Ralph Hemingray paid his workers in gold as a result of lost bet

Election Bet Payoff Here

Recalls Pranks of The Past

Event Scheduled for Saturday

Afternoon.

BY ROBERT WILLIAMSON.

Most men, unless prompted by an excess of hard stuff from a brown bottle, would not be seen today push­ing a peanut down Walnut St. Yet 40 years ago it was a common sight in mid-November, for the men of those turn of the century days were dead serious about elections and will­ing to back their favorites with money, muscles and modesty.

That old election spirit, although laid in the coffin long ago, still has a good breath or two left. It will come to life briefly between 2 and 3 p. m. Saturday when Opie Reed, Democratic precinct committeeman in No. 4, pays off a wager made to John F. Banta, furniture salesman and Republican committeeman of Precinct 10.

Previous to the Nov. 3 election, so Reed relates, Banta, who liked John Hampton in the mayoralty race, of­fered to bet a new hat against Reed’s much prized white derby. The Dem­ocratic committeeman, who reput­edly covets the hat so much that he wears it to bed each night, wouldn’t risk the fancy lid on Joe Louis, even if the Brown Bomber were matched against a Singer midget.

So this compromise was worked out, a la the best Gay Nineties election bet formula. The loser to drive the winner through the downtown district behind a spanking team of horses said winner to wear the white derby. Reed announced today that he had arranged for the horse and rig, and would pay to Banta Saturday afternoon.

The wager, however, is hardly as extreme as some of those of the Nineties when, as one old timer relates, "it was a regular three ring circus after elections as the boys paid off those crazy bets."

Ray Andrews, who has been in Muncie during a long span of its history, recalls one of the more famous of 1896. It was between Obed Kilgore, widely known Mt. Pleasant Township Democrat, and a Repub­lican. The loser, according to the wager’s terms, was to walk from the Muncie railroad depot to the depot at Yorktown, stepping on every rail­road tie en route. Kilgore, so An­drews reports, lost, as he had bet against Sheriff Thomas Starr, an­other famous character of Delaware County’s past.

While a large crowd looked on, Kilgore set out. A gang of youngsters. of which Andrews was one, marched along with the tie walker to see that he didn't skip a single timber. He missed once, Andrews reports, when he was only a mile from Yorktown, and had to begin all over again.

That second trip, a train came along. A knife was stuck in the tie on which the loser was standing, and the train was allowed to pass. During the confusion someone moved up the knife. Kilgore walked on to Yorktown, but it was proved that the knife had been moved, and Kilgore made the trip again, successfully this third time.

A huge gum drop hoax is recalled in which figured V. W. Jones, treas­urer of the Democratic central com­mittee. Jones had a standing election bet with Robert (Shorty) Jones, father of Claude G. Jones, unsuc­cessful Democratic candidate for county clerk. After each election the loser, without fail, presented the other with a sack of gumdrops.

One election, Robert Jones made the error of telling his friend, "Go buy the gum drops yourself and send the bill to me." The winner went to a candy store and had each gum drop made in a large crock. Those giant gumdrops cost the loser $28.

The partisan newspapers of those days chuckled mightily over election bets, particularly when the loser was a member of the opposition party.

Newspapers Were Promoters.

Reported the Muncie News on Nov. 11, 1900: "Then appeared a sight to raise a laugh at one man’s expense, but he took it merrily. It was a wheelbarrow trundled along by Charles Starbuck, and in the horseless carriage rode in state, if a little unsteadily, Alvin Neville. Al­vin had bet on McKinley and Charles had taken the short end of it on Bryan, and was paying the penalty. A trio of wistful Demo­crats followed: Roy France, Dan Clark and Charles Morris; they too were paying off election bets and they did it bravely."

And chortled the Muncie Daily Herald of Nov. 12, 1892: "Dont fail to turn out and see Officer Curt Turner beat the bass drum for sev­eral squares and Officer George Benadum ride Officer John Heffner in a wheelbarrow tomorrow aternoon [sic] afternoon." The losers had wagered on Harrison, who was defeated by Cleveland, the Democrat.

Boasted the Muncie Daily Times in an editorial of Nov. 9, 1888: "The Herald (Democratic) was the only paper in Muncie that advised betting and its dupes are now going about the streets mourning. Boys, please remember that the Times advised against betting and then you can decide who is your best friend."

And one more, from the Muncie Herald of Nov. 9, 1896: "A novel wager was made before the election between Uncle John Fadely, Demo­crat. and Harry Roads, Republican. As McKinley was elected. Mr. Fade­ly will wheel Mr. Roads in a wheel­barrow from Westside to the court­house square and return, which will be quite a difficult task and will, of course, create quite a great deal of fun for the Republicans."

Many times the loser would hoist his victorious opponent to his shoulders, carry him around the courthouse square. On other occa­sions the loser had to move a pile of several thousand bricks, one by one, to another spot. If he made the mistake of going away and leaving his chore, pranksters often would undo all his work by carrying the bricks back to the original pile.

Political Graveyard.

Ray Andrews relates that it was the custom for a losing candidate to "bury his democracy" in a grave dug in the courthouse yard. His opponent had the privilege of erecting a cross over the pseudo grave with a suit­able epitaph. "That courthouse yard used to look like a graveyard after an election," says Andrews.

Some election bet losers rolled pea­nuts around the square. The peanut most often was pushed with two sticks, rolled along between a chalk line two inches wide. Hecklers watching the process would throw rocks at the nut, kick it, etc. Some­times it was a week before the luck­less loser could complete the project.

One election bet started a custom, recalls Cy Herron. Ralph Hemingray, during one campaign, agreed to meet his factory payroll in gold if his side lost. It did. Hemingray always thereafter paid his workers in gold, even traveling to Cincin­nati on occasion to get the yellow currency. This caught on, and it be­came a custom in many Midwest factories to pay in gold.

Gundy Andrews remembers when Oliver Carnes, prominent Demo­crat, and owner of a famous black team, hitched one horse backwards and the other , in the regular way to a wagon, drove them from the river to the railroad. Some $3,000 was bet by onlookers on whether or not he could accomplish the feat.

Bets frequently backfired, Members of one party, previous to an election before the century’s turn, agreed to provide a barbecue for the other side as a forfeit for losing an election. The beef was killed and was hanging in a Muncie saloon. Before the barbecue date a railroad train killed a good sized colt near Muncie. The losing party got the colt, skinned it, served it up in place of the beef. The truth, made known some days later, caused quite a bit of consternation among the feasters.

Another bet backfired on a famed town ne'er-do-well of many years ago. Never known for sartorial per­fection, the man appeared on the street one day after the election, re­splendent in a new suit, perfumed and barbered, outfitted with all the odds and ends and accessories that, in those days, went to make a gen­tleman. He had been staked to the dress by the loser of an election bet.

When the man arrived home his wife, failing to recognize him in the unaccustomed attire, shut the door in his face. His dog also didn't know him, attacked, bit his ankle and tore the leg out of his new pair of pants.