Arndt King Housekeeper

From the Richmond dispatch (Richmond, Va.), December 2, 1900, accessed December 2024 at the Library of Congress:

Had $25, owed $3 million.

The Plight of a Druggist's Clerk Who Obligingly Signed Some Papers. From the Philadelphia Times.

Ordinarily men see no occasion for rejoicing in bankruptcy proceedings. Not so Arndt K. Housekeeper. He beams upon all the customers who come into his little drugstore and it's probably the happiest man in our birth — all because he is a bankrupt. Until recently housekeeper was a drug clerk in a store at 19th and Parrish streets, and had it not been for the bankruptcy proceedings he might have continued to be a clerk for the remainder of his days. With his hands thrust deep in his pockets and little Reeds of smiles sprinkled over his face, he told the story to a reporter yesterday, interrupting the narrative occasionally to attend to the wants of customers.

"About thirteen years ago," he began, "a friend of mine, who is a conveyancer, came to me and asked me to get sign my name to some mortgage bonds. He said it was a mere matter of formality, and as I did not think my signature could create such a rumpus as followed, I complied with his request. How many of the bonds I signed I don't know, but they kept coming in with great frequency. I have since learned that they made me what is known as a 'straw man'—a sort of cat's paw to pull other people's chestnuts out of the fire. At that time I was only 22 years old and hadn't a cent in the world except the salary I made in the drugstore.

"Well, it wasn't long before the trouble began. The creditors started to call upon the straw man to make good, and I suddenly discovered that I owned half the houses in West Philadelphia, to say nothing of 400 or 500 properties in small towns up the State. When I learned what a bloated bond holder and a legal scamp I had become, unbeknown to myself, I was frightened. My name began to appear in the sheriff's advertisements and I was billed to be sold out almost every week. For some reason the sale never took place, probably because they found out beforehand that there was nothing to sell.

"I figured up my assets one day and made them $25.37, counting a pair of old trousers and a four-bladed pocket knife with one blade broken, which I valued at 13 cents. Then I added up my liabilities, and they amounted to $2,891,093.43. Even if the trousers had been new and the point hadn't been broken off the knife I could not have begun to satisfy such a thirsty lot of creditors as these.

"I was afraid to buy a suit of clothes, because I didn't know what minute it would be attached. I was so nervous that my fears are magnified beyond reason. I imagined that if I were to walk down town dressed in fine clothes I would be set upon immediately by creditors and sent back home in a garb that would make Adam blush.

"You know, it's a fearful responsibility to owe $3,000,000. It isn't every man who can owe so much. Things got worse and worse and I was in a state bordering on nervous prostration. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer and consulted a lawyer who lived across the street from me. He asked if I know who my creditors were, and I said he must think I was a human directory, for I owed a thousand or two to pretty nearly every man in Philadelphia. Mr. Culbert said that under the circumstances, it was no use trying to get releases from all of them. He suggested the bankruptcy proceedings, and now, thank heaven, I'm a free man once more. I have this little store and can wear a silk hat and frock coat if I want to. Oh, I tell you it's a bully thing to be a bankrupt."

The door opened and a bevy of pretty girls walked in. The man who had owed 3 million was all business at once. As the reporter came away, he heard Housekeeper say:

"Vanilla, chocolate, lemon, orange, peach, and raspberry."

Updated September 2, 2025.