The Leviathan of the Atlantic Ocean, in 1870, was The Queen, and when
she was warped into her dock on September 20 of that year, she
discharged, among her passengers, a family of four from the Netherlands
who were to make an experiment of Americanization.
The father, a man bearing one of the most respected names in the
Netherlands, had acquired wealth and position for himself; unwise
investments, however, had swept away his fortune, and in preference to a
new start in his own land, he had decided to make the new beginning in
the United States, where a favorite brother-in-law had gone several
years before. But that, never a simple matter for a man who has reached
forty-two, is particularly difficult for a foreigner in a strange land.
This fact he and his wife were to find out. The wife, also carefully
reared, had been accustomed to a scale of living which she had now to
abandon. Her Americanization experiment was to compel her, for the first
time in her life, to become a housekeeper without domestic help. There
were two boys: the elder, William, was eight and a half years of age;
the younger, in nineteen days from his landing-date, was to celebrate
his seventh birthday.
This younger boy was Edward William Bok. He had, according to the Dutch
custom, two other names, but he had decided to leave those in the
Netherlands. And the American public was, in later years, to omit for
him the "William."
Edward's first six days in the United States were spent in New York, and
then he was taken to Brooklyn, where he was destined to live for nearly
twenty years.
Thanks to the linguistic sense inherent in the Dutch, and to an
educational system that compels the study of languages, English was
already familiar to the father and mother. But to the two sons, who had
barely learned the beginnings of their native tongue, the English
language was as a closed book. It seemed a cruel decision of the father
to put his two boys into a public school in Brooklyn, but he argued that
if they were to become Americans, the sooner they became part of the
life of the country and learned its language for themselves, the better.
And so, without the ability to make known the slightest want or to
understand a single word, the morning after their removal to Brooklyn,
the two boys were taken by their father to a public school.
The American public-school teacher was perhaps even less well equipped
in those days than she is to-day to meet the needs of two Dutch boys who
could not understand a word she said, and who could only wonder what it
was all about. The brothers did not even have the comfort of each
other's company, for, graded by age, they were placed in separate
classes.
Nor was the American boy of 1870 a whit less cruel than is the American
boy of 1920; and he was none the less loath to show that cruelty. This
trait was evident at the first recess of the first day at school. At the
dismissal, the brothers naturally sought each other, only to find
themselves surrounded by a group of tormentors who were delighted to
have such promising objects for their fun. And of this opportunity they
made the most. There was no form of petty cruelty boys' minds could
devise that was not inflicted upon the two helpless strangers. Edward
seemed to look particularly inviting, and nicknaming him "Dutchy" they
devoted themselves at each noon recess and after school to inflicting
their cruelties upon him.
Louis XIV may have been right when he said that "every new language
requires a new soul," but Edward Bok knew that while spoken languages
might differ, there is one language understood by boys the world over.
And with this language Edward decided to do some experimenting. After a
few days at school, he cast his eyes over the group of his tormentors,
picked out one who seemed to him the ringleader, and before the boy was
aware of what had happened, Edward Bok was in the full swing of his
first real experiment with Americanization. Of course the American boy
retaliated. But the boy from the Netherlands had not been born and
brought up in the muscle-building air of the Dutch dikes for nothing,
and after a few moments he found himself looking down on his tormentor
and into the eyes of a crowd of very respectful boys and giggling girls
who readily made a passageway for his brother and himself when they
indicated a desire to leave the schoolyard and go home.
Edward now felt that his Americanization had begun; but, always
believing that a thing begun must be carried to a finish, he took, or
gave--it depends upon the point of view--two or three more lessons in
this particular phase of Americanization before he convinced these
American schoolboys that it might be best for them to call a halt upon
further excursions in torment.
At the best, they were difficult days at school for a boy of six without
the language. But the national linguistic gift inherent in the Dutch
race came to the boy's rescue, and as the roots of the Anglo-Saxon lie
in the Frisian tongue, and thus in the language of his native country,
Edward soon found that with a change of vowel here and there the English
language was not so difficult of conquest. At all events, he set out to
master it.
But his fatal gift of editing, although its possession was unknown to
him, began to assert itself when, just as he seemed to be getting along
fairly well, he balked at following the Spencerian style of writing in
his copybooks. Instinctively he rebelled at the flourishes which
embellished that form of handwriting. He seemed to divine somehow that
such penmanship could not be useful or practicable for after life, and
so, with that Dutch stolidity that, once fixed, knows no altering, he
refused to copy his writing lessons. Of course trouble immediately
ensued between Edward and his teacher. Finding herself against a literal
blank wall--for Edward simply refused, but had not the gift of English
with which to explain his refusal--the teacher decided to take the
matter to the male principal of the school. She explained that she had
kept Edward after school for as long as two hours to compel him to copy
his Spencerian lesson, but that the boy simply sat quiet. He was
perfectly well-behaved, she explained, but as to his lesson, he would
attempt absolutely nothing.
It was the prevailing custom in the public schools of 1870 to punish
boys by making them hold out the palms of their hands, upon which the
principal would inflict blows with a rattan. The first time Edward was
punished in this way, his hand became so swollen he wondered at a system
of punishment which rendered him incapable of writing, particularly as
the discerning principal had chosen the boy's right hand upon which to
rain the blows. Edward was told to sit down at the principal's own desk
and copy the lesson. He sat, but he did not write. He would not for one
thing, and he could not if he would. After half an hour of purposeless
sitting, the principal ordered Edward again to stand up and hold out his
hand; and once more the rattan fell in repeated blows. Of course it did
no good, and as it was then five o'clock, and the principal had
inflicted all the punishment that the law allowed, and as he probably
wanted to go home as much as Edward did, he dismissed the sore-handed
but more-than-ever-determined Dutch boy.
Edward went home to his father, exhibited his swollen hand, explained
the reason, and showed the penmanship lesson which he had refused to
copy. It is a singular fact that even at that age he already understood
Americanization enough to realize that to cope successfully with any
American institution, one must be constructive as well as destructive.
He went to his room, brought out a specimen of Italian handwriting which
he had seen in a newspaper, and explained to his father that this
simpler penmanship seemed to him better for practical purposes than the
curlicue fancifully embroidered Spencerian style; that if he had to
learn penmanship, why not learn the system that was of more possible use
in after life?
Now, your Dutchman is nothing if not practical. He is very simple and
direct in his nature, and is very likely to be equally so in his mental
view. Edward's father was distinctly interested--very much amused, as he
confessed to the boy in later years--in his son's discernment of the
futility of the Spencerian style of penmanship. He agreed with the boy,
and, next morning, accompanied him to school and to the principal. The
two men were closeted together, and when they came out Edward was sent
to his classroom. For some weeks he was given no penmanship lessons, and
then a new copy-book was given him with a much simpler style. He pounced
upon it, and within a short time stood at the head of his class in
writing.
The same instinct that was so often to lead Edward aright in his future
life, at its very beginning served him in a singularly valuable way in
directing his attention to the study of penmanship; for it was through
his legible handwriting that later, in the absence of the typewriter, he
was able to secure and satisfactorily fill three positions which were to
lead to his final success.
Years afterward Edward had the satisfaction of seeing public-school
pupils given a choice of penmanship lessons: one along the flourish
lines and the other of a less ornate order. Of course, the boy never
associated the incident of his refusal with the change until later when
his mother explained to him that the principal of the school, of whom
the father had made a warm friend, was so impressed by the boy's simple
but correct view, that he took up the matter with the board of
education, and a choice of systems was considered and later decided
upon.
From this it will be seen that, unconsciously, Edward Bok had started
upon his career of editing!