A Wrestling Parson

Jersey Clergyman Who Believes in Muscular Christianity.

Hard Man to Beat "on the Mat"

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Rev. Archibald B. McLaurin of Atlantic Highlands can Throw the Biggest Members of His Congregation and Takes on Outsiders Cheerfully- Has Started Football Team. 

How He Downed a "Ringer".

Muscular Christianity is having a most strenuous inning at Atlantic Highlands, N. J., where the Rev. Archibald B. McLaurin, pastor of the Central Baptist church, is champion wrestler, says the New York Commercial Advertiser. He has thrown all the members of his congregation who have dared to meet him on the mat, and many young men- big, rawboned farmer's boys living in nearby towns- have joined the church just to be eligible "to tackle the parson". 

The dominle graduated from Colgate in 1894 and was the best wrestler in the university during his sojourn there. He stands 5 feet 4 inches high and weighs 150 pounds. His shoulders are broad, and his arms are steel muscled. From the day that he became spiritual adviser of the Baptist flock two years ago he favored the establishment of a gymnasium in the church so that the young men might be developed physically as well as spiritually. The older members of the church shook their heads dubiously when the question of church athletics was broached by the enthusiastic young clergyman. Against such opposition Mr. McLaurin used great tact. 

On Sunday morning, after he had a particularly good time preaching, a little wrinkled faced farmer came to the pulpit, pulling savagely at his stubbly beard. 

"I've heard," said he, "that you gave my son a gol darn bad licking in the class room the other night. He says you're a 'peach', but I think it was outrageous for you to act as he said you did. That kid of mine is strong, but he tells me you tied him in all kinds of knots and told him  you would be pleased to entertain any other member of our family in the same way. Now, look here, parson, I want you to understand that I don't favor a minister carrying on so, but-but, say, parson, I've got another boy I bet you can't throw.'

A half Nelson settled the other son, and the "parson's athletic club" has an auspicious beginning about two months ago.

Every Thursday night the chairs are piled into a corner of the basement lecture room, where the athletes and the parson hold their athletic exercises. There are wrestling mats, a medicine ball, flying rings and parallel bars. Mr. McLaurin can show the way to his young followers all along the line. All have joined his Sunday Bible class because they are afraid he will "take a fall out of them" on Thursday night if they don't. Nobody can say a word against the parson without a dozen dangerous looking chaps stepping out to defend him. There were never more young people at the Sunday services than at the present time. 

Once in a while the boys try to put up a game on their leader by running in a "ringer" on him. It is always some young fellow who has a reputation as a wrestler round about some neighboring post office and general store. All lads look alike to the dominie, however, and some of them who had an idea they knew a thing or two about wrestling have been very scarce since they closed with the little clergyman. The last victim was a six footer who dredges for clams all day and playfully tosses is companions about in a billiard parlor in the evening. He laughed long and loud when the parson's record and his pretensions were disclosed to him. "I'll fold him up like a jackknife." he said sarcastically. 

There were fifty lanky natives crowded into the lecture room the night the big fellow tackled the minister. The visitor, looking down from his six foot elevation, grinned as he surveyed the compact bunch of humanity before him. "It seems like a sin," he muttered, as with a lunge he closed his arms about the little man with the intention of keeling him over in a hurry. To his surprise the dominie was about as yielding as a bronze figure. With a crash the husky youth struck the mat just a few seconds later. He found a wiry arm wrapped about his neck, and his breathing apparatus soon began to squeak painfully. Then he got mad, but with every exertion more air seemed to be shut out from his lungs and he began to yell for help. This young fellow joined the Bible class on the next Sunday. In explanation he said:

"The devil has been getting into me lately, and if it comes to a hand to hand struggle I want the dominie around to get in his strangle hold on him."

Mr. McLaurin's latest move is the organization of a football team. Many of the boys cannot get out for practice in the daytime, so they run through signals in the lecture room after prayer meeting. Considerable blood has been spilled through contact with pillars and other things, and the dominie has received his knocks with the rest of the boys. When the old folks see suspicious spots on the floor they remark:

"Some more of the dominie's pranks. This newfangled idea of religious training is certainly a return to the days of martyrs."