to her feet and left thechurch. None tried to stop her; shewas not wanted in the House of God.I have seen her sit alone and miserablyunhappy while the preacher belloweda sermon about f o r g i v e n e s s ~ with thewhole church rocking to a chorus of"amens" as he told the stories of vari-ous Biblical harlots, and how God hadforgiven them.

But for Hatrack there was no for-giveness. Mary ~ f a g d a l e n e was aSaint in heaven 1 but Hatrack re-mained a harlot in Farmington. EverySunday night for years she wentthrough the same procedure. She washopeful always that someone wouldspeak to her and make a place for her,that the brothers and sisters whotalked so volubly about the grace andthe mercy of God would offer hersome of the religion that they drippedso freely over everyone else in to-vvn.But they did not, and so she wentback down the street to the Post Of-fice, swishing her skirts and offeringherself to all who desired her. Themen who had been waiting for her,and who had known that she would

come, leered at her and hailed herwith obscene speech and gesture. Andshe gave them back leer for leer,1neeting their sallies with giggles, andmotioning with her head toward thecemeteries.And so she went up the hill. A littlewhile later a man left the group, re-marking that he must go home. Hefollowed her. And a moment afterthat another left, and then another,until behind Hatrack was a line ofmen, about one to a block, whowould not look at one another, andwho looked sheepishly at the groundwhen they met anyone coming theother way. As each man accosted herin turn Hatrack inquired whether hewas a Protestant or a Catholic. If hewas a Protestant she took him intothe Catholic cemetery; if he was aCatholic thev went into the Masonic.Icemetery.

They paid her what they liked, ornothing, and she was grateful forwhatever she received. It was Hatrackwho made the remark that was fa-mous in our town for many years. Toa stranger who offered her a dollar shesaid:

"You know damned well I haven'tgot any change."

Hatrack, by Herbert Asbury

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