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diff --git a/old/69957-h/69957-h.htm b/old/69957-h/69957-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9d398a1..0000000 --- a/old/69957-h/69957-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2396 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - Finding Youth | Project Gutenberg - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - text-indent: 1em; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -.fs80 {font-size: 80%} -.fs150 {font-size: 150%} -.fs200 {font-size: 200%} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; - color: #A9A9A9; -} /* page numbers */ - - -.center {text-align: center;} - - -.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:small; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; -} - -div.centered_image { - width: 20%; - margin: 1em 40%; -} -div.centered_image img { - width: 100%; -} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: 0em; -} -p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0em 0.1em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.85em; -} - -.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Finding Youth, by Nelson Andrews</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Finding Youth</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A human experience</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Nelson Andrews</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 4, 2023 [eBook #69957]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINDING YOUTH ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 65%"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover"> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h1>FINDING YOUTH</h1> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center fs200">FINDING YOUTH</p> -<br> -<p class="center fs150"><em>A Human Experience</em></p> -<br> -<p class="center fs80">BY</p> -<p class="center fs150"><span class="smcap">Nelson Andrews</span></p> -<br> -<div class="centered_image"> - <img src="images/decoration.jpg" alt="decoration"> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<p class="center wsp">THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS<br> -BOSTON</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center no-indent"> -Copyright 1921, 1922<br> -by<br> -FRED G. ANDREWS<br> -Santa Barbara<br> -California<br> -</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><em>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.</em></p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center fs200">FINDING YOUTH</p> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I</h2> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>We had lived in the same Harlem -apartment for twenty years-with front<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -bright things. She leads a lonely life. -And I don’t believe she has enough to -eat.”</p> - -<p>I can tell these things now about Miss -Marsh; for later she and I came to understand -each other better.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -whenever I jokingly told them. But at -the same time they smiled indulgence of -“old Pop,” as they all called me.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> -But the new management’s policy was -for young men. My only fault was accumulated -years.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -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,-</p> - -<p>“I only want what’s owing me. I’ve -always worked for all I got.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I did not remember, however, until I -started up the station steps, that it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I dreaded to go home and tell my wife. -If I had been a drinking man, I should -have gone off on a drunk.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> - -<p>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 <em>were</em> in the same class-both -old, and both on the edge of life making -our struggle.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> -later experience has made me feel that it -would have made small difference.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -But I was home more than an -hour earlier than my usual time.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -my situation now with more of that -spirit.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>During the twenty years in which we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -nothing had ever worried me more than -indebtedness. But now-I cringed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you telephone,” I reprimanded, -“and have me bring over what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -you wanted, instead of making this long -trip in the rain?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You must have something to eat,” I -said, “then I’ll go back with you.”</p> - -<p>I carried her wet umbrella into the -kitchen, and she went into the bedroom -to gather up her things.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How did you happen to get so wet -to-day?” she asked.</p> - -<p>The question took me unawares, and I -hesitated before making the excuse that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry, Harve; you’ll find -something else soon.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -of youth-an encouragement -to the personality that was mine irrespective -of my fatherhood; to the <em>me</em> 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.</p> - -<p>Since then I have learned that the -lover always is young.</p> - -<p>From this time on my wife and I fell -back into the old habit of calling each -other “Harve” and “Mattie.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It happened that Walter was not at -home just at this time. He is an electrical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -engineer, and his company had -sent him out in the state to do some work.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>By this time I had come to understand -that I must look for some kind of -work aside from a printing-office. So<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> -When I arrived, the superintendent -turned to me.</p> - -<p>“How about this janitor’s job?” I -asked; and my manner might have -shown a little something of patronage.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I vant a man dat could lif’ de garbage -cans und big tings. You vas too -old.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">And then came the happening which -led to the final big experience of -my life.</p> - -<p>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:-</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Mr. Allen?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. Just a little tired,” I answered, -and started on up the stairs.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I sure would like to do something -for you if I could, Mr. Allen,” she said, -in her Southern way of speaking.</p> - -<p>I turned and looked at her. In her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -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:-</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:-</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You can’t afford to let yourself grow -old.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>But still the thing kept repeating itself-“You -mustn’t let yourself grow -old.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Let! Let! Let!</em>”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><em>And then came my first experience with -the Voice!</em></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> - -<p>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 <em>Life</em>! Our schools and churches -have taught us systems and creeds.</p> - -<p>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 “<em>Let! Let! Let!</em>” was still -pounding away in my thoughts. Finally -I halted in my supper, set down my -coffee-cup and asked:-</p> - -<p>“Have I let myself grow old?”</p> - -<p>And the Voice replied quickly:-</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>You may laugh. You may say that I -was tired and a little woozy in the head.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -But I <em>know</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, <em>I was losing my sense of -humor</em>. 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.</p> - -<p>And, after this first talk with the -Voice, <em>I smiled at myself!</em>-a thing of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then, in quick response to this -thought, the Voice again spoke:-</p> - -<p>“<em>When you make the effort!</em> It is the -<em>you</em> inside that must make the effort.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> - -<p>And I finally came into this understanding.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I gained the understanding that old -age is a matter of the <em>ignorance</em> 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.</p> - -<p>Man has both the mental and physical -power to keep young, <em>if he will use that -power</em>. Instead of being a thing on the -dump-heap, <em>man may grow in power as -he grows in years</em>. His body is made by -food, drink, air, and <em>thoughts</em>. Its cells -are constantly rebuilding. By understanding -his own power, he can direct -this rebuilding to an increased Life-capacity.</p> - -<p>His power to do so has been limited by -his own ignorance. Once men said that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -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 -<em>grow</em> old. He may <em>stop</em> growing, and -stagnate. That is what I had done.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The spirit of youth has courage, is venturesome, -progressive, optimistic, <em>creative</em>. -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.</p> - -<p>I had been traveling in ruts. And I -had worn them <em>deep</em>. For twenty years -I had <em>let</em> myself live in the same old dark -apartment, and take the same old route -to the same old printing-plant. And I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Because I felt tired at night, I had <em>let</em> -my wife give up all other associations to -keep me company. I had <em>let</em> 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 <em>people</em>.</p> - -<p>The man who loves most, lives most. -Youth loves.</p> - -<p>I had <em>let</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><em>I had grown afraid of adventure.</em></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>When I got home that night, I was several -years younger.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -I was up and on my way early the next -morning.</p> - -<p>And that was how I happened to meet -Ben Hutchins and find my life’s big opportunity.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> -weather-vane that looked as if it might -have been crowing into the teeth of a -half-century of storms.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When I entered, he waited to space out -a line before recognizing my presence. -Then he turned and glowered at me over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -his glasses, which hung on the tip of his -bulbous nose.</p> - -<p>“Well-?” he said, finally, after a -critical sniff.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He gave me again the once-over; then -he, too, indulged in a faint grin.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got the reputation,” he told -me, after I was seated, “of never keeping -a man very long.”</p> - -<p>He waited to see if this was going to -discourage me any. But it didn’t, and -so he went on to say:-</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going to stay,” I said, -“you can’t get rid of me. And I’m all -to the good.”</p> - -<p>Again he met my laughing gaze, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -again he grinned. Then after studying -me once more, he came to a decision. He -rheumatically pulled himself to his feet -and said:-</p> - -<p>“Well, take off your coat and go to -work.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><em>It was because I was finding youth that -I found my opportunity.</em> Youth, which -is courageous, venturesome, progressive, -optimistic, and <em>creative</em>! Cowardly old -age, pessimistic, stagnant, and traveling -in ruts, never finds a big life-opportunity.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>New demands were stirring every part -of my being into new activities. My faculties -were all alert. So were my emotions, -my imaginations, <em>and my sense of -humor</em>. 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> -national and world affairs, about which I -had to furnish copy. I also had begun -to take more interest in people.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A new sympathy began to warm in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -my heart for mankind-so pitiably ignorant -of Life and of the ways to gain -its <em>real</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> -of that time his daughter had persuaded -him to go to California and spend the -rest of the winter.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Run it as well as you can, and keep -me posted how you’re coming on.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then I thought of the old chap who -had sold newspapers, and wondered if -he was still working on his beat. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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, <em>was an old printer</em>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Then, the final Big Adventure was -brought about by my articles in our -weekly newspaper.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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-<em>still creative</em>. -But we cling-theoretically, at least-to -the savage belief that man possesses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -usefulness, of broad education and creative -growth.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Well, Ben Hutchins read this article, -and it struck instant fire in him. He -didn’t even wait to write. Instead he -telegraphed:-</p> - -<p>“Youthland colony good scheme. -California right place to start one. Am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> -writing my lawyer to sell printing-plant. -You come out here.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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. <em>They think right thoughts.</em> -In connection with our physical work, we -have dancing classes, also a hiking club -that makes interesting trips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> -in our printery. Jimmy has -had a romance which he has given me -permission to tell some time.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> -and aunt, and grandfather and grandmother -them. Happy little Miss Marsh -is seldom seen without one of our colony -babies in her arms.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -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 <em>real</em> Christmas -spirit. He had <em>created</em> something, which -would carry his own creative joy into the -lives of others. And is not this-<em>the -carrying of one’s own creative joy into the -lives of others</em>-the very essence of the -thing which we vaguely call “service”?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>My gaze traveled out over the moonlighted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> -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 -<em>usefulness</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>his own creative self</em>-the God Power<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -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-</p> - - -<p class="center">HE FINDS YOUTH!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<ul> -<li>pg 13 Added period after: printing-office to another</li> -</ul> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINDING YOUTH ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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