Topic 26 
ONE PURPLE NIGHT"

THIS was Colonel Roosevelt's description of a party he gave at a Westchester roadhouse early one Sunday morning in the fall of 1917.  The Colonel's guests were a half score of Bridgeport, Connecticut, policemen and some New York newspaper men; the party followed a speech by the Colonel in Bridgeport.

The night train service from Bridgeport to New York is not attractive, and whenever the Colonel spoke there he would return to New York by motor, guarded by police.  First, however, there would be a little supper at the Stratfield, where a few of the local leaders would meet the Colonel.

On the night in question the supper had been disposed of, and the start was about to be made for New York, when the Colonel asked if the men who were to accompany him were those who had been with him during the day.  John King said they were.

"That must not be," said the Colonel.  "These men have been on duty all day.  It will be all hours before they can get back.  Send them home.  We'll get back all right without them."

"Nothing doing," replied King.  "The men will insist on going.  They can sleep tomorrow.  It's their day off."

"Very well, then," said the Colonel.  "Of course it will be all right for me to give them a little money for breakfast."

"No, sir," said King; "you must not give it, and they must not take it.  That would never do."

"Well," said the Colonel, "it will be all right for me to take them to breakfast with me?"

"That cannot be done," I suggested.

"So," concluded the Colonel, "between you and King I seem unable to do anything.  Now, why can't I take them to breakfast?"

" Because Mayor Mitchel closed everything except 'one arm' lunch rooms at one o'clock."

"By Jove, there is an advantage to a Broadway education, is n't there? It's so long since I've been uptown late I had quite overlooked that change.  But is n't there some good place between here and New York?"

There were several.  Mr.  King recommended the Post Road Inn in New Rochelle, and it was decided to stop there.

It was two in the morning when we reached the place in three automobiles — the policemen in full uniform, the Colonel, the late N.  A.  Jennings of the New York Herald, A.  Leonard Smith of the New York Times, and myself.  It was the practice, I should state, to use three cars, a pilot car loaded with police, the Colonel's car with two policemen on the box, and a trailer carrying four more.  Regardless of speed laws, the party usually made fast time.

As the crowd unloaded at the Inn, the proprietor, naturally swarthy, looked out and turned pale.  Alarm, fear of a raid, and arrest were written on every feature.  Before he could say or do anything I assured him.

"Don't be scared," I said, as I led the police in; "it's not a raid — only some folks after something to eat."

With a sigh of relief he asked, "How many?" and started to arrange the table.  Halfway to the dining room he espied the Colonel and retraced his steps.

"Beg pardon," said he, "but isn't that El Presidente, President Roosevelt?"

"It is Colonel Roosevelt, all right," I said.  And again he started for the dining room, this time registering something like a cross between surprise and elation.  A moment later the band suddenly switched from rag time to the national anthem, and before the surprised dancers had a chance to adjust their steps the Colonel at the head of the party was halfway across the room.

Instantly the dancers broke into applause, the few who had been seated rising to cheer.  Then, in a confused sort of way, as though doubtful of what to do next, all hands took their seats and watched the Colonel's party.

The dance hall crowd, it may be stated, was just such a crowd as one would expect in a country road house at an early hour Sunday morning — men of the "tired business" or salesman type; girls young, a bit inclined to be flashy, but not conspicuously so — something between the "flapper" and the chorus girl type.  Probably all had worked hard during the week and were having their weekly "blowout."

After some discussion of the bill-of-fare, lobster was ordered — that and champagne, the latter by Colonel Roosevelt without any suggestion from others in the group.  During the meal most of the talking was done by Colonel Roosevelt, among it some on John L.  Sullivan, who had been in Bridge port the preceding day.  He also discussed some of his Spanish War experiences.  These latter followed an interruption by a man wearing the Maltese cross of the Spanish War veteran.

"No apology needed," the Colonel assured this man when he apologized for "butting in." "I am always glad to meet any of my old comrades in arms.

We did not have much of a war, but it was the best to be had, and we did the best we could."

"A lot of the old boys have gone from around here, Colonel," said the veteran in a tone suggesting regret that he, too, could not go.

"I know it,, and I am proud of them for having gone," answered the Colonel.  "If I had been permitted to go, to take my division across, I'd have had whole camps with me.  The boys are right."

"The boys are all strong for you, Colonel; they were all rooting for you to get a chance.  They knew you'd make good."
"And they would have made good, they will make good, those of them that are permitted to go, and their sons will make good.  They're the make good kind."

Others, emboldened by the fact that the Spanish War vet had not been rebuffed, then came up to pay their respects.  When the last had gone, some one remarked that the "exsoldier was feeling pretty good."

"Yes," said the Colonel, "I noticed that.  I have noticed before this that all Spanish War veterans are not teetotallers.  In fact, I have known some of my own men to get rather drunk, to put it mildly — but they were all good fellows, just the same.

" I remember on one of my trips West, one of my old men rode many miles to see me.  He’d told everybody what he was going to say and what a good time he'd have when he saw me.  When I arrived, however, I think he can best be described as having been too full for utterance.  The boys had had to tie him up and lay him away to recuperate.  It was his first lapse, I was told, in several years.  Of course I did n't see him.

'' Later on I had a letter from him full of contrition, apologies, and regrets, and a rather nai've explanation.  If he could n't celebrate when he was to see his old Colonel, when could he celebrate? However, he added, he was back on the water wagon.  Recently I heard he was still on it.  I hope he stays there for life, for he is a good fellow and that's his one weakness."

The curious may wish to know if the Colonel drank anything that morning.

He did — part of a glass of wine.