"Gentlemen and ladies. I hold in my hand the greatest elixir ever invented. I call it Doctor Washburn's Miracle Elixir because Washburn is my name. I must confess that I did not invent it. I discovered it on one of my journeys to the holy land. It's powers acknowledge no limitations. It's secret ingredients come to us from the mysterious regions of the far east and then they are mixed with water from Israel. Yea even water from the River Jordan, the same sanctified stream where John the Baptist placed his loving, baptizing hands on our dear saviour."
I was just getting warmed up.
" Is this elixir blessed? In all honesty I can make no such claim but I have witnessed its blessing, healing attributes with my very own eyes. You suffer from excess bile? Drink of this and suffer no more. Your joints ache and your muscles cry out? Drink of this and ache and cry no more. Sleep eludes you? Drink of this and sleep like a babe in its mother's arms. You lack vigor? Vigor is in this bottle. You lack inspiration? Find it here. Your marital relationship has lost it's uh spark? The fire starts here."
I paused and surveyed the crowd standing in front my brightly painted wagon.
"I see the skeptical look on some of your faces. I know that some of you doubt. You would say to me Doctor Washburn how can this be and I say to you, try one bottle of this magic brew and if you are not completely satisfied you will have your money cheerfully refunded. One dollar, one small thin greenback can open the doors to a whole new way of life. Supplies are limited but for a short time you can purchase a dozen bottles for ten dollars. Such a bargain, such a blessing."
I was interrupted by a voice from the crowd. "What kind of doctor are you?" a man said with a midwestern drawl.
"I am a doctor of medicine and a doctor of theology. I studied medicine at Rutgers University and theology at the Boston Seminary," I said sternly.
"Humph, doctor of bullshit if you ask me," the man said.
I ignored him and resumed my spiel.
"Alright, who will be first. What brave soul, what progressive thinker will step up and step into a new life of renewed vigor and vitality."
"Aw, I reckon I'll try some," a man said, holding out a dollar bill. He walked up to me with a pronounced limp, bending over and clutching his back with a look of pain on his face.
I took the greenback, handed him a bottle and said, "You made a wise decision, stranger."
Actually he was no stranger. He worked for me, driving the wagon, tending to the horses and helping me set up at each new town. He was a shill as it were, my partner in dishonesty. My name was not Washburn and I was a doctor of nothing, except bullshit, as you may have surmised.
I had begun my show business career in New England as a carnival barker and then moved up to advance man for a wild west show called Washburn's Last Sensation - The Moral Show of the Age. In my odd moments I frequented medicine shows and revivals and sensed the possibilty of combining alcohol with religion to good advantage. I liked the name Washburn, adapted it when I began my own enterprise and heeded Horace Greeley's advice to go west.
Washburn's MIracle Elixir was nothing more than herbs, spices, sugar, water and lots of rum. Most of my customers were tee-totalers and the rum usually provided the needed effect, usually in short order.
Needless to say - but I'll say it anyway - I moved around a lot. This fine fall day I was in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I had parked my wagon near a regional fair to take advantage of the crowds, a practical thing to do since taking advantage was what I did.
My associate took one big drink of the miracle elixir, waited for a pregnant moment and then straightened his bent back and began to dance a little jig, shouting "Hallelujah, hallelujah, bless my stars it works!"
His performance was impeccable and showed the result of many hours of patient coaching and practicing and it produced the desired effect. Men began to reach into their overalls and women into their purses and business was, as they say, brisk. I made a mental note to cook up a new batch as soon as possible.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a tall man and a women approaching my wagon. The man was dressed in black, wearing a string tie and clutching a bible. He looked to be in his 60s. The woman looked to be about 20 years younger. She had a lean face, dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a handsome figure from what I could see of it under a stark black dress. Several people in the crowd noticed them and began to back away from the wagon.
Oh goody goody I thought to myself, just when business is booming the local preacher man show ups.
I turned to the man, held out a bottle of the elixir and said, "Welcome Reverend it's always nice to meet a fellow man of the cloth. Please take a sample of my wares as a professional courtesy."
He ignored my offer and said, "You may call it the balm of Gilead but I call it the devil's brew."
"But Sir, you haven't even tried it. Take but one taste and then decide its merits."
"I know your ilk, Doctor," he said, with a sneer. "The only thing your potion will merit is intoxication followed by fornication followed by eternal damnation."
I smiled and said, "I have paid a fee for the privilege of being here and have a signed and very legal permit from the County Fair Board. I have just as much right to be here as you do."
"Yes," he said, "that may be true but in a day or two you will be gone to purvey your pernicious potion elsewhere and I will still be here dealing with damaged souls."
"You left out pleasing and providential in your description," I said.
"Jest with me if you will, sir, but be advised that I and certain members of my congregation will be keeping close tabs on you." With that he grabbed the woman by her arm and said, "Come along, Sarah, we've done all we can do here today."
The woman smiled at me, nervously and then turned to follow her husband. I wondered about the smile and I wondered about her. She had seemed uncomfortable during his diatribe and somewhat reluctant to be there. I had had some experience with the wives of preachers and made a mental note to drop by the parsonage if the opportunity presented itself.
Business resumed when the preacher and his companion departed. One of my customers said, "I noticed you looking at the preacher's wife."
"A handsome woman," I said, "what do you know about her."
"Not much," he said. "Hear tell it was an arranged marriage. They say she's the daughter of a preacher who went to seminary with the Reverend Hobart."
"And what pulpit would the good Reverend Hobart fill?," I asked, making another mental note of the preacher's name.
"First Baptist. It's the biggest church in town, catty corner from City Hall. You can't miss it."
"Thanks for the information," I said, "here's a second bottle, on the house."
The crowd began to dwindle as evening approached and the shadows lengthened and I decided to shut down for the night. It had been a good day, except for the visit from the parson and that had not necessarily been a bad thing if I played my cards right and my intuition was correct.
My assistant, who had noticed the eye contact between me and the Preacher's wife, came up to me and said, "Are you quittin' early, boss?"
"I think so," I said. "I think I'll take a stroll down town."
"Well, I'll see you in church." he said, with a laugh.
