Modern Americans Part 17

Then there was the river, the broad Mississippi.

"It was the river that meant more to him than all the rest. Its charm was permanent. It was the path of adventure, the gateway to the world.

The river with its islands, its great slow moving rafts, its marvelous steamboats that were like fairyland, and its stately current going to the sea. How it held him! He would sit by it for hours and dream. He would venture out on it in a surrept.i.tiously borrowed boat, when he was barely strong enough to lift an oar out of the water."

We are told that when Sam Clemens was only nine years of age he managed to board one of the river steamers. He hid under a boat on the upper deck. After the steamer started he sat watching the sh.o.r.e slip past. Then came a heavy rain and a wet, shivering, little boy was found by one of the crew. At the next stop he was put ash.o.r.e and relatives, who lived there, took him home, and so ended his first journey upon the river.

Years later he became a pilot on a Mississippi river boat and made many trips from New Orleans up the river and back. Such a trip required thirty-five days.

While acting as a river pilot, Samuel Clemens heard the name, "Mark Twain." An old riverman had used it as an a.s.sumed name, taking the term from the cry of the boatmen as they tested the depth of the river. Samuel Clemens had an intense love of joking and fun, so when he first began to write, he suddenly thought it would be amusing to sign some name other than his own. Therefore, he signed his articles "Mark Twain." This name clung to him, and many persons forgot or never knew that his real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens.

Accordingly, in the river of his boyhood love, he found the name by which the world knows today one of the foremost American authors. Yet, in those early days in Hannibal, he had no idea of writing. Indeed, his days were so busy it is not likely he thought much of the future at all. He was the leader of a band of boys that played Bandit, Pirate and Indian. Sam Clemens was always chief. He led the way to the caves whose chambers reached far back under the cliffs and even, perhaps, under the river itself.

When he was a man, Mr. Clemens wrote two books telling of these early days in Hannibal. "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn." "Tom Sawyer" was himself, and the incidents in the book all had their foundation in the days of his boyhood. The cave, as you may know, plays an important part in the latter story. In "Tom Sawyer,"

Indian Joe dies in the cave. There was an Indian Joe in Hannibal and while he did not die in the cave, he was lost there for days and was living on bats when found. This incident made a strong impression on young Samuel Clemens and he never forgot it. It was in the Clemen's house that Tom gave the cat pain-killer; there, too, that he induced a crowd of boys to white-wash the fence all one Sat.u.r.day morning. It was at the Clemens' home, too, that a small boy in his night clothes came tumbling down from an over-hung trellis upon the merry crowd cooling taffy in the snow.

Such happenings were part of young Sam's life. He lived the out-of-doors and, when grown to manhood, he could recall all the sports and pleasures of those days. He cherished the memory of his boyhood friends and so wrote of "Huck" Finn, making him like Tom Blakenship, one of the riotous, freedom-loving members of Sam Clemens'

band.

These boys crowded many adventures into a few years. Hannibal was the scene of stormy times. Black slaves were sold in the open market.

Desperadoes roamed the streets. Lawlessness was everywhere and it was not strange that the residents of Hannibal did not think Sam Clemens amounted to much and prophesied that he would never grow up to follow a respectable calling.

Yet when his father died, Sam went to work in his brother's printing shop. Printed matter began to interest him. Then one day, in the dusty street of Hannibal, this half-grown, lively boy picked up a sc.r.a.p of paper. A leaf torn from a history! Where did it come from? No one knows.

Books were not plentiful then in that little town. Yet, on this paper the fun-loving Sam Clemens read for the first time of Joan of Arc, the wondrous maid who led the French to victory. He had never heard of her. He had read no history, nor had he had an active interest in books. Studying there in the village street, reading the few lines of the marvelous story of the Maid of Orleans, there was created in him an interest that went with him throughout life.

He was by turn a printer, a pilot, a pioneer, a soldier, a miner, a newspaper reporter, a lecturer, but at last he found his true place.

He became a writer and wrote books that continue to delight thousands upon thousands of readers. His life went into his books. Just as he drew upon his early days in Hannibal for the material in "Huckleberry Finn" and The "Adventures of Tom Sawyer," so he used all of his experiences. He wrote "Life Upon The Mississippi," a record of his days as a pilot; "Roughing It," a story of a mining camp; "The Jumping Frog," a western story that made his fame throughout the United States; "Innocents Abroad," a tale of his experiences abroad, and "The Life Of Joan Of Arc," a beautiful story that was always the author's favorite.

During the last years of his life, Mark Twain pa.s.sed the winters in Bermuda and there he was, as ever, the friend of children. There was a pretty, little girl at his hotel named Margaret, who was twelve years old. She and Mr. Clemens went everywhere together and, on one excursion, he found a beautiful, little sh.e.l.l. The two halves came apart in his hand. He gave one of them to Margaret and said, "Now dear, sometime or other in the future, I shall run across you somewhere, and it may turn out that it is not you at all, but will be some girl that only resembles you. I shall be saying to myself, 'I know that this is Margaret by the look of her, but I don't know for sure whether this is my Margaret or somebody else's;' but, no matter, I can soon find out, for I shall take my half sh.e.l.l out of my packet and say, 'I think you are my Margaret, but I am not certain; if you are my Margaret you can produce the other half of the sh.e.l.l.'"

After that Margaret played the new game often and she tried to catch him without his half of the sh.e.l.l, but Mark Twain writes, "I always defeated that game, wherefore, she came to recognize, at last, that I was not only old, but very smart."

Mark Twain had lived 74 years when the close of his life here came April 20, 1910, in Redding, Connecticut. Once he wrote in one of his humorous moments, "Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." When his life here ended, tributes were received from every land. He was mourned as few men have ever been. Why? Because he knew people; he loved them and interested them. Because, in his most famous days he still remained at heart the boy who played beside the river and loved the surging, restless flow of the mighty current.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EX-PRESIDENT WARREN G. HARDING]

WARREN G. HARDING

On the Sat.u.r.day morning after election day in November, 1920, a crowd of people stood waiting in the railway station in Marion, Ohio. They were there to say goodbye to President-elect and Mrs. Harding, who were starting on a vacation journey; for, after the stirring times of the long campaign, they needed rest.

When the conductor of the train asked Mr. Harding if he should make fast time, the President-elect replied: "Go slow; I have been going too fast for the past two weeks."

It was not at all strange that so many should meet to say a fond farewell, for nearly everyone in Marion seems to like Mr. Harding. As we asked his fellow townsmen the reason for this affection, we were surprised that nearly all gave the same reason. They said: "We like him because he is genuine, frank, fair." "He is generous, considerate, and knows how to be a good neighbor." Indeed this spirit of neighborliness was shown clearly during the campaign preceding his election, when Mr. Harding decided to remain in Marion and meet his friends on the front porch of his own home. Because of this decision the Republican campaign of 1920 will long be known as "The Front Porch Campaign." To this front porch came many thousand men and women from every section of our broad land to meet Mr. and Mrs. Harding.

Had you been one of these pilgrims, you would have met a man over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a deep chest. Though he is not bald, his hair is exceptionally gray for a man of his age. He has the rare faculty of making you comfortable in his presence. While, with his deep blue eyes, he looks you squarely in the face as he talks to you, his look is so kindly that you feel at ease.

After this brief but delightful interview, you join an expectant mult.i.tude that has a.s.sembled on the lawn. Suddenly all eyes turn to the porch. Here stands Mr. Harding, gracious, dignified, serious.

Breathlessly each awaits his first utterance. With a well modulated voice he addresses the mult.i.tude as he would speak to a group of friends. Soon you are listening as though he were speaking only to you. With no tendency to bicker he discusses the problems of government in a manner that reveals his clearness of vision and pureness of soul. All too soon the address is ended and the crowd begins to scatter. As each wends his way, the remark that is most frequently heard is this: "I like him and I'm sure we can trust him."

Now that you have met him and heard him speak I am sure you will want to learn more about his life.

On November second, in the year the great Civil War closed, Mr.

Harding was born in Corsica, Ohio. How old, then, is he? Most of his boyhood days, however, were spent in Caledonia, Ohio, where his father was the village Doctor. In addition to practicing medicine he owned the Caledonian Argus, a typical village newspaper.

Since all boys of eleven must have at least a little spending money, Warren, as Mr. Harding was then called, found that setting type was his easiest way to earn pin money.

The first year Warren worked on the Argus, the circus came to town and brought Hi Henry's Band. Warren and another boy helped with unusual faithfulness and speed that day. They knew the paper had free tickets for the circus. Of course they would be given tickets. They planned what a glorious time they would have and, as long as the tickets did not cost anything, they could spend some of their hard earned money on side shows and ice cream. Noon came and no one had mentioned the circus tickets. The afternoon pa.s.sed slowly; two o'clock, no tickets; three o'clock, no tickets; four, five, six o'clock, and no mention of the circus. Two indignant boys held counsel. Then as night fell, they went to the editor and demanded two tickets as their right. The tickets were forthcoming and two pleased boys went to the circus.

Perhaps the glories of Hi Henry's Band aroused the citizens of Caledonia. At any rate a band of fifteen pieces was afterwards organized there. An old harness maker, who liked to have the boys play about his shop, was an expert on the valve trombone. He showed his frequent visitor, Warren Harding, how to play the instrument; then Warren learned the tenor horn and became a full-fledged member of the Caledonia Band. Only those of you who have lived in a small town can know how important the band is. It gives concerts in front of the court house or on the square. It plays at rallies, picnics, shows, and leads in parades. So when Warren Harding joined the Caledonia Band, he felt quite grown up and impressive, perhaps more so than when he was elected President.

Not until 1882 did Dr. Harding trade his farm and move to Marion. His son had by that time been graduated from the Ohio Central College.

Like many another young man of those days, he taught a term of school after leaving college. But he did not plan to remain a teacher. For a time he thought of the law as a profession, and also made some efforts to sell insurance. But his early knowledge of a printing office and the making of a newspaper influenced his tastes and desires.

His father had acquired an interest in the Marion Star, a struggling Republican paper in the county seat. Warren Harding became the editor.

He had held this office only two weeks when he went to Chicago to the Republican National Convention hoping to see James G. Blaine nominated for the Presidency. While he was in Chicago, his father sold the Star and so upon his return Warren Harding, a Republican, became a reporter on the Marion Mirror, the Democratic paper.

In those days, the admirers of James G. Blaine wore high, gray felt hats. Warren Harding wore his when he went about Marion gathering news for the Democratic paper. Soon this annoyed the editor of the Mirror and young Harding was told he must stop wearing his "Blaine" hat. He refused, and so lost his job on the paper.

The night of election day, when Cleveland was elected President, Warren Harding and two old Caledonia friends decided to buy the Marion Star. That was the beginning of an ownership that has lasted ever since. There were plenty of hard days for the young editor but with prophetic insight he wrote and published in the Star:

"The Star is _not_ going to change hands but is both going to go and grow."

Friends laugh and joke about the hard struggles of the Marion Star and the difficulties of the editor to make the paper go. They tell of times when Editor Harding didn't have money enough to pay the help.

Nevertheless, he made the paper both go and grow, and these hardships only endeared him the more to the citizens of Marion. In the end he overcame all difficulties and his fellow citizens felt proud of his success.

Warren Harding had a strong sense of fairness and justice. When he had been editor but a short time, he wrote out his newspaper creed. Today, any reporter, who enters the service of the Marion Star, has given to him the following rules, which the President of our Country believes should be followed:

NEWSPAPER CREED

Remember there are two sides to every question. Get them both.

Be truthful. Get the facts.

Mistakes are inevitable, but strive for accuracy. I would rather have one story exactly right than a hundred half wrong.

Be decent, be fair, be generous.

Boost--don't knock.

There's good in everybody. Bring out the good in everybody and never needlessly hurt the feelings of anybody.