How did it happen that Billy Sunday, as a young child, became an orphan?

Citation: The South Bend Tribune. Fri, May 02, 1913 ·Page 17

HOW SUNDAY BADE HIS MOTHER GOODBYE AND JOINED ORPHANS

Billy Sunday and his brother, Ed, spent five years in an orphans’ home. Here is the story of his farewell to his mother and his journey to the orphans’ home:

My father went to the war four months before I was born. My mother drew a pension of $12 a month and the guardian ran off with most of the money. The wolf scratched at the cabin door, and finally mother said: ‘Boys, I’m going to send you to the Soldiers’ Orphans’ home.’ At Ames, Ia., we had to wait for the train and we went to a little hotel and they came about 1 o’clock and said: ‘Get ready for the train.’ I looked into mother’s face, her eyes were read, her hair was disheveled. I said: ‘What’s the matter, mother?’ All the time Ed and I slept, mother had been praying.

We went to the train; she put one arm about me and the other about Ed and sobbed as if her heart would break. People walked by and looked at us, but they didn’t say a word. Why? They didn’t know, and if they did, they wouldn’t have cared. Mother knew. She knew that for five years she wouldn’t see her boys. We got into the train and said, ‘Good-bye, mother,’ as the train pulled out.

We reached Council Bluffs. It was cold and we turned our little thin coats around our necks and shivered. We saw a hotel and went up and asked a lady for something to eat. She said: ‘What’s your name?’

‘My name is Willie Sunday and this is my brother Ed.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Going to the Soldiers’ Orphans’ home at Glenwood,’ I said.

‘She wiped her tears and said: ‘My husband was a soldier and never came back. He wouldn’t turn anyone away, and I wouldn’t turn you boys away.’ She threw her arms about us and said, ‘Come on in.’ She gave us our breakfast and our dinner, too. There wasn’t any train going out on the ‘Q’ until afternoon. We played around the freight yards. We saw a freight train standing there, so we climbed into the caboose.

The conductor came along and said: ‘Where is your money?’ ‘Ain’t got any.’ ‘Where is your ticket?’ ‘Ain’t got any ticket. You can’t ride without money or tickets, I’ll have to put you off.’ We commenced to cry. My brother handed him a letter of introduction to the superintendent of the orphans’ home. The conductor read it and handed it back as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then he said: ‘Just sit still, boys. It won’t cost you a cent to ride on my train.’

‘It’s only 26 miles from Council Bluffs to Glenwood, and, as we rounded the curve, the conductor said: ‘There it is on the hill.’ We went there and stayed five years.’

(Editor: 1872-1876)