Two things I tried to do well for the church—­conduct an evening meeting for the unchurched—­which simply means the folk unable to dress well and pay pew rents—­and conduct a meeting for children.  I organized a committee to help me at the evening meeting.  The only qualification for membership on the committee was utter ignorance of church work.  The very good people of the community called this meeting “a show.”  Well, it was.  I asked the regular members to stay away for I needed their space and their corner lots with cushioned knee stools.  I made a study of the possibilities of the stereopticon.  Mr. Barnes gave me a fine outfit.  I got the choicest slides and subjects published.  Prayers, hymns, scripture readings and illuminated bits of choice literature were projected on a screen.  I trained young men to put up and take down the screen noiselessly, artistically, and with the utmost neatness and dispatch.  I discovered that many men who either lacked ambition or ability to wear collars came to that meeting, and they sang, too, when the lights were low.  When in full view of each other they were as close-mouthed as clams.  The singing became a special feature.  My brethren in other churches considered this a terrible “come-down” at first, but changed their minds later and copied the thing, borrowing the best of my good slides and not a few of the unique ideas accompanying the scheme.

A Methodist brother across the river said confidentially to a friend that he was going to launch on the community “a legitimate sensation”—­a boys’ choir.  My plans for getting the poor people to church succeeded.  Such a thing as fraternizing the steady goers—­goers by habit and heredity—­and the unsteady goers—­goers by the need of the soul—­was impossible.  The most surprising thing in these evening meetings to the men who financed the church was the fact that these poor people paid for their own extras.  That goes a long way in church affairs.

The weekly children’s meeting I called “The Pleasant Hour.”  Believing that the most important work of the Church is the teaching of the children, it was my custom for many years in many churches to personally conduct a Sunday School on a week day so that the best I had to give would be given to the children.  In my larger work for the city two ideas governed my action.  One was to get the church people interested in civic problems and the other was to solve civic problems or to attempt a solution whether church people were interested in them or not.

I organized a flower mission for the summer months.  We called it a Flower House.  An abandoned hotel was cleaned up.  A few loads of sand dumped in the back yard as a sort of extemporized seashore where little children might play.  Flowers were solicited and distributed to the folks who had neither taste nor room for flowers.  We did some teaching, too, and gave entertainments.  A barrel-organ played on certain days by the sand pile; and that music of the proletariat never fails to attract a crowd.