Although the practice has generally passed away, for much of this country’s history it has been customary for businessmen and private citizens to assist the charitable work of ministers by volunteering services to the clergy. Because ministers – poorly paid at best – devoted their lives to the betterment of society, it was felt, society could afford to ease their way.

Mormon missionaries benefitted greatly by this custom during the 19th century. Traveling “without purse or scrip,” in the Biblical term, they sought the hospitality of strangers for meals and to provide shelter as they traveled, distributing tracts and preaching their brand of gospel.

One of the missionaries to appreciate the kindness of strangers was James Ellingham Hart. In his late 30s, he was a missionary in eastern Tennessee from 1895 to 1898. He claimed never to have slept a night out of doors, but always to have found shelter and a meal freely given. Railroad conductors, he said, gave him free transportation and sometimes paid his hotel bill.

On his way home to Idaho, and during a stopover in Salt Lake City, Hart wondered if his own people would be as kind to a stranger as those he had met in the South. On a whim, he stepped into the Hampton House hotel at 140 West South Temple and introduced himself to the proprietor, Brigham Y. Hampton, as a minister lately arrived from Tennessee. Traveling without purse or scrip, he asked for a room for the night. Hampton readily agreed to provide both a room and the minister’s dinner and breakfast – at which point Hart identified himself and declined the offer.

Strolling eastward, Hart came to the Temple Barber Shop at 13 West South Temple, and introduced himself to Albert E. Walker. Walker cheerfully gave Hart a shave and a haircut, without charge.

Turning south on Main Street, Hart entered the furniture store of Henry Dinwoodey and asked for an interview with the proprietor. Hart asked Dinwoodey all manner of impertinent questions about Mormon habits and customs, which Dinwoodey freely answered. Finding that Hart intended to go to Brigham City, Dinwoodey reached into his pocket and handed the “traveling minister” $2.50 for train fare. Dinwoodey also mentioned that he had a good friend near Brigham City who might be Hart’s relative – James Henry Hart. Hart then confessed to being a son of that man and tried to return the train fare, but Dinwoodey laughed and insisted that he keep it, saying that he wanted to help the son of his friend if not the stranger he had first taken him to be.

Hart then visited the Main Street shop of Daynes & Sons, Jewelers, introducing himself as before. John Daynes repaired Hart’s watch, thinking he was aiding a needy minister. Just then, Daynes’s son-in-law, a good friend of Hart’s, entered the shop and exposed Hart.

Hart called next at ZCMI and asked to speak to Thomas G. Webber, the department store’s general manager. Although Webber was extremely busy, he spoke kindly to the “traveling minister” and offered him a new pair of walking shoes. Hart then identified himself, but Webber insisted on providing the shoes anyway as a sort of retroactive contribution to missionary labors.

Hart’s last stop was at a dentist’s office, where he sought attention for a painful tooth from Dr. Fred Clawson. The dentist recognized him, or thought he did, and called Hart by his father’s name, John H. Hart. Hart denied being that man – his middle initial was, after all, “E.” rather than “H.” – and the dentist filled his tooth, without charge, before Hart finally did identify himself.

The ethics of Hart’s 1898 trickery are questionable, especially when he accepted services under false pretenses. On the other hand, his game demonstrated that the people of Salt Lake City were as generous to a stranger within their gates as they would wish strangers to be to their own absent sons.

Originally published in my Living History column in the Salt Lake Tribune