Seeing Things At Night Part 11

"Do you know anything of modern English public schools? How many Americans do? You know of Beedale's and Abbotsholm, crank schools, but you know nothing of Audle. Have you ever heard of Audle? Audle has 500 boys (two of mine). No cla.s.s teaching practically, boys working in research groups, big botanical gardens, library, concert hall, picture gallery, big engineering laboratories and a good biological one. Boys encouraged to read stuff like _The Liberator_ and me. s.e.x via biology (see _Joan and Peter_). This isn't 1947. This is now. Wake up America!"

"I ought perhaps to add," writes Dell in a postscript, "that the handwriting of my fellow member of the advisory council of the a.s.sociation for the Advancement of Progressive Education is a peculiar hieroglyphic which it is sometimes almost impossible to decipher. Thus, I am not quite sure whether he says my book 'is a good, wise book,' or something quite different. Some of my friends who have seen the letter think that he says it is 'a G.o.d-awful book.' The hieroglyphics transliterate equally well either way. But I do not think that particular descriptive phrase is used in England. Anyway, you can take your choice."

If Floyd Dell can't think up anything to say in defense of American educational methods I'm sure I can't. It seems to me that almost without exception our schools are devoted to that process called "large scale production."

"I can tell any graduate of your school at a glance," said a man in my hearing. "They all bear your stamp unmistakably."

And the schoolmaster grinned with delight.

Practically all our inst.i.tutions of learning are finis.h.i.+ng schools. We are told, for instance, that the modern public school aims to turn out 100 per cent Americans. It seems to me that 98 or even 97 per cent would be better. That would leave the child some margin for growth and development based on actual experience rather than precept. I'm afraid that the 100 per cent may represent nothing more than something poured in by the teacher, and I doubt if many of our educators are sure enough of eye and hand to stop exactly at the minute notch marked 100. There is always the danger that a little too much will be poured in and something will be spilled over, for when a man becomes 101 or 102 per cent American he must soon dispose of the surplus. He may take it to Mexico in the train of a holy war or bayonet a path for it into j.a.pan, and recently we have heard not a few around New York who seem to think highly of the possibility of a war to Americanize England. And, of course, the various agencies to deport, expel and imprison often represent the activities of those who have more Americanism than they can carry like gentlemen.

Not only is patriotism poured in at the top in our schools, but literature and art and everything else is administered in like fas.h.i.+on.

The pupil is allowed to discover nothing for himself. "Here," says the teacher, "is a great book. Read it." And yet we wonder that when the boys and girls grow old enough to vote they usually follow the same order of boss or demagogue, who says, "Hylan is the people's friend; vote for him." In fact, we train a public which ma.s.ses around cheer leaders. It follows the man with the megaphone, who shouts, "Now, boys, all together and nine long rahs on the end!" The rahs are the most important part of it. That is the point where the volume of sound swells greater and greater.

It doesn't seem to me that there is much difference in the psychological processes of the followers of Ole Hansen and of Big Bill Haywood. They are merely on opposite sides of the field. The trouble with bringing up anybody on cheer leaders is that it is so easy for him to switch. The same man who tells you one day that this country must have law and order if it has to lynch every Socialist in the country to get it is just as likely to say the next month that this will never be a true democracy until it has a dictators.h.i.+p of the proletariat. Not for a minute, mind you, would we suppress the cheering squads or their leaders. Personally, we have no desire to see a social revolution. Our holdings, which include two Liberty bonds, twenty shares of American Drug Syndicate and one share of preferred stock in _The Liberator_, incline us to conservatism. It seems to us that we property-holders who want the world to go on without convulsions should urge a policy which would permit those who want to holler to go on hollering and at the same time rope off some section under the grandstand for those who just want to talk.

Audle, the home of the Wells children, must be a good school. Very probably it is better than anything in America. And yet we are not willing to accept it as the last word. It terrifies us a little by its efficiency. If H. 3rd goes to Audle's we know he'll come home to ask us questions which we can't possibly answer and he'll build toy factories and bridges in the front hall for us to trip over. Out of Audle's will come men to make these toys real--men who will tunnel mountains and frighten rivers out of their courses. Others will harry germs and compose symphonies and perhaps some will write huge stacks of novels as high as those of Wells himself.

Nevertheless, we are a little distressed when Wells speaks so impatiently of the devil of indolence in a child. We wonder whether he may not mean the child's invariable desire to do something other than that suggested by parent or teacher. There have been times when H. 3rd has refused my most earnest pleas that he ride his kiddie car up and down the hall. Still, it would hardly be fair to call him indolent simply because he preferred to beat against the front window with a tablespoon. It takes ever so much energy to do that, particularly if you keep it up as long as H. 3rd does. We are not quite ready to believe that it is essential to exorcise the devil, even if he is one of sheer indolence. Naturally it is repugnant to a man like Wells, who realizes so keenly the necessity for us all to get together and do something for the world. There is no denying that it was a rush job. But, after all, G.o.d created man in His image. Some of us have the spirit which animated Him during those terrific six days, but we wonder whether the world has no place, and never will have any place, for those others who emulate the G.o.d who rested and talked a little, perhaps, and sat around and remembered and dreamed and never lifted a finger to add as much to the world as one more fly or another blade of gra.s.s.

JUNE 15, 1920.--"Heywood Broun 3rd," writes a correspondent who signs no name, "is, fortunately for him, a very young son; Heywood Broun is a very young father--both will grow up. May the boy grow in grace free from _Jurgen's_ influence and may the father find his materialism Dead Sea fruit in time to set such an example that H. B. 3rd will act upon the Fifth Commandment. It can't be done on s.m.u.tty fiction or carnal knowledge."

It may be, as the writer suggests, that we shall grow in grace. However, that is beside the point, for, in the words of the beautiful christening service, a child takes his father "for better or worse." Even now we are of the opinion that all the Commandments should be observed in decent moderation. We think we are correct in a.s.suming that the Fifth is, "Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy G.o.d giveth thee." We intend to serve notice on H. 3rd not to make this his favorite Commandment. If he must break one of them, by all means let it be the Fifth. Even though we become much better than we are now, it is going to make us distinctly uncomfortable if he goes about the house honoring us. It will seem too ridiculous, and we doubt very much if he can do it with a straight face. Whenever he feels that he simply must honor his parents we hope that he will do it in an underhand way behind our backs. Although we hope never to spank him, he will be running a great risk if he makes his honoring frank and flagrant.

And, anyway, why should he want to? Hasn't he got _Jack the Giant Killer_, and _d.i.c.k Whittington_, and _Aladdin_ and _Captain Kidd_? Let him honor them. They are all too dead and too deserving to be annoyed by it.

Southpaws

Our text to-day is from the fifteenth verse of the third chapter of the Book of Judges, in which it is written: "And afterwards they cried out to the Lord, who raised them up a saviour called Aod, the son of Gera, the son of Jemini, who used the left hand as well as the right."

As a matter of fact, it seems probable that the old chronicler was simply trying to spare the feelings of Aod by describing him merely as an ambidextrous person, for there is later evidence, in the Book of Judges, that Aod actually favored his left hand and was--to be blunt and frank--just a southpaw.

Aod, as you may remember, was sent to Eglon, the king of Moab, ostensibly to bear gifts from the Children of Israel, but, in reality, to kill the oppressor. "Aod," continues the vivid scriptural narrative, "went in to him: now he was sitting in a summer parlor alone, and he said: I have a word from G.o.d to thee. And he forthwith rose up from his throne. And Aod put forth his left hand, and took the dagger from his right thigh, and thrust it into his belly with such force that the haft went in after the blade into the wound, and was closed up with the abundance of fat."

When some great scholar comes to write the long-neglected book ent.i.tled _A History of Lefthanders From the Earliest Times_, it may well be that Aod will be discovered to be the first of the great line to be definitely identified in ancient history. He is the only lefthander mentioned by name in the Bible, although this physical condition--or is it a state of mind--is referred to in another chapter (Judges 20) in which we hear of a town which seems to have been inhabited entirely by lefthanders. At any rate the Bible says: "The inhabitants of Gabaa, who were seven hundred most valiant men, fighting with the left hand as well as with the right and slinging stones so sure that they could hit even a hair, and not miss by the stone's going on either side."

It is interesting to note that these lefthanders are again described as ambidextrous, but it is safe to a.s.sume that they too were in reality southpaws. It may even be that Gabaa was a town specially set aside for lefthanded people, a place of refuge for a rather undesirable sort of citizen.

This surmise is made in all seriousness, for there was a time in the history of the world when lefthandedness was considered almost a crime.

Primitive man was unquestionably ambidextrous, but, with the growth of civilization, came religious and military customs and these necessitated at certain points in drill or ceremonial a general agreement as to which hand should be used. Man, for some reason unknown, chose the right.

That is why ninety per cent of the people in the world to-day are righthanded. Then with the development of business there soon came to be a conventionally correct hand for commerce. Early dealings of a business nature were carried on by men who held the s.h.i.+eld in the left hand and bargained with the right. The s.h.i.+eld proved convenient in case the deal fell through. Men who reversed the traditional use of the hands were regarded as queer folk or even a little worse than that. After all, lefthandedness was impious in religion, subversive to discipline in military affairs and unlisted in business. It is not to be wondered at then that there is testimony that centuries ago lefthanded children were severely beaten and the offending arm often tied down for years.

And yet the southpaw has persisted in spite of persecution. The two men most widely known in America to-day are both lefthanded. I a.s.sume that n.o.body will dispute the preeminence in fame of Charlie Chaplin and Babe Ruth, both of whom are completely and fervently lefthanded. And to top that off it may be added that the war was won by a lefthander, Marshal Ferdinand Foch, a southpaw, or, as the French have it, gaucher.

It is interesting to note that the prejudice against lefthandedness has manifested itself and endures in our language. We speak of forbidding things as "sinister," and of awkward things as "gauche," but we lefthanders can afford to smile contemptuously at these insults knowing, as we do, that Leonardo da Vinci was one of us. Gauche indeed!

On account of the extent and the duration of the ill will to lefthanders there has come to be definitely such a thing as a lefthanded temperament. This is no more than natural. The lefthander is a rebel. He is the descendant of staunch ancestors who refused to conform to the pressing demands of the church, the army and the business world. Even to-day lefthanders are traditionally poor business men and Babe Ruth has been obliged to bring suit against the company with which he made a moving picture contract. They are apt to be political radicals, and it has been freely rumored that Charlie Chaplin is a Socialist. They are illogical or rather they rise above logic, as did Foch in his famous message: "My left is broken, my right has been driven back, I shall attack at dawn." That is a typically lefthanded utterance. It has in it all of the fine rebellion of folk who have refused to conform even to such hard things as facts. If the sculptor had been a little more astute the lady who stands at the entrance of our harbor would have borne the torch aloft in her left hand. Liberty is a southpaw.

So strong is the effect of the left hand upon the temperament that it may even be observed in the case of converts. Such an instance is afforded by the case of Daniel Vierge, the great Spanish artist, and by the recent conduct of James M. Barrie, a righthander of years standing, who finally developed writer's cramp and switched to the use of the left hand. What happened? He wrote _Mary Rose_, a play which deals symbolically with death and, instead of giving his audiences the conventional Barrie message of hope and charm and sweetness, he straightway set forth the doctrine that the dead didn't come back and that if they did they and the folk they left behind couldn't get on at all. Time, said the new Barrie, destroys all things, even the most ardent of affections. This was a strange and startling doctrine from Barrie. It was a lefthanded message.

To-day, of course, lefthanders are pretty generally received socially; occasionally they are elected to office, and there is no longer any definite provision against intermarriage. But anybody who thinks that prejudice has died out completely has only to listen to a baseball player when he remarks: "Why him--he's a lefthander!" There is also the well authenticated story of a young lefthanded golfer in our Middle West who played a match with Harry Vardon, in which he made a brilliant showing. Indeed, the youngster was so much elated that at the end of the round he asked the great pro.: "Who's the best lefthanded golfer you ever saw?" "There never was one that was worth a d.a.m.n," answered Vardon sourly.

The estimate is not quite fair, for Brice Evans is lefthanded and, though it seems hardly patriotic to dwell upon it, our own Chick Evans was put out of the English amateur champions.h.i.+p several years ago by Bruce Pierce, a southpaw from Tasmania. Still, lefthanded golfers of any consequence are rare. Football has a few southpaw or rather southfoot heroes. Victor Kennard won a game against Yale for Harvard with a leftfooted field goal. He and Felton were two of Harvard's greatest punters, and both of them were leftfooted kickers. There must have been some others, but the only one I can think of at the moment was Lefty Flynn of Yale, who was hardly a great player.

Almost all boxers adopt the conventional righthanded form of standing with the left arm advanced, but Knockout Brown, for a few brief seasons, puzzled opponents by boxing lefthanded. He jabbed with his right and kept his left hand for heavy work. Of all the men nominated as possibilities for the international polo match only one is lefthanded, Watson Webb, the American, and one of the greatest and prettiest hors.e.m.e.n that America has turned out in many a year. In tennis we have done better, with Norman Brookes, Lindley Murray, Dwight Davis and Beals Wright.

But the complete triumph of the lefthander comes in baseball. Tris Speaker, greatest of outfielders and manager of the world's champion Cleveland Indians, is lefthanded. So is Babe Ruth, the home run king, and George Sisler, who led the American League in batting. Ty Cobb, like the Roman emperor before whom Paul appeared, is almost persuaded.

He bats lefthanded. Almost half the players in both leagues adopt this practice since it gives them an advantage of about six feet in running to first base. And yet, in spite of this fact, thousands of meddling mothers all over the country are breaking prospective lefthanders into dull, plodding, conventional righthandedness. Babe Ruth was fortunate.

He received his education in a protectory where the good brothers were much too busy to observe which hand he used. His spirit was not broken nor his natural proclivities bent. Accordingly he made fifty-four home runs last season and earned over one hundred thousand dollars. The world has sneered at us all too long. Even a lefthander will turn in time.

Michael

The man who gave us Michael said that he was a Shetland terrier.

Frankly, I don't believe there is any such thing; unless Michael is it.

But there is no denying a Scotch strain of some sort. There is a good deal of John Knox about Michael. He recognizes no middle ground. There was no difficulty, for instance, in convincing Michael of the wickedness of some manifestations of the grossness which is mortality, but it has been impossible to make him accept any working compromise such as those by which men and dogs live. He can see no reason why there should be any geographical limits or bounds to badness.

There is a certain fierce democracy in that. Michael thinks no less of a backyard or a sidewalk than he does of a parlor. Or perhaps it would be better to say he thinks no more of a parlor. Repentance comes to him more easily than reformation. And yet I have an enormous respect for Michael's point of view as I understand it. He doesn't want to burn, of course, but he has no patience with dogs who blandly hope to attain salvation by leading lamp-post lives.

In some things I would have Michael more practical. That man who brought him here said that his father was an excellent mouser. I have come to wonder whether the legitimacy of Michael is beyond question. Doubt struck me the other day in the kitchen when I saw an over-venturesome mouse clinging precariously to a window curtain and swinging back and forth not more than a foot from the ground.

"Look, Michael," I said, "it's a mouse!"

I tried to say it with the same intensity as "Voila un sousmarin!" or "It's gold, pardner!" or something of the sort, but Michael looked at my finger instead of the mouse and wagged his tail. He backed away from me playfully and bounced around a little and barked. Indeed, he backed into the curtain and the tail of the mouse went swish, swish across his back, but Michael continued to wag. I have some little hope that this particular mouse will not come back for a time. He was visibly terrified, but of course it would be impossible to predict any permanent condition of shock. At any rate, by a supreme effort he mastered his panic. Wrenching himself loose from the curtain, he jumped and landed on Michael's back. Then he hopped to the floor and disappeared behind the potato barrel. Michael sat down slowly and scratched himself.

Last week I thought I detected a real fusion of Michael's undoubted idealism and direct practical action. Somebody brought _The New York American_ into the house and left it on the floor. When I came in I found that Michael had torn it to shreds. He had been particularly severe with the editorial page. I patted him and gave him some warm milk. To-day I discovered he had mutilated a third edition of _The Tribune_. And upon inquiry I learned that he would chew almost anything except _The New Republic_. His teeth are not quite sharp enough for such heavy paper yet. It is just possible that there is some more subtle reason for the exception. Sometimes I think that Michael has a "New Republic" mind.

Buying a Farm

It began as "a farm," but even before the catalogues arrived it was "the farm." Now we call it "our farm," although the land is still in Spain ab.u.t.ting on the castle. Chiefly, the place is for Michael. The backyard is much too small for him, and too formal. He regards the house with affection, no doubt, but with none of that respect which he has for the backyard. He is, as you might say, thoroughly yard-broken. When he puts his paws against the front door and barks for freedom he would be a harsh person indeed who would refuse to plan a plantation, a large one, for him. Of course, there was H. 3rd to consider, also, but he seemed less restive. Things beyond the borders of a pram are so foreign.

By eliminating Maine, Ohio and all farms priced at more than twenty thousand dollars, we succeeded at length in narrowing the field of selection to three. One, which has the attractive name of Farm No. 97, is in Connecticut. It has "good American neighbors on all sides." It is only half a mile to some village, not specified. Four of the ten acres are tillable and the rest in timber. Since there are at least 250 cords of wood bringing five to six dollars per cord, the author of the catalogue is entirely justified in the use of the phrase "ridiculously low" regarding the price of $1,500. The author of the catalogue goes on to say that "the owner is an aged widow," and we have gathered the impression that the author means to intimate that she is not quite competent. This would explain the ridiculously low price.

However, we wish to defend our motives in favoring Farm No. 97. It was not the opportunity to swindle a widow out of her homestead which tempted us, nor even the cordwood, but a single sentence almost at the bottom of the description. It read, "Aged owner, for quick sale, will include good mare that has paced a mile in 2:20." This would bring the village half a mile away within one minute and ten seconds, while the good American neighbors would be only seconds away.