On one of the more modest streets of Indianapolis there lived, in
1916, an invalid. He was a man sixty-two years of age, with a genial
face that had not been hardened by his years of suffering. This man,
though living in a modest home and a confirmed invalid, had the rare
distinction of being the most beloved man in America. While all
classes loved him, the children loved him most; and fortunately they
did not wait until he was dead to show their love. One of the nice
things they used to do was to send him post cards on his birthdays.
Sometimes he would get, on a single birthday, as many as a thousand
cards from school children in all parts of the country.
While he could not answer all these cards, he did his best to let them
know that he appreciated their kindly attention, as the following
letter shows:
"To the School Children of Indianapolis:
"You are conspirators--every one of you, that's what you are! You
have conspired to inform the general public of my birthday, and I
am already so old that I want to forget all about it. But I will
be magnanimous and forgive you, for I know that your intent is
really friendly, and to have such friends as you are makes
me--don't care how old I am! In fact it makes me so glad and
happy that I feel as absolutely young and spry as a very
schoolboy--even as one of you--and so to all intents I am.
"Therefore let me be with you throughout the long, lovely day, and
share your mingled joys and blessings with your parents and your
teachers, and, in the words of little Tim Cratchit: 'God bless us,
every one.'
Ever gratefully and faithfully
Your old friend,
James Whitcomb Riley."
[Illustration: JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
The "Hoosier" Poet]
On one of his birthdays the school children of Indianapolis decided to
march in a great throng by his house and greet him as he sat by his
window in an invalid's chair. To their sorrow, when this birthday came
it rained hard all day--so hard that they could not think of going out
in the storm. But in the high school was a group of pupils who decided
that no storm could keep them from showing their love. Accordingly,
early in the evening, in the pouring rain, they gathered about his
home and in clear, ringing tones sang several of his beautiful poems
that had been set to music. So delighted was the great poet that he
invited them in and they packed his large sitting room. And what an
hour they had together! As they sang he forgot his suffering and was
young again. Before they left he recited several of his poems in such
a pleasing and impressive manner that I am sure those present will
never forget it. One of these, and one which is a great favorite, is
entitled _The Old Swimmin'-Hole_.