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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Finding Youth, by Nelson Andrews
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: Finding Youth
-       A human experience
-
-Author: Nelson Andrews
-
-Release Date: February 4, 2023 [eBook #69957]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Bob Taylor, hekula03 and the Online Distributed
-             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
-             produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
-             Digital Library.)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINDING YOUTH ***
-
-
-
-
-
-  Transcriber’s Note
-  Italic text displayed as: _italic_
-
-
-
-
-FINDING YOUTH
-
-
-
-
-  FINDING YOUTH
-
-  _A Human Experience_
-
-  BY
-
-  NELSON ANDREWS
-
-  [Illustration: Decoration]
-
-  THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS
-
-  BOSTON
-
-
-
-
-  Copyright 1921, 1922
-  by
-  FRED G. ANDREWS
-  Santa Barbara
-  California
-
-
-
-
-_The reader of these pages need scarcely be told that there is truth
-in them, and a deeper truth in the lesson that they teach. For this
-chronicle, in its essentials, might have been written of many a life
-other than his whose simple story is here set down._
-
-
-
-
-FINDING YOUTH
-
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-This story is told because others need to know it. They need to know
-it now, when all the world is making a blind struggle to find youth-a
-new creative spirit.
-
-It is the experience of just a common, everyday man-myself. But
-thousands of others have gone through my same experience. They are
-not finding the help, though, that I found. It is because I found
-this help-found something that man has always been seeking-that I
-feel impelled to tell my story.
-
-My name is Harvey Allen. I was born in New York City and had
-lived there all my life. When the Big Thing happened, I was sixty
-years old. My wife and I had two sons, both married. We had six
-grandchildren.
-
-We had lived in the same Harlem apartment for twenty years-with
-front windows looking out on the street, side air-shafts, and a rear
-view of clotheslines and fire-escapes. I never see a clothesline now
-that I don’t think of that day in October.
-
-The neighborhood had changed since our coming. The Ghetto had
-expanded and taken us in. The color-line was drawn just a block away,
-in the next street. But the place was home, and we had stuck there.
-
-One of our sons, Walter, lived in Yonkers. The younger son, George,
-lived over in Brooklyn. We didn’t see either of them often. They both
-worked hard to support their families. Evenings and Sundays they
-had their different family interests; and their wives had their own
-relatives to visit.
-
-My wife, however, made frequent trips to their homes. She helped our
-daughters-in-law by doing most of the sewing for the grandchildren.
-But she always returned in time to have my dinner ready at night,
-when I got home tired from my day’s work. She has never neglected
-me. Our youthful love affair was a good deal romantic, and we have
-always been real pals. She is a descendant of one of the old New York
-families of the best American pioneer blood.
-
-Sometimes of an evening we went to a picture-show. But we had dropped
-into the habit of spending most of our evenings at home. Occasionally
-some old friend would call; or Miss Marsh, who had a small room in
-the apartment across the hall, would drop in for a few minutes. But I
-usually read aloud, and my wife sewed. We both have always been great
-book-lovers.
-
-I have never lost my youthful satisfaction in just being with my
-wife. I liked to look and see her seated there by the table, her
-white head bent above her sewing, and the rays from the droplight
-falling across her hands. Her slight figure always carried an air
-about it; and her hands were shapely and delicate, in spite of all
-the hard work she had done. Her hair still kept its girlish curl, and
-she wore it in a loose Grecian knot at the back of her head. She
-wore her cheap clothes, too, with the distinction of a New Yorker.
-
-Whenever she felt my gaze, she would lift her eyes and smile at me
-across the table. I waited for this smile. A certain light in her
-soft brown eyes has never failed to fascinate me.
-
-Whenever Miss Marsh dropped in, I would let my wife entertain her. I
-would smoke my pipe and read to myself. Miss Marsh got on my nerves.
-She was from the South; had seen better days, but was now clerking
-in a dry-goods store on One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street. She was
-a thin, little old maid, who tried to be girlish. She laughed and
-gushed a good deal, and dyed her hair and painted her face. But my
-wife, who is kind to everyone, always defended her.
-
-“Poor little thing! If she didn’t try to keep up her spirits and look
-as young as possible, she’d lose her position in the store. And she
-does say some sharp, bright things. She leads a lonely life. And I
-don’t believe she has enough to eat.”
-
-I can tell these things now about Miss Marsh; for later she and I
-came to understand each other better.
-
-I worked in a downtown printing-plant. It was an old established
-concern, and I had worked there for years. I had been foreman in one
-of the departments until they put in a younger man. When the old
-proprietor died, and his son stepped into the father’s shoes, a good
-many changes were made. The son was a modern efficiency man.
-
-It cut pretty deeply into my pride to be shifted around from one
-job to another-each a little inferior to the former and commanding
-less pay-and then being always finally misplaced by a younger man.
-But I swallowed it all and stayed on. I knew that jobs were not
-lying around loose for men of my years. My long experience mended
-a good many blunders made by the younger chaps in the plant. They
-acknowledged it, too, whenever I jokingly told them. But at the same
-time they smiled indulgence of “old Pop,” as they all called me.
-
-I took this title goodnaturedly, but something in me always shrank
-from it a little. It was from the patronage of youth that I shrank-a
-patronage just tinged with contempt for my years. But I shrank more
-from their pity the day that I finally got my discharge. And they did
-pity me, for they all liked me. I know that my sense of humor made me
-popular with them.
-
-The discharge came unexpectedly, though I had been fearing and
-dreading it for a long time. This fear and dread had begun to look
-out of my eyes. I caught it sometimes in the mirror, and felt a pride
-of resentment against it, as something that hurt my self-respect.
-But what hurt me worse was the knowledge that my wife saw it, too. I
-shrank sensitively from any depreciation of myself in her feelings.
-My masculine pride wanted to keep her always impressed with my
-strength.
-
-She never said anything; but at times I could feel her anxiously
-watching me. There was a sympathetic encouragement in her smile, and
-in the press of her hand on my arm after she had kissed me good-bye
-when I was starting to work in the morning. I always met this smile
-with one of whimsical reassurance. But we both had the feeling of
-bluffing some menacing calamity. And when I walked away, my shoulders
-drooped under this cringing new self-consciousness, and my feet
-shuffled heavily. I had always walked upright and with a spring. I
-realized these changes in myself and resented them. But somehow I
-didn’t seem to have the power to throw them off.
-
-The boss who discharged me hated to do it, and was as kind about
-it as he possibly could be. He assured me that it was not because
-I wasn’t doing my work well. Then, realizing that this was an
-unnecessary thing to say, he cleared his throat, embarrassed.
-They all knew there was no part of a printer’s work that I didn’t
-understand and couldn’t do. But the new management’s policy was for
-young men. My only fault was accumulated years.
-
-“You’ve done your share of work, anyhow, Pop,” he said; “now it’s up
-to your two boys to take care of you. You worked hard for ’em, and
-fitted ’em with the best kind of training to make their own way.”
-
-That’s the conventional balm always put on this kind of hurt. Guess
-I smiled a little ironically. My two boys were having a pretty hard
-struggle to take care of the responsibilities they already had.
-George had had a good deal of sickness in his family, and Walter was
-supporting his wife’s parents. I had been letting them both have
-money.
-
-It wouldn’t have been quite so hard if they had waited until Saturday
-night to discharge me. But they didn’t. It was Tuesday morning. And
-they were going to give me a full week’s pay because of my long
-service. They meant to be kind, of course, in their way-trying to
-let me down easy. But the offer of the full week’s pay added to my
-humiliation and stirred in me a lot of bitterness. My head went hot
-for a minute and the blood drummed in my ears. But I managed to speak
-quietly, and smiled when I said,-
-
-“I only want what’s owing me. I’ve always worked for all I got.”
-
-In going over this scene so many times since, I know that I felt
-something deeper than just my own bitter resentment. I had a vague
-sort of feeling that it was up to me to stand for the justice due to
-other men of my years, in my same fix. These fraternal bonds are in
-our blood.
-
-The boss tried to expostulate. I stood firm. And they finally made
-out my time. I took what was due me, and the boss and I shook hands.
-I could feel him watching me until I got out of the office. I knew
-the kind of look that was in his face, but I didn’t turn around to
-see.
-
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-Leaving the plant that day was the hardest thing I have ever done. My
-first impulse was to get my coat and hat and just slip away. But my
-pride would not let me do that. So I braced and went back to the room
-where I had been working. I told some of the fellows with whom I was
-the best acquainted that I had been fired; and shook hands with them
-in farewell.
-
-There was a pretty tight feeling in my throat. But they helped me to
-try and carry the thing off as something of a joke. I could see the
-pity, though, in their eyes.
-
-It was raining-a cold, drizzling, late-October rain. But I did not
-notice it. I took the same old route I had taken for years, to the
-Sixth Avenue Elevated station.
-
-I did not remember, however, until I started up the station steps,
-that it was forenoon and not my usual time for going home. Then I
-halted and moved back again to the sidewalk, and stood there in the
-rain. I understood later why I had done this. I had been suddenly
-jerked out of a deep rut of habit, and was dazed at finding myself in
-new conditions. Then, too, I was weighted, groggy, with the aching
-depression that I was done for, out of the game-old.
-
-I dreaded to go home and tell my wife. If I had been a drinking man,
-I should have gone off on a drunk.
-
-People jostled by me on their way up the stairs to the Elevated.
-Dripping umbrellas swished against me. My overcoat was wet, and the
-rain trickled from my hat-brim. But I stood there lost, dead-like one
-just sent out of life.
-
-Then my gaze was suddenly caught by an old chap who sold newspapers
-in this district. I often bought my evening paper from him. He was
-a little old fellow, with watery eyes, a stubby beard, and straight
-gray hair that grew a little long. He had one incongruous feature,
-though-good teeth that were kept clean. I had always noticed them.
-My vague interest in him had tabulated him a boozer. But to-day I
-watched him with a new and curious fascination.
-
-He had halted in a doorway, and stood there, hunched up, with his
-newspapers under his arm. He still wore a summer’s stained and
-battered straw hat, and a dirty bandana handkerchief was tied about
-his neck. He was wet and pinched with the cold. He had turned up
-the collar of his old coat, and stood with one hand in his trousers
-pocket, as with the effort to coax a little warmth. For the minute,
-he had forgotten everything but his own discomfort. The hopeless
-misery of the man looked out of his watery eyes.
-
-A dull sympathy of understanding stirred in me. The next instant I
-resented this feeling. I resented it because it put me in this old
-chap’s class. Then the man’s necessity to live pushed him on again to
-work. He started in my direction, calling out his papers in a cracked
-and wheezy voice.
-
-I bought a paper from him and started across the street. I had the
-feeling of hurrying away from something that was clutching at me-as
-a man, using his last spurt of strength to swim for his own life,
-tries to keep away from the reach of another who is drowning. But I
-couldn’t get away from this old fellow. The picture of him filled my
-inner vision. The feeling of him pulsed through my blood. We truly
-_were_ in the same class-both old, and both on the edge of life
-making our struggle.
-
-It was noon. I went into a Child’s restaurant and bought a cup of
-coffee. That brought me back nearer to normal. I decided to look for
-another job. Having secured that, I could face my wife with more of
-encouragement.
-
-All that afternoon I went from one printing-office to another. But
-they all turned me down. Of course, my rain-soaked appearance did not
-inspire much confidence. Had I waited, and gone the rounds looking a
-little less down-and-out, I might have met with success. But later
-experience has made me feel that it would have made small difference.
-
-After each refusal I grew a few years older. I tried to make my sense
-of humor work a little. But it wouldn’t. That and every other part
-of my being was caught in the grip of a shrinking fear. By the time
-I turned into the doorway of my own Harlem apartment house I was a
-shuffling old man.
-
-The halls of the house, as usual, were filled with the odors of
-Kosher cooking. I dragged up the one flight of stairs and fumbled the
-key into the lock of my own door. Downstairs the front door opened
-and closed. Someone had come in. A quick panic seized me that it
-might be Miss Marsh. I hurried into my own apartment to escape her. I
-was feeling now a new shrinking from Miss Marsh.
-
-My wife was not at home. I remembered that she had said at breakfast
-that she was going over to Brooklyn to see the two grandchildren who
-had been sick. She might have been held up in the subway. But I was
-home more than an hour earlier than my usual time.
-
-My first feeling was one of relief, not to find her there. It gave
-me the chance to change my wet clothing before she came. The rooms
-smelled of the newly generated steam hissing up in the pipes. The
-heat felt good. I took off my wet clothes and hung them on two chairs
-by the front-room radiator.
-
-When I had finished dressing, my wife had not yet come. I filled the
-teakettle and put it on the gas-range in the kitchen. Then I turned
-on the light in the dining-room, and sat down by the table to read
-the want advertisements in the evening paper.
-
-But my thoughts were not on the advertisements: they were seething
-with other things. Here, in the seclusion and comfort of my own home,
-they began to work more clearly. I finally threw the newspaper on
-the table, rose, dropped into the old rocker by the window, and let
-myself think. I have always been something of a philosopher; and I
-faced my situation now with more of that spirit.
-
-I, Harvey Allen, was sound and well, with fair intelligence, and a
-thorough knowledge of my work, gained by long experience. I had never
-been a drinking man, but had worked steadily, and had always been
-reliable. Yet, because I was sixty years of age, I was being thrown
-on the dump-heap. My father had lived to be eighty-four. In all
-probability I should live to be as old. That would mean twenty-four
-years on the dump-heap. Twenty-four years!-over a fourth of my
-existence. It was not good social business. Something was wrong. We
-don’t allow that waste with a horse or cow.
-
-I had worked steadily for wages ever since I was seventeen years old.
-Most folks would say that I ought to have laid up enough to take care
-of myself and wife during our old age. Perhaps I ought. But I hadn’t.
-My present bank-account was about a hundred dollars.
-
-During the twenty years in which we had lived in this little dark
-New York apartment I had paid between ten and eleven thousand dollars
-in rent. Then there had been the expense of educating our two boys.
-It had been a big expense. For both my wife and I had wanted them
-to have the best. We had given them both technical educations at
-Cornell. Of course, they themselves had helped some. Then they had
-married young. Babies had come fast. I had had to help tide them over
-some financial rocks. And of late years my wages had been steadily
-decreasing.
-
-Perhaps I had not been as provident as I should. But we had never
-spent money very wildly. I sent a look around the apartment.
-Everything we had was old. No new thing had been bought in the home
-for years. The only real extravagance had been the piano. But that
-had seemed almost a necessity to my wife, who loved music, and tried
-to keep up a little in her playing. And I had paid my debts; had
-always taken pride in never owing any man a cent. In fact, nothing
-had ever worried me more than indebtedness. But now-I cringed.
-
-The boss had said that it was up to my two boys to take care of me.
-Why should it be? They had their children to care for and educate,
-just as I had had mine. Their first duty was that of fathers.
-Besides, even though they could, I didn’t want them to take care of
-me. All I asked was the opportunity to work and take care of myself
-and my wife, who was dependent upon me.
-
-Then my gaze turned out of the window. It was still raining. The
-woman in the apartment up above had left some washing hanging on the
-line-some suits of men’s underwear. The lights from the back windows
-shone upon them. They flopped about weakly in the drizzling storm.
-Somehow they brought back to my mind the picture of the old chap
-standing that morning in the downtown doorway, his newspapers tucked
-under his arm, a helpless victim of the storm. It stirred, too, a
-vague, uneasy sense of affinity in me.
-
-The clock struck. I roused from my thoughts and began to feel a
-little anxious about my wife. It was most unusual for her to be as
-late as this. I decided to telephone over to George’s and learn if
-she had started. I was just taking down the receiver, when I heard
-her key scrape in the lock. I went quickly and opened the door for
-her. She came in breathless from having hurried. I followed her into
-the dining-room, and saw that she was looking white and anxious.
-George was sick. Had pneumonia. He had been sitting up nights with
-his sick children, was all worn out, and had taken cold. George, who
-is the younger, has always been the less robust of our two boys.
-
-“I should have gone over and relieved him of the care of the
-children,” my wife said, with the pain of self-censure in her face.
-“But I’m going back now to take care of him. I’ve come home to get
-some things that I need.”
-
-“Why didn’t you telephone,” I reprimanded, “and have me bring over
-what you wanted, instead of making this long trip in the rain?”
-
-But she had thought that I wouldn’t know where to find the things.
-And she wanted to see, too, that I was fixed all right, as she might
-be gone for several days.
-
-“You must have something to eat,” I said, “then I’ll go back with
-you.”
-
-I carried her wet umbrella into the kitchen, and she went into the
-bedroom to gather up her things.
-
-I decided not to add to her worry by telling her now about my day’s
-experience. But she herself made the discovery. I have never been
-able to conceal anything from her for long. She went into the front
-room, and saw my wet clothes hanging on the chair by the radiator.
-Then she came out to the kitchen, where I was making a clumsy effort
-to brew her a cup of tea.
-
-“How did you happen to get so wet to-day?” she asked.
-
-The question took me unawares, and I hesitated before making the
-excuse that I had had no umbrella. She did not speak again, but
-stood there watching me. My hands trembled so that I spilled the hot
-water when I tried to pour it into the teapot.
-
-Finally, I turned and met her gaze. Then there was no need of further
-words between us. When her eyes looked into mine, she seemed to know
-the whole story as fully as if I had told it to her. I could never
-describe the look that came into her face. It was something like the
-mother-look that I had seen there when she was nursing one of her
-babies. But it was intensified. She moved toward me, put her arms
-around my neck, and gazed up into my face.
-
-“Don’t worry, Harve; you’ll find something else soon.”
-
-I think it was the fine instinct of the thoroughbred in my wife that
-made her now call me “Harve.” It had been a long time since she had
-called me that. We had grown to be to each other just “Dad” and
-“Mother.” But the “Harve” brought with it a certain reassurance of
-youth-an encouragement to the personality that was mine irrespective
-of my fatherhood; to the _me_ who had been her lover, husband, pal.
-It sent a thrill through me that braced my spine. I put my arms
-around her, drew her to me, and laid my face down against hers.
-
-Since then I have learned that the lover always is young.
-
-From this time on my wife and I fell back into the old habit of
-calling each other “Harve” and “Mattie.”
-
-During the days that followed I missed her more than I could ever
-tell. But we were both a good deal worried about George, who was
-pretty sick. I went over to Brooklyn each evening, to see how he was,
-and to do what things I could to help. The days I put in looking for
-work. George’s sickness, which was going to be a big expense, added
-to my feeling that I must find an immediate job.
-
-It happened that Walter was not at home just at this time. He is an
-electrical engineer, and his company had sent him out in the state
-to do some work.
-
-I trailed around to printing-offices, little and big. As yet I had
-made no attempt to find work outside of my own trade, in which I had
-had a lifetime of training. But nothing offered. A good many printers
-happened to be looking for jobs at this same time; and the younger
-man was always given the preference. I had two or three promises
-from bosses-men whom I had known. But these promises all turned out
-disappointments.
-
-Then, one night, I was going home after having traveled the rounds
-all day in Harlem. I was tired and pretty well discouraged. After
-having paid my next month’s rent and some other small bills, and
-taken money over to Brooklyn to help out with the expenses of
-George’s sickness, I had only about ten dollars left in the bank.
-
-By this time I had come to understand that I must look for some kind
-of work aside from a printing-office. So this day I had made the try
-for a job in several stores, and other places. But with no success.
-They had no jobs for men of my years. If I had been a cook, I might
-have got a place in a Third Avenue restaurant. There seemed to be
-more demands for cooks than for any other kind of labor.
-
-As I walked along now, I saw a “Janitor Wanted” sign on the area
-railing of an apartment house. I halted and looked at it. After
-having lived all my life in New York apartments, I knew what a
-janitor’s job was like. It would mean taking my wife to live in
-a dark garbage-smelling basement. But I had come to a state of
-desperation-of almost panic. I hesitated, then swallowed my pride,
-braced myself, and went down the area-steps to the basement. This
-janitor’s job might tide over until I could find something else.
-
-The wiry little Yiddish superintendent of the building was there,
-just inside the basement door, talking to two other applicants-a big
-negro and an Italian. When I arrived, the superintendent turned to
-me.
-
-“How about this janitor’s job?” I asked; and my manner might have
-shown a little something of patronage.
-
-He looked me over critically. The negro and Italian watched
-anxiously. Then the superintendent gave a Jew shrug, shook his head,
-and dismissed me with a belittling smile.
-
-“I vant a man dat could lif’ de garbage cans und big tings. You vas
-too old.”
-
-The last drop of gall was added to the bitterness of my humiliation.
-I was too old to be the janitor of even a third-rate Harlem apartment
-house. As I stumbled back up the area-steps, I heard him hire the
-big negro for the job. Every atom of me tingled so with humiliation
-that I forgot to take a street car, but walked the rest of the long
-distance home. By the time I reached there, I was trembling and
-pretty well all in.
-
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-And then came the happening which led to the final big experience of
-my life.
-
-I had halted in the lower hall, to rest a minute before climbing
-the stairs to my own apartment. I stood with my foot on the lower
-step, leaning heavily against the banisters. The outside door opened
-and Miss Marsh came in. I was too tired to try and escape her. She
-stopped beside me and asked anxiously:-
-
-“What’s the matter, Mr. Allen?”
-
-“Nothing. Just a little tired,” I answered, and started on up the
-stairs.
-
-She followed. In the hall above I stopped at the door of my
-apartment, and she moved on toward hers. Then she turned suddenly,
-and came back to me.
-
-“I sure would like to do something for you if I could, Mr. Allen,”
-she said, in her Southern way of speaking.
-
-I turned and looked at her. In her face was an expression different
-from any that I had ever seen there-more sincere and earnest.
-It commanded a respect that I had never felt for her. I mumbled
-something or other in the way of thanks, to which she paid no
-attention, but went on to say:-
-
-“I know it must be mighty hard to have to look for a new job after
-you have worked for so many years in the same place.”
-
-I cringed, and I think I must have scowled. For I was wondering how
-she had found out that I was looking for another job. I thought that
-I had kept the fact pretty carefully concealed. But I guess the most
-of us are ostriches, stretching our heads down in the sands of our
-own secret conceits. While I stood there, wondering, she kept on
-talking. The next thing that I caught was:-
-
-“Don’t reckon you’ll want to take any advice from me, but you can’t
-afford to let yourself grow old like this, Mr. Allen. Nobody wants us
-if we’re old.”
-
-I tried to laugh. It was a sickly attempt. What she had said hit me
-in so many sore spots that I squirmed to get away. But inside my own
-apartment, the thing that she had said repeated itself in my thoughts.
-
-“You can’t afford to let yourself grow old.”
-
-I smiled satirically. How folks can fool themselves. That little old
-maid, with her dyed hair and painted face, thinking that she was
-hiding the fact of her age!
-
-But still the thing kept repeating itself-“You mustn’t let yourself
-grow old.”
-
-“_Let! Let! Let!_”
-
-That word finally got to hammering itself in my tired brain. I tried
-to get away from it, but I couldn’t. There was something accusing
-about it, like the gesture of a pointed finger. It seemed to put the
-blame of all my failure up to me-some wrong understanding in myself.
-
-_And then came my first experience with the Voice!_
-
-I call it the Voice, for I don’t know what else to call it. But I
-know that some Power outside a man’s own being can speak to him in
-the time of his need; when his ego is weakened by the discouragement
-of defeat. When he listens, he learns and is helped. For this Voice
-teaches _Life_! Our schools and churches have taught us systems and
-creeds.
-
-I had pulled up a chair to the kitchen table, on which I had set out
-a scrambled sort of supper. I was going over to Brooklyn as soon as I
-had finished eating. The “_Let! Let! Let!_” was still pounding away
-in my thoughts. Finally I halted in my supper, set down my coffee-cup
-and asked:-
-
-“Have I let myself grow old?”
-
-And the Voice replied quickly:-
-
-“Yes. You should be now right in your prime, knowing how to use and
-enjoy life. If you are thrown on the dump-heap, it is because you
-have put your own self there.”
-
-You may laugh. You may say that I was tired and a little woozy in
-the head. But I _know_ the Voice did speak. It spoke to my inner
-consciousness, but the thoughts were not my own. I even winced from
-some of the things it said.
-
-It makes no difference whether or not you believe in the Voice, you
-must be impressed by the results of its teachings as applied in my
-own life. For I followed its teachings and learned the Great Lesson.
-
-This first night only the glimmering light of a new understanding
-came to me. But that light grew. I saw that, up to now, I had been
-putting upon others all the blame for my own weaknesses-and thought
-of myself as a helpless victim of an unenlightened social order. I
-was slumping into a slough of self-pity. Worst of all, _I was losing
-my sense of humor_. I know that this is the big calamity. As long as
-a man can laugh humorously-laugh with his mind as well as with his
-mouth-he has the vitality to create new brain-cells.
-
-And, after this first talk with the Voice, _I smiled at myself!_-a
-thing of big encouragement! One has caught at a strong life-saver
-when he can rise above the swamping power of self-pity long enough to
-laugh at his own weaknesses.
-
-When I was putting on my overcoat, getting ready to go over to
-Brooklyn, I took a critical survey of myself in the bedroom mirror.
-I had been considered a pretty good-looking man-was tall and
-broad-shouldered, and had been quite athletic in my day. But I could
-see now that in many ways I had let myself grow old. There was no
-necessity for me to be so stooped, with such a caved-in chest and
-protruding abdomen. I pulled myself up and saw that I could stand
-straight. And I realized at once more command of myself when I stood
-right, with my chest up and my abdomen pulled in. Yes, I could stand
-straight when I made the effort.
-
-Then, in quick response to this thought, the Voice again spoke:-
-
-“_When you make the effort!_ It is the _you_ inside that must make
-the effort.”
-
-And I finally came into this understanding.
-
-I want to impress the fact that I did not learn at once all the
-things I am now telling. This knowledge grew. But I’m going to state
-some things before I go on to tell of how I found my life’s big
-opportunity.
-
-I gained the understanding that old age is a matter of the
-_ignorance_ of Life. New laws of Nature are continually being
-discovered. In the last century science discovered electricity. This
-century will see the discovery of Life.
-
-Man has both the mental and physical power to keep young, _if he will
-use that power_. Instead of being a thing on the dump-heap, _man
-may grow in power as he grows in years_. His body is made by food,
-drink, air, and _thoughts_. Its cells are constantly rebuilding. By
-understanding his own power, he can direct this rebuilding to an
-increased Life-capacity.
-
-His power to do so has been limited by his own ignorance. Once men
-said that there could never be a steam-engine. Later they scoffed
-at the possibility of building a flying machine. In his discovery of
-new laws, man is learning that he has hindered his own growth through
-his lack of understanding. A man can never _grow_ old. He may _stop_
-growing, and stagnate. That is what I had done.
-
-The first lesson that I had to learn was the difference between youth
-and old age. Both are really matters of the spirit, rather than of
-years. One may be aged at twenty, and a youth at eighty.
-
-The spirit of youth has courage, is venturesome, progressive,
-optimistic, _creative_. The spirit of old age is afraid, reactionary,
-pessimistic, and stagnant. Youth laughs. Old age sighs. Youth is
-eager to discover new paths. Old age wants to stay in the prison of
-habit and travel the same old ruts.
-
-I had been traveling in ruts. And I had worn them _deep_. For twenty
-years I had _let_ myself live in the same old dark apartment, and
-take the same old route to the same old printing-plant. And I had
-wanted to cling to the same old ways of doing work. The time came
-when I realized that I must have been something of a proposition to
-the printing-plant’s young management. For I had stubbornly opposed
-the new efficiency system.
-
-Because I felt tired at night, I had _let_ my wife give up all other
-associations to keep me company. I had _let_ myself lose interest in
-my old friends, and I had shunned making new ones. I selfishly clung
-to just my own immediate family. That meant heart-stagnation. The man
-is old who has let himself lose his heart-interest in _people_.
-
-The man who loves most, lives most. Youth loves.
-
-I had _let_ myself drop out of touch with all the big public issues.
-I felt no interest in any country but the United States, and that
-meant very little to me outside of New York City. And here in New
-York, where every opportunity offered, I never went to a lecture, or
-to a concert. I had stopped going to see the new plays; I talked
-about the superior old days of the theatre, when Daly’s was in
-its prime. I didn’t even read the new books, but prided myself on
-sticking to the old ones. All of which made for brain-stagnation.
-
-_I had grown afraid of adventure._
-
-This revelation came to me suddenly, the next day after my first
-experience with the Voice. It sent a tingle of protest through
-me, and I cringed with something like shame. But I halted on the
-sidewalk and faced the fact squarely. Then I rebelliously pulled
-myself together, quit my hunt for a job, forgot my poverty-stricken
-bank-account, and went for a trip through Central Park and the
-Metropolitan Museum. I had not been there for years. It all seemed
-like a new world to me. It stirred my stagnant emotions and filled me
-with new interests.
-
-We are continually losing these life-building values that lie right
-at our elbow. A man will travel the same old route day after day to
-his business. If, once in a while, he would go even a block out of
-his way, he might have the feeling of new adventure-get a new view,
-or some experience to stimulate new cell-activity in his stagnating
-heart and brain.
-
-When I got home that night, I was several years younger.
-
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-Having conquered my fears and tasted adventure, I was hungry now for
-more. My wife felt the change in me when I saw her that evening in
-Brooklyn. In fact, she has always declared that it was the influence
-which I brought into the house that night-the feeling of new vigor
-and of new hope-that made George take a turn for the better and get
-well.
-
-As usual, on my Brooklyn subway trip, I read the want advertisements
-in the evening papers. An office over in a small New Jersey town was
-advertising for a printer! I read it two or three times. But if I had
-not taken that Central Park adventure trip, I don’t believe I should
-have answered this advertisement. I had never thought of going to New
-Jersey to look for a job. I felt all the self-centred New Yorker’s
-prejudices against New Jersey. But I did go. I was up and on my way
-early the next morning.
-
-And that was how I happened to meet Ben Hutchins and find my life’s
-big opportunity.
-
-The first time I saw Ben Hutchins, I laughed. I knew at once that he
-was a crank. He was an old-school printer, like myself. For years
-he had run this little job office and published a weekly newspaper.
-Afterwards, I learned that he had plenty of money-was, in fact,
-rich-and that the only reason he kept on publishing his paper was
-that he didn’t quite know how to get out of the habit.
-
-His little old one-story building stood off by itself, in the
-business section of this small New Jersey town. To get to it, you
-had to cross a bridge and follow a narrow dirt path. The path this
-morning was muddy, after a short flurry of wet snow. The paint
-was worn off the building. One of the old-fashioned shutters was
-loose and flapped in the November wind. On the roof was a rooster
-weather-vane that looked as if it might have been crowing into the
-teeth of a half-century of storms.
-
-I opened the door and went in. It was one large room-a typical,
-old-fashioned, country-newspaper office. Its assortment of junk
-looked as if it might have been accumulating there since the American
-Revolution. An antiquated roll-topped desk stood in the corner, by
-one of the front windows. A tipsy old swivel-chair stood in front
-of it. Near it, a lop-sided old waste-basket spilled its overload
-of newspapers on the floor. In the centre of the room a rusty
-base-burner stove glowed with a red-hot coal fire.
-
-Ben Hutchins, in his shirt-sleeves, and wearing a printer’s dirty
-apron, stood in front of one of the cases, setting type. He was a
-stockily built man of about seventy, with a belligerent shock of gray
-hair that stood up straight on his head.
-
-When I entered, he waited to space out a line before recognizing my
-presence. Then he turned and glowered at me over his glasses, which
-hung on the tip of his bulbous nose.
-
-“Well-?” he said, finally, after a critical sniff.
-
-Then, as I said, I laughed-a laugh born of my feeling of new
-confidence, gained from the teachings of the Voice. It caught Ben
-Hutchins’s interest and made him take a liking to me from the start.
-I have learned that he is very quick and very decided in his likes
-and dislikes. In fact, he never does anything half-way. He is either
-stubbornly for a thing or against it. No argument can ever convince
-him either way. And down under all his surface peculiarities he has
-a keen and most original sense of humor. It was the liking that he
-conceived for me from the start which made him let me do the things
-that I have done.
-
-He gave me again the once-over; then he, too, indulged in a faint
-grin.
-
-“I’ve come for that job,” I informed him, with all my new courage of
-adventure. “And I’m just the man you’re looking for.”
-
-“Oh, are you?” and he gave another of his critical sniffs, which I
-soon discovered to be habitual. “Well, come and sit down, and we’ll
-see. I may not be of your opinion.”
-
-With his composing-stick still in his hand, he led the way to the
-corner where stood the ancient roll-top desk. He seated himself
-heavily in the creaking swivel-chair, and I pulled up another old
-chair that stood near. All this time he was studying me closely over
-his glasses.
-
-“I’ve got the reputation,” he told me, after I was seated, “of never
-keeping a man very long.”
-
-He waited to see if this was going to discourage me any. But it
-didn’t, and so he went on to say:-
-
-“But the ones that come out here for a job are generally no good. Or,
-if they are, they get discouraged and don’t want to stay.”
-
-“Well, I’m going to stay,” I said, “you can’t get rid of me. And I’m
-all to the good.”
-
-Again he met my laughing gaze, and again he grinned. Then after
-studying me once more, he came to a decision. He rheumatically pulled
-himself to his feet and said:-
-
-“Well, take off your coat and go to work.”
-
-And that ended our conference. We made no sort of bargain, said
-nothing whatever about the pay I was to get, or what I was expected
-to do. It was like Ben Hutchins-that snap sort of conclusion. But
-once he has made up his mind, you may be sure that he will carry his
-part of the bargain to the end. Of course, I had to learn this about
-him. I thought then that he was just going to try me out, give me a
-chance to make good if I could.
-
-I took off my overcoat and other coat, and hung them up with my hat.
-Then I found another printer’s dirty apron, and started in to work.
-
-It may be hard to understand how a man, after having been employed
-for years in one of New York’s big printing-plants, should have
-finally found his life’s opportunity in that little country
-junk-shop of a printing-office. But that is what I did. I could not
-have done so, however, without having had the experience of the
-previous few days, as well as the new lessons I was learning all the
-time from the Voice.
-
-_It was because I was finding youth that I found my opportunity._
-Youth, which is courageous, venturesome, progressive, optimistic, and
-_creative_! Cowardly old age, pessimistic, stagnant, and traveling in
-ruts, never finds a big life-opportunity.
-
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-I had been at my new job two weeks. We had issued two editions of the
-weekly paper. I had done the work of editor, reporter, compositor,
-proof-reader, pressman, and mailing clerk. Every day I was growing
-more and more in love with my job. I whistled again like a boy, at my
-work-this, in spite of the fact that I was taking that long trip each
-night and morning to and from New York. It is not work-the kind that
-is made creative-but stagnation, which wearies.
-
-New demands were stirring every part of my being into new activities.
-My faculties were all alert. So were my emotions, my imaginations,
-_and my sense of humor_. Values were being aroused in me that, for
-lack of something to call them into use, had all my life been lying
-dormant. I had never known that I could do some of the things which
-I now did. I had begun to take an interest in national and world
-affairs, about which I had to furnish copy. I also had begun to take
-more interest in people.
-
-For years, when making my daily trips on the Elevated, I had most
-of the time kept my eyes glued to the latest criminal sensation in
-the newspapers. When I was not reading a newspaper, my thoughts were
-occupied with my own small interests.
-
-The thing always of big importance was that I should beat someone
-else to a seat in the car. But now I began to watch and study that
-mass of humanity packed into the car with me. The mass resolved
-itself into individual beings. I picked out those having the old-age
-spirit from the ones who had the spirit of youth. By far the larger
-number-regardless of the years they had lived-were caught in the grip
-of the old-age fear, and were traveling in the old-age ruts. A good
-many, like little Miss Marsh, were trying to camouflage their old age
-by artificial means.
-
-A new sympathy began to warm in my heart for mankind-so pitiably
-ignorant of Life and of the ways to gain its _real_ joys. My New
-Yorker’s reserve began to relax, and I let myself do little helpful
-things for my fellow travelers. One night I helped an old East-Side
-Jew struggling under a load of second-hand clothing. The poor old
-chap’s surprised smile of appreciation brought a quick lump into my
-throat; and a kindlier feeling for the whole Jewish race warmed in my
-heart. I was growing tensely interested, too, in all the doings of
-our little New Jersey town. Each day I was making new friends. All of
-which meant a vitalizing of my heart’s stagnation.
-
-My son George was well again, and had gone back to his work.
-Mattie-my wife-had come home. I had rented a small house not far from
-the printing-office, and we were getting ready to move to New Jersey.
-
-Then, after I had been working for him two weeks, Ben Hutchins was
-seized with a bad attack of lumbago, and was laid up at home for a
-month. At the end of that time his daughter had persuaded him to go
-to California and spend the rest of the winter.
-
-When he reached a final decision relative to this California trip, he
-sent for me to come and see him. I had been several times, during his
-sickness, to the big, old-fashioned house, where he lived with his
-widowed daughter. His wife was dead. When I went now we had another
-of our brief talks. He was going to leave the printing-plant entirely
-up to me.
-
-“Run it as well as you can, and keep me posted how you’re coming on.”
-
-He gave no further instructions. But by this time I had learned that
-he liked to be met in his own brief way of doing business-never
-wanted any fuss of words; when he felt justified in trusting a man,
-he trusted him absolutely. And I knew now that he felt this trust in
-me. When, on leaving, I shook hands with him, I gave him a tight grip
-of appreciation, and we exchanged a look of mutual understanding.
-
-I had already hired another printer. And Mattie, now that we had
-moved over to our new home, came every day to the office and helped.
-I made a number of changes in the old plant. I even put into
-operation some of the modern efficiency methods which I had scorned
-in the New York plant. Our job printing was growing; and we were
-getting new subscribers and more advertising for the newspaper.
-
-One day a peculiar thing happened. I had run over to New York, to get
-some new parts for our old press. This errand took me down town, in
-the neighborhood of the Sixth Avenue Elevated station, which had been
-a part of my daily rut for so many years. The sight of it now took me
-back to the day when I got my discharge. I smiled when I thought of
-how helpless I had stood there in the rain. It made me realize how
-far from the old rut I had traveled.
-
-Then I thought of the old chap who had sold newspapers, and wondered
-if he was still working on his beat. I looked about for him and,
-sure enough, there he was, wearing the same ancient discolored straw
-hat. I followed and spoke to him. I had lost all fear now of being
-submerged in his old-age class. It was noon, and I asked him to go
-to lunch with me. He gazed in a daze of questioning surprise, then
-accepted the invitation.
-
-I took him to a quiet little place, where we might have a table
-to ourselves. During the meal I learned more about him. His name
-was James Shaw, and he was alone in the world. He talked well-used
-good English. I had always felt that there must be something of
-intelligence back of his good clean teeth. And he, too, _was an old
-printer_. Probably that was why he had drifted naturally to the
-selling of newspapers. It is hard for a printer to keep away from the
-smell of printer’s ink.
-
-Well, the upshot of it was that I hired Jimmy Shaw, and took him back
-with me to New Jersey. And Jimmy has made good. After he was barbered
-and had put on a new suit of clothes, and had his first lessons in
-Finding Youth, he was as spry and dudish as anything on Broadway.
-
-Then, the final Big Adventure was brought about by my articles in our
-weekly newspaper.
-
-I had been running a series of articles on my Finding-Youth
-revelations. Some of them were copied in other newspapers. Ben
-Hutchins, out in California, read them in our own paper, which we
-sent him each week. Afterwards, his daughter told me that he showed
-them to the different guests in the hotel where they were stopping.
-
-Then I wrote an article on the old-age problem. I headed it, “Why
-the Dump-Heap?” Among other things, I said that one of the biggest
-social wastes was the waste of the latter years of the lives of men
-and women. Instead of being a waste product at eighty, a man should
-be a Life masterpiece-_still creative_. But we cling-theoretically,
-at least-to the savage belief that man possesses no other creative
-power than the sex-function; and that, after they have passed the
-age of race-propagation, men and women are of no further social use.
-Savages, not knowing what else to do with their people of years, kill
-them. We let them stagnate.
-
-By this time we should have learned that Life here, and always, is a
-thing creative. We are incidentally parents. We are creators always.
-For if God made us in His own image, then He made us all creators. As
-creators, we grow. And growth is the law of life. Stagnation is decay
-and death. We must have new educational methods. We must have new
-ideals-a new heaven. And this new heaven will be a place filled with
-creators, instead of with stagnant resters.
-
-Then I went on to suggest that society might organize Youthland
-colonies, instead of relegating each year so many thousands of men
-and women to the fate of dependence and stagnation. These colonies
-might be made centres of big usefulness, of broad education and
-creative growth.
-
-I outlined my scheme of a Youthland colony. It should be a place of
-individual homes, with certain coöperative community buildings-an
-auditorium and recreation centre, a hotel and laundry, and other
-things, to make living easier and cheaper. The members of the colony
-themselves would support all these institutions. For there would be
-different light industries for the ones who wished to work and earn
-their own living.
-
-There would be lectures, music, dancing, and classes in science,
-sociology, politics, psychology, literature, languages, and the arts.
-Everyone would be given the chance and encouraged to take up any kind
-of creative work in which he might feel himself capable of qualifying.
-
-Well, Ben Hutchins read this article, and it struck instant fire in
-him. He didn’t even wait to write. Instead he telegraphed:-
-
-“Youthland colony good scheme. California right place to start one.
-Am writing my lawyer to sell printing-plant. You come out here.”
-
-I laughed. Of course I had no idea that he really meant this. I had
-believed everything that I had written about my colony, but I had
-painted it with my own imagination. Then I worried. He might be
-taking this way of selling his plant and letting me out. I lay awake
-nights, trying to figure some scheme whereby I myself might make a
-small payment and get hold of the plant.
-
-I had a proposition all framed, when I received a letter from
-Hutchins. It was-for him-a long letter, dictated to a stenographer.
-In it he gave me to understand that he was in earnest about the
-Youthland colony scheme. Indeed, he had already bought a tract of
-land and was setting to work on the project. He wrote a lot of
-instructions: informed me that, if he could not sell the newspaper to
-advantage, he meant to have the plant shipped to California. It would
-be a necessary adjunct to the colony. He was enthusiastic. His health
-had greatly improved; he was in love with California, and both he
-and his daughter wanted to stay there. But he must have something
-with which to busy himself; and this colony scheme had made a big hit
-with him.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Well, that is how our California Youthland Colony came into
-existence. It is another story, but I must tell you a few things
-about it. It is located in a beautiful spot-where “the ocean and the
-mountains meet.”
-
-We are now a group of five hundred, all owning our own homes. Some
-of these homes are larger and more pretentious than others; for some
-of our colony members have good big incomes. Others are poor. But we
-are all inspired by the same ideals. The poorer ones are given the
-opportunity to pay for their homes on easy monthly installments.
-
-We have a small canning factory; and we make a fine grade of candied
-California fruits. We do some rug-weaving and pottery work. We have
-a dairy and poultry yards. All of these industries are coöperative
-in character-owned in common. The same is true of our small inn and
-laundry. They give employment to the ones who want to make their
-living. But we have no drones. Every Youthlander works. He also
-plays. Some devote themselves to raising small-fruits and English
-walnuts on their individual land tracts. Some teach in our school.
-
-We have all kinds of classes in our school. We have expert
-instruction in diet, exercise, rest, and the things which make for
-the best physical condition. It is my intention to incorporate some
-of these lessons in another book-the methods which we have worked
-out to our own advantage. We have almost no sickness. Our members
-are a vigorous, useful, busy lot of folks. They live out-of-door
-lives twelve months of the year. They are filled with all sorts of
-progressive interests. _They think right thoughts._ In connection
-with our physical work, we have dancing classes, also a hiking club
-that makes interesting trips.
-
-An ex-college president has charge of our educational work. A retired
-manufacturer is general director of our industries. And these two
-men are not using any back-number methods. Both are inspired by the
-spirit of youth. They combine with the modern the best values brought
-out of their long experience.
-
-Some of our members have been encouraged to write. A number are
-studying music. Mattie, my wife, is enjoying that privilege. One
-woman of seventy, who never before had the time or chance to
-study the piano, has displayed considerable musical ability. In a
-good-sized French class, no member is under sixty. And there are two
-art classes.
-
-Ben Hutchins is the colony’s shrewd buyer. He drives his own car out
-through the country, and contracts for the fruit that is put up in
-our cannery. They made me the first colony president, and each year
-have insisted on reëlecting me. Next year I am going to decline. I
-don’t want to get into the presidential rut. Jimmy Shaw is foreman of
-the job department in our printery. Jimmy has had a romance which he
-has given me permission to tell some time.
-
-My son George and his family are with us. This year we are expecting
-Walter and his family for a visit. I was able also to bring Miss
-Marsh out to our colony. I feel that I owe her a very big debt.
-
-Miss Marsh has let her hair grow gray; and the color now in her
-cheeks has been put there by the Californian sunshine. But she
-looks years younger than when she was trying to live an artificial
-youth. She is, in fact, quite radiant. For she is satisfying a
-big heart-hunger. My wife always contended that she was a lonely
-little creature. But even Mattie was surprised to discover that
-Miss Marsh’s loneliness was due to a craving motherhood. She is
-now one of the nurses who have the care of the colony’s children.
-For we have about thirty children-orphans who would have been sent
-to state institutions. We have adopted them, and are bringing them
-up and educating them. We father and mother, uncle and aunt, and
-grandfather and grandmother them. Happy little Miss Marsh is seldom
-seen without one of our colony babies in her arms.
-
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-It is Christmas Eve. I have seated myself by my typewriter in my cozy
-study, to write the last lines of this story. Mattie is down at the
-Auditorium, helping to trim the Christmas tree for the children. I
-just came up from there. Our picturesque little vine-covered bungalow
-is on the hill. The Christmas tree had so many helpers that I was
-not needed. Miss Marsh is joyously superintending the whole thing.
-Our different members are coming and going. Each brings an armful of
-presents.
-
-I stood a while and watched their beaming, happy faces. Most of them
-have known a good many Christmas Eves. One-a hearty old Pacific
-sea-captain of eighty-showed me some toy ships he had whittled out
-with his knife. He called my attention to all the proper nautical
-detail. No builder of big ocean liners could have felt more pride
-in his accomplishment. I watched him carefully place the toy ships
-with the other presents underneath the Christmas tree; and the fact
-was impressed upon me that he had caught the _real_ Christmas spirit.
-He had _created_ something, which would carry his own creative joy
-into the lives of others. And is not this-_the carrying of one’s own
-creative joy into the lives of others_-the very essence of the thing
-which we vaguely call “service”?
-
-When I reached the brow of the hill on my way home from the
-Auditorium, I halted and looked back at our little Youthland Colony,
-lying there in the moonlight. Out beyond, the moonbeams made a
-glistening pathway to it across the dusky waters of the old Pacific.
-At the back, rose the dim shapes of the mountains. The sweet odor of
-orange-blossoms filled the air. In this beautiful spot our little
-group was trying to realize the creative life-the life of continued
-growth and usefulness. Deep emotion stirred within me.
-
-My gaze traveled out over the moonlighted ocean, and I thought
-of the many peoples of the globe celebrating this Christmas Eve.
-Gratitude for my own wonderful opportunity made me want to help these
-others. For I knew that nations, like individuals, were suffering in
-the grip of the old-age spirit-that effort of fear to strangle growth
-and progress. If only mankind might learn that the value of a nation
-depends upon the _usefulness_ of all of its men and women, upon the
-youth-spirit, which is courageous, venturesome, and optimistic enough
-to make the whole human race one great world-family.
-
-Off in the distance the old mission bell began to ring. It was
-sending out its mediæval understanding of the Christmas message,
-which the Voice spoke to the Shepherds of old. But we, in our
-Youthland Colony, have learned that the Voice, all down through the
-years, has been trying to make man understand that he must follow
-the guiding star and find the tidings of great joy in the birth of
-_his own creative self_-the God Power within his own being. When a
-man gains this interpretation of the Voice’s message he becomes an
-influence for growth and progress in the Great Life-Adventure-
-
-
-HE FINDS YOUTH!
-
-
-
-
-  Transcriber’s Notes
-
-  pg 13 Added period after: printing-office to another
-
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