RILEY: A MAN OF HUMOR
Thomas E.Q. Williams

     We think of Riley as being a journalist, or perhaps a newspaper poet, as well as lyceum circuit "lecturer" during

the 1880's. Riley as a Man of Humor was with Riley in both his newspaper office and on the platform tours. Riley loved to play practical jokes while working as a "staffer" at the Indianapolis JOURNAL. One of them he used often he called the "lung tester" which he rigged up. There was an electric call box in the newspaper's editorial offices. To engage it, the message sender pushed over a lever, released it and it returned with considerable clatter. Riley rigged the call box so he could push the lever over and release it at will. Then he attached a tube to it and put the nipple from a baby's bottle on the end of the tube. When a friend came in, he would slap him on the back, compliment him on his vigorous health, ask him how his lungs were, and finally suggest that he try them out on the office lung tester. The friend would put the baby nipple in his mouth, blow lustily, Riley would release the lever and it would clatter to the end of the slot. The friend would swell up with pride until the device was loosed again without the aid of any lung power and reveal that the clatter had nothing to do with the man's lungs. Riley as a Man of Humor was in Riley's very soul throughout his life. That Riley was able to have his chance to excel on the Lyceum Circuit was due to Riley as a Man of Humor. Riley as a Man of Humor was the minstrel in Riley who loved to tell stories and entertain people with witty anecdotes. One of Riley's favorites was "The Object Lesson." This was a tale Riley repeated so often he fully mastered its presentation. One of the tellings of this story occurred at the Indianapolis JOURNAL office where Riley was employed at a time when many people were present. One of those present was a friend who Riley had recently met named Robert Burdette, a man already on the Lyceum Circuit and billed as "Hawkeye Man." Burdette was so impressed by the recitation that he became convinced Riley could succeed on the platform. In a sense, then, this recitation would later become responsible for Riley's getting his chance at a platform career. Marcus Dickey, Riley's secretary and early biographer, relates the incident. "Burdette was one of a group in a back corner of the Journal office, when Riley recited "The Object Lesson.""That audience," said Burdette, "beat any public one that ever drew a a watch on me or coaxed me into silence by their slumbers. There were brilliant men in it, among them a future president of the United States (Benjamin Harrison)" Burdette was so certain after hearing it that Riley could magnetize a public audience that he went home and wrote the following, which he sent abroad to lecture bureaus and committees, and had printed in many newspapers: Office of "The Hawkeye," Burlington, Iowa It has been my pleasure to listen to Mr. J.W. Riley and I never heard him say a tiresome word or utter a stupid sentence. I would walk through the mud or ride through the rain to hear him again. I would get out of bed to listen to him. If I have a friend on a lecture committee in the Untied States, I want to whisper in his ear that one of the best hits he can make will be to surprise his audience with J.W. Riley and his "Object Lesson." Riley is good clean through. His humor is gentle; it is not caustic. It is pure and manly, and the people that will once listen to him will want him back again the same season. /S/ Robert J. Burdette What follows is a written representation of one of Riley's always varying recitations of his famous platform piece.

THE OBJECT LESSON1

Barely a year ago I attended the Friday afternoon exercises of a country school. My mission there, as I remember, was to refresh my mind with such material as might be gathered for a "valedictory," which, I regret to say, was to be handed down to posterity under another signature than

my own. There was present, among a host of visitors, a pale young man of perhaps thirty years, with a tall head and bulging brow and a highly-intellectual pair of eyes and spectacles. He wore his hair without roach or "part" and the smile he beamed about him was "a joy forever." He was an educator - from the East, I think I heard it rumored - anyway he was introduced to the school at last, and he bowed, and smiled, and beamed upon us all, and entertained us  after the most delightfully edifying manner imaginable. And although I may fail to reproduce the exact substance of his remarks upon that highly important occasion, I think I can at least present his theme in all its coherency of detail. Addressing more particularly the primary department of the school, he said: -

"As the little exercise I am about to introduce is of recent origin, and the bright, intelligent faces of the pupils before me seem rife with eager and expectant  interest, it will be well for me, perhaps, to offer by way of preparatory preface, a few terse words of explanation. "The Object-Lesson is designed to fill a long-felt want, and is destined, as I think, to revolutionize in a great degree, the educational systems of our land. - In my belief, the Object-Lesson will supply a want which I may safely say has heretofore left the most egregious and palpable traces of mental confusion and intellectual inadequacies stamped, as it were, upon the gleaming reasons of the most learned - the highest cultured, and the most eminently gifted and promising of our professors and scientists both at home and abroad. "Now this deficiency - if it may be so termed - plainly has a beginning: and probing deeply with the bright, clean scalpel of experience we discover that - "As the twig is bent, the tree's inclined." To remedy, then, a deeply-seated error which for so long has rankled at the very root  of educational progress throughout the land, many plausible, and we must admit, many helpful theories have been introduced to allay the painful errors resulting from the discrepancy of which we speak: but until now, nothing that seemed wholly to eradicate the defect has been discovered, and that, too, strange as it may seem, is, at last, found emanating, like the mighty river, from the simplest source, but broadening and gathering in force and power as it flows along, until, at last, its grand and mighty current sweeps on in majesty to the vast illimitable ocean of-of-of- Success! Ahem! "And, now, little boys and girls, that we have had by implication, a clear and comprehensive explanation of the Object-Lesson and its mission, I trust you will give me your undivided attention while I endeavor - in my humble way - to direct your newly acquired knowledge through the proper channel. For instance: - "This little object I hold in my hand - who will designate it by its proper name? Come, now, let us see who will be the first to answer. `A peanut,' says the little boy here at my right. Very good - very good! I hold then, in my hand, a peanut. And now who will tell me, what is the peanut? A very simply question - who will answer? `Something good to eat,' says the little girl. Yes, `something good to eat,' but would it not be better to say simply that the peanut is an edible? I think so, yes. The peanut, then, is - an edible - now, all together, an edible! "To what kingdom does the peanut belong? The animal, vegetable or mineral kingdom? A very easy question. Come, let us have prompt answers. `The animal kingdom,' does the little boy say? Oh no! The peanut does not belong to the animal kingdom! Surely the little boy must be thinking of a larger object than the peanut - the elephant, perhaps. To what kingdom, then, does the peanut belong? The v-v-veg-The vegetable kingdom,' says the bright-faced little girl on the back seat. Ah! that is better. We find then that the peanut belongs to the - what kingdom? The `vegetable kingdom.' Very good, very good! "And now who will tell us of what the peanut is composed. Let us have quick responses now. Time is fleeting! Of what is the peanut composed? `The hull and the goody,' in vulgar parlance, but how much better it would be to say simply, the shell and the kernel. Would not that sound better? Yes, I thought you would agree with me there! "And now who will tell me the color of the peanut! And be careful now! for I shouldn't like to hear you make the very stupid blunder I once heard a little boy make in reply to the same question. Would you like to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? You would, eh? Well, now, how many of you would like to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? Come now, let's have an expression. All who would like to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was, may hold up their right  hands. Very good, very good - there, that will do."Well, it was during a professional visit I was once called upon to make to a neighboring city, where I was invited to address the children of a free school - Hands down, now, little boy, - founded for the exclusive benefit of the little newsboys and bootblacks, who, it seems, had not the means to defray the expenses of the commonest educational accessories, and during an object lesson identical with the one before us now - for it is a favorite one of mine - I propounded the question, what is the color of the peanut? Many answers were given in response, but none as sufficiently succinct and apropos as I deemed the facts demanded; and so at last I personally addressed a ragged, boy, as I then thought, a bright- eyed little fellow, when judge of my surprise, in reply to my question, what is the color of a peanut, the little fellow, without the slightest gleam of intelligence lighting up his face, answered, that `if not scorched by roasting, the peanut was a blond.' Why, I was almost tempted to join in the general merriment his inapposite reply elicited. But I occupy your attention with  trivial things; and as I notice the time allotted me has slipped away, we will drop the peanut for the present. Trusting the few facts gleaned from a topic so homely and unpromising will sink deep in your minds, in time to bloom and blossom in the fields of future usefulness - I-I--I thank you."

1. An Object Lesson from going to a county teacher's institute in Anderson in late 1872.

Riley and Bill Nye had a standard lark when they went on lecture tours. On entering a town, Riley or Nye would enter the best bookstore in town, take the proprietor to one side and in a whisper inquire as to whether he could sell them an unexpunged edition of Felicia Hemans. Of course the bookstore owner could not, and then the two would meet outside and have a good laugh at the unsophisticated bookseller. But one day, Riley thought he would have a little fun at Nye's expense so before they arrived at Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Riley wrote ahead to one of the prominent bookstores acquainting the proprietor with all the facts and asking him to prepare a special title page and insert it in a volume of Mrs. Heman's poems. On arriving at Milwaukee, it was Nye's turn to try to secure the unexpunged edition of Mrs. Hemans's poems. Riley remained outside while Nye went through the usual program and offered the bookseller $5 if he could secure for him such an edition. In a whisper, much to Nye's surprise, he told him he had such a book, produced it, and Nye was forced to lose his $5 and when they met later at the hotel, for Riley did not remain outside this time, Riley certainly had a good laugh at Nye's discomfort. Riley as a Man of Humor was always a great entertainer even when he reached fame. He was fun to be with socially. Stories about him always portray him as warm and companionable. Riley liked to begin stories with friends and then have them carry through with its story line. He would reach a point in a story and then ask a friend to carry it on. The only point at which Riley would object would be if someone wanted to kill off one of the heroes of Riley's invention.He called anyone wanting to do not only a person of no imagination but also a blatant murderer. Such a person did not understand that there could be no death to literary characters so they must be allowed to live forever. Even so, around his friends, Riley was not always humorous and generous to persons he did not like. Haute Jameson recalled that Riley did not like some of the young men who joined the social group with Riley who often gathered at the Tarkington home. He did not like a man's beard to be parted and to one young man who called while there he said "a beard like that may be becoming to his style of character, but to me it places him in the garden, not as flowering product, but as a nice pleasant, comforting woolly worm. Maybe a caterpillar would be a better word, but woolly worm is the way I think of him." Haute recalled Riley said he felt "fuzzy" when in the man's presence. Another man Riley did not like he called "aboriginal" and said the man's head was "meat clear through." This Riley was the witty socialite who took Indianapolis society by storm upon his move there. The Indianapolis scene was a welter of busy, busy activity compared to the life he knew in his hometown of Greenfield, Indiana.Riley was able to play the great "literatus" and find a place in the most reputable and socially expanded circles. Riley as a Man of Humor continued to write amusing anecdotal stories through this period.

THE FISHING PARTY (1890)

Wunst1 we went a-fishin' - Me

An' my Pa an' Ma, all three

When they wuz a picnic, 'way

Out to Hanch's Woods, one day.

An' they wuz a crick out there,

Where the fishes is, an' where

Little boys `taint big an' strong

Better have their folks along!

My Pa he ist fished an' fished!

An' my Ma she said she wished

Me an' her was home; an' Pa

Said he wished so worse'n Ma.

Pa said ef you talk, er say

Anything, er sneeze, er play

Hain't no fish, alive er dead,

Ever go' to bite! he said.

Purt'2 nigh dark in town when we

Got back home; an' Ma, says she,

Now she'll have a fish for shore!

An' she buyed one at the store.

Nen at supper Pa he won't

Eat no fish, an' says, he don't

Like 'em - An' he pounded me

When I choked!...Ma, didn't he?

-------------------------

1. Once.

2. Variant of "pretty," a Hoosier expression denoting

proximity.

    Was Riley as a Man of Humor's mischievous minstrelsy involved in Riley's elderly years? Yes, Riley as a Man of Humor seems to have lived with Riley as a favorite self until the end. In these last years, we recall the great honors bestowed upon Riley. These years were the years as in 1902 when Yale College, New Haven, Connecticut conferred upon Riley at age 52 the honorary degree of Master of Arts. Or the next year, 1903 when Wabash College at Crawfordsville, Indiana presented Riley at age 53 with another Honorary Master's Degree. Or the next year, in 1904, when the University of Pennsylvania,Philadelphia, Pennsylvania honored Riley at age 54 with a degree of Doctor of Letters, or in 1907, when Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana granted Riley at age 57 the degree of Doctor of Laws. It was Riley as a Man of Humor that had earned these degrees more than any of the other roles Riley played in his life. Riley had survived to achieve great honor as a mischievous jongleur, dialect singer, and story teller. Appropriately, it was a poem of Riley as a Man of Humor's that Riley recited at Yale on the occasion of his receiving his honorary degree from that institution.

NO BOY KNOWS (1902)

There are many things that boys may know -

Why this and that are thus and so, -

Who made the world in the dark and lit

The great sun up to lighten it:

Boys know new things every day -

When they study, or when they play, -

When they idle, or sow and reap -

But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

Boys who listen - or should, at least, -

May know that the round old earth rolls East; -

And know that the ice and the snow and the rain -

Ever repeating their parts again -

Are all just water the sunbeams first

Sip from the earth in their endless thirst,

And pour again till the low streams leap. -

But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

A boy may know what a long, glad while

It has been to him since the dawn's first smile,

When forth he fared in the realm divine

Of brook-laced woodland and spun-sunshine; -

He may know each call of his truant mates,

And the paths they went, - and the pasture-gates

Of the 'cross-lots home through the dusk so deep. -

But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

O I have followed me, o'er and o'er,

From the flagrant drowse on the parlor-floor,

To the pleading voice of the mother when

I even doubted I heard it then -

To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit room,

And dewy odors of locust-bloom -

A sweet white cot - and a cricket's cheep. -

But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

     Toward the end of his life, and after suffering a crippling stroke, Riley kept himself very busy with a huge correspondence. Riley as a Man of Humor was at work in this voluminous daily correspondence. One of his letter found after he died was to a child who wrote him to say she enjoyed the poem "Orphant Annie" and "The Runaway Boy."

Dear Little Friend. - One time an old middle-aged man, a very middle-aged man, who from his childhood had been playing that he was a poet - got some sure-enough books of poetry- pieces printed, at last, and sprinkled them over his friends like salt on cantaloupes; and then leaned back and waited for applause and laughed to himself so that he would not miss any voice of praise out of the vast chorus of the world at large. And - he is listening still - though, like the bass kings in the O-r-tao-r-o, He thinks it not becoming To be found in idle funning So his laugh is ver-ee L O W -H A --------------------- H A!And yet not quite in vain has he been listening all these years, for now and then faint murmurous accents like yours reach his almost starving senses; and as he hears them, the old man's fancies find his Youth again and all the childish joys that once were his. So veritably young he is that he goes dancing back to his old make-believes and plays that he's a poet, just as then.

Miss Medairy Dory Ann

Cast her line and caught a man,

But when he looked so pleased aback!

She unhooked and plunked him back,

"I never like to catch what I can,"

Said Miss Medairy Dory Ann.

---(Biographer's Note: This letter was never completed.)

     At Christmas times, Riley's correspondence was said to rival Santa Claus's. On his last birthday, October 7th 1915, ten thousand cards came many of them containing greetings of an entire class of school children. One child wrote, "I think Indiana should be proud of such a child as you. Not only Indiana, but the United States should be proud of you. I am proud of you myself." Another wrote "I tell you what, Mr. Riley, I was surprised to learn that you was living because I thought all poets was dead." Another wrote, "I have read so many of your poems that I have a strong taste of poetry myself."

Riley as a Man of Humor's LAST TRICK

Indiana's U.S. Senator Harry S. New told the ghost story that follows about Riley at the time of the poet's death. The Senator knew Riley intimately from being a young reporter of the Indianapolis JOURNAL when Riley was on its staff and later as the same newspaper's Managing Editor who valued Riley's contributions exceedingly. "The Riley home was in East Lockerbie street in Indianapolis, and it was there that the poet died. His death came in the afternoon and it was still early when the undertaker, that individual most repellent to Riley in his lifetime, arrived to perform the preliminary services of those of his kind. The room in which the dead man lay was on the second floor and was a modest apartment with but a single door and a window opposite, which looked out on a narrow side yard. In that room what was left of the sensitive poet was alone with the creature he despised, and if the soul of the dead lingers near the mortal clay, it may be conceived that Riley's spirit had a bad half hour with the follower of the grim reaper. But that half hour passed and the servitor of the departed soft-footedly went his way, silently closing the door behind him. This was but part of the work of the undertaker. He was to return some hours later to finish his task. He returned as the day was drawing to its close, and mournfully climbed the Riley stairs. He applied the cautious pressure of a silent hand to the Riley door knob which he had deftly turned but a few hours earlier. The knob refused to turn. The door declined to open. Evidently, said the methodical worker, some member of the family has locked the death chamber. He summoned those in the house and asked for the key. He was told that the door had not been locked. No one had been in the second floor room since his former visit. Nevertheless, he assured them, the door was locked. So the family bunches of keys were produced and the journey of the undertaker, this time not alone, wound again to the second floor. But there it halted at the poet's door. One after one the keys were tried in the lock. None would enter the keyhole. The door might not be unlocked. A delicacy was felt in doing violence to the door of the dead. As there was no other entrance to the room except the window, the party went into the yard, procured a ladder and the undertaker climbed it and entered the room of the departed through the window. When he had gained an entrance he investigated carefully and found that the door was locked from the inside, and that the key had been left in the lock. Those who knew Riley best, his penchant for a practical joke, his dislike for undertakers, his belief in the ministration of the spirits of the departed, are willing to admit that here was a prank quite characteristic and to be expected - the sort of thing that might be done by the ghost of him who was gone, if ghosts were a matter of fact."

Although Riley as a Man of Humor was not Riley's most enduring role, and certainly was not the character in Riley's life who produced his finest poetry, nevertheless Riley as a Man of Humor must receive credit for a job successfully done. Riley survived on his inner laughter.