Branton Hills was a small town in a rich agricultural district; and
having many a possibility for growth. But, through a sort of smug
satisfaction with conditions of long ago, had no thought of improving
such important adjuncts as roads; putting up public buildings, nor
laying out parks; in fact a dormant, slowly dying community. So
satisfactory was its status that it had no form of transportation to
surrounding towns but by railroad, or "old Dobbin." Now, any town thus
isolating its inhabitants, will invariably find this big, busy world
passing it by; glancing at it, curiously, as at an odd animal at a
circus; and, you will find, caring not a whit about its condition.
Naturally, a town should grow. You can look upon it as a child; which,
through natural conditions, should attain manhood; and add to its
surrounding thriving districts its products of farm, shop, or factory.
It should show a spirit of association with surrounding towns; crawl
out of its lair, and find how backward it is.
Now, in all such towns, you will find, occasionally, an individual born
with that sort of brain which, knowing that his town is backward, longs
to start things toward improving it; not only its living conditions,
but adding an institution or two, such as any _city_, big or small,
maintains, gratis, for its inhabitants. But so forward looking a man
finds that trying to instill any such notions into a town's ruling body
is about as satisfactory as butting against a brick wall. Such "Boards"
as you find ruling many a small town, function from such a soporific
rut that any hint of digging cash from its cast iron strong box with
its big brass padlock, will fall upon minds as rigid as rock.
Branton Hills _had_ such a man, to whom such rigidity was as annoying
as a thorn in his foot. Continuous trials brought only continual
thorn-pricks; until, finally, a brilliant plan took form as John
Gadsby found Branton Hills' High School pupils waking up to Branton
Hills' sloth. Gadsby continually found this bright young bunch asking:--
"Aw! Why is this town so slow? It's nothing but a dry twig!!"
"Ha!" said Gadsby; "A dry twig! That's it! Many a living, blossoming
branch all around us, and this solitary dry twig, with a tag hanging
from it, on which you will find: 'Branton Hills; A twig too lazy to
grow!'"
Now this put a "hunch" in Gadsby's brain, causing him to say; "A High
School pupil is not a child, now. Naturally a High School boy has not
a man's qualifications; nor has a High School girl womanly maturity.
But such kids, born in this swiftly moving day, think out many a notion
which will work, but which would pass our dads and granddads in cold
disdain. Just as ships pass at night. But supposing that such ships
should show a light in passing; or blow a horn; or, if--if--if--By
Golly! I'll do it!"
And so Gadsby sat on his blossom-bound porch on a mild Spring morning,
thinking and smoking. Smoking can calm a man down; and his thoughts
had so long and so constantly clung to this plan of his that a cool
outlook as to its promulgation was not only important, but paramount.
So, as his cigar was whirling and puffing rings aloft; and as groups
of bright, happy boys and girls trod past, to school, his plan rapidly
took form as follows:--
"Youth! What is it? Simply a start. A start of what? Why, of that most
astounding of all human functions; thought. But man didn't start his
brain working. No. All that an adult can claim is a continuation, or
an amplification of thoughts, dormant in his youth. Although a child's
brain can absorb instruction with an ability far surpassing that of a
grown man; and, although such a young brain is bound by rigid limits,
it contains a capacity for constantly craving additional facts. So,
in our backward Branton Hills, I just _know_ that I can find boys and
girls who can show our old moss-back Town Hall big-wigs a thing or two.
Why! On Town Hall night, just go and sit in that room and find out just
how stupid and stubborn a Council, (put _into_ Town Hall, you know,
through popular ballot!), can act. Say that a road is badly worn. Shall
it stay so? Up jumps Old Bill Simpkins claiming that it is a townsman's
duty to fix up his wagon springs if that road is too rough for him!"
As Gadsby sat thinking thus, his plan was rapidly growing; and, in a
month, was actually starting to work. How? You'll know shortly; but
first, you should know this John Gadsby; a man of "around fifty;" a
family man, and known throughout Branton Hills for his high standard of
honor and altruism on any kind of an occasion for public good. A loyal
churchman, Gadsby was a man who, though admitting that an occasional
fault in our daily acts is bound to occur, had taught his two boys and
a pair of girls that, though folks do slip from what Scriptural authors
call that "straight and narrow path," it will not pay to risk your own
Soul by slipping, just so that you can laugh at your ability in staying
out of prison; for Gadsby, having grown up in Branton Hills, could
point to many such man or woman. So, with such firm convictions in his
mind, this upstanding man was constantly striving so to act that no
complaint from man, woman or child should bring a word of disapproval.
In his mind, what a man might do was that man's affair only and could
stain no Soul but his own. And his altruism taught that it is not
difficult to find many ways in which to bring joy to such as cannot,
through physical disability, go out to look for it; and that only a
small bit of joy, brought to a shut-in invalid will carry with it such
a warmth as can flow only from acts of human sympathy.
For many days Gadsby had thought of ways in which folks with a goodly
bank account could aid in building up this rapidly backsliding town of
Branton Hills. But, how to show that class what a contribution could
do? In this town, full of capitalists and philanthropists contributing,
off and on, for shipping warming pans to Zulus, Gadsby saw a solution.
In whom? Why, in just that bunch of bright, happy school kids, back
from many a visit to a _city_, and noting its ability in improving its
living conditions. So Gadsby thought of thus carrying an inkling to
such capitalists as to how this stagnating town could claim a big spot
upon our national map, which is now shown only in small, insignificant
print.
As a start, Branton Hills' "Daily Post" would carry a long story,
outlining a list of factors for improving conditions. This it did; but
it will always stay as a blot upon high minds and proud blood that not
a man or woman amongst such capitalists saw, in his plan, any call for
dormant funds. But did that stop Gadsby? Can you stop a rising wind?
Hardly! So Gadsby took into council about forty boys of his vicinity
and built up an Organization of Youth. Also about as many girls who had
known what it is, compulsorily to pass up many a picnic, or various
forms of sport, through a lack of public park land. So this strong,
vigorous combination of both youth and untiring activity, avidly took
up Gadsby's plan; for nothing so stirs up a youthful mind as an
opportunity for accomplishing anything that adults cannot do. And did
Gadsby _know_ Youth? I'll say so! His two sons and girls, now in High
or Grammar school, had taught him a thing or two; principal amongst
which was that all-dominating fact that, at a not too far distant day,
our young folks will occupy important vocational and also political
positions, and will look back upon this, _our_ day; smiling kindly at
our way of doing things. So, to say that many a Branton Hills "King of
Capital" got a bit huffy as a High School stripling was proving how
stubborn a rich man is if his dollars don't aid so vast an opportunity
for doing good, would put it mildly! Such downright _gall_ by a
half-grown kid to inform _him_; an outstanding light on Branton Hills'
tax list, that this town was sliding down hill; and would soon land
in an abyss of national oblivion! And our Organization girls! _How_
Branton Hills' rich old widows and plump matrons did sniff in disdain
as a group of High School pupils brought forth straightforward claims
that cash paving a road, is doing good practical work, but, in filling
up a strong box, is worth nothing to our town.
Oh, that class of nabobs! How thoroughly Gadsby _did_ know its
parsimony!! And how thoroughly did this hard-planning man know just
what a constant onslaught by Youth could do. So, in about a month, his
"Organization" had "waylaid," so to say, practically half of Branton
Hills' cash kings; and had so won out, through that commonly known
"pull" upon an adult by a child asking for what plainly is worthy,
that his mail brought not only cash, but two rich landlords put at his
disposal, tracts of land "for any form of occupancy which can, in any
way, aid our town." This land Gadsby's Organization promptly put into
growing farm products for gratis distribution to Branton Hills' poor;
and that burning craving of Youth for activity soon had it sprouting
corn, squash, potato, onion and asparagus crops; and, to "doll it up a
bit," put in a patch of blossoming plants.
Naturally any man is happy at a satisfactory culmination of his plans
and so, as Gadsby found that public philanthropy was but an affair
of plain, ordinary approach, it did not call for much brain work to
find that, possibly also, a way might turn up for putting handicraft
instruction in Branton Hills' schools; for schooling, according to
him, did not consist only of books and black-boards. Hands also should
know how to construct various practical things in woodwork, plumbing,
blacksmithing, masonry, and so forth; with thorough instruction
in sanitation, and that most important of all youthful activity,
gymnastics. For girls such a school could instruct in cooking, suit
making, hat making, fancy work, art and loom-work; in fact, about any
handicraft that a girl might wish to study, and which is not in our
standard school curriculum. But as Gadsby thought of such a school,
no way for backing it financially was in sight. Town funds naturally,
should carry it along; but town funds and Town Councils do not always
form what you might call synonymous words. So it was compulsory that
cash should actually "drop into his lap," via a continuation of
solicitations by his now grandly functioning Organization of Youth.
So, out again trod that bunch of bright, happy kids, putting forth
such plain, straightforward facts as to what Manual Training would
do for Branton Hills, that many saw it in that light. But you will
always find a group, or individual complaining that such things would
"automatically dawn" on boys and girls without any training. Old Bill
Simpkins was loud in his antagonism to what was a "crazy plan to dip
into our town funds just to allow boys to saw up good wood, and girls
to burn up good flour, trying to cook biscuits." Kids, according to
him, should go to work in Branton Hills' shopping district, and profit
by it.
"Bah! Why not start a class to show goldfish how to waltz! _I_ didn't
go to any such school; and what am I now? _A Councilman!_ I can't saw a
board straight, nor fry a potato chip; but I can show you folks how to
hang onto your town funds."
Old Bill was a notorious grouch; but our Organization occasionally
did find a totally varying mood. Old Lady Flanagan, with four boys in
school, and a husband many days too drunk to work, was loud in approval.
"Whoops! Thot's phwat I calls a grand thing! Worra, worra! I wish Old
Man Flanagan had had sich an opporchunity. But thot ignorant old clod
don't know nuthin' but boozin', tobacca shmokin' and ditch-diggin'. And
you know thot our Council ain't a-payin' for no ditch-scoopin' right
now. So _I'll_ shout for thot school! For my boys can find out how to
fix thot barn door our old cow laid down against."
Ha, ha! What a circus our Organization had with such varying moods and
outlooks! But, finally such a school was built; instructors brought in
from surrounding towns; and Gadsby was as happy as a cat with a ball of
yarn.
As Branton Hills found out what it can accomplish if it starts out with
vigor and a will to win, our Organization thought of laying out a big
park; furnishing an opportunity for small tots to romp and play on
grassy plots; a park for all sorts of sports, picnics, and so forth;
sand lots for babyhood; cozy arbors for girls who might wish to study,
or talk. (You might, possibly, find a girl who _can_ talk, you know!);
also shady nooks and winding paths for old folks who might find comfort
in such. Gadsby thought that a park is truly a most important adjunct
to any community; for, if a growing population has no out-door spot at
which its glooms, slumps and morbid thoughts can vanish upon wings of
sunlight, amidst bright colorings of shrubs and sky, it may sink into a
grouchy, fault-finding, squabbling group; and making such a showing for
surrounding towns as to hold back any gain in population or valuation.
Gadsby had a goodly plot of land in a grand location for a park and
sold it to Branton Hills for a dollar; that stingy Council to lay it
out according to his plans. And _how_ his Organization did applaud him
for this, his first "solo work!"
But schools and parks do not fulfill all of a town's calls. Many minds
of varying kinds will long for an opportunity for finding out things
not ordinarily taught in school. So Branton Hills' Public Library
was found too small. As it was now in a small back room in our High
School, it should occupy its own building; down town, and handy for
all; and with additional thousands of books and maps. Now, if you think
Gadsby and his youthful assistants stood aghast at such a gigantic
proposition, you just don't know Youth, as it is today. But to whom
could Youth look for so big an outlay as a library building would cost?
Books also cost; librarians and janitors draw pay. So, with light,
warmth, and all-round comforts, it was a task to stump a full-grown
politician; to say nothing of a plain, ordinary townsman and a bunch
of kids. So Gadsby thought of taking two bright boys and two smart
girls to Washington, to call upon a man in a high position, who had
got it through Branton Hills' popular ballot. Now, any politician is a
convincing orator. (That is, you know, all that politics consists of!);
and this big man, in contact with a visiting capitalist, looking for a
handout for his own district, got a donation of a thousand dollars. But
that wouldn't _start_ a public library; to say nothing of maintaining
it. So, back in Branton Hills, again, our Organization was out, as
usual, on its war-path.
Branton Hills' philanthropy was now showing signs of monotony; so our
Organization had to work its linguistic ability and captivating tricks
full blast, until that thousand dollars had so grown that a library was
built upon a vacant lot which had grown nothing but grass; and only a
poor quality of it, at that; and many a child and adult quickly found
ways of profitably passing odd hours.
Naturally Old Bill Simpkins was snooping around, sniffing and
snorting at any signs of making Branton Hills "look cityish," (a word
originating in Bill's vocabulary.)
"Huh!! _I_ didn't put in any foolish hours with books in my happy
childhood in this good old town! But I got along all right; and am now
having my say in its Town Hall doings. Books!! Pooh! Maps! BAH!! It's
silly to squat in a hot room squinting at a lot of print! If you want
to know about a thing, go to work in a shop or factory of that kind,
and find out about it first-hand."
"But, Bill," said Gadsby, "shops want a man who knows what to do
without having to stop to train him."
"Oh, that's all bosh! If a boss shows a man what a tool is for; and
if that man is any good, at all, why bring up this stuff you call
training? That man grabs a tool, works 'til noon; knocks off for an
hour; works 'til----"
At this point in Bill's blow-up an Italian Councilman was passing, and
put in his oar, with:--
"Ha, Bill! You thinka your man can worka all right, firsta day, huh?
You talka crazy so much as a fool! I laugha tinkin' of you startin' on
a patcha for my boota! You lasta just a half hour. Thisa library all
righta. This town too mucha what I call tight-wad!"
Oh, hum!! It's a tough job making old dogs do tricks. But our
Organization was now holding almost daily sittings, and soon a
bright girl thought of having band music in that now popular park.
And _what_ do you think that stingy Council did? It actually built a
most fantastic band-stand; got a contract with a first-class band,
and all without so much as a Councilman fainting away!! So, finally,
on a hot July Sunday, two solid hours of grand harmony brought joy
to many a poor Soul who had not for many a day, known that balm of
comfort which can "air out our brains' dusty corridors," and bring
such happy thrills, as Music, that charming Fairy, which knows no
human words, can bring. Around that gaudy band-stand, at two-thirty
on that first Sunday, sat or stood as happy a throng of old and young
as any man could wish for; and Gadsby and his "gang" got hand-clasps
and hand-claps, from all. A good band, you know, not only can stir and
thrill you; for it can play a soft crooning lullaby, a lilting waltz or
polka; or, with its wood winds, bring forth old songs of our childhood,
ballads of courting days, or hymns and carols of Christmas; and can
suit all sorts of folks, in all sorts of moods; for a Spaniard,
Dutchman or Russian can find similar joy with a man from Italy, Norway
or far away Brazil.