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WALT HOLCOMB’S TRIBUTE
I have been asked by Mr. Ralph Bingham, presi
dent of the International Lyceum Association, to
speak this afternoon, for the association, regarding
the work of Mr. Jones on the lyceum and Chautau
qua platform. Also, by Dr. Broughton’s co-workers
to be present and speak of Mr. Jones and the work
of his last days.
Perhaps, not in the history of the church, or the
state has there been just such an assembly as this. We
meet to do honor to a man who stood absolutely
alone in the Christian world. This being true, this
service will go down in history as one separate and
distinct, because of the unique and marvelous per
sonality of the man to whom we this day pay our
tribute. With our hearts broken and spirits crushed,
the most triumphant words to us are those of our
Savior: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant,
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”
One of Mr. Jones’ most favorite texts was, “I have
fought a good fight; I have kept the faith; I have
finished my course. Henceforth, there is laid up for
me a crown of righteousness.” He was a real Chris
tian soldier, and fought more manfully than any
one else I ever knew on the battle field. He kept
his faith centered in God, and God kept him and
that which he had committed to him. He was the
best runner, it seems to me, that ever entered the
Christian race. No man ever kept his eyes more
completely upon the goal and strove harder to
win and have others win. While there has come
into my life an indescribable sorrow, and a peculiar
grief, yet I have heard a note of triumph, ever since
he “fell on sleep.” When I think of how manfully
and heroically he fought, and how hard the devil
tried to defeat him, and what a calamity it would
have been for the cause of right, had he not won
the race, there comes into my heart joy, peace and
resignation at his heavenly coronation.
As a leading citizen of his town said to me:
“I had just finished reading Mr. Jones’ last letter
to the Journal, when I heard the news of his death,
I shouted, ‘Glory to God, he has quit fighting the
devil and gone to playing with the angels.”
The Hour of Promotion.
Last Monday morning, on a Rock Island train
from Oklahoma City, we were aroused about six
o’clock by the cry of his daughter, Mrs. Pyron, say
ing: “Oh, Mr. Holcomb, hurry to papa! 1 believe
be is dying.” In a moment we were by his side, but
the fatal stroke soon put an end to all that was
mortal of our deceased brother. With both of his
hands in mine and close to his noble heart, with
his good wife, daughters and secretary standing near,
he passed peacefully and quietly to his reward. A
quiet, calm repose played over his face, and we knew
that his white, blood washed soul had gone home.
Brother Jones lived on the train more than any
other man. He loved railroads, steam engines, pal
ace cars and beautiful Pullmans. He loved the rail
road men from the president down to the humblest
porter. Among the most beautifu lillustrations that
he has ever used have been fathered from rail
road scenes. Next to his home, in what place could
he have died that would have been more home-like
to him! The train had been standing still for an
hour or more, blockaded by a freight wreck. He
had walked through the car several times and chat
ted pleasantly with the porter. His faithful daugh
ter was heating him a cup of water when he sud
denly collapsed. Perhaps God had the train to stand
still long enough for his weary, tired servant to lie
down and die with ease and comfort. Not only did
he love the railroad men, but they loved him with
tenderest affection. After his death we wired Presi
dent W. J. Thomas, of the N. C. and St. L. railway,
for a train to bring his sacred remains home.
Brother Jones had said for years that, just before
going to his reward, he wanted to come home from
the hardest fought battle of his life. Surely it was at
Oklahoma City that he had the hardest hill to climb.
In an immense building, poorly prepared for the very
disagreeable weather, he labored day and night
without a murmur or complaint. Finally, tired and
weary, with his vitality low, we boarded the train
homeward bound. In view of the heavy rains which
had made it impossible for the closing service, we
left a few hours earlier than he had planned. While
upon the train he seemed very bright and cheerful,
and spoke of the victory that had come in the fight.
Then he talked for quite a while with some travel
ing men about their becoming Christians, and get
ting ready for a better life beyond. Then going to
the berth of his devoted wife and sweet, faithful
daughters, he kissed them good night and left a hus
band's love and a father's blessing upon them, and
then he went to the berth of a dying consumptive.
Here is a beautiful little incident which closes
the charitable deeds of the last thirty-five years. He
The Golden Age for October 25, 1906.
had heard that this young man, with his broken
hearted wife, was in the chair car without money or
friends. He immediately called the Pullman conduc
tor and had them assigned to a berth, paying the
fare for them. Then he uttered the last words that
I ever heard him say. Stooping by the berth, he said:
“I am sorry to see you suffering so. I am glad that
we found you and got this comfortable bed for you.
I hope you will sleep well tonight. If you should
need me, don’t fail to call me. I shall be glad to
serve you. I will see you in the morning, and get
your transportation at Memphis to your home at
Faletteville.” Before reaching the city he had gone
to the city of God. Knowing his sympathy for the
poor, I took some of the money that we found on his
person and gave the dying man enough money to
take him home, telling him that this completed the
last act of love of Brother Jones.
A Preacher and—A Man.
Mr. Jones was a man, not simply a preacher.
While I believe a preacher’s position commands re
spect, yet I lift my hat to a preacher who first of
all a man. God never made a bigger nor grander
thing than when he made a man, and if I were to
start out looking foi' the most manly man in the
little affairs of life as well as the great problems of
life, I would go to Rev. Sam P. Jones. Studying
him up one side and down the other, taking him as
he daily lived, he was the most manly Christian that
I have known. This noble character of his furnishes
the basis for the great preacher that the world rec
ognizes him to be. While it may sound a little
extravagant to some, I am going to pronounce Mr.
Jones the greatest preacher of his or any other
age. While there have been other men who have
accomplished great good, with him he was bright
and sparkling while doing the good. He was the
wittiest, most humorous, most vigorous man that
ever faced an audience.
At a Western Bible Conference, the famous Scotch
preacher, Rev. John McNeil, stood and listened for
an hour or more, when his own time was being en
croached upon, and then rushed up on the platform,
and said: “Every time I have crossed the waters
and returned to my Scotch people, they talk to me
about the great preachers of America.” And then
turning to an audience of a thousand or more famous
divines from all the great cities of our land, he said:
“They never ask me about any of you, but they
wanted to know if I met or heard Sam Jones. When
I return home I shall take great pleasure in telling
them what I think of this marvelous man,” and
then turning to the preachers again, he said: “Some
of you say that anybody can talk like Sam Jones.
1 would advise you then to try it,” remarked McNeil.
“If you have anything up your sleeve that will draw
the people, hold them and move them as this man
does, I would suggest to you to begin at once.” The
great Scotchman knew that back of those utter
ances was a great brain, a big heart and a powerful
personality. This, with God’s anointing, accounts for
the wonderful power he had over men.
When we take into consideration that he drew
the largest audiences of any man living or dead, and
that they hung on his words as if they were hypno
tized, and that, too, through a long ministry of thirty
five years, we have to admit that nothing but genius
and greatness can do such wonders.
The Common People Heard Him Gladly.
Some people have said that he wasn’t doctrinal
enough in his preaching, but if you have listened
to him with discrimination, you have been impressed
by how faithfully he preached the fundamental doc
trines of the Bible. He preached them as Paul did
at time; almost always he used the Master’s method
in getting them before the people. He would take
a great truth, and pick up a common object and illus
trate it so that it made the common people hear him
gladly, while the aristocracy looked on and wondered
and marveled.
1 believe he preached more like the man of Galilee
than any one who has followed him. It is often said
that a preacher has preached his way into the hearts
of his people. This trite saying never meant so
much to me before. Thousands attended his funeral,
thousands gazed upon the special train containing
his sacred remains, thousands of your citizens greet
ed him at the station, and lined your streets and
stood with uncovered heads, and perhaps fifteen or
twenty thousand viewed his remains in your State
Capitol, and, had his body been permitted to remain
there twenty-four hours longer, I verily believe that
twenty-five thousand more would have looked into
his calm face.
When a governor or a president dies, astate or ana
tion bows in grief and pays tribute and does honor to
the office, if they do not in heart to the ruler; but
when a private citizen passes away, or a minister of
Sam Jones' Co-worker Speaks of Great Evangelist
to Over Four Thousand People at the Tabernacle.
the gospel, the honors conferred upon him are for
real merit. The world through the public press, and
in a thousand other ways honored Mr. Jones because
they loved him. Let us preachers get up our heads.
His first sermon was on “I am not ashamed of the
gospel of Christ.” His last one was on “My grace is
sufficient for Thee.” Having seen the great tribute
and honor rightfully paid him, I declare it is the
greatest triumph for the church and the gospel that
we have seen in years. Let us never for one mo
ment be ashamed of our high and holy calling.
As a lecturer he was even more popular than as a
preacher, and his lyceum work afforded him great
opportunities for doing good. He was one of those
men who could pick up an audience at first appear
ance, and mould it with his thoughts. I seriously
doubt whether he ever lectured without lifting some
one to holier and better things. But the Chautauqua
platform was his throne as a lecturer. After his
great meeting in Cincinnati, twenty years ago,
Bishop Vincent came down to Cincinnati and inter
viewed him regarding a lecture at Lake Chautauqua,
New York. From that time he has spent most of
his summer lecturing at Chautauquas. The largest
and best of them throughout the western states are
those where he has appeared the oftenest. Some of
them have had him year after year for the last twenty
years. Some were going to give him a twentieth
anniversary next season. His crowds got larger each
year. His lectures pleased, edified and strengthened
the people the oftener they heard him. He was the
celebrity at the Chautauquas. The good that he ac
complished at these summer gatherings will never
be known in this life. Riding out of Chicago a few
years ago, we stepped off the train, and a young man
rushed up in an automobile, and said: “Mr. Jones
I wan the honor of driving you around to the hotel.
When you were here last year I was a miserable sot,
but I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since I heard
your lecture.” This was just one instance out of
the thousands that might be mentioned.
He Outlived His Critics.
Tn his preaching and lecturing he encountered
many critics. Some of them objected to his style and
manner and words, but I want to say that to me he
never uttered a word that did not have a refining in
fluence upon my nature. I have never heard him
when he didn’t make me long for better and holier
things, and make me despise the little things of life.
I always went away loving the Bible and mother,
home and God, more. Nine-tenth of his critics died
before he passed away. The other tenth have been
converted by his death. A prominent critic in Cin
cinnati last fall, in our meeting went away fired with
anger to fight the work. I noticed in a Cincinnati
paper the other day, where he changed his mind be
fore Mr. Jones’ death, and had written a beautiful
tribute to his memory. Perhaps there is less criti
cism in the world today and more love for Sam Jones
than any man that the world has buried in the last
century.
While his oratory was unlike other men, it will
go down in history as the cleverest and most win
some and powerful of any living man. While others
have moved audiences by their excited appeals, he
in a quiet, conservative style broke men’s hearts,
stirred their consciences and moved their wills as
no other man has done. His wonderful influence will
tell in ages to come.
The marvelous gifts of wit, humor and pathos were
never more fully consecrated to God and served
their purpose better than with him There never was
a day that he did not create a smile and drive away
the burden from the hearts of his fellow men.
His Mirth and Pathos.
He started waves of laughter that encircled our
nation. From generation to generation his unique
and matchless words will be handed down in private
conversation. It will not require the printed page to
preserve them. They will be repeated again and
again bv those that are to live.
His pathos was the rarest and sublimest ever
given to man. It was never more in evidence than
the last night he preached, in which he said how he
would like to go to heaven, if it should be God’s will
The entire audience wept like broken hearted chil
dren. That night, that scene, will never be forgotten
T feel that I have lost the truest, noblest and best
friend I ever had. To say I loved him expresses it
mildly. God only knows how his love and interest
in me and my work have helped me and strengthened
me thus far. His memory will ever be fresh in my
mind, and I shall be better prepared for the days to
come bv having been with him through sunshine and
trial. May his great mantle fall on a thousand min
isters of the gosnel and God grant that those of us
here today may be included in that number.
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