Acolytes and Accomplices
Alvin Lloyd swooped into New York, landing in the heart of the publishing world at Centre Street. Back in 1856, the block was part of a new monolith that had sprung up between Leonard and Worth Streets, and been given the address 81, 83, and 85 Centre Street. It had been erected especially to house printing establishments and those of the other mechanical arts, and named the Caxton Building for Englishman William Caxton, who around 1483 was the “first to set up his own printing press in London and the first to print a book in English,” most notably Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.100 Longtime printer Richard C. Valentine was the first occupant of the Caxton Building on the third floor of No. 83, in command of one of the most complete stereotype foundries in the country. The stereotype was a singular kind of printing plate “developed in the late 18th century and widely used in letterpress, newspaper and other high-speed press runs.” They were made by “locking all the type columns, illustration plates, and advertising plates of a complete newspaper page into paper mache.” When dried, the “mat is used as a mold to cast the stereotype from hot metal.”101
It was at this venerable building that W. Alvin Lloyd, the publisher, rented space. During this time, with the first two members of the future Lloyd Gang in place—Alvin and Virginia—in October 1859, Alvin met Thomas Hewlings Stockton Boyd, his aggressive, and not always dutiful, acolyte for the first time. Alvin was looking for an homme d’affaires—a ready assistant in the grand old style—and he got one who would play a most significant role in his life.102
T.H.S. Boyd, or “Alphabetical” Boyd as he’d come to be nicknamed for the tumble of the first initials of his name, was born in Montgomery County, Maryland, in September 1837, and named for famous Methodist preacher Thomas Hewlings Stockton, because Alphabetical’s own father was Reuben Tyler Boyd, the not-quite-so-famous Methodist preacher. When Alphabetical was three, the family was posted to Cincinnati, then Clinton County, Ohio, just north of the city, and that’s where Alphabetical’s younger brothers Charlie, who would play a role in the Lloyd drama, and Reuben were born in 1844 and 1847 respectively. After a few more moves, the family moved to Clarksburg, Maryland, in 1859, and there they stayed.103
As for Virginia, it seemed that Alvin wanted her and Clarence out of the city. An ad was placed in the New York Herald on November 24, 1859. “Country board wanted—for a lady, child, and nurse, for the winter—the comforts of a home desired, and if they cannot be had none need apply. The husband of the lady will be at home a portion of the time. Address Thos Boyd, Metropolitan Hotel.” The nurse may have been Nellie Dooley, but that is not a certainty. Miss Dooley’s later testimony tells us that the Lloyds employed her on December 10, 1859.104
Ellen Robinson (“Nellie”) Dooley would also be a major part of the Lloyds’ life for several years. An English girl, from Cheshire, she had come to Fall River, Massachusetts, at the age of ten. At twenty she made the fateful decision to become Clarence Lloyd’s nursemaid.105
The Lloyds, as well as much of the country, would find themselves on a new stage, in a new drama with no certain ending. Throughout the latter part of 1859, with abolitionist John Brown’s execution on December 2 of that year, anti-slavery proponents warred physically and verbally with state’s-righters as politicians took sides and bloody-shirt rhetoric reached a fever pitch. But as much of the ordinary lives of ordinary people went on as usual—in marked contrast to or ignorant of the trials to come—all through 1860, Lloyd was determined to make good on his great publishing venture. Lloyd and Boyd were constantly back and forth between New York and Philadelphia, as well as traveling the country soliciting ads and collecting monies owed: New York State, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana.
Lloyd returned to New York and Alphabetical carried on in the South, attending to his master’s business while the future Confederate states were fomenting secession after the election of Abraham Lincoln on November 6, 1860. Even as Lincoln lamented the possibility of outright war he urged his countrymen to think of the South not as “enemies, but as friends,” to look to the “better angels of our nature.”106
No matter the upheavals, life and the adventures of life played on at the grand Metropolitan Hotel with Lloyd the publisher, bon vivant and profligate guest, center stage. The hotel was a wonder, with its stunningly beautiful five brownstone-cased stories occupying an entire city block of 366 feet fronting Broadway, and 210 feet on Prince Street, with its steam-heated rooms for more than six hundred guests who, once they were settled in, could thoroughly admire their good fortune in the largest plate-glass mirrors in the country, and brag about it down the speaking tubes that were a forerunner to the telephone. Hot and cold running water in every room, bathrooms on every floor, Wilton carpets everywhere, rosewood furniture upholstered in rich brocatelle, fine dining in the restaurant, elevators, room service whenever you wanted it. You never had to leave—if you could afford it. For ten dollars a night, you’d be well served.107
Lloyd sought advertisers like the hotel’s owner, Warren Leland, who, like his brothers, was an abolitionist but also a wily, opportunistic businessman. Leland immediately saw the possibilities of W. Alvin Lloyd’s urging that he advertise the Metropolitan in the guide. Half a million people in Dixie would see his portrait and his biography, read about a great New York hotelier, one who would be sure to look after his good southern friends when they came up to conduct business or sport. The hundreds of plantation owners, commission merchants, and cotton brokers from Georgia and the Carolinas, from Virginia and Louisiana—men fully committed to the institution of slavery, yes—they would be made to feel very much at home in Warren Leland’s Metropolitan Hotel. And what’s more, these southern gentlemen could board their slaves in special and very good quarters, right in the hotel itself. And Alvin Lloyd’s Southern Steamboat and Railroad Guide would surely attract brand-new business.
The Memphis Appeal, on April 27, 1860, reviewed that month’s edition of the Steamboat Guide, calling it “invaluable to all Southern travelers. The only correct guide published for the Southern country. . . . The guide is in universal use throughout the entire South with a monthly circulation of over seven thousand.”
And here was a distinction, a mission statement from Alvin, as he used “we” to quell fears of a “Yankee” influence and identify himself as a true southerner. “We observe that the publisher allows no advertiser in the Guide but those whose interests are directly identified with the South, and those who sell exclusively to the Southern and South-western states. . . . We must say that it is got up very tastefully. . . . It is published in New York, but for many years in New Orleans.”108
The June 1860 number of Lloyd’s Southern Steamboat and Railroad Guide came out at the end of May. The table of contents included biographies of railroad executives, “Views of New Orleans, Tours of the South, Rules for railroad travelers, Arrivals and departures of steamboats and ocean vessels, Correct timetables of all the Southern railroads.” It included every railroad station between New Orleans and New York, with historical facts connected with each station, railroad advertisements, a list of first-class hotels, the fashionable watering places and summer resorts throughout the United States, and advertisements for the wholesales houses that sold to the South.
The July issue included articles on “The Great Staple of the South”; the Mississippi & Central Railroad; biographies of Fernando Wood (during the war a Confederate sympathizer and separatist) and Memphis Railroad executive Sam Tate; an editorial on G. W. Bradley, general agent of the Mississippi Railroad; portraits of Lynchburg, Virginia, merchant John Robin McDaniel and Metropolitan Hotel owner Warren Leland; and W. Alvin Lloyd’s Time Indicator.
The August 1860 number came out in late July with much of the same included.
Alvin and Alphabetical had by now bilked as many customers as they could and they had no credibility left as they were accruing large bills. So Alvin took out an ad disavowing Boyd. By doing this Alvin was legally able to absolve himself and the company of any debt. Of course Boyd was never cut loose by his employer and the two men must have had a great laugh over the ad Lloyd placed in the Memphis Appeal of September 11, 1860: “Caution. The public are respectfully informed that Thos. H.S. Boyd is no longer authorized to transact business for ‘W. Alvin Lloyd’s Southern Steamboat and Railroad Guide.’ ” Signed, “W. Alvin Lloyd.” This wouldn’t be the last time the pair would use this legal tactic to escape debt.
As an early and unwanted Christmas present, Alvin came in for a fierce shellacking in the Louisville press. “The New York World gives Mr. W. Alvin Lloyd, publisher of the Southern Steamboat and Railway Guide, some notoriety by particularizing his attempts at black mail. W. Alvin Lloyd once lived in this city, but we are not aware that it lost much by his change of residence.”109
Alvin had left his mark in Louisville. More than his mark, he had left a stain, and now he was doing something similar in New York by besmirching and exposing northern merchants who traded with the south. Lloyd frequently excoriated abolitionists, calling them “Black Republicans,” a slur used by pro-slavery defenders against the radical, anti-slavery, pro-abolitionist wing of the Republican Party.
Lloyd fought back against his attackers, among them the New York World. “W. Alvin Lloyd, who publishes a Southern blackmail sheet in New York called the ‘Southern Steamboat and Railroad Guide’—and denounces Northern merchants to Southern customers for their political opinions—has sued the proprietors of the New York World for libel, the World having excoriated the said Lloyd in a terrible manner for his rascally tendencies.”110
In spite of the trail of excoriations swirling, hovering, descending, Alvin, like his younger brother, was in perpetual motion. His Steamboat Guide was coming out each and every month from 83 Centre Street, full of inflammatory secessionist sentiment and rants against Abraham Lincoln. Alvin ran an ad in the New York Herald that related stories of his blackmailing attempts on advertisers in New York City by threatening to expose them for being Southern sympathizers. “Every name will soon be known,” he threatened. Then he referred to the ruinous state of the country brought on by the election of Abraham Lincoln and advised Southern merchants not to sell to Northern businessmen—traitors to the Southern cause. “Avoid Black Republican Houses. . . . If you are not with us, you are against us. . . . We are a Southerner by birth, education, and in heart. No money can buy our principles. . . . We mean what we say. W. Alvin Lloyd.”111
On December 20, 1860, South Carolina seceded from the Union. Over the course of the next seven months, ten more states would follow suit: Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas, Virginia, Arkansas, North Carolina, and finally, Tennessee. But as 1861 emerged, Alvin was promoting his Guide to the South, defending his decision not to publish the actual names of the businessmen but reassuring his readers that he will “guide them to sympathetic merchants in New York so as to avoid Black Republican Houses.” He promised a blacklist of names and establishments soon.112
Alvin was in Memphis in January of 1861. There exists a free railroad pass he got from Bentley D. Hasell, the chief engineer and general superintendent of the Memphis & Ohio Railroad, that 130-mile stretch of track to Paris, Tennessee, that comprised the southernmost of three parts of the soon-to-be-opened line from Memphis to Louisville.
About the same time, George G. Hull, superintendent of the very important Atlanta & West Point Railroad (a five-foot gauge road running the eighty-seven miles between those two Georgia towns), gave Alvin a complimentary ticket. Same thing with the Muscogee Railroad; the Macon & Western Railroad (this road ran 104 miles from Macon to Atlanta in six hours); the Alabama & Florida Railroad (running 45 miles from Pensacola to the Alabama state line, and then another 116 miles from the line to Montgomery); the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad (this road ran 150 miles between the two towns); and the South-Western Railroad (a valid line until January 1862).113
On February 4, 1861, the Confederacy came into being, with Montgomery, Alabama, as its capital. On the eighteenth, Jefferson Davis became president. As for Alvin, the ever-changing Alvin—as would be seen just a few months later when he came under heavy fire in New York City for his secessionist ravings—left the world of publishing and remarkably, swiftly, did an identity backflip and went back on the road.
The first news blast in the New York Herald of February 19 and 20, 1861, said: “The Great Congress of Artists. Floyd’s Minstrels. Fifteen performers. Cool White Stage manager.” They got his name wrong—an omen, perhaps—but the message was loud and clear. This was Alvin assembling the elite of minstrelsy. August Asche was leader of Lloyd’s Double Brass Band, who would give a free concert on the balcony before each performance of their upcoming grand tour of the United States. Billy Birch and Charley Fox—the “rival comedians”—were two of the stars of the troupe. Other members included celebrated French tenor Gustave Bidaux and, of course, Cool White. Tenor Dave Wambold, the famous ballad singer from Elizabethtown, New Jersey, was twenty-five then, and had come over from Dan Bryant’s Minstrels; Nick Oehl was a German magician living in New York, and Charley Blass was another German, also living in New York. Fifteen top performers altogether: Minstrel royalty, blacking up for hungry audiences.114
On Monday, February 25, Lloyd’s Minstrels began their tour at the Concert Hall, in Newark, New Jersey, with a three-night performance. After a few more New Jersey towns, they opened at Philadelphia’s Musical Fund Hall, on March 4, for a week’s stint. “Look out for the Lloyds,” screamed the Cleveland Daily Herald. After Newark the troupe played New Brunswick on February 28 and March 1, 1861, and on the second were at Trenton. It wasn’t a warning when a Cleveland paper wrote, “Look out for the Lloyds.” It’s just that they were expecting Lloyd’s Minstrels soon, and in their edition of March 4, 1861, the Herald took it upon themselves to alert their readers to the fact that the troupe was opening that very night in Philadelphia.115
April 1 saw the debut of Lloyd’s Minstrels at Niblo’s Saloon, one of the big New York venues. “Enthusiastic reception. Glorious success,” trumpeted the Herald, singling out for praise several acts, including the scenes from Smiggy McGlural and Dixie’s Land. The curtain rose at 8:00 p.m. For twenty-five cents, a night of entertainment was yours. The same paper of April 8 said that Lloyds were “sustaining the reputation of the African Opera famously.”
Imagine Alvin strutting, doffing his black silk top hat, his boots polished to a high luster as he and his troupe attended the funeral of minstrel Jerry Bryant. The New York Clipper reported, “Mr Lloyd, proprietor of Lloyd’s Minstrels, walked in the (funeral) procession with his company.”116
The company remained at Niblo’s, with continued success and raves in the papers.
Part One of the performance would begin with the Overture by Lloyd’s Minstrels. Then they went into the operatic overture “Ho, Boys, Let’s March Away.” Then came Billy Birch’s act, “The Soap Fat Man,” then Gustave Bidaux singing “Vive L’America,” followed by Charley Fox’s sketch, “Willie’s Gone for a Soldier,” and many more. Part One wrapped up with “The Star-Spangled Banner,” performed by Mr. Percey, Dave Wambold, Gustave Bidaux, H. Wilks, J. Eastmead, and Little Arthur, the musical prodigy. All very patriotic, and it would be, given the times.
Part Two featured clog dancing, ballads, and comedy sketches, with Billy Birch and Cool White doing scenes from Macbeth and Othello: Minstrels performing Shakespeare. The entire troupe appeared onstage for the finale.
April 1861 was a good month for W. Alvin Lloyd, but certainly not for the country. On April 12 the Civil War began when Confederate General P.G.T. Beauregard’s forces bombarded Fort Sumter, a Federal installation. On April 29, 1861, Jefferson Davis was promising in an address to his Congress that the Confederate cause was “just and holy.”
As men from both sides were mustering and marching, Alvin Lloyd’s minstrel troupe was imploding. Colonel Lloyd, as he called himself, was proving to be not as magnanimous toward his company as his newspaper ads would have one believe. In fact, they hated him, or, more specifically, his overbearing and insolent manner. This side of Alvin—always ready and willing to show itself—manifested itself most alarmingly when the minstrels demanded their salaries. Alvin’s drive to bilk always included his own personnel. They all sat around a table. Alvin put the money on the table, put his revolver next to it, and dared them to go for it. Dave Wambold threatened to kick his head in, and then quit, on May 6. On May 18, Dave set sail for Europe.117
This from the New York Herald of May 20, 1861: “Lloyd’s Minstrels—complimentary benefit of W. Alvin Lloyd to-night.” However, by now business was falling off drastically. That’s because the public had found out about Alvin’s other life—not his bigamous life, which would have been bad enough, but his Steamboat Guide, and the secessionist rants he was putting in it. Not a good time for that, and the crowds stayed away in droves. Salary for those members who stayed on—or, rather, the concept of salary—was reduced in order to cut expenses. The troupe was fracturing. The reasons for the collapse of Lloyd’s Minstrels are basically twofold—crowds falling off and Lloyd’s mismanagement. Yes, audience numbers were diminishing, and that was partly for the reason T. Allston Brown gives—that the public did not like a secessionist.
“Business was very bad with the party in May, 1861, which was attributed to fact of the manager [Lloyd] being the proprietor of a Southern publication,” wrote T. Allston Brown.118
However, many New Yorkers were of mixed loyalties, so it’s a little more complicated than that. General economics in the city, and the inevitable law of diminishing theater returns, also played their part. As for the mismanagement, Alvin was so difficult and dangerous that none of the other entertainers would deal with him anymore.119
To add to Alvin’s woes, it may well be that the Steamboat Guide’s publication was suppressed by New York City aldermen about this time. The April edition certainly came out, but what about May and June? The September 18, 1861, edition of the Richmond Whig would run an item about Alvin Lloyd when he was down in that city during the war. It says that the guide was “suppressed by the Despotism there prevailing [meaning New York], on account of the freedom with which it denounced the abolitionist. The editor is now in this city, and we hope he will resume the publication of this valuable work in a land of liberty.” No official corroboration has been found of this alleged suppression and it is possible Alvin told the paper what to write.
“Lloyd’s Minstrels will close Niblo’s Saloon for repairs, on Saturday night, June 8th, and re-open with a new company on or about the 15th of August,” said an ad in the Herald of June 5, 1861. “Artists of acknowledged talent desirous of negotiating for engagements with Lloyd’s Minstrels for the ensuing fall and winter season, can address to W. Alvin Lloyd, Niblo’s Saloon, New York. Lloyd’s Minstrels will not travel this summer. W. Alvin Lloyd.”
Yes, closing night was going to be the eighth, a benefit night for August Asche, the musical director, but, as Asche had quit, like pretty much everyone else, the last night turned out to be June 6, as an ad in the following day’s Herald tells us: “Lloyd’s Minstrels. Niblo’s Saloon. Thursday evening. June 6, 1861. Most positively the last night of Lloyd’s Minstrels.” And it was, the troupe disbanding officially later that night.
However, what is clear from the June 5 ad is that Alvin had every intention of reopening with Lloyd’s Minstrels at Niblo’s in August. He wouldn’t have gone to the time, trouble, and (in theory) expense of advertising for talent if he hadn’t been serious. Not even Alvin would have done that. That he didn’t open again in August was because something, someone, got in the way and within a few short weeks, he raced south—straight toward the promise of profit—straight into the war.