"I think it's right," said the nurse. "I think children ought to stand
up for their rights."
"But, after all," I reminded her, "it was Archie's fire engine."
"Archie's older than Woodie," she said; "he's two and a half and he's
bigger."
"That sort of justification," I objected, "if carried far enough, would
lead straight to criminal anarchy. After all, the bituminous miners
might say that Mr. Palmer was bigger than they are."
"We didn't think they'd fight," she said, cleverly dodging the larger
implications of the discussion. "We were watching them, and all of a
sudden Woodie swung his left hand and hit Archie in the mouth."
"Which hand?" I exclaimed.
"His left hand," she said.
"Are you sure?" I insisted.
"Why, yes, sir. Didn't you ever notice Woodie always picks up things
with his left hand?"
Before, I had been the cool, impartial judge, but it was impossible to
maintain that attitude. In a moment I had become again the parent, human
and fallible to emotion. I motioned to the nurse to leave me. I wanted
to be alone with my problem. I must face the fact with as much courage
as I could muster. There seemed to be no shadow of doubt from which hope
could spring. I was the father of a southpaw.
* * *
APRIL 20, 1920.--We decided not to let H. 3rd play with lead soldiers,
for fear they might inculcate a spirit of militarism. Instead, he
received an illuminated set of Freedom Blocks. We remember that among
the titles were "Bill of Rights," "Free Speech," "Magna Charta" and
"Habeas Corpus." The blocks have not been altogether a success. The set
is badly depleted, for the child licked all the paint off "Free Speech"
and threw "Habeas Corpus" out of the window.
* * *
APRIL 21, 1920.--Although we don't know the exact legal form, we think
we have seen announcements of somewhat the same sort. At any rate, we
want to advertise the fact that on and after this date we will not be
responsible for persons who may be injured by falling objects while
passing the apartment house on the west side of Seventh Avenue between
Fifty-fifth and Fifty-sixth streets. Our first hint of the danger came
when the hairbrush disappeared and could not be found. That was only
circumstantial evidence, but on Monday we caught him in the act of
tossing out a hand mirror.
It was our idea to dissuade him by trying to make him understand that
breaking mirrors is bad luck, but R. says that it is best not to plant
any superstitions in the undeveloped mind of a child. The best we could
do was to take the mirror away and shadow him closely. But yesterday a
bronze vase disappeared and two books. So far no casualties have been
reported. Although we live on the fifth floor, I don't believe the books
could have hurt anybody very much. They were light fiction, but the vase
is different. We told M. not to leave the stove unguarded for a moment,
and we are seeking to perfect a device to padlock the piano to the wall.
As yet we have reached no plan to guard the books. Probably the best we
can do is to allow any passerby who is hit and hurt to keep the book. Of
course, the point naturally arises as to whether a passerby who has been
hit with the second volume of Gibbon's _Rome_ has a right to demand the
whole set. We rather think there would be justice in that. At any rate,
we are not disposed to be petty about the matter, because we realize
that from the fifth floor even a single volume of Gibbon might be
deadly.
A. W., who is frivolous, suggests that we lock up all but a certain
number of suitable books which we shall allow H. 3rd to throw out the
window without interference. His list includes _The Rise and Fall of the
Dutch Republic, The Descent of Man, La Debacle, The Fall and Rise of
Susan Lennox_, and then he would add, rather optimistically, we fear,
_It Never Can Happen Again_.
What is getting into children these days, anyway? Frankly, we view their
conduct with alarm. That spirit of destruction and unrest seems to have
gripped them all. Where do they get it? Why has the Lusk committee
failed to act in the matter? To us it seems a clear case of Bolshevist
propaganda.
* * *
APRIL 23, 1920.--H. 3rd handed me a pencil, and then stood around as if
he expected me to do something with it. I didn't suppose he wanted me
to commit myself in writing about any recent plays or books, and I
guessed that he desired something more pictorial. I drew a face and
showed it to him. It wasn't any face in particular and I didn't know
whether to call it the Spirit of the Ages or a young Jugo-Slav artillery
officer. H. 3rd looked at it with interest and promptly said "baybay."
I let it go at that and was pleased that he had caught the general
intent of the work. Unfortunately, I tried to show my versatility, and
the next head was stuck underneath a pompadour and on top of a rather
elaborate gown. But again he called it "baybay." I added trousers, a
walking stick, a high hat, a fierce scowl and put a long pipe in the
mouth, but he could see no difference. It was still a "baybay."
I was put in the quandary of setting H. 3rd down as a little
unintelligent or stigmatizing my art as ineffective, until I suddenly
came upon the correct explanation. These pictures of mine were direct,
naive, unspoiled by any theory of life or composition. They were the
natural expression of a creative impulse. In them was the spirit of
spring, and freshets, and early birds, and saplings, and _What Every
Young Man Ought to Know_ and all that sort of thing. "Baybay," said H.
3rd, and he was quite right. I couldn't fool him by putting Peter Pan in
long trousers.
* * *
MAY 5, 1920.--This is the story of the low-cut lady and the lisping tot.
It is contained in _The Menace of Immorality_, by the Rev. John Roach
Straton, in a chapter entitled "Slaves of Fashion":
"I once heard one of the most famous reform workers of this city explain
why she gave up low-cut gowns," writes Dr. Straton. "She explained how
she was ready to start for the theater one night in such a dress, when
her little boy of five said to her, 'But, mother, you are not going that
way? You are not dressed.' And then, with trembling voice, she told us
how all the evening through, as she sat in the playhouse she kept
hearing that sweet childish voice saying 'Not dressed! Not dressed! Not
dressed!' until at last, with the blush of shame mantling to her cheeks,
and with the realization that a Christian mother should dress
differently from the idle and godless women of the world, she drew her
cloak about her and went home, dressed--or rather undressed--for the
last time in such a costume!"
Nothing we have read in a month has been quite so disturbing to us as
this simple little tale. Before it our theories tremble and fall. Upon
many an occasion we have set down the conviction that little children
should never be spanked under any provocation whatsoever. And yet if we
had been that low-cut lady we would certainly have given that
interfering and priggish little youngster a walloping. Even in the case
of H. 3rd we are minded to make an exception in our program. He may
rampage and roar and destroy without laying himself open to corporal
punishment, but he will do very well to refrain from any comment of any
sort about our clothes or personal appearance. We do not purpose to come
home in our cloak from any show with our evening entirely spoiled by the
fact that a sweet childish voice has been saying in our ear, "Not
shaved! Not shaved! Not shaved!"
* * *
JUNE 3, 1920.--Of late I am beginning to notice with perturbation a
distinctly sentimental streak in H. 3rd. Nothing else will account for
his tenderness toward Goliath. When we first began to talk about him he
was treated by common consent rather scornfully. He was known to us as
"Ole Goliath he talks too much." Even in those early days it cannot be
said that Goliath was treated with special spite, for as the story grew
in the telling he fared not much worse than David. Somehow or other I
eventually came into the incident myself. Just now I can't remember
whether it was at the special invitation of H. 3rd or my own egotistic
urge.
At any rate, it seems that David, after knocking Goliath down, grew
overbearing in his attitude to all the world. Goliath, it must be
explained, was not killed, since death would involve explanations beyond
the comprehension of H. 3rd. Goliath was merely hit in the chest and
fell. The chest was stressed, since it is necessary every now and then
to halt H. 3rd in his most playful moments with the admonition that
hitting casual visitors in the face is not a friendly act. We pride
ourselves on our old-fashioned Brooklyn hospitality.
However, as we had said, David followed up his victory with the boast,
"I can beat any man in the world," at which point H. 3rd is supposed to
chime in, "And lick 'em." In response to this challenge Heywood 2d
appeared, and when David picked up another rock and threw it H. 2d
cleverly put up his hands and caught the missile. He threw it back at
David and knocked him down. Rollo offered the further amendment that he
himself then appeared and knocked Heywood 2d down. "And," he told the
child, "I didn't need a rock. I used a snappy retort."
He even went so far as to draw a picture of the occurrence, but it met
with no favor from H. 3rd, who exclaimed, "Heywood second did not fell.
He did not fell."
I was much touched by this display of loyalty until I found that his
feelings were just as much engaged in the fate of Goliath. This love of
his for the Philistine he indicated suddenly one evening when he asked
me to tell him the story of "Sweet Goliath," and I found that nothing
would satisfy him but the complete revision of the whole tale to the end
that it should be Goliath who picked up the rock and vanquished David.
I have tried to lure him away from this unauthorized version in vain.
Only to-day I suggested hopefully "That ole Goliath he talks too much."
H. 3rd looked at me severely, but then his face brightened, and with all
the unction of a missionary to China he said, "Goliath loves you."
* * *
JUNE 11, 1920.--"Perhaps you can answer the challenge to American
educational institutions contained in this letter from H. G. Wells,"
writes Floyd Dell. "I can't (neither am I able to think of anything to
reply to the question which he counters to my 'Were You Ever a
Child?'--'Were You Ever a Parent?' But that won't embarrass you)."
I'm afraid that by dint of writing now and again about H. 3rd I have
managed to pass myself off as a chronic parent. For all the assurance
with which I have put forth certain theories on the care and education
of the young, many of them mere reflections of Dell's book, I admit at
the outset no qualification to answer the challenge of Wells even if I
were sure that an answer were possible. For all I know H. 3rd will grow
up to rob a bank and curse me that he was not spanked with due
moralizing and ceremony three times a week. However, the letter from
Wells is as follows:
"Dear Floyd Dell: Yours is a good, wise book--so far. But there is a
devil--several devils--of indolence in a child. Have you ever been a
parent? That too is useful.
"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 class 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. Sex 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
Association 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 God-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 institutions of learning are finishing 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 Japan, 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 fashion.
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 masses 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 dictatorship 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,
God 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 God 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 grass.
* * *
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 smutty 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 assuming that the Fifth is,
"Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the
land which the Lord thy God 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 _Dick Whittington_, and _Aladdin_ and _Captain Kidd_? Let
him honor them. They are all too dead and too deserving to be annoyed by
it.