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JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY: "THE HOOSIER POET" Thomas E.Q. Williams, ©2006, originally published as the 150th birthday biography of James Whitcomb Riley entitled, James Whitcomb Riley: The Poet as Flying Islands of the Night © 1999 Thomas Williams.
A WAYWARD SONG
The pen of “The Hoosier Poet,” James Whitcomb Riley, produced the most genuine and humble of American poems. Their resonances caused America to consider him the chief poet of his time in the late 19th Century and early 20th Century. During this period all of America knew of the Riley poetry of frontier American farm families, Hoosier cricks and corn shocks...and children. He might have been the last truly popular poet America has had. Through James Whitcomb Riley we know of hardy and yet tenderly vulnerable American pioneers of the West huddled together in a richly experiential yet poor earthly life. James Whitcomb Riley wrote songs for them to keep up their courage. With the way the world was aflame with disease hardship and hunger in the West, the early Americans of this place really needed the Riley poetry to lift their spirits. As America matured and entered the Twentieth Century, the influence of Riley grew and James Whitcomb Riley became an icon of a home soil poet. Some consider Riley as the voice of a new people. This folk was the confused remnant from the great American Civil War. After this deadly conflict pitting friend against friend, America's spirit needed direction and lifting very badly. Others connect James Whitcomb Riley only with the light-hearted and happy poetry of the later years of his life. James Whitcomb Riley really was a much beloved person and his poetry was heartening. He came to be known as the "Children's Poet." His humanism, caring and depiction of the "heart" in children was captured in such poems as "Little Orphant Annie."
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE (1885)
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an- keep; An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun, A-listenin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! ...
It does not hurt to think of James Whitcomb Riley this way. He was America's poet for children of his time as his friend Rudyard Kipling was the poet for the children of the British Empire. But Riley was so much more complicated than that. He was an enigmatic creative genius. It is almost impossible to learn about him or explain his life because he so completely related to his age that he can hardly be separated from it. We do know that Riley's life was not all joyous. He also felt deeply wrenching despair. When James Whitcomb Riley was suffering his deepest anguish about his life in the Nineteenth Century, he fell into depression and occasional alcoholism and knew great dejection for many reasons. This was primarily when he was a homeless young man in his twenties. Riley did not arise to his most popular acclaim until after his depression was brought under control-although never fully conquered. Around Riley's thirtieth birthday, he started building on the faith that helped him survive. He began singing American versions of the "Christ Hymn" in poetry. These were songs of hope and courage for living humbly. The great poetry of James Whitcomb Riley, and those poems, particularly his early "Benjamin Johnson of Boone" poems, which made Riley the most famous poet of his time, were frontier American "Christ Hymn" masterpieces.
TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN (1882)
Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me, Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity, You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart, Which was like a healin' `intment to the sorrow of my hart.
When I buried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you Had the only consolation that I could listen to - Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know.
But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare- Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air- And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare, And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin ev'rywhare.
I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away; I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray; And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clikt the icy hours in two - And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!
We set thare by the smoke-house - me and you out thare alone- Me a-thinkin' - you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone - You a-talkin' - me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago, And a-writin' "Marthy - Marthy" with my finger in the snow!
William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then; And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again; And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you say: "Be rickonciled and bear it - we but linger fer a day!"
At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me - Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be; And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here, In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer.
It was better than the meetin', too, that nine-mile talk we had Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad; When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shank's mare," And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare.
And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like - Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind, A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind!
And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight: - Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight With the old stag-deer that pronged him - how he battled fer his life, And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife.
Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three - When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way, And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day.
Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the "Travelers' Rest," And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters' Nest" - Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted - that a man was murdered thare, And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place somewhare.
And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two - You know we talked about the times when the old road was new: How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't dimonstrate?
Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past; But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last; And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end, I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend.
With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and brane, And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane, I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name, Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the same!
By the time of his death, James Whitcomb Riley's folklore and poetry had come to personally represent America's vision of itself in humility and redemption. How this could happen is not only strange but close to miraculous considering the temperance forces at work in America at the same time as Riley's years of great popularity. One would have thought they would have teamed up against Riley because of his occasional very public bouts of intoxication. They never did. Riley's "affliction" (alcoholism) was forgiven him because the age needed to be reassured by the re-singing of the humble message of the "Christ Hymn." By the time of Riley's death, he was highly revered with celebrations of his birthday all across America. His poetry was sung in America's voice. In describing the affect of Riley's death upon the nation, Meredith Nicholson, author and Editor of the Indianapolis NEWS from 1885 to 1897, wrote, "On a day in July, 1916, thirty-five thousand people passed under the dome of the Indiana capitol to look for the last time upon the face of James Whitcomb Riley. The best-loved citizen of the Hoosier commonwealth was dead, and laborers and mechanics in their working clothes, professional and business men, women in great numbers, and a host of children paid their tribute of respect to one whose sold claim upon their interest lay in his power to voice their feelings of happiness and grief in terms within the common understanding. The very general expressions of sorrow and affection evoked by the announcement of the poet's death encourage the belief that the lines that formed on the capitol steps might have been augmented endlessly by additions drawn from every part of America." The incredible path of Riley's life which led to this outcome is the story that follows. How did the public perceive such a poet? The answer seems that James Whitcomb Riley was taken mainly as a humorist and entertainer in his time. "Riley" was fun. He dealt in the healing influence of laughter and humor. He was Riley at play as a mischievous comic, "dialect singer" and entertainer. This was the perception of Riley from his days on the lyceum circuit when his "lectures" to great public audiences all around the country were managed by the great James Redpath and his Boston Redpath Bureau and by the successor "manager" Major James B. Pond of New York and his agency. Being a popular lyceum speaker gave Riley huge access to the American public in the Post-Civil War era. This was, of course, an age before electronic media. Folk went out to public lecture halls for entertainment in those days instead of watching televisions in their homes. A "popular" picture of James Whitcomb Riley comes to us from the promotional literature about him. Called "The Autobiography of James Whitcomb Riley," it was not really written by Riley at all but rather "in fun" by Edgar Wilson Nye, Riley's great platform partner during the 1880's. It is quoted here clothed in Nye's humor: AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Written by Himself Through Edgar Wilson Nye. The unhappy subject of this sketch was born so long ago that he persists in never referring to the date. Citizens of his native town of Greenfield, Ind., while warmly welcoming his advent, were no less anxious some few years ago to "speed the parting guest." It seems, in fact, that, the better they came to know him, the more resigned they were to give him up. He was ill-starred from the very cradle, it appears. One day, while but a toddler, he climbed, unseen, to an open window where some potted flowers were ranged, and while leaning from his high chair far out, to catch some dainty, gilded butterfly, perchance, he lost his footing and, with a piercing shriek, fell headlong to the gravelled walk below; and when, an instant later, the affrighted parents picked him up, he was - a poet. The father of young Riley was a lawyer of large practice, who used, in moments of deep thought, to regard this boy as the worst case he ever had. This may have been the reason that, in time, he insisted on his reading law, which the boy really tried to do; but, finding that political economy and Blackstone didn't rhyme, he slid out of the office one hot, sultry afternoon, and ran away with a patent medicine and concert wagon, from the tail end of which he was discovered by some relatives in the next town, violently abusing a brass drum. This was a proud moment for the boy; nor did his peculiar presence of mind entirely desert him till all the country fairs were over for the season. Them afar off, among strangers in a strange State, he thought it would be fine to make a flying visit home. But he couldn't fly. Fortunately, in former years he had purloined some knowledge of a trade. He could paint a sign, or a house, or a tin roof - if some one else would furnish him the paint - and one of Riley's hand-painted picket fences gave rapture to the most exacting eye. Yet, through all his stress and trial, he preserved a simple, joyous nature, together with an ever widening love of men and things in general. He made friends, and money, too - enough, at last, to gratify the highest ambition of his life, namely, to own an overcoat with fur around the tail of it. He then groped his way back home, and worked for nothing on a little country paper that did not long survive the blow. Again excusing himself, he took his sappy paragraphs and poetry to another paper and another town, and there did better till he spoiled it all by devising a Poe poem fraud, by which he lost his job; and, in disgrace and humiliation shoe-mouth deep, his feelings gave way beneath his feet, and his heart broke with a loud report. So the true poet was born. Of the poet's present personality we need speak but briefly. His dress is at once elegant and paid for. It is even less picturesque than all-wool. Not liking hair particularly, he wears but little, and that of the mildest shade. He is a good speaker - when spoken to - but a much better listener, and often longs to change places with his audience so that he also may retire. In his writings he probably shows at his best. He always tries to, anyway. Knowing the manifold faux pas and "breaks" in this life of ours, his songs are sympathetic and sincere. Speaking coyly of himself, one day, he said: "I write from the heart; that's one thing I like about me. I may not write a good hand, and my `copy' may occasionally get mixed up with the market reports, but, all the same, what challenges my admiration is that humane peculiarity of mine - i.e., writing from the heart - and, therefore, to the heart." More about this side of Riley "the humorist" and the public perception of the man will follow, but I take the biographer's prerogative of focusing on what I find the most revealing about James Whitcomb Riley first.
A "TWINTORETTE" IN THE MORNING PAPER
To know about this enigmatic figure of the American frontier, humor and Incarnation Theology ("kenoticism"3), it would have helped to open up a Hoosier newspaper, The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD," on August 24, 1878. The citizens of Indiana found one of the strangest writings in all of literature on its page 6. What was it? The piece called itself a "Twintorette." What was that? It was embedded in a column calling itself: "Respectfully Declined" Papers of The Buzz Club, Number IV. What was the Buzz Club? Who wrote it? The piece had a cast as a play does. Was it a play? Time revealed that the author of "The Flying Islands of the Night" was the young Hoosier poet, James Whitcomb Riley, very early in his career and long before fame settled upon him. In this "flight" lies the answer to Riley's poetry of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, the kenotic categories of expression of the spirit of the "Christ Hymn."
1. The whole "Christ Hymn" is as follows: "Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and give him a name which is above every name: That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow..." 2. The first Incarnation theologians of the Nineteenth Century were the Germans: Thomasius, its founder, Neander, Dorner, Van Oosterzee, Pressense, Schneckenburger, Liddon, Uhlhorn, Edersheim, soon joined by such as J.P. Lange, and C.A. Ross. A primary text of the German inception is found in the Nineteenth Century lectures of Alexander Bruce, D.D, in THE HUMILIATION OF CHRIST and R.J. Cooke's THE INCARNATION AND RECENT CRITICISM. A more recent work (1965) is Claude Welch, GOD AND INCARNATION IN MID-NINETEENTH CENTURY GERMAN THOUGHT. An easy-to-read introduction to the subject is found in the OXFORD DICTIONARY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH, ed. by F.L. Cross under "Kenotic theories." Interesting variations of Incarnation Theology appeared concurrently in Germany such as Hegel's conception that the Incarnation was manifest in the human race in general and not in individuals. Even at the theological level, Incarnation Theology engaged the age's social Darwinism. SEE: Herbert Spencer's SYNTHETIC PHILOSOPHY, "First Principles," part 1, in which God is seen as an unknown and unknowable substratum of all phenomena rather than one known through human appearance. These should get started someone interested in Nineteenth Century theology such as became expressed popularly by James Whitcomb Riley's poetry. None of course explains the phenomenon of the Incarnation because, as theologian Edward Towne says, "What is a mystery if it can be dissolved away in an explanation?" 3. "Kenoticism" is a more technical name for Incarnation Theology of the Nineteenth Century. It is an idea of "emptying out oneself." It derives from the Greek adjective "kenos" - the adjective used in the Philippian's "Christ Hymn" to describe Jesus's act of casting off pride, advantage and power to find satisfaction in a humble life.
THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT
Marcus Dickey, the secretary of James Whitcomb Riley once wrote, "It was not the habit of the Hoosier Poet to explain. Again and again his friends saw him as through a glass darkly. At times he took conspicuous pride in concealing his thought and his way of doing things. My assumptions concerning him remained assumptions. The more his friends sought to know his history the more capriciously he concealed it." In the cryptic poem that follows Riley revealed his own life in the form of an autobiography with himself in his various "soul-selves" as the cast except for the woman who was his great encourager and "soul partner."
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY: THE POET AS FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT: A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO RILEY'S AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL POEM
It is a simple fact that James Whitcomb Riley tended to write out of his own experiences. There is not a single poem where Riley's fantasies are not based on some projection out of his life. Riley's prodigious imagination used himself always to create his poetry. If this is so, where does Riley's "The Flying Islands of the Night" fit in? It is certainly obscure at places. It stands out so in the body of his poetry like a sore thumb because of its length as well as its oddity. The only answer appears to be that Riley made it obscure for a reason. It was the most "personal" poem he ever wrote. The poem describes the groping of his own soul. It is the last rush of the madness from his impetuous youth. Then Riley sheltered his soul from criticism by obscuring his poetic expression of it. Riley's autobiographical poem (from age 28-but revised at intervals) originally contained two great themes and a minor one. The most important was Riley's "dark play" on his own dire alcoholism. The language is a combination of Middle English spiced with American folklore, and "intoxicatese" creating a fantastic and wildly "astronomically" extravagant imagery. The origins of all of this will be explained later. For now we need only remember Riley's fear of his alcoholism as its most basic theme. Riley portrays himself "married" to alcoholism personified as the "nasty" Queen Crestillomeem. Riley is first introduced as his minstrel self called Jucklet. This is Riley's "survival self" at the soul level. Jucklet has to live "underground" and he can only "peep out" when Crestillomeem permits. Riley lived by his wits and was often penniless during the period of his "minstrel wandering" twenties. Now he had begun consoling himself from tragic events in his life with overuse of alcohol. This poem tells us of the outcome of all of this. You will be very surprised. In "The Flying Islands of the Night" Riley must experience the effects of alcoholism. The "night" in the title is a reference to alcohol addiction. Riley's contempary of the related book FIFTEEN YEARS IN HELL, Luther Benson, says:"...From time to time until I tried to break the terrible chain...of intemperance, my life was one long, hopeless, blank, black night." Riley's alcoholism was his night too. He feared himself sinking into a "night" of depression, delirium and madness. The second great theme is Riley's groping for salvation from his alcoholism. As his mind turns to recollections of loving encouragement and true friendship he has known, he remembers Nellie Millikan Cooley, a married friend, who has just died in Illinois critical days before the poem was written. Nellie is the only other character in the original play which is not a Riley "personified personality breakdown." Nellie is "Dwainie" who tells the fearfully drunken Riley she will continue to encourage him and love him even though she is now dead. How can this be? Another surprise is in store! The version of "The Flying Islands of the Night" which follows was the original one. In a later expansion of the original play for a book, Riley adds his mother, Elizabeth as "AEo" as an encourager along with Nellie. Dwainie will eventually convince Riley in the poem that she is still encouraging him in spirit and this gives Riley the strength to produce the Godly poetry of "Spraivoll," the "tune fool" of Riley's cast of self-characters. A minor comical but tragic theme is the "Murphy" pledge that temperance ladies were requiring young men to sign at the time the play was written. This pledge committed a person not to drink intoxicants. Riley had recently seen how futile such a pledge was and enjoyed harpooning it. His brother, Hum (Reuben Alexander Humboldt Riley), took one as revealed in this letter to brother John Riley, in 1877: "... within the last few days, on the evening of the 4th of July, I commenced a work that will in time make me more money than any other work I could engage in. I think it is the most honorable work a young man can engage in. I celebrated the 4th in a better way than I ever did before. On that morning I signed the Murphy Pledge and have been at work ever since in that great cause and hope before a great while to bring a great many more into the ranks and try and bring the cause to a great and glorious end. We have already taken in some of the boys such as Jim Walsh, John Huley, John Skinner and his father and many others to (sic) numerous to mention. When I went up to take the pledge Father Wilson kissed me and told me to stick to it. I told him I would try..." Hum couldn't make it. Disastrous drinking soon followed. The Murphy pledge was a joke. Signing a pledge proved not a real commitment to anything. Hum became an alcoholic so severely that often he would disappear without word requiring his family to try to locate him wherever they could find him. In this same year Riley was dealing with his own alcoholism he saw what alcoholism was doing to his brother Hum. A letter contemporaneous to Riley's "The Flying Islands of the Night," reads:
Friend "Meeks" -- Hum left on noon train to-day and as he was "full", and none of us knew where he started for, we are all greatly distressed. He went east, and it has occurred to me that possibly he had gone to see you -- thence this letter of inquiry. And now, dear Jim tell me if he is with you, and if so I charge you, with all earnestness, do what you can to keep him from whisky - for he is killing himself and breaking all our hearts at home. He is good, and wouldn't act as he does could he realize what he is doing -- and I trust and believe that you will do all in your power to turn him from it. I tried to see him before he went, and was at the depot, but he slipped me somehow. I wanted to tell him that if he got hard up to write to me for money -- I will raise it if he needs it, and if you see him you must tell him so for me. If he is not with you try to find him along the line by telegraphing, and I will compensate you for your trouble. It may be that he has not gone far, but let me know at once if you know anything of him. Very truly yours J.W. Riley. Hum's fitful life continued. We know he was in Indianapolis in Feb., 1881, and wrote sister Mary to send him "his things" by express train in a telegram of Feb. 25th. Hum died November 24, 1881 at 5 a.m. at age 25 from severe hemorrhage of the bowels according to the Riley family Bible at the Riley Birthplace in Greenfield, Indiana. Someone noted underneath the entry "typhoid fever," but the suspicion is a complication of alcoholism. Hum's funeral was apparently on the Friday following. Hum isn't mentioned thereafter in family correspondence. Crestillomeem got his younger brother and now the alluring siren was after James Whitcomb Riley! The version of "The Flying Islands of the Night" which follows is the first one published. The poem seems an excellent point of departure for a biography of the poet's life. I apologize if "The Flying Islands of the Night" is sometimes hard to follow. Riley wrote it that way to cause it to be mysterious and secretive to protect his very fragile ego. Just remember that Riley was all the characters in the cast that follows except "Dwainie." Only a creative genius might conceive of himself in such an odd but imaginative way. This was James Whitcomb Riley. His poem continues into Three Acts which we will examine in greater detail as an aid in unraveling the knot of his life - a chapter per character at a time. Perhaps we should allow Riley to introduce his own autobiography as he did at his "Buzz Club" newspaper article - through Mr. Clickwad - one of the fictional members-who says of the piece: "This is an affliction," continued Mr. Clickwad, unrolling an enormous manuscript, "too great for me to bear alone, and I ask your succor and assistance as humbly and earnestly as ever beggar asked for alms."
THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT. A Twintorette.
Dramatis Personae1 KRUNG.........................King of the Spirks CRESTILLOMEEM..........................The Queen SPRAIVOLL..........................The Tune Fool AMPHINE.............................Son of Krung DWAINIE.............................Of the Wunks2 JUCKLET....................................Dwarf CREECH, ) )........................Nightmares GRITCHFANG, ) Counselors, Courtiers, Etc.
1. The names of the characters have loosely evocative associative qualities. Krung is Riley's triumphant public reputation- or his hopes about it, a sober and rational personality in responsibility, success and empowerment. It is Riley as Cronus (or "Kronus"), the Titan, and "King." Spraivoll is the poetic "tune-fool" Riley. It is Riley the "Christ hymn" poet. The aspect of poetry has the feminine gender, as Calliope, the muse of poetry was feminine. Amphine evokes Riley as a lover like Amphion, son of Zeus and Antiope, who, in Greek legend, built Thebes by music of lute which he played so melodiously that the stones danced into walls and houses. Riley played the guitar and violin for romantic purposes. Dwainie is his inspirational friend, recently deceased at the time of the first writing of "The Flying Islands," Nellie Millikan Cooley, wife of George B. Cooley. "Dwainie" suggests the Old English word "Dwine" meaning waste away. Nellie was recently dead when "The Flying Islands" was first written in August 1878. Riley shared the author Thomas Chatterton's fascination with old English sounding names. Chatterton's writings were major inspiration for this poem. "Jucklet" the dwarf is Riley as self-admitted prankster but also Riley's survival self since Riley can only survive by his wits. The name evokes juggler from the Latin joculator, a jester, or joker in the Middle Ages. Jugglers of those days accompanied minstrels and troubadours and added entertainments to musical performances, e.g. sleight of hand, antics, feats of musing prowess and a staple of tricks. The form is in the diminutive just as Riley was small. The nightmares suggest interior aspects of creed for Creetch and dreads of novel encounters or depressive events where Riley is "greenhorn" and engaged or bitten as by fangs as Gritchfang. That the names are not entirely imaginative, but rather referential and elliptical is supported by some evidence. The poet in his 1898 edition of "The Flying Islands" added a footnote to additions to "Spirk and Wunk Rhymes," saying, "So, too, in numberless other aspects, must the reader's fancy freely-play- even as the writer frankly confesses his own has done,- in such particulars, for instances, as fancying the "ont-l-dawn-bird" of the Flying Islanders is our nightingale; their "trance- bird" our humming-bird; their "echo-bird" our mocking-bird, etc., etc., ad infinitum." 2. A wunk is a Hoosier folklore figure. It is not what it appears to be. It is like a ghost that can take on outward appearance at night of anything or anyone it wishes to. ACT I SCENE - THE FLYING ISLANDS Scene I. - Spirkland at Moondawn - Interior of the King's Court - A star burns dimly in the dome above the throne- Enter Crestillomeem. CRESTILLOMEEM. The throne is throwing wide its gilded arms To welcome me. The throne of Krung! Ha! ha! Leap up, ye lazy echoes, and laugh loud! For I, Crestillomeem, the queen - ha! ha! Do fling my richest mirth into your mouths That ye may fatten ripe with mockery! I wonder what the kingdom would become Were I not here to nurse it like a babe, And dandle1 it beyond the silly reach Of sycophants and serfs. Ho! Jucklet, ho! `Tis time my twisted warp of nice anatomy Were here to weave away upon our web - Of silken villainies. Ho! Jucklet, ho! 1."Dandle" is something like dangle and handle mixed up. (Lifts a secret door to the pave, and drops a star-bud through the opening. Enter Jucklet.) JUCKLET. Spang sprit1! my gracious queen, but thou hast scorched My left ear to a cinder, and my head Rings like a ding-dong on the coast of death! For, patient hate! thy hasty signal burst Full in my face as thitherward I came; But though my lug2 is fried to a crisp, and my Singed wig stinks like a little sun-stewed wunk, I stretch my fragrant presence at thy feet, And kiss thy sandal with a blistered lip. 1. "Sprit" is Chatterton's representation of the verb for "gives spirit" at "AElla," 2.1332. Chatterton, living in the century prior to Riley, wrote poetry which he fraudulently claimed was written by a monk named Rowley of the 15th Century. Chatterton sold these forgeries for income. The poetry was actually rather good and came to be much admired by Riley. There was no such monk as Rowley, of course, and Chatterton killed himself with arsenic at the age of 17 when his deception was discovered. 2. The external ear in this use. CRESTILLOMEEM. Hold! rare-done fool, lest I may call the cook And bake thee brown! How fares the king by this? JUCKLET. I left him sleeping1, but uncorked his nose, And o'er the odorous blossom of his lips2 I squeezed the tinctured sponge, and felt his pulse Come staggering back to regularity. And four hours hence his highness will awake and Peace will take a nap. 1. The setting is Riley sleeping off intoxication which becomes subject to delirium in Act II, with recovery in Act III. 2. "Liquor breath." CRESTILLOMEEM. Ha! what mean you? JUCKLET. I mean that he suspects our knaveries. Some traitor spy is burrowed in the court Whose unseen eye is ever focused fine Upon our actions, and whose hungry ear Eats every crumb of counsel that we drop In these our secret interviews -for he - The king - thro' all his talking-sleep to-day Has jabbered of intrigue, conspiracy, And treachery and hate in fellowship, With dire designs upon his royal self, To oust him from the throne. CRESTILLOMEEM. He spoke my name? JUCKLET. I never hear him speak but that thy name Makes melody of every sentence. Yes, - He thinks thou art as true to him as thou Art fickle, false and subtle! O how blind, and lame and deaf and dumb, and worn and weak, And faint and sick, and all-commodious His dear love1 is! 1. Riley's love of alcohol. CRESTILLOMEEM. Wilt thou wind up thy tongue Nor let it tangle in a knot of words! What said the king? JUCKLET. He said: "Crestillomeem - O that she knew this great distress of mine! For she would counsel with me, and her voice Would flow in limpid wisdom o'er my wounds, And, like an ointment, lave my hidden grief, And heal my bleeding heart;" and so went on Spinning the web of love in which he lies Bound hand and foot and buzzing helplessly. CRESTILLOMEEM. And did he drop no hint of his distress, And how, and when, and whence his trouble came? JUCKLET. He spoke as the tho' some woman talked with him - Full courteously he said: "In woman's guise Thou comest, yet I think thou art indeed But woman in thy form; they words are strange, And I am mystified! I feel the truth Of all thou hast declared, and yet so vague And shadow-like thy meaning is to me, I know not how to act to ward the blow Thou say'st is a hanging o'er me even now." And then, with open hands held pleadingly, He asked, "Who is my foe?" and o'er his face A sudden pallor flashed like death itself, As tho' if answer had been given it Had fallen like a curse. CRESTILLOMEEM. I'll stake my soul `Tis Dwainie1, of the Wunks, who peeks and peers With those fine eyes of hers in our affairs, And carries Krung, in some disguise, these hints Of our intent! See thou that silence falls Forever on her lips, and that the sight She wastes upon our secret action blurs With gray and grisly skum that shall for aye Conceal us from her gaze while she writhes blind And fangless as the fat worms of the grave. Here, take this tuft of downy druze, and when Thou comest on her, fronting full and fair, Say "Sherzham!" thrice, and fluff it in her face. 1. Nellie Millikan Cooley, Riley's beloved married friend, who died shortly before the publication of this piece.
JUCKLET. Thou knowest little magic, O, my queen, But all thou dost is very excellent. And now for Amphine - he, too, doubtless, has Been favored with an outline of our scheme. And I would kick my soul all over hell If I might juggle his fine figure up In such a shape as mine. CRESTILLOMEEM. Then this: if thou Canst ever find him bent above a flower, Or any blooming thing, and thou canst slip Behind and reach it first and touch it fair, And with thy knuckle strike him on the breast, Then his fine form will shrink and shrivel up As warty as a toad's - so hideous Thine own will seem a marvel of rare grace, Tho' idly speakest them of mystic skill `Twas that which won the king for me - `twas that Bereft him of his daughter1 ere we had Been wedded for a month; she strangely went Astray one morning from the palace steps; And when the dainty vagrant came not back And all the spies in Spirkland in her quest Came straggling empty-handed home again Why, then the wise king wiped his rainy eyes And sagely tho't the little toddler strayed Out to the island's edge and tumbled off. I could have set his mind at ease on that; I could have told him when she tumble off. I tumbled her, and tumbled her so far She tumbled in another land, from which But one charm known to art can tumble her Back into this. 1. Spraivoll, Riley's poetic self, in this delirium tremens attack from alcoholic binge. JUCKLET. Ay, true enough, perhaps! But dost thou know that rumors float about Among thy subjects of thy sorceries? And if my counsel is worth aught to thee, Then have a care thy charms do not revert Upon thyself! CRESTILLOMEEM. Ha! ha! no fear of that While Krung remains - (She pauses abruptly, and a voice of exquisite melody is heard singing.) VOICE. When kings are kings, and kings are men - And the lonesome rain1 is raining - O who shall rule from the red2 throne then, And who shall wield the scepter when - When the winds3 are all complaining?
When men are men, and men are kings - And the lonesome rain is raining - O who shall list as the minstrel sings Of the ermine robes and the signet rings when the winds are all complaining?
1. Rain most often refers to God's judgment on sinners in frontier American poetry. Such imagery often derives from scripture in this case possibly Ez. 38.22. 2. Red is the color of sin in frontier American Protestant folklore. This probably derives from Isaiah 1.18. The sin in this use would be the overuse of alcohol. 3. The wind is often a depiction of the operation of the Holy Spirit within the world in the same folklore tradition. John 3.8. In light of the imagery of Spraivoll's initial poem, we would suspect the answer to the poem's question is no one.
CRESTILLOMEEM. Whence flows that sweetness, and whose voice is that? JUCKLET. The voice of Spraivoll if mine ears are tuned. CRESTILLOMEEM. And who is Spraivoll, and what song is that she sings? JUCKLET. Spraivoll, the Tune Fool is she called By those who meet her in her nightly rounds.1 She comes from Wunkland, as she so declares, And has been roosting round the palace here For half a moon. 1. Riley only wrote poetry at night. CRESTILLOMEEM. And pray, where is she perched? JUCKLET Under some dingy cornice1, like enough. She is no woman, tho' - and yet, indeed She is licensed idiot, and drifts About as restless, and as useless, too, As any lazy breeze in summertime. I'll call her forth to greet your majesty - Ho! Spraivoll! Ho! my plumeless bird, flit here! 1. Riley was writing most of his poetry at this time in a place he called the "Morgue," an upstairs space in row office buildings in downtown Greenfield, Indiana. (From behind a group of statuary Spraivoll enters.) SPRAIVOLL. (Singing1) Ting-along aling-ting! Tingle-tee! Ting-aling, aling-ting! Tingle-tee! The world runs round and round for me; Wind it up with a golden key Ting-aling, aling-ting! Tingle-tee! 1. Spraivoll's songs contain ellided and unintelligible words because, we remember, Riley cannot write poetry while he is intoxicated as he is in Acts I and II. Spraivoll does much better in Act III when she is "herself" or rather Riley "himself." JUCKLET. Who art thou, woman, and what singest thou? SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.) What sings the breene1 on the wertling-vine2, And the tweck3 on the bamner-stem4? The song they sing is the same as mine, And mine is the same to them. 1. Probably a brown wren. Under Chatterton's "Rowley" technicalities, any word that can take a terminal "e" does so. Riley's poem has elements of Chatterton "takeoff." 2. Wert, wyrt, wairt, wurt, wort (as in liverwort) refers to a herb in Middle English. A "wertling-vine" is possibly a herb-vine. 3. Probably suggestive of a "twaddling" (or silly) "peck" or "woodpecker" although the "tw" might refer to the Middle English twecche (twitch). 4. A "bamner-stem" is possibly a "runner bamboo stem" or some such. JUCKLET. Your majesty may be surprised somewhat, But Spraivoll cannot talk; her only mode Of speech is melody; and thou might'st put The gifted fool a-thousand questions, and In full return, receive a thousand songs, Each set to different tunes - as full of naught As space is full of emptiness. CRESTILLOMEEM. A fool? A fool, and with a voice so strangely sweet? A fool? JUCKLET. Ay, warranted! Around the world She walks unrivalled, and a queen of fools - Eh, Spraivoll? SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.) O, Aye! Tho' Spirkland has grown great In foolish ways, I ween Her greatest fool will intimate, He bows to me as queen. CRESTILLOMEEM. So! my Jucklet finds his peer! Come hither woman, and be not afraid, For I like fools so well I married one. And since thou art a queen of fools, and he A king, why I've a mind to bring you two Together in some way. Canst use thy tongue in such a wise thy hearer can but list? SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.) If one should ask me for a song And I should answer, then my tongue Would twitter, trill and troll along Until the song was done.
Or should one ask me for my tongue, And I should answer with a song, I'd trill it till the song was sung And troll it all along. CRESTILLOMEEM. Thou art indeed a fool, and one I think To serve my purpose well. Give ear to me! And Jucklet, thou go to the king and wait His waking; then repeat these words: "The queen Impatiently awaits his majesty, And craves his presence in the Tower of Stars,1 That she may there express all tenderly Her great solicitude and" - there, say this: "So much she bade, and drooped her glowing face Deep in the shadows of her unbound hair, And with a flashing gesture of her arm Turned all the moonlight pallid, saying, "Haste!" 1. A "tower of stars" is the prison of his hopes for success. In Riley's personal symbolism, a tower is a place of bondage where one is made a prisoner. SEE: Contemporaneous Riley letter to the Cooleys and his beloved married friend, Nellie Cooley, dated October 28, 1877 "...take me your prisoner and `fasten me down forever in the round tower of your heart; and I'll never murmur for release till heaven dawns thro the gates." In Riley imagery, stars have to do with success. In a letter to his brother John of Nov. 16, 1874, Riley states, "In those dark hours (of drifting while a sign painter), I should have been content with the twinkle of the tiniest star." JUCKLET. And would it not be well to hang a pearl Or two upon thy silken lashes? CRESTILLOMEEM. Go! (Jucklet disappears.) Now fool, I'll furnish thee a topic for A song: A woman once, with angel in Her face and devil in her heart, had cause To breed confusion to her sovereign lord, And work the downfall of his haughty son - The issue of a former marriage, who Inspired her hatred from the very first; Thro' her the king is haunted with a dream That he is soon to die, and so prepares The throne for the ascension of the son. The woman now has won the husband's love, And by her craft and wanton flatteries Sways him to every purpose but the one Most coveted. And so, to serve that end She would make use of thee, and if thou dost Her will as her good pleasure shall direct. Why, thou shalt sing at court, and thy sweet voice Shall woo the echoes of the listening throne. At present does the king lie in a sleep Drug-wrought and deep as death - the after-phase Of an unconscious state in which each act Of his throughout his waking hours is so Rehearsed in manner, motion, deed and word Her spies may tell her of his very tho't, And should he come upon the throne to-night Where his wise counselors sit waiting him, Then has she cause to think her purposes Will fall in jeopardy; but if he fail, Thro' any means, to lend his presence there, Then, by a former mandate, is his queen Empowered with all sovereignty to reign And work the royal purposes instead. Therefore the queen has set an interview With him that will occur at noon to-night - One hour ere the time the throne convenes - And with her thou shalt go, and lie in wait Until she signal thee to sing, and then Shalt thou so work upon his mellow mood With that unearthly magic of thy voice - So dazzle all his serious tho't with dreams - The queen may, all unnoticed, slip away, And leave thee singing to a throneless king. SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.) And who shall sing for the haughty son While the good king droops his head? And will he dream when the song is done That a princess fair lies dead?1 1. If he is drunk, can he forget about his dead friend, Dwainie (Nellie) recently deceased? CRESTILLOMEEM. The haughty son has found his "song" sweet curse And may she sing his everlasting dirge! She comes from that near-floating land of thine, And with her fairer skin and finer ways, Has caught the prince between her mellow palms And stroked him flutterless. Didst ever hear Of Dwainie, of the Wunks? SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.)1 Ay, "Dwainie! My Dwainie!" The lurloo2 ever sings, A tremor in his flossy crest And in his glossy wings, And "Dwainie! My Dwainie" The winnow welvers call, But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all.
The teeper3 twitters "Dwainie!" The tcheucker4 on his spray Teeters up and down the wind And will not fly away; And "Dwainie! My Dwainie:" The drowsy oovers5 drawl; But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all.
O Dwainie! my Dwainie,! The breezes hold their breath; The stars are pale as blossoms, And the night as still as death; And "Dwainie! My Dwainie!" The fainting echoes fall; But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all.
1. A poem of Riley's anguish over his separation from his great soul-mate, Nellie Cooley, so recently deceased. Spraivoll, Riley's poetic self, cannot reach Nellie; only Amphine, Riley's manifestation of love, can as we will soon discover. 2. Dwainie (Nellie Cooley) is evoked to Riley by an alluring but hidden spirit. "Lurloo" is a name in intoxicated onomatopoeia through formation of allegorical qualities rather than from animal sounds. The name probably derives from the archaic form "lure" in the sense of an enticement or allure and the loo which suggests a masking of an appearance as in the loo or mask a woman wore to avoid tanning her complexion. The fantastic bird creatures of "Dwainie" are spirits, a common Riley catachresis extending the obvious "bird" word into a proper poetic, as in "Song of the Rain." 3. Something which "tees" draws, tugs, pulls. Such a spirit twitters about Dwainie. Possibly a tree-toad which is said to "twitter" in Riley's poem "A Treat Ode" of roughly contemporaneous time. ("Scurious-like!" said the tree-toad, - \"I've twittered for rain all day...") 4. A tcheucker has the intoxicatese onomatopoeic ring of a squirrel's call. 5. oover suggests a compaction of "owl hooting overhead" giving its "hooooooooot."
CRESTILLOMEEM. A melody ecstatic, and thy words Altho' so meaningless, seem something more - A vague and shadowy something, eerie-like, That makes me catch my breath all tremulous, But save thy music! Come, that I may make Thee ready for thy royal auditor. (Exeunt).
ACT II Scene 2. - A garden of Krung's palace, screened from the moon and lighted with star flakes. An arbor, near which is a table spread with a repast. A fountain, near which Amphine sits thrumming a trentoraine.1 1. "Thrumming" is like strumming with his thumb. Trentoraine, is probably something like a "trembling instrument sounding like rain" or some such, most likely Riley's guitar with which he entertained Nellie on many evenings in his early twenties. AMPHINE. O warbling strand of silver, where, oh where Hast thou unraveled that sweet voice of thine, And left its silken murmurs quavering In spasms of delight? O golden wire, Where hast thou spilled thy precious twinkerings What thirsty ear ear has drained thy melody And left me but a wild, delirious drop To tincture all my soul with vain desire? O, Trentoraine, how like an empty vase Thou art - whose clustering blooms of song have drooped And faded, one by one, and fallen away And left to me but dry and tuneless stems, And crisp and withered tendrils of a voice Whose thrilling tone, now like a throttled sound Lies stifled, faint, and gasping all in vain For utterance. (Enter Dwainie1, unperceived) O empty husk of song, If deep within my heart the music thou Hast stored away might find an opening, A fount of limpid laughter would leap up And gurgle from my lips, and all the winds Would revel round me riotous with joy; And Dwainie in her beauty would lean o'er The battlements of night, and like the moon, The glory of her face would light the world, For I would sing of love, 1. Riley's beloved - and dead - Nellie appears in spirit. Riley elsewhere calls her his "truest friend on earth, or now in heaven" in a letter to Nellie's daughter, Mrs. Emma Cox, on April 10, 1885. He adds, "God bless us always with the sweetness of her memory!" DWAINIE. (Concealed.) And she would hear, And reaching overhead among the stars Would scatter them like daisies at thy feet. AMPHINE. O voice, where art thou floating on the air? O angel-soul, where art thou hovering? DWAINIE. I hover in the zephyr of thy sighs, And tremble lest thy love for me shall fail To buoy me thus forever on the breath Of such a dream as heaven envies. AMPHINE Then Thou lovest! O my angel, flutter down And nestle to the warm home of my breast So empty are my arms, so full my heart The one must hold thee or the other burst. DWAINIE. (Throwing herself in his embrace.) I think the hand of God has flung me here; O hold me that he may not pluck me back. AMPHINE. So closely will I hold thee that not e'en The hand of death shall separate us. DWAINIE. So, May sweet death find us, then, that, woven thus In the corolla of a ripe caress, We may drop light, like twin plustre-buds1, On Heaven's star-strewn lawn. 1. Buds which are purely lustrous. AMPHINE. So do I pray, But tell me, tender heart, as thou dost love, Where hast thou loitered for so long? For I have ordered merl1 and viands to be brought For our refreshment here, where all alone I might sip with thee words as well as wine. Why hast thou kept me so athirst, for I Am jealous of the very solitude In which thou walkest. (They sit at table.) 1. Merl is an alcoholic beverage, probably wine, and named after a fictional character of Riley poetry. SEE: Riley's poem of 1879, "To the Wine-God Merlus" (the "God" of "drink" who "blowest all my cares.") DWAINIE Nay, I will not tell, Since, if I did a thousand questions more Would vex our interview with idle tho't And speculation vain. Let this suffice - I talked with one who knew me long ago In dreamy Wunkland,1 talked of mellow nights And long, long hours of golden olden times When love lay like a baby in my arms. And life was like a tinkling toy. We talked Of all the past, ah, me, and all the friends That now await my coming and we talked Of many, many things, so many things That I forget them all in dreams of when, With thy warm hand clasped close in this of mine We walk the floating bridge that spans the gulf Between this isle of strife and gloom, and doubt, And my most glorious realm of joy and peace, Where summer-night reigns ever, and the moon Hangs ever ripe and lush with radiance Above a land were roses gloat on wings And fan their fragrance out so lavishly The winds dive out of heaven to bathe in it. 1. Earthly life. In Hoosier folklore, Wunkland persons are those who have been "wunks" on earth, personalities or selves or souls within shapes and sizes of humanity for homes. AMPHINE O empress of my listening soul, talk on, And tell me all of that rare land of thine, For even tho' I reigned a peerless king Within mine own, I think I could fling down My scepter, signet, crown and royal robes, And so walk naked down the path of life, If at the dwindling end my feet might touch Upon the shores of such a land as thou Dost paint for me. O tell me more of it, And tell me if thy sister-woman there Is like to thee - but nay! for it thou didst These foolish eyes would not believe - but thou Canst tell me of thy brothers. Are they great, And can they grapple with God's arguments, And cipher out the problems of the stars? DWAINIE. Aye, they have leaped all earthly barriers. `Twas Wunkland's son1 that voyaged round the moon, And talked with Mars, and buckled Saturn's belt; `Twas Wunkland's son that bent the rainbow straight. And walked it like a street, and so returned To tell us it was made of hammered shine, Inlaid with strips of selvedge2 from the sun, And burnished with the rust of rotten stars. `Twas Wunkland's son who comprehended first All grosser things, and took the world apart And oiled its joints with new philosophies; For now our goolores3 say, below these isles A million million miles are other worlds - Not like to ours, but round, as bubbles are, And like them, ever reeling on thro' space, And anchorless thro' all eternity; Not like to ours, for our isles,4 as they say Are living things that fly about at night, And soar above, and cling, throughout the day Like bats, beneath the rafters of the skies: and I myself have heard, at dawn of moon, A liquid music filtered thro' my dreams, As tho' a thousand trilling voices pent In some o'erhanging realm, had spilled themselves In streams of melody that trickled thro' the chinks and crannies of a crystal pave Until the wasted juices of harmony, slow-leaking o'er my senses, drowned my soul With ecstacy divine. And afferhaiks5 Who scour our coasts on missions for the King, Declare our island's shape is like the zhibb's6 When lolling in a trance upon the air, With open wings upslant and motionless. O such a land it is - so all complete In all wise habitants, and knowledge, lore, Arts, sciences, perfected government - In kingly wisdom, worth and majesty - So furnished forth in all things lovable, O Amphine, love of mine, it lacks but thy Sweet presence to make it a Paradise. 1. Riley seeks the soul within as rendering those in earthly bodies as "wunks" and the earth as we know it as "wunkland." Persons in the "beyond" will have activities including universal explorations, musical enjoyments, ministerial functions for God, etc. 2. Variant spelling of selvage, an edge of woven material which prevents ravelling out of the weft. 3. Probably an ellipse of "good lores" or "best books." 4. Riley confirms to us that "The Flying Islands" are lives that he lives at night. These are himself in fragmented souls or selves. 5. A haik is worn by an Arab explorer into the deserts. It is an outer cloth. "Afferre" is Latin meaning "to conduct inward." Afferhaiks may refer to functionaries in the universal sphere. 6. An inventive creature of Riley's vivid imagination possibly striped as a zebra and thus "ribbed" or some such. (Takes up the Trentoraine.) And shall I tell thee of the home1 that waits For thy glad coming, Amphine? Listen, then - 1. After describing the people of the "beyond" and their activities, Dwainie now tells Riley of the land itself in song in an imaginative fanciful vision in which Riley and Nellie can live together. Dwainie gives Amphine to know that their "heaven" is a garden-party. SONG A palace veiled in a gleaming dusk; Warm breaths of a tropic air, Drugged with the odorous Marzhoo's1 musk And the perfumed cynchottaire2; Where the trembling hands of the lilwing's3 leaves The winds caress and fawn, As the dreamy starlight idly weaves Designs for a damask4 lawn.
Densed in the depths of a dim eclipse Of palms in a flowery space, A fountain leaps from the marble lips Of a girl with a golden vase Held atip on a curving wrist, Drinking the drops that glance Laughingly in the gleaming mist Of her crystal utterance.
Archways looped o'er blooming walks That lead thro' gleaming halls; And balconies where the tune-bird talks To the tipsy waterfalls. And easements gauzed with a filmy sheen Of a lace that sifts the sight, While a ghost of bloom on the haunted screen Drips with the dews of light.
Weird, pale shapes of sculptured stone, And marble nymphs agaze Ever in fonts of amber sown With seeds of gold, and sprays Of emerald mosses ever drowned, Where glimpses of shell and gem Peer from the depths as round and round The nautilus nods at them.
Faces blurred in a mazy dance And a music wild and sweet, Spinning the threads of a mad romance That tangles the waltzer's feet: Twining arms, and warm swift thrills That pulse to the melody, Till the soul of the dancer dips and fills In the wells of ecstacy.
Eyes that melt in the quivering ore Of love, and the molten kiss Bubbling out of the hearts that pour Their blood in the molds of bliss; `Tis worn to a languor slumber-deep, The soul of the dreamer lifts A silken sail on the gulfs of sleep, And into the darkness drifts.5 1. Possibly an ellipse of "martyrs of the Hoosiers" or such. 2. "Sin-choked air" or such. 3. Possibly "Littlest winged cupid" kind of thing. 4. A lawn of ornamental variegated pattern as is damask. 5. What kind of place is Riley heading as Dwainie tells him his destination? Is this overblown, sensation-sated place described with bawdy house parlor accouterments a delirium- evoked description of where Riley is really heading due to his alcoholism, i.e. hell? (The instrument falls from her hands; and Amphine in a gust of passionate delight, embraces her.) AMPHINE Thou art not all of earth, O angel one! I do not wonder me those eyes of thine, Have peeped above the very walls of Heaven! What hast thou seen there? Hast thou looked on God! And did he fling as bright a smile as thine Back to thee as he beckoned thee within? And tell me, didst thou meet an angel there Alinger at the gates, nor entering Till I, her brother, joined her?1 1. Riley's sister, Martha Celestia, born February, 1847, died as a baby in 1851, two years after Riley was born. DWAINIE Why, hast thou As sister dead? Truth, I have heard of one Long lost to thee - not dead? AMPHINE Of her I speak. She strayed away from us long, long ago, But I remember her - wondering eyes That seemed as tho' they ever looked on things We could not see, as haply so they did, For she went from us all so suddenly, So strangely vanished, that I of times think She found a pathway leading back to God, And bent her steps therein and slipped away Unseen of earthly eyes. DWAINIE Nay, do not grieve Thee thus, O loving heart! Thy sister yet May come to thee in some sweet way the fates Are planning, even while thy tear-drops fall; so calm thee while I speak of thine own self. And I have listened to a whistling bird That pipes of waiting danger. Did'st thou note No strange behavior of thy sire of late? AMPHINE Ay, he is silent, and he walks as one In some deep melancholy, or as one Asleep. DWAINIE And does he never speak with thee, Nor ask thy counsel? AMPHINE Once he stopped me on The palace stairs, and whispered, "Lo! my son, thy reign draws near - prepare!" and so passed on And vanished like a ghost - so pale he was. DWAINIE And didst thou never reason on this thing? Nor ask thyself "What dims my father's eye, And makes a sullen shadow of his form?" AMPHINE Why, there's a household rumor that he dreams Death lurks forever at his side, and soon Will signal him away.1 But Jucklet says Crestillomeem has said the leeches say There is no cause for serious concern; As so I am assured it is nothing more Than childish fancy; so I laugh, ha! ha! And wonder, as I see him gliding past, If ever I shall waver as I walk And stumble o'er my beard, and knit my brow, And o'er the dull mosaics of the pave Play checkers with mine eyes.2 Ho, ho! Ah,ha! 1. A possible subtle hint of a Riley suicide plan if he cannot get himself together enough to write poetry. SEE: the contemporary poem in Hoosier dialect, "Lines to an Onsettled Young Man." ("An' what is Death?" - W'y, looky hyur -\ Ef Life an' Love don't suit you, sir, \Hit's jes' the thing yer lookin' fer!"). At this point, Riley's poetry contains the theme of the relief from life that comes with nihilation. SEE the 1879 poem "Death," with its final line "Soh, bless me! I am dead!" 2. Riley is in a stupor and the fears he will die while intoxicated in tremens if he cannot come to. His intoxicated self, Crestillomeem, however, doesn't deter him from alcohol consumption. Riley notices himself tumbling about glancing in distraction as do checkers jumping about on a board, square by square. DWAINIE (Aside) How dare I tell him? Yet, I must - I must? AMPHINE Why, art thou, too, grown childish, that thou canst Find crazy pleasure talking to thyself, And staring frowningly with eyes whose smiles I need so much? DWAINIE Nay, rather say their tears, poor thoughtless prince! AMPHINE What mean you? DWAINIE Why, I mean, one hour agone, The queen, thy mother - AMPHINE Nay, say only "queen!" DWAINIE The queen, one hour agone, as so I learn, Sent message craving audience with the king At noon to-night, within the Tower of Stars. Thou knowest one hour later that the throne Convenes, and that the king has set his seal Upon a mandate that proclaims the queen Shall there preside if he do not appear.1 And therefore she, as I have been apprised, Connives to hold him absent purposely That she may claim the vacancy - for what Covert design I know not, but I know It augurs danger to you both. 1. If Riley can't get over his alcoholism, he will consign himself to a life as an alcoholic under Crestillomeem's control. AMPHINE I feel Thou speakest truth, and yet how know you this? DWAINIE Ask me not that; my lips are welded close, And more - since I have dared to speak, and thous To listen - Jucklet is accessory, And even now is plotting for thy fall - But, passion of my soul, think not of me, For nothing but sheer magic was avail To work me harm; but look thee to thyself! For thou art blameless cause of all the hate That rankles in the bosom of the queen. So have thine eyes about thee, that no step May steal behind thee ever - for in this Unlooked of way thy enemy will come. This much I know, but for what fell intent And purpose dire I dare not even guess; So look thee, night and day, that none may come Upon thee from behind. AMPHINE And thou, O precious heart! How art thou guarded, and what shield hast thou Of safety? DWAINIE Fear thou not for me at all; Possessed am I of wondrous sorcery - The gift of holy magic at my birth, My enemy must face me as he comes And I will know him at one utterance, And then I may disarm him tho' he be A giant and of thrice a giant's strength, But hist! What wandering minstrel comes this way? VOICE (In the distance.) The drowsy eyes of the stars grow dim; The wamboo roosts on the rainbow's rim, And the moon is a ghost of a shine: The soothing song of the crool1 is done, But the song of love is a sweeter one, And the song of love is mine. Then wake! O wake! For the sweet song's sake, Nor let my heart with the morning break! 1. Crooning oriole or some such. AMPHINE Some serenader, but what does he in The gardens here at glare of noon? Let us Conceal ourselves within the bower and watch. (They go within.) VOICE. (Drawing nearer.) The mist of the morning, chill and gray, Wraps the night in a shroud of spray, The sun is a crimson blot: The moon fades fast, and the stars take wing; The comet's tail is a fleeting thing, But the tale of love is not, Then, wake! O wake! For the sweet song's sake, Nor let my heart with the morning break. (Enter Jucklet.) JUCKLET Ho! ho! what will my dainty mistress say When I shall stand knee-deep in the wet grass Beneath her window, and with upturned eyes And swaying head, and all-melodious tongue Out-lolling like the clapper of a bell, Fling her a song like that? I wonder now If she will not put up her finger thus, And say, "Hist! heart of mine! the angels call For thee!" Ho! ho! Or will her blushing face Light up her dim boudoir, and from her glass Flare back to her a flame upsprouting from The red-hot socket of a soul whose light She tho't long since had guttered out - Ho! ho! Or, haply, will she chastely bend above - A parian phantom with its head atip, And twinkling fingers dusting down the dews That glitter on the tarpysma vines That riot round her casement, gathering Their blooms to pelt me with, as I below All winkingly await the fragrant shower? Ho! ho! how jolly is this thing of love! But how much richer, rarer, jollier Than all the loves is this rare love of mine! Why, my sweet mistress does not even dream I am her lover; for, to tell the truth, I have a way of wooing all my own, And waste no speech in creamy compliment, And courtesies all gaumed with winy words. In fact, I do not woo at all. I win! How is it now the old duct glides off? SONG1 How is it you woo? and now answer me true, - How is it you woo and you win? Why, to answer you true, - the first thing to do Is simply, my dear, to begin.
But how can I begin to woo or to win When I don't know a Win from a Woo? Why, cover your chin with your fan or your fin And I'll introduce them to you.
But what if it drew from my parents a view With my own in no manner akin? No matter, - your view is the best of the two So I hasten to usher them in.
But stay! Shall I grin at the Woo or the Win? And what will he do if I do? Why, the Woo will begin with "How pleasant it's been" And the Win with "Delighted with you."
Then supposing he grew very dear to my view? I'm speaking, you know, of the Win? Why, then you should do what he wanted you to, And now is the time to begin.
The time to begin? O then usher him in - Let him say what he wants me to do! He is here - he's a twin of yourself, - I am Win, And you are my darling - my Woo. 1. An amusing song-poem of courtship and marriage in which Jucklet contemplates his hope of marriage with Dwainie (Nellie, already married of course.) One who "woos" is an object of courtship and one who "wins" gets married. When Jucklet says, "I am win" he is expressing his confidence that he can become a groom. The phrase is found in an early 1971 Riley courtship poem, the "Unexpected Result," as a "casual" phrase for the ritual of courtship and marriage. ("...If I were you/ I'd marry that woman, that's what I'd do,/ As certain as one and one make two!/ Or ain't you much on the marry now?/ Well, she's a mighty fat take anyhow!"/ "Well now, you can bet she ain't so slow,/ Hang it! I won't play off on her so!/ Where's my overcoat? I'm going to go!/ And you needn't sit up till I come in,/For I am right on the `woo' and the `win!'")
That song I call most sensible nonsense; And if the fair and peerless Dwainie were But here with that sweet voice of hers, to take The part of "Woo," I'd be the happiest "Win" On this side of futurity! Ho! ho! DWAINIE. (Aside to Amphine.) What means he? AMPHINE. Why he means that throatless head Of his needs further chucking down between His ugly shoulders! (Starts forward, Dwainie detains him.) DWAINIE. Nay, thou shalt not stir! See; now the monster has discovered our Repast, so let us mark him further. JUCKLET. What! A roasted wheffle and a toe-spiced whum1 - Tricked with a larvey and gherghling's tail And, sprit me2! wine enough to swim them in! Now I should like to put a question to The guests, but as there are none, I direct My interrogatory to the host: Am I behind time? 1. A "wheffle" is probably something like a waffle and a truffle mix and a "whum" a wheat bun or some such. 2. Give me spirit. (Showing humbly.) Then I can but trust My tardy coming will be overlooked In my most active effort to regain A gracious tolerance by service now: Directing the attention to the fact That I have brought my appetite along, I can but feel - ahem! that further words Would be a waste of time. (Sits at table, pours out wine, and eats voraciously) There was a time When I was rather backward in my ways; But somehow, as I think I have outgrown The nice, shy age, wherein one makes a meal Of two estardles and a fork of soup. Hey, Sanaloo; but my starved stomach stands With mouth agape, awe-stricken and aghast Before the rich profusion of this feast; So will I lubricate it with a glass of merl And coax it on to more familiar forms Of fellowship with these delectables. (Pours out wine and holds up the goblet.) Mine host - thou of the viewless presence and Hush-haunted lip - thy most imperial, Ethereal, and immaterial health! Live till the sun dries up, and comb thy cares With star-prongs till the comets fizzle out And fade away and fall and are no more! (Drinks and refills the goblet.) And if thou wilt permit of the remark, - The gleaming shaft of spirit in this wine Goes whistling to its mark, and full and fair Zipps to the target center of my soul. Why, now, I am the veriest gentleman That ever buttered woman with a smile, And let her melt and run, and drip and ooze All over and around a wanton heart; And if my mistress bent above me now, In all my hideous deformity, I think she would look over, as it were, The hump upon my back; and so forget The kinds and knuckles of my crooked legs In this enchanting smile, that she would leap Love-dazzled, and fall faint and fluttering Within these open, all-devouring arms Of mine! Ho! ho! and yet Crestillomeem Would have me blight my dainty mistress with This feather from the Devil's wing, but I Am far too full of craft to spoil the eyes That yet shall pour their love like nectar out Into my own, and I am far too deep For royal wit to wade my purposes. DWAINIE. What can he mean. AMPHINE. I will rush forward and Tear out his tongue, and slap it in his face! DWAINIE. Nay, nay! It's what he says! JUCKLET. How big a fool - How all magnificent an idiot - I would be to blight her, when I have power To crush the only object that now lies Between her love and mine! Ho! ho! ho! ho! I wonder, when she sees the human toad Squat at her feet, and cock his filmy eyes Upon her, and croak love, if she wilt not Call me to tweezer him with two long sticks, And toss him from her path - O, ho! ho! ho! Hell bend him o'er some blossom quick, that I May have one brother in the flesh! (Nods drowsily.) DWAINIE. (Aside) Ha! See! Look, Amphine, he grows drunken; bide a spell And I will vex him with my sorcery1; Then will we leave him, for the hour draws on When all our arts and strategies must needs Be called in action. 1. The spirit of Nellie and her faith in Riley's poetic possibility invests Jucklet, Riley's survival personality, with awareness that his drunkenness may kill him.
Jucklet yawns drowsily, stretches, and gradually sinks at full length on the sward.1 Amphine and Dwainie come forward. Amphine is about to place his foot contemptuously upon the sleeper's breast, but is held back by Dwainie, who motions him to turn away and hide his face; this time, she unbinds her hair, and throwing it forward over her face, and bending till it trails the ground she lifts to the knee her dress, and so walks backward round the sleeper, crooning to herself an incoherent song.2 Then pausing, letting fall her dress, and rising to full stature, waves her hands above the sleeper's face, and runs to Amphine, who turns about and looks upon her wonderingly. 1. A grassy surface. 2. A song of reminder of her faith in Riley which will soon combine with the terror of dementia tremens from his alcoholism to reform Riley and wake him out of the poem's delirium. DWAINIE. Now shalt thou look on Such misery as thou hast never dreamed. (As she speaks a chorus of unearthly voices is heard chanting to strange discord.) CHANT When the fat moon smiles And the comets kiss, And the Spirkland elves rejoice, The whanghoo twunkers1 A tune like this, And the nightmare nips the royce2: 1. "whanghoo twunkers" is possibly an ellipse for a wailing spirit evoking a "twang" or "plunk" sound. 2. Possibly an ellipse for "royal arse." (As these words die away, a comet-freighted with weird shapes, dips from the sky, and trails near the sleeper's feet, while from it two nightmares, Creech and Gritchfang, alight; the comet hisses, switches its tail and disappears, while the two goblins hover over Jucklet, who stares at them with starting eyes and horribly comforted features.) CREECH (To Gritchfang.) Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Flutter your wings like your grandmother does,1 Tuck in your chin, and wheel over and whir Like a dickerbug fast in the web of the wurr, Reel out your tongue and untangle your toes, And rattle your claws o'er the bridge of his nose; Tickle his ears with your feathers and fuzz, And keep up a hum like your grandmother does. (Jucklet moans and clutches at the air convulsively.2) 1. In Middle English mythology, the "nightmare" was a female monster supposed to settle upon people and animals in their sleep producing a feeling of suffocation or great distress from which the sleeper vainly tries to free one's self. The grandmother of nightmares would be the ultimate ancestral nightmare herself. 2. An account of Riley's "survival self" in tremens. AMPHINE (Shuddering) Most horrible! See how the poor worm writhes! DWAINIE But good will come of it, a far voice sings. GRITCHFANG (To Creech.) Let me dive down in his nostriline caves, And keep an eye out as to how he behaves; Fasten him down while I put him to rack, And don't let him flops from the flat of his back. (Shrinks to minute size, disappears in the sleeper's nose, and calls gleefully from within:) Lo! I have bored thro' the floor of his brains, And set them all writhing with torturous pains; And I shriek out the prayer as I whistle and whizz, I may be the nightmare that my grandmother is! (Appears, and assuming former shape, crosses to Creech, and they dance on the sleeper's stomach in broken time to chorus.) CHORUS Whing! whang! so our ancestors sang, And they guzzled hot blood and blew up with a bang; But they ever tenaciously clung to the rule To only blow up in the hull of a fool - To fizz and explode like a cast-iron toad In the cavernous depths where his victuals were stowed - When chances were ripest and thickest and best To burst every button-hole out of his vest. (They pause, float high above, and fussing together into a ponderous iron weight, they drop heavily upon the chest of the sleeper, who moans piteously.) AMPHINE (Hiding his face.) Ah! Heavens! take we hence! (Dwainie leads him off, looking backward as she disappears and waving her hands.) CREECH (To Gritchfang.) Zipp! Zipp! Zipp! Zipp! Sting his tongue raw and unravel his lip: Grope, on the right, down his windpipe, and squeeze His liver as dry as a petrified flea's. (Gritchfang bows, shrinks and disappears.) Throttle his heart till he's black in the face, And bury it down in some desolate place, Where only remorse in her agony lives To dread the advice that your grandmother gives. (The sleeper struggles convulsively, while the voice of Gritchfang calls from within.) Ho! I have clambered the rounds of his ribs, And riddled his lungs into tatters and dribs; And I turn up the tube of his heart like a hose And squirt all the blood to the end of his nose; I stamp on his stomach, and caper and prance, With my tail tossing round like a boomerang lance, And thus may success ever crown my intent To wander the way that my grandmother went. (Appears, falls hysterically in Creech's outstretched arms. They dance and chorus.) CHORUS Whing! Whang! so our ancestors sung. And they snorted and pawed, and they hissed and they stung, And they took a terrific delight in their work On the fools that they found in the lands of the Spirk. And each little grain of their powders of pain They scraped up and pestled again and again, And they mixed it in doses for gluttons and sots Till they strangled their dreams with abdominal knots. (The comet again trails past, upon which the nightmares leap and disappear. Jucklet staggers to his feet, glares frenziedly about him, and with a wild, unearthly howl of agony, rushes off.)
ACT III Scene I. - Court of Krung -The royal ministers and counselors in session - Crestillomeem, in royal attire presiding - She signals to herald on her right, who steps forward - Blare of trumpets, greeted with loud murmurings and tumult from without. HERALD. Hist, ho! Ay,ay! Ay,ay! Her majesty, The all glorious and ever gracious queen Crestillomeem, to her most loyal, leal1 And right devoted subjects, greeting sends - Proclaiming, in the absence of the king, Her royal presence, as by him empowered To sit upon the throne in sovereign state And work the royal will. (Confusion) Hist, ho! Ay,ay! Ay,ay! And be it known, the king, in view of his Approaching dissolution - Hath decreed The reading of this royal document. 1. A Middle English word meaning "true." (Sensation among the counselors, etc. within and wild tumult without; cries of "Long live the king!" and "Down with the sorceress!") (Unrolls a scroll with royal seal attached. Sensation in court - wild tumult without, and cries of "Plot!" "Conspiracy!" "Down with the Queen!" "Down with the sorceress!") CRESTILLOMEEM. (Wildly) Bring me the traitor-knave who dares to cry "Conspiracy!" (Wild confusion without - sound of rioting, and a voice, "Let me be taken!" Enter officers, dragging Jucklet, wild-eyed and hysterical.) CRESTILLOMEEM. (Starting.) Why bring you Jucklet here? OFFICER. Because `tis he who cries "conspiracy!" And who incites the mob without with cries Of "Plot" and "Treason!" CRESTILLOMEEM. Ha! Can this be true? I'll not believe it! Jucklet is my fool, But not so great a fool that he would tempt His sovereign's ire. Let him be freed. Come here, My Fool. JUCKLET. (Wildly) Thy fool? Ho! ho! Why, thou art mine! (Confusion. Cries of "Strike down the traitor!") JUCKLET. Back! all of ye! I have not waded Hell That I should fear your puny enmity! But I will give you proof of what I say. (Presses toward the throne, hurling his opposers left and right. Crestillomeem sits as tho' stricken speechless, waving him off, while Jucklet folds his arms and stands before her.) JUCKLET. (To the throng) Lo! do I here defy her to lift up her voice And say this is a lie that Jucklet speaks. (The queen motions to officers, who, unperceived, close behind Jucklet.) And further - I pronounce the document1 That craven herald there holds in his hand A forgery - a trick - and dare the Queen Here in my listening presence to command Its utterance. 1. Probabaly an anti-temperance Murphy pledge to remain alcoholic rather to remain sober. CRESTILLOMEEM. (Wildly rising to her feet) Hold, hireling! traitor! fool! The Queen thou dost in thy mad boasts insult Will utter first thy doom. (Jucklet is seized from behind, and hurled, face upward on the dais at her feet, while a minion, with a drawn sword pressed against his breast, stands over him.) Ere we proceed With graver matters let this demon-knave Ben sent back home to Hell. Give me the sword - The insult has been mine - so even shall The vengeance be! (As she bends forward with the sword, Jucklet, with a super human effort frees his hand and with a sudden motion, and an incoherent muttering, flings something1 at the queen, who staggers, dropping the sword, and with her arms tossed wildly aloft, totters forward and falls prone upon the pave. In the confusion following, Jucklet mysteriously disappears, and as the bewildered and awe-stricken courtiers lift the fallen queen, a clear and piercing voice is heard singing.) 1. Sobriety which will change Riley from Crestillomeem's influence in drunkenness to Krung a respectable person in society. VOICE. The pride of noon must wither soon, The dusk of death must fall; Yet out of darkest night the moon Shall blossom over all. (For an instant a dense cloud envelops the throne, then slowly lifts, discovering Krung seated in royal state, with Jucklet in the act of presenting the scepter to him. Blare of trumpets, and chorus of courtiers, ministers, heralds, etc.) CHORUS. All hail! All hail! All hail! Long live the King! KRUNG. Thro' God's great providence, together with The intervention of an angel whom I long ago tho't lost to earth and me,1 Once more, as your sovereign, do I greet And tender you my blessing. Until late I have been subject of the baleful spells And witcheries2 of this poor woman here3 Who grovels at my feet, blind, speechless, and So stricken with a curse herself designed Should light upon hope's fairest minister. Remove her from my sight. 1. Nellie. 2. Intoxication. 3. Crestillomeem, Riley's drunken self. (As the queen is led away Spraivoll appears in royal attire. She kneels and kisses the king's hand; in return he kisses her upon the brow, and lifts and seats her at his side.1) 1. Spraivoll, Riley's "versifier" self can now write humble poetry. Behold in this sweet woman here my child, who, when a babe, The cold, despicable Crestillomeem - (He bows his head within his hands and shudders) By spells And wicked necromancies spirited To some strange real, where, happily A Wunkland princess1 found her, and undid The spell by a most potent sorcery2 She doth possess, God-given, to right wrong. Lo! let the peerless princess now appear! 1. "Dwainie-Nellie." 2. The power of encouragement and love. (He lifts his scepter, and a gust of melody, unearly beautiful, sweeps through the court. The star above the Throne drops slowly downward, bursting like a bubble on the scepter-tip, and issuing therefrom Amphine and Dwainie, hand in hand, full at the feet of Krung, who bends above them with his blessing, while Jucklet capers wildly round the group.) JUCKLET. Ho! ho! but I could shriek for very joy - For tho' fair Amphine even now bends o'er A blossom, I, ho! ho! have no desire To meddle with it, since with but one eye I slept the while she backward walked around Me in the garden. (Amphine laughs gaily, Jucklet blinks and leers, and Dwainie bites her finger.) KRUNG. Peace! good Jucklet, peace! For this is not a time for juiceless wit - Tho' I have found restored to me my life - Tho' I have found a daughter, I have lost A son - for Dwainie, with her sorcery, Will, on the morrow, carry him away.1 1. Riley's bond with Nellie causes his "lover-self" to go live with Nellie in her grave or perhaps heaven as her "soulmate."
SOME COMMENTS ON THE POEM FROM THE TIME OF ITS FIRST PUBLICATION
Riley never talked about the substance of the poem. There is an account of a Riley acquaintance of the time, Minnie Belle Mitchell, who was in her brother-in-law, George F. Hauck's Greenfield Grocery in 1878 when the Saturday HERALD arrived with "The Flying Islands" in it. Riley's brother, Hum, working in the store as a clerk received the newspaper from the paper carrier and spread it out on a counter. While she and Hum were reading it, Riley and his friend Frank Hayes came into the store. Minnie Belle remembers saying to Riley, "It's wonderful, simply marvelous," with her teen-age exuberance. She continued, "It's beautiful to look at too, but do you know, I can't understand a word of it - I don't know what it's all about." She adds, "My extravagant remarks were followed by an explosion of laughter from the three young men, and I knew instantly that I had said the wrong thing and my face was scarlet." Riley's autobiographical poem was a lark to him at the time. He was "Thomas Chatterton" putting forth a prank poem but without so serious an intent as to try to make any money out of a Middle English "forgery" as Chatterton had tried. Riley eventually replied, "Well, Minnie Belle, I have to confess-I don't know what that poem is all about myself. If was given to me, you know." Riley was not about to tell his young friend that it was a soul journey while he was intoxicated. The public was just as confused about "The Flying Islands of the Night" as was Minnie Belle Mitchell. The Kokomo TRIBUNE published the following about "The Flying Islands of the Night" on September 26, 1878. Our young friend, J.W. Riley, has covered himself all over with glory by his "The Flying Islands of the Night" recently published in the Indianapolis HERALD. Never since the days of Poe has there been such a fanciful piece of versification written. It is so unique and purely original that any attempt to describe it or criticize it would result in a miserable failure. It must be read to be appreciated. Mr. Riley has been before the public but for a short time, but in that time his poems have placed him at the head of the poets of the West. For sublimity, originality, conception and purity of diction, Mr. Riley ranks the leading literary lights of the state. His sonnet on the death of Mr. Philips was one of the grandest concepts that was ever penned. Christ hears the wailing of the tired soul, and reaching down from Heaven, takes him by the hand and helps him up. We are pleased to learn Mr. Riley's engagements to lecture are numerous and financially his prospects are bright." Yes, but what about the subject matter? The poem was really a play. The play was about Riley's life. The strange thing about it was that Riley was all the characters except for Dwainie.
THE FLYING ISLANDS AS THEATER
There is something like the great Shakespearian explanation that "All the world's a stage" in Riley's autobiographical poem. Riley loved to act and was considered a great actor in his time. We might digress to talk about Riley and the theater in his life. Riley was a great actor. We have the testimony of other actors to confirm this. Riley played in the soul-roles he described in his poem. At a dinner given in London for Riley by Sir Henry Irving, the great Nineteenth Century actor of England, with Coquelin, the great actor of France present, Coquelin remarked to Irving upon hearing Riley, "This Monsieur Riley has by nature what you and I have spent twenty years to acquire." This remark was made on Riley's famous summer trip of 1891 through Scotland to see Robert Burns' "wee cot" that ended up in London. Riley was a great American actor as well as poet. He lived in a play cast of himself on the stage of his soul.
ALCOHOLIC'S CONFESSIONAL GENRE LITERATURE
What about the plot? Who would have guessed that Riley's genius had produced the most novel use of a purely American genre in all of literature. Riley had transformed the Alcoholic's Confessional Genre of literature into poetry. He had come close to strangling it. He used it absurdly. Literature had never seen such a mischievous minstrel as Riley before. One of the most original aspects of Riley's writing of "The Flying Islands of the Night" was the use he made of the Alcoholic's Confessional Genre. In that genre generally, an alcoholic describes himself as a despicable alcoholic. Then along comes a "saving soul" or perhaps the "agent of salvation." It is a special person to the doomed alcoholic who pleads to the deranged intoxicated person and inspires them to escape their drunkenness while in tremens or delirium of one sort or another. Presto! The alcoholic is saved and a "new person." This genre was very popular in Riley's time when great temperance movements swept the country. However no other poet made even the slightest use of the genre. Nor does it appear that any other author followed Riley's lead in applying it to autobiographical poetry. "The Flying Islands of the Night" is really a very complex puzzle. Once we see that Poe's "Scenes from Politian" and mock Thomas Chatterton trumpery were sources of form and language, then we must look to the movement of Riley's piece. Alcoholic's Confessional Genre literature provides that more dominant influence. The key to the genre is an initial description of alcoholic "hell" followed by the saving influence of somebody and then a final scene where sobriety triumphs. In Riley's autobiographical use of the genre, the spirit of the dead Nellie Cooley, his married inspiration of days gone by, is the saving force. Later, during his revisions for subsequent publications, Riley adds his mother's love as AEo as a saving force too. Riley's triumph is that of Krung in achieving great fame and respectable status. We find the alcoholic's confessional genre in the prose of Luther Benson's FIFTEEN YEARS IN HELL. In that book, which Riley was reading at the time he wrote "The Flying Islands of the Night," Benson describes the following sequence in his life in which his mother saves him. "My wild revel was protracted for days out of dread of the awful sorrow and remorse that I knew must surely come on my getting sober. My mother appeared to me in my troubled dreams, and talked to me as in life. Many times in my slumber, and in my waking fancies did I see her pale, troubled face, with her pitying eyes looking on me as from that bed of pain and death, and at such times I reached out my hands toward her in mute pleading for forgiveness, forgetting or not knowing that she was dead." Riley looked on Benson with awe and reverence. But was he for real? Was he just another "charlatan" with a product to sell - piety and salvation - as did Docs McCrillus and Townsend sell "miracle cures." Luther was someone of national significance as can be seen in two representative press reports of his time. From the Pittsburgh (Pennsylvania) GAZETTE: Luther Benson, Esq. of Indiana, has just closed one of the most powerful temperance lectures ever delivered here. The house was one solid mass of people, with not one spare inch of standing-room. For nearly two hours he held the audience as any magic. At the close a large number signed the pledge, some of them the hardest drinkers here. The people are so delighted with his good work that they have secured him for another lecture Wednesday evening." From the Manchester (New Hampshire) PRESS: "Smyth's Hall was completely filled, seats and standing room at two o'clock Sunday afternoon, with an audience which came to hear Luther Benson. The officers of the Reform Club, clergymen and reformed drunkards occupied seats upon the platform. Mr. Benson is a native of Indiana, and says he was a drunkard from six years of age. He was within three months of graduation from college when he was expelled for drunkenness. Then he studied for a lawyer, and was admitted to practice, being drunk while studying and drunk while engaged in a case. At length he reduced himself to poverty, pawning all he had for drink. At length he started to reform and though he had once fallen he was determined to persevere. Since his reformation two years ago, he gave temperance lectures. He is a young man, a powerful, swinging sort of speaker, with a good command of language, original with peculiar intonation, pronunciation and idioms, sometimes rough, but eminently popular with his audiences. He spoke for an hour and a half steadily, wiping the perspiration from his face at intervals, taking up the greater part of his address with his personal experience. He said he had delirium tremens several times, once for fifteen days, and gave an exceedingly minute and graphic description of his torments. A number of men signed the pledge at the close of the meeting. Among them was one man, who sat in front of the audience and kept drinking from a bottle he had evidently in a spirit of bravado, but at the conclusion of the address he signed the pledge, crying like a child." In another example of the genre, THIRTY-THREE YEARS A LIVE WIRE, the autobiography of John T. Hatfield, another reformed alcoholic and incidentally a childhood friend of James Whitcomb Riley who went on to lecture on holiness, the Act II stage (the saving agency) is referred to as an "Anointing." Instead of a "Dwainie" as with James Whitcomb Riley or a "doting mother" as with Benson, Hatfield's inspiration is Christ. Riley was as much aware of Hatfield's writing in the genre as he was Benson's. As to their boyhoods together, Hatfield writes, "James Whitcomb Riley and myself were boys together. We were in the same class at school, and at the same "swimming hole," since made famous in one of Mr. Riley's poems. During the Civil War we marched the streets together with tin pans for drums and broomsticks for guns. Little did passers-by imagine, as they cast indifferent glances at us little dust-begrimed urchins out in the road playing soldier, that, in the coming years, little Johnnie Hatfield would bless his country as John T. Hatfield, "The Hoosier Evangelist," and little Jim Riley would be known the world over as James Whitcomb Riley, "The Hoosier Poet." Hatfield held revivals country-wide as a primary speaker of the American "Holiness movement" and founded a religious college in Pasadena, California. From his boyhood memorials, he says, "My father, in those days, frequently kept a bottle of "Old Kentucky Rye" in the cupboard and its contents were offered to both children and guests. This custom of the home had something to do in kindling to great intensity my appetite for strong drink, and at the age of twenty years I was frequenting saloons and seeking companionship among the vile, soul-destroying influence of saloon life. (Biographer's Note: This crowd probably included James Whitcomb Riley.) Like a meteor in the night I was fast going down, and nothing less powerful than the mighty attraction of heavenly gravitation could reverse my hellward course and draw me to the heights of noble Christian manhood. Thank God, the Holy Spirit interposed, the blood of Christ was supplied, and my young life was transformed from a disgraceful career of drunken profligacy to one of eminent usefulness in the cause of the Lord Jesus Christ." Strangely enough, James Whitcomb Riley's life passage had the same result. An anointing incident which saves Hatfield from his life of sin is described as occurring at a typical Midwestern camp-meeting of the period. Hatfield says, "People who witnessed the scenes of that day declared that they saw flashes of Divine light appear over the congregation as wave and wave of heavenly power descended upon the assembly of thousands." After the meeting, Hatfield went to a farmer's home exhausted and went to bed, but couldn't sleep until "I again closed my eyes and there appeared before me a vision. I saw a silver horn lined with gold, the large end resting upon my breast. It appeared to be many feet in length from the large end to the mouthpiece which appeared to be quite small. I looked up from the large end, and had never held anything so indescribably beautiful. Suddenly the opening at the small end was darkened and there appeared a halo of light, which seemed to envelop a fast-approaching figure. As nearer and nearer the lovely vision approached, I soon recognized the central figure as that of Jesus and the beautiful halo proved to be a band of bright, shining angels. All the angels were singing and such exquisite tones cannot be described, neither can they be compared to any earthly melodies. In a short time, Jesus stood close beside me, and looked down upon me with an expression that, in clearer tones than words, spoke of tenderest love, then He disappeared. At the same time I felt a sensation in my throat as though I was swallowing something. Then the horn passed away, the angels disappeared and the music ceased. I opened my eyes and then closed them again, hoping that the vision would appear one more, but I waited and listened in vain." The call was for Hatfield to preach just as James Whitcomb Riley's call from his deceased Dwainie was inspiration for him to write poetry and recite it from the lyceum circuit stages around the country. Whether Riley was intoxicated while writing "The Flying Islands of the Night" is unknown. There is this possibility. Recent study by Mark Brunke and Merv Gilbert in "Alcohol and Creative Writing" in PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORTS (1992,71, 651-658) found that alcohol facilitates creative writing and specifically the use of novel figurative language. The testing of the hypothesis had intoxicated persons write brief stories or streams of consciousness, all of which were fictional. There were significantly more novel tropes while intoxicated than sober. Subjects also wrote significantly more words when intoxicated. There is obviously very marked used of figurative language and novel trope use in "The Flying Islands of the Night." Nevertheless, the writing bears great sense as an autobiographical exposition under the circumstances of its writing. Whether Riley wrote the piece while intoxicated is debatable but unnecessary to know for its value in this biography. We cannot fully explore "The Flying Islands of the Night" in this preface to the life of the most important of the late Nineteenth Century American poets, James Whitcomb Riley. We must however confirm its autobiographical nature as the basis of this biography. Crestillomeem, Krung, Jucklet and others are the self-visualization which Riley embodied in his wonderfully "astronomically" impossible vision of self- alienation and personality fragmentation he called "The Flying Islands of the Night" which will govern the biography to follow. Why bother with such an impossible person? There may be other reasons for a study of Riley - and some of them will be explored - but ultimately the very mix of his personality, and the eventual triumph of his poetic self, "Spraivoll," (usually) was brought about by an intervening instrumentality of spirituality that I find so compelling it must be written about. At its point of greatest flourish, this aspect of Riley became transforming to Riley's poetry as well as literally "saving" him from Crestillomeem. At its very best the quality in his life became kenotic poetry. Kenotic poetry is the finest poetry of Post-Civil War American literature and Riley wrote its greatest singing verse. The reason it is the finest poetry of the period is that it connected ecstatically with the American soul and expressed its song. Some mention of the obscure kenotic theological movement originating in Germany must be interwoven into this account and also its odd peripatetic journey into the American mid- continent where Riley wrote his poetry. This will come with a discussion of Riley as Spraivoll later on in this biography. But for now let us meet Riley as a cast of himself as he knows himself to be at the level of his soul. There is simply no way of accounting for the life of James Whitcomb Riley without meeting his dialoguing "self- cast" play partners. We will introduce them in the chapters that follow and see how their individual lives were lived.
JUCKLET
HOW CAN RILEY SURVIVE IT ALL? - JUCKLET, A MINSTREL WHO ANSWERS THE CALL WITH MISCHIEF IN MIND
Among the play characters Riley sees himself playing in his autobiographical "The Flying Islands of the Night," is Jucklet, the mischievous "jongleur," dialect singer, story teller and Riley's survival self. It would be a grave mistake to consider this Riley "self" as some sort of happy idiot. Jucklet kept his eyes open and his genius was searching out American life. Jucklet was probably the role that people enjoyed the most about Riley. Some of his clever shenanigans, such as his "blind painter" act when he was wandering around Indiana as an itinerant house and sign painter, are firmly lodged in American folklore. THE BLIND PAINTER PRANK The "blind painter" prank occurred in August, 1872 with his traveling friends- also itinerant craftsmen or vagrants calling themselves "The Graphics" - who knew of Riley's genius for mimicry. The group decided to have some fun with the town folk of Peru, Indiana. The young men hinted around town that a "blind sign painter" was outside trying to paint a sign on a building. Soon half the town came out to witness. How could a blind man paint a sign? Riley assumed the patient, weary look of a blind man, groping about and upsetting a can of paint, whereupon his associates jeered him and made terrible fun of him. Then another would say, "Look at that poor blind man. Isn't it a shame the way folks make fun of him!" In the meantime, Riley climbed the ladder, fumbled for a few minutes, and, at last, without laying out the letters, as a sign painter customarily did, he produced a beautifully done free-hand sign on the side of the building while his friends laughed and poked each other below. In the meantime, people chirped, "He isn't blind! How could he do that if he were blind!" while the Graphics solemnly insisted, "Oh, yes he is!" This Riley, the "blind sign painter," was classic Jucklet. THE VOICE FROM THE CELLAR PRANK My favorite prank performed by Riley was done with John Hoover in a small town in the heat of summer of 1874. Bill Moore, hot and fat, plodded the main street which was baking in a scorching sun. In front of the dry goods store, a pleading voice reached his ear. "Bill, help, Bill! Lift up the cellar door. I am trapped in the cellar. I can't see in here!" Bill put his hands under the cellar door and tugged and pulled and teased but the cellar door failed to move when along came another person, Lee Trees. Lee was wearing a new white suit and was the town "dandy." "Lee, Lee. Help!" the voice called out from the cellar. "Please lift up the cellar door. I'm in here and I can't get out." Both men pulled and tugged and teased. Dripping with perspiration they went inside the dry goods store and came out with candles to look through a window into the dark cellar. They saw that the cellar door was locked with chains from the inside. When they went back into the dry goods store, the merchant scratched his head and rocked on his heels and said he didn't know how anyone could get down there in the first place. Then, from next door in the hardware store, they heard James Whitcomb Riley and John Hoover laughing hysterically and holding their sides. Upon further investigation they found Riley holding a hose the other end of which went through an iron grating and down into the cellar. The voice from the cellar door came from the lips of James Whitcomb Riley in the hardware store through the hose. Jucklet was just having some fun. TAKE RADWAY'S READY RELIEF PRANK I should add that Riley himself was not simply pranking playing Jucklet, he was also surviving in the character role. Sometimes the two mixed. There is a story of Jucklet, while a young man traveling through the countryside painting signs. On a new gate between Kennard and New Castle, Riley noticed a farmer had displayed on its top board: "What will you do to be saved?" With no one in sight, Riley painted underneath it, "Take Radway's Ready Relief!" This was a common laxative of the time. Some days later, he passed the same farm and on the bottom board the farmer had added, "And prepare to meet thy God!"
Jucklet was also a poet. His greatest writing is found in the "Poetical Gymnastics" series and "Respectably Declined Papers of the Buzz Club" series published originally in the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD. This body of Riley's work represents Riley in unburdened creativity and mischievous orientation. In these great series, Riley writes the poem "On Quitting California." No, this poem is not about moving away from the great Pacific coastal state. It is about giving up a "California" brand of cheap "red-eye" whiskey. Riley is quitting a crummy brand -not giving up alcohol entirely. Cleverness and humor are marks of Jucklet. Jucklet is the usual story teller. There seems to be an easy, casual and honest relationship between Riley and Jucklet. Occasionally one finds Jucklet lapsing into the "dots" and "disses" of his native Hoosier Deutsch culture. Here is one of Riley's stories from his "Buzz Club" writings.
UNAWANGAWAWA; OR, THE EYELASH OF THE LIGHTNING (1878).
It was the noble red man, from the land of the setting sun, in company with some half dozen members of his tribe, under management of "Captain Rigby Knowles," who, as the big bills went on to state, had been "nine years a captive among the wild, untutored wanderers of the western wilderness," and was now "a missionary, disseminating knowledge, and the advantages of education, to his dusky brothers, as well as enlightening the civilized world regarding the manners and customs of the poor Indian." They were billed to show "for one night only," at the one church in our little village, the Thursday evening prayer meeting having been postponed for their accommodation, and "the clergy" complimented. I shall never forget their visit to our school that afternoon, for I was then a lad of ten or thereabout; so I leave you to infer the aching sense of my own inferiority as they stalked stoically into the school room, in full bloom of war-paint, wampum, bead moccasins and feathers, and headed by the redoubtable "Captain Rigby Knowles" himself, looking, for the world, like an enlarged facsimile of the "Daniel Boone" in Monteith's geography, only excepting the melancholy and the deceased deer at his feet. The arithmetic class, in fractions, hurried to its seat, and the silence of death fell upon the room, while the blanched faces of the "scholars" contrasted vividly with those of their tawny visitors as "the famed interpreter and guide," after a wheezy conversation with the teacher, in which the latter only nodded his head submissively at every proposition - seized suddenly hold of a stalwart warrior, and with the bloodcurdling remark of "Pombee steel-ah da be-bee wah-wah!" or words to that effect, wheeled him before us with the following introduction: "He iss a big chief. He come to make some talk wiss you. He iss a much, heap, smart man. He will make you big Injun speech dot you don't could understand, and den we told you w'as he say. He no talk white talk. He on'y talk much very Injun. He talk Choctaw - he talk Mohawk - he talk Chippavay - he talk effry all style of Injun talk, on'y he no talk white talk. He iss awful smart! Me talk, like big chief, effry all style of Injun-talk, on'y me talk United States also. He iss - O, he iss awful smart, big, very, posted Injun gentlemans. Now he iss go to speak big Injun speech, unt den I say it explain, so dot you know wass he say." Then, turning to the big chief, he touched him off with the following fuse: "De ah-ghee-ghah bee-gah wah-way!" at which the chief at once opened fire in deep, lazy guttural, accompanying the utterance with that facial contortion indicative of an acute attack of cholera morbus. This incoherent mastication had occupied but a brief interval of time when the interpreter jerked the tail of the warrior's shawl, and with a spasmodic "Chow," and a "Ching-ching," he stopped as abruptly as a German music-box. The interpreter explained: "He say dot you must oxcuse him - dot he don't know he was go to speak. He say dot he ain't much fix on the de subjec', but dot he try to drop some small, leedle, few remarks dot come to hiss mind." Then, prodding the big chief between the shoulders with a rigid thumb, the noble red man lumbered off again in a complexity of verbal chow-chow that put the listener's ears on edge, and thrilled the speculative fancy with a nameless dread, as the ever-widening stream of conglomerated eloquence dashed into savage meaning, fiercely defined by gestures that swung invisible war-clubs, hurled tomahawks, and manipulated the gory scalping-knife. And it was sometime before the fearless interpreter could check this impassioned burst. He had jerked at the tail of the warrior's shawl like a school-boy at the string of a limber-jack, and with pretty much the same result. The "scholars" were wild- eyed, and pale with fright. The teacher had one leg thrown carelessly over the window sill, and with an air of careless indifference was pruning his trembling nails with the big blade of his knife, while the girls in actual terror hid their pallid faces behind their desk-lids, and pencils and pen-holders rained from their places, some, piercing with their barbed points the floor, stood bolt upright and quivered with affright. It was a critical moment for us all; but the daring interpreter, with a presence of mind worth a Van Amburg, threw open his blouse, disclosing a magic something lurking in an inner pocket which the savage reached for with a pacified "Ugh! give some, me dry up!" while the small boys whispered they bet it was a pistol! They bet he'd killed lots o' Indians! They bet he wasn't afraid!, etc. etc. And so we listened with unusual interest as the interpreter explained: "You mustn't don't get sceert: he won't hurt noting. He wass on'y yoost say dot he for hissef iss sorry dot he don't gone to school when he wass been a leedle childrens like you. But he say when he was leedle like dot, he roll unt dumble in de grass, unt go mitout hiss clothes, unt kick hiss heels like a jaybird. He say dot he not got some advantages ober he would gone to school now off he wass a leedle boy wonce. He was yoost told you how he wass a leedle poor Injun boy, unt don't gone to Sunday school. He say when he wass leedle, heap, awful naughty Injun boy he wass one time play mit hiss leedle brutters mit seesters in de big wasser, unt he want to comed out unt dey wont let um, unt sling um wiss mud, unt dot make um heap-much-brave, so dot he kill um unt scalp um. Den when he goned home his folks dey said: "Where iss your leedle brutters unt seesters?" Unt he say: "Dey at de swimmin-hole." Unt when gone to found um, dey all was scalped unt dead, unt dey hands cut off, unt dey nose cut off, unt dey ears unt eyes cut off. Den hiss folks say: "Who wass done it?" Unt he say: "I don't could lied about it; I do it wiss my leedle hatchet!" Unt den his folks dey say: "Dot's goot! Dot boy will been on de war-path ober he been twelf moons of age!" Unt den he say dot make um feel like big warrior, so dot he can't wait, unt got impulsiff, unt kill also de rest of his folks, unt gone on de war-path unt kill heap-much of ladies unt gentlemens. But he say dot he won't done it now - dot he iss sorry cos off he would a saved his leedle brutters unt seester he would took um to Sunday school wiss um. "Ugh gee bebah wah-wah!" This concluding sentence of the interpreter, abruptly addressed to the warrior, evidently conveyed to him instructions to simmer down, and close his peroration in some conciliatory and complimentary fashion, for the noble savage smiled like a genial hippopotamus, and thumped his breast like a bass drum. His remarks now seemed to be particularly addressed to the fairer portion of his audience, and his gesticulation at was so palpably indicative of love and affection the big girls blushed and giggled, and the small boys whistled aloud. Only once did he cause a tremor of trepidation to thrill the bosoms of his gentle auditors, when in a triumphant burst he tossed his arms aloft, an, with a glory of inspiration lighting up his dusky features, gave vent to the impassioned utterance, "Shoot-pop-bang!" and then, shortly after, he drew his shawl tightly about him, slapped his chest so vehemently it jarred a feather from his head-gear, and, with the pompous exclamation, "Me big chief, wah!" he folded his arms, and stood stoical and silent. The interpreter, quivering with an inward paroxysm, after prefacing the interpretation with the chuckling observation, "Bet you don't know whas he say!" went on in this wise" "Well he say dot he would like to marry a few off you girls. You notice he hold up hiss hand like dot? Well, dot mean five; he say he would like to marry five off you girls. You notice he hold up de also both hands? Well, dot mean dot he would have ten wife - off de both kind - five injun, unt five white squaw. He say he tink dot make things lifely off his domestics unt hiss leedle quiet wigwam. He say dot off you marry him he make you all a good husband, unt dot he took you to de land of de setting sun, where you to do nothing - only yoost work. He say he will done all de huntin' hisself, unt dot he will "shoot-pop-bang," like he say, de mussrat unt possum, unt cath um by the tail unt bring um home; den all you had to done wass build de fire, unt peel um, unt cook yoost a leedle, unt he will eat um. Den he say he will give you all de rest. He say you will suit de climate - he say it iss so healdy dot you live more as a hundred years old off you gone wiss him once, unt a tree don't fall on you. He say it iss so healdy out dere dot hiss grandpa iss livin' yet, unt he iss over four tousand year old, unt ain't a gray hair in his head. He say dey also no hair in his head. He say he chaw tobacker all hiss life unt don't hurt um. He say he is healdy dot you wouldn't know um off you see um. He say dot you got in for fifteen cent, unt de leedle children's five cent tonight at de meetin' house." As Spraivoll's friends are ministers, primarily Myron Reed and Robert Burdette, or fellow kenotics such as Lew Wallace author of "Ben Hur," as Crestillomeem's are fellow alcoholics such as James McClanahan, Clint Hamilton, and Luther Benson, as Krung's friends are establishment figures such as Dr. Wycliffe Smith, Booth Tarkington and Benjamin Harrison, Jucklet's friends are the mischievous and daring nonconformists and "funsters" such as John Skinner, Bill Nye and Mark Twain. Here is an incident that reveals how Riley as Jucklet often mischievously made his way through life before he became famous minstrelizing. The incident is one recalled by Minnie Belle Mitchell. TRIP TO CHARLOTTESVILLE "The struggle and disappointments endured by the Hoosier poet in his effort to arouse public interest in his poems would have discouraged fainter hearts. But each succeeding failure made him more determined to carry on. He had for some time been reading his poems at home and church entertainments and social gatherings (from his early twenties). Public offerings at first failed completely. Then another opportunity presented itself when the trustee of the Charlottesville one-room school came to Greenfield and Riley saw his chance to offer a public entertainment there. After Riley explained to the school trustee his plan, the trustee appeared interested. The fellow not only have his consent to the enterprise, but agree to have the schoolhouse warm and lighted and to see that a large audience would greet him. Thinking this would be fun, Riley and his friend and roommate, John Skinner, prepared a variety show with a few guitar numbers and reading of poetry by Riley. Charlottesville was eight miles east of Greenfield and the two young men in their twenties, never doubting that a full house would mean a big income, ordered a horse and buggy from Greenfield's liveryman, a Mr. Morgan. The only problem was that the only road to Charlottesville was a toll road at the time. To get there a tollgate had to be passed and neither Riley nor Skinner had any money to get through. When the two reached the tollgate, they got the toll gate keeper to agree to await payment until they returned with their receipts from the entertainment. The two arrived at Charlottesville and went to the schoolhouse but found it dark. Everyone in Charlottesville was in bed. The two drove their team to the trustee's home and found him in bed too. He forgot his promise to broadcast publicity about the entertainment. He did, however, get up and go open the schoolhouse. About a dozen people were rousted up. The collection to pay for the show at the end of the program amounted to only thirty-five cents. The trustee said he and his family should not have to pay. The two boys were in a quandary since they had to pay the tollgate keeper to get home and the liveryman. When the two reached the tollgate, they found the tollhouse was dark - the tollgate keeper was in bed and the pole across the road was tied down. There was just one thing to do. John Skinner got out and cut the rope and up flew the pole from across the road. Then he got back in and the two flew down the road towards Greenfield as if chased by bandits. When the two got to the livery stable, Riley found a boy in charge. Riley as Jucklet, ever resourceful, asked the boy if he could change a twenty dollar bill. The boy said "No," and told them young men they would have to pay for the horses in the morning when Mr. Morgan was there. Then the two returned to their lodgings at the Guyman Inn in Greenfield where they spent their "take" from the entertainment on cheese and crackers sinking behind the potbelly stove in the tavern office. While they were relaxing, there was a great knocking on the tavern door, and the irate tollgate keeper came in, fuming and swearing. He asked the night clerk if he had heard a rig pass by the tavern traveling at high speed. The clerk said he didn't remember any such thing and then listened as the tollgate keeper told his tale of somebody running the tollgate and probably driving on to Indianapolis. He said, "I think I know who they were. Two young men looking awful suspicious went through earlier and said they would pay on their way back through. They were wearing white collared shirts and looked like city fellers." As Riley and Skinner slumped deeper and deeper into their chairs on the other side of the stove, the clerk confirmed that young men like that were probably city "fellers" as the tollgate keeper left." Getting started as a poet and platform artist was made much easier for Riley because, as Jucklet, he appreciated and enjoyed mischief and the occasional humor of the perverse. There is something to be said that Riley's Jucklet character has the good humor and sense of fun of his Hoosier Deutsch ancestors. Central Indiana is sometimes referred to as the land of the "Hoosier Deutsch." Riley was predominantly of Hoosier Deutsch cultural influence. Riley's father, Reuben, spoke Deutsch in his boyhood home and did not learn to speak English until after his childhood even though he came from Irish roots. Riley's ancestors kept alive many of the old folktales and stories of their lives. Few of these Deutsch tales survive. I myself preserved one in a book called THE WILD BULL OF BLUE RIVER. The records are very, very scant about the hardy Deutsch settlers of Central Indiana. Their language was once spoken on the street corners of Greenfield. Cultural influences discouraged it. For example, in Riley's own Bradley Methodist Church of Greenfield, Indiana those who spoke German were consigned to the back of the church since it was deemed only the English speaking Methodists could derive benefit of the English sermons. Balconies were built in some such churches so that the Deutsch might see what was going on at the altar since they could not be expected to understand the service verbally. The Deutsch language was slowly lost in Indiana until the time of the First World War. In fact Deutsch was made illegal in Greenfield schools by an ordinance of the Greenfield City Council during World War One and was rarely spoken after that. One of the Deutsch poems was preserved by Riley. It was called "Lullaby," and was published in Riley's famous column in the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD called "Poetical Gymnastics" in 1879. Its subtitle says "From the German." It has never been included in Riley's COMPLETE WORKS apparently because Riley translated it and it was not an original composition. Riley did write another "Lullaby" but it was not his Hoosier Deutsch translation.
HOOSIER DEUTSCH LULLABY
Leedle dutch baby haff gome to town! Jabber and jump till der day goes down; Jabber unt schpluter, unt blubber unt phizz Vot a dutch baby dees lannsman is! I dink dose mout vas leedle too vide Obber you laugh fon dot also-side; Haff got blenty of deemple unt vrown? Hey, leedle dutchman gome to town.
Leedle dutch baby, I dink me proud Obber your fader can schquall dot loud Ven he vos leedle dutch baby like you, Unt yoost don'd gare like he always do; Guess ven dey vean id on beer you bet Dots der reason he don'd vean'd yet - Vot you said off he drink you down, Hey, leedle dutchman gome to town.
Leedle dutch baby, yoost schquall avay - Schquall fon breakfast till gisterday: Better you all-time gry unt shoud Dan schmile me vonce fon der coffin oud! Vot I gare off you keek my nose Downside-up, mit you heels unt toes - Downside-up, or sideup-down Hey! leedle dutchman gome to town.
Riley enjoyed being a Hoosier Deutschman as we can tell from this recollection of one of their poems. The Hoosier Deutsch were a playful, happy people who enjoyed life as well as industry. They were wanderers. Jucklet sprang from predominantly Deutsch culture although not entirely from Deutsch roots. Andrew A. Riley, Irish grandfather of James Whitcomb Riley, was born in Bedford County, Pennsylvania in a Deutsch speaking community. Andrew's parents were Rebecca Harvey, born July 11, 1769 in England who died in Montgomery County, Ohio on Sept. 7, 1849, and James (or John "William") Riley born 1752 in Torsnagh, Cork, Ireland who died in Bedford, Pennsylvania before 1820. The source of this pedigree is listed in the acknowledgements. James Riley had married Rebecca Harvey about 1775 at Reading Berks, Pennsylvania. Andrew was the second child. The firstborn was Samuel Riley, born 1790. After Andrew came James Anderson Riley, born 1796 who died in Nov. 1840; Isaac Riley, born about 1800; Henry Riley, born about 1803; George Washington Harvey Riley, born Dec. 19, 1807 who died May 22, 1868; Sarah Riley, born about 1810 in Pennsylvania who married George Roudebush; and Mary Ann Riley, born 1813 who died in 1887. Andrew's wife, Margaret Slick, was the daughter of John Slick born about 1769, the son of Philip Slick born about 1740 in Germany, and Elizabeth Wilson. Andrew A. Riley and Margaret Slick were married in Bedford, Pennsylvania, but the Family Bible gives no date. It must have been around 1820 since they started West soon after that date. They stopped first near Cincinnati, Ohio and then at Richmond and finally located on a farm a short distance southeast of Windsor in the western part of Randolph county on what was later known as the Joshua Swingley farm, with Andrew remaining there and running a tavern until the time of his death about November 29, 1840. He was also the local justice of peace for Stoney Creek Township until 1837 according to the bond records of the county. The farm was on a knoll along Stoney Creek. Coming to frontier Indiana was a daring family trip. During the 400 mile journey from Pennsylvania, Andrew sold all of his belongings for $30 except a horse, a "carry-all" and some clothing. He and his older sons walked while the mother and daughters rode in the wagon. Reuben Riley was one of those sons who walked. He was the fifth in a family of 14 children. During this westward trek, the family lived in the open, building campfires in the woods at night. In the Allegheny foothills, their fare was slight. When they reached Randolph County, Indiana, they were able to find a bounty of food from wild deer, black bear, squirrels, wild turnkey and wild vegetables growing along Stoney Creek. Andrew and Margaret had the following children: Sarah Ann Riley, born about 1815 who married Tom D. Shepherd; Job Harvey Riley, born about 1816; John Sleek Riley (Dr.) born Dec. 12, 1817; Reuben (the poet's father) born June 2, 1819; Andrew Pinckney Riley, born 1820 who married Elizabeth Cline; James Anderson Riley born about 1821; George Washington Harvey Riley born about 1823 who married Emma C. Nex; Joseph Sleek Riley, born about 1824; Benjamin Frank Riley born about 1826 who married Elizabeth Patterson; and Martin Whitten Riley born about 1828 who married Elizabeth Dodson. Andrew's agricultural labor produced large crops and one winter it is said he helped save a tribe of starving Miami Indians by loading their ponies with corn. In another time of scarcity, a stockman offered him 75 cents a bushel for his corn, but he chose to sell it to needy neighbors for 25 cents a bushel. Shortly before his death, Andrew said, "I have never intentionally wronged any man. I have not been vulgar or profane. I have tried to do right. I do not fear to die." Not all Hoosiers could say the same. Reuben Riley reached Hancock County, Indiana, within a few scant years of the departure of the last native Americans from Indiana. Many were wrenched away in a horrible episode in Indiana history. The last of the Potawatomi, those who had not accepted "white folks ways" or left before were rounded up and removed by the county militiamen of Indiana called up to state service for that purpose by the Governor in 1838. These native Americans were forced to take the infamous "Trail of Death" out of Indiana during September of that year. A militia officer, General Tipton, was placed in charge of the roundup of the Hoosier Indians. Many tried to escape into the woods but were arrested and made prisoners. Indian children were left in the woods by parents in the hope that they, at least, might be able to stay in the native lands if they could survive. Many stories exist of such children being adopted by "white European" families when they were discovered. No sad story stopped General Tipton. He was not cruel but he knew what the Hoosier Governor's orders were and that was to round up the remaining Indians and get them out of the state. Here is an excerpt of one of his written accounts, "Many of the Indian men were assembled near the chapel when we arrived, and were not permitted to leave camp or separate until matters were amicably settled and they had agreed to give peaceable possession of the land sold by them." If Indians had weapons, these were taken away. Squads of militia fanned out to collect the remnants of the tribes who had refused to move out of Indiana by that time. By September, Tipton had gathered the last 859 which contained many old people and young. One of the Catholic missionaries, Father Petit, who had lived with the tribes describes his final Christian worship service since he was not permitted to go on the Trail of Death. "At the moment of my departure I assembled all my children to speak to them for the last time. I wept, and my auditors sobbed aloud. It was indeed a heartrending sight, and over our dying mission we prayed for the success of those on their way to the new hunting grounds. We then with one accord say, `O Virgin, we place our confidence in thee.' It was often interrupted and but few could finish it. After the Indians were sequestered, the soldiers were under orders to burn and destroy the huts and cabins of the Indians to erase temptation to return to Indiana. When the Indian march order was given on the early morning of September 4th. The weather was very hot and dry. The ordinary sources of water were dried up by then and malaria started infecting the Indians because water supplies were stagnant. The native Americans were marched single file on foot to cross Indiana, Illinois and the Mississippi. Few made it. Even by the time they reached the pioneer settlement at Logansport many died. Their camp there was described as "a scene of desolation; on all sides were the sick and dying." The militiamen too were getting sick and many were permitted to return to their homes. The few Indians with Indian ponies were compelled to give them up for these departing militiamen to return to their families. On the way through the Wabash Valley, the suffering increased so much that General Tipton relented and allowed the Indians to call for Father Petit to come to them. Despite his own delicate health the good father went and says, "On Sunday, September 16, I came in sight of my poor Christians, marching in a line, and guarded on both sides by soldiers who hastened their steps. A burning sun poured its beams upon them, and they were enveloped in a thick cloud of dust. After them came the baggage wagons into which were crowded the many sick, the women and children who were too feeble to walk... Almost all the babies, exhausted by the heat, were dead or dying. I baptized several newly-born happy little ones, whose first step was from the land of exile to heaven." Soon the militiamen tired of walking and chose to ride in the baggage wagons forcing the Indian women and children out to walk and die all the quicker. Many stories remain. There is one of a hundred year old Indian woman, the mother of a Chieftain, who pleaded with her tribe to put her to death in Indiana. She knew she had no hopes of surviving a long trek and wished to be buried in the land of her ancestry. The tribe refused the old woman's wish to kill her. She was buried along the trail four days later. Not a single baby made the trip. The Hoosier people live with the memories of their history. These memories mix with those of the settlers like Andrew Riley who came to Hoosier forests. There are no records of Andrew's death in the Family Bible and his date of death in 1840 is derived from the records in the Randolph County probate court records of that date. A Dr. Dynes was the attending physician during Andrew Riley's last illness. Dr. Dynes made daily calls for some days prior to November 20, 1840. His itemized claim filed against the estate shows a charge each day up to and including November 19th for a call and medicine left. On the 20th day a charge is made for just the call - no medicine. This was the doctor's last call so Andrew probably didn't need the doctor anymore. Andrew Riley was buried on the farm where he lived. In the probate court order book of Randolph County, vol. 2, page 139 is this entry: "Be it remembered that on the fifteenth day of December in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and forty; letters of administration of all and singular the goods and chattels, rights, credits, monies and effects which were of Andrew Riley late of Randolph County in the State of Indiana, deceased, was granted by George W. Monks, clerk of the probate court in and for said county to Reuben A. Riley, he, the said Reuben A. Riley, having first filed bond in the sum of fifteen hundred dollars with Lewis Remmel and Smoot securities and he was duly affirmed as such administrator." Reuben Riley's authority to handle his father's estate was later revoked by this entry: "In the matter of Reuben A, Riley, administrator of the estate of Andrew Riley, deceased. It appearing to the satisfaction of the court, from the affidavit of Margaret Way, late Margaret Riley, widow and relict of said Andrew Riley, that the said Reuben A. Riley has emigrated to and is now a citizen of Iowa Territory. It is ordered and adjudged by the court that the letters of administration heretofore granted by the clerk of this court to the said Reuben A. Riley, on the estate of said deceased, be and the same are hereby revoked and nulled and made void. Whereon on application of the said Margaret, it is further ordered by the court that administration de bonis non of said estate is hereby committed to Thomas W. Reece, and thereupon said Thomas W. Reece appears in open court and accepts said appointment and files bond in the sum of twelve hundred dollars, with William Dickson and George W. Smithson as his securities." What became of Margaret? Margaret (Slick) Riley remained Andrew's widow for only about a year and a half and then in March 1842 she married Thomas Way. Little is known about this arrangement. Eventually Margaret moved from the Windsor neighborhood to Greenfield, Indiana, as a single woman, and lived near her son Reuben Riley until 1868. She died October 3, 1884 at the home of her son Dr. A.J. Riley in Muncie. The funeral notices were sent out under the name of Margaret Riley. The notice read: "Mrs. Margaret Riley was born in Bedford County, Pa. October 23rd, 1793, died at the home of her son, Dr. A.J. Riley in Muncie, Indiana, Monday evening, Oct. 3rd, 1884, aged 87 years, 11 months, and 10 days. Her funeral will take place tomorrow, Wednesday, October 5th at the grave yard near Windsor, Randolph County, at 2 o'clock P.M. The funeral cortege leaving Muncie at 8 o'clock A.M. The funeral services will be conducted by Rev. F.D. Simpson. The friends of the family are invited." The dates have to be wrong because if correct she died at 90. The burial places of Andrew and Margaret Riley are in the Clevenger Cemetery about a mile south of Windsor. The exact spots are no longer locatable. The lettering of the stones is mostly erased in this cemetery, vegetation has overgrown it and most tombstones are broken or at least half- buried. Windsor might well have become the birth home of James Whitcomb Riley. Reuben Riley owned a lot there and was licensed to practice law there in 1842 but Riley's stay was short and he sold his lot in Windsor to Andrew West on August 18, 1842. After his father's death, Reuben had gone to a prairie village in Iowa, been admitted to the bar there, but had only achieved a very limited practice. He subsequently returned to Randolph County. He was tall, black eyed and considered to be an eloquent debater. Reuben Riley became re-acquainted with Elizabeth Marine at a Fourth of July gathering in Neeley's Woods, near Windsor, in 1843 after his return from Iowa. The occasion was a grand barbecue of pigs, an ox and five lambs. Reuben danced with Elizabeth and the two were said to have decided to get married instantly. Reuben Alexander Riley and Elizabeth (Marine) Riley, parents of the poet, were married March 15, 1844 at Union Port, Randolph county, by Rev. Thomas Leonard, minister of the Methodist church. Elizabeth's brother Jonathan and Emily Hunt stood up for the two. Elizabeth wore a pale pink silk wedding dress with a long white veil and white kid gloves and shoes. Her "in-fair" dress was of gray poplin, and she wore a leghorn bonnet when she rode away with Reuben the next day. They went immediately to Greenfield and occupied a log cabin. The marriage license of Reuben A. Riley and Elizabeth Marine was issued by the Clerk of the Randolph Circuit Court on the 18th of Feb. but they were not married until about a month later, March 15, 1844. Elizabeth Marine Riley's father was John Marine. In the Riley family Bible she spells his last name M-E-R-I-N-E. John Marine's father was Jonathan Marine and his mother was Mary Charles who lived in the Carolinas. Mary Charles Marine died in Wayne County, Indiana, and was buried in Randolph County. Jonathan Marine was buried in the New Garden churchyard about nine miles from Richmond. Mary Charles Marine lived to be ninety-six years old. Elizabeth was the tenth in a family of 11 children and a descendent of persecuted French Huguenots and English Quakers. She claimed birth in Rockingham, North Carolina in 1823. Probably Reuben's first work was on his father's farm and in his tavern. Reuben Riley became the school teacher in the little one-room schoolhouse at the east end of Union Port on the south side of the road. Soon after marriage the Rileys went to Greenfield to Hancock county to make their future home. Greenfield was at that time a little village of a few scattered log houses with puncheon floors and oil paper windows. Reuben Riley was said to have built the log cabin and equipped it with furniture which he had made. The main advantage of the site was that it was located on the National Road that stretched from Cumberland, Maryland across country to the trails to the Pacific Coast. It was here in their original log cabin that their six children were born. The Riley children were John Andrew Riley, born Dec. 11, 1844 who married Julia Wilson and died Dec. 11, 1911; Martha Celestia Riley, born Feb. 21, 1847; James Whitcomb Riley, born Oct. 7, 1849 and died July 22, 1916 in Indianapolis, Indiana, Elva May Riley born Jan. 1856 and died in 1909 in Indianapolis, Indiana; Humboldt Alexander Riley born Oct. 15, 1858 and died Nov., 1887; and Mary Elizabeth Riley born Oct. 27, 1864 who married and divorced Frank C. Payne and died in 1936. There is speculation that James Whitcomb Riley's genius came from John Marine, the probable father of Elizabeth and an outstanding character in the early history of Randolph and Delaware counties. John Marine loved poetry and, like his famous grandson, was said to have written his autobiography in rhyme. He also was said to write and write. He wrote a book, now lost, on religion urging all Christians to unite. He also wrote sermons in verse and delivered them to Methodist camp meetings. None of these works survive. John had lost his modest fortune speculating in weaver-sleighs two years after Elizabeth's birth and came to Indiana. James Whitcomb Riley was one of those many great men who have been unusually fond of their mothers. There was the artist Whistler whose most famous work was a portrait of his mother. Then there was George Washington. No matter how far his surveying took him from Virginia, he kept in touch with Mary Washington. To this list, we must add James Whitcomb Riley whose primary love was Elizabeth Marine Riley, his lovely mother. His first poem was a valentine written to his mother. As a child, she had come in a one-horse buggy with her parents the 700 miles from North Carolina to Indiana. They came over the Cumberland Gap, the usual route through the Allegheny Mountains. Then on through the endless forests where all sorts of wild animals lurked. There were about 400 in their party which finally found its way to Randolph County Indiana. The party found only wilderness without any inhabitants or built up places or village. After brief stops at New Garden and one or two points in Wayne County, he settled with his family in Randolph County and built a cabin on a high bank of the Mississinewa River a few miles below Ridgeville and a mill nearby. James Whitcomb Riley thought that his mother had led an ideal life as a young person. The Marine cabin was on the banks of a beautiful stream, called by an Indian name, the Mississiniwa River. She had grown to become a beautiful young woman. One of Elizabeth's interests was discovering new things. The Marines were flat boat builders, millers and poets. John laid out the defunct town of Rockingham on the Mississinewa and advertised lots in verse. It did no good. The town failed to attract settlers. John also was a preacher and teacher. He advocated the union of all churches, a dangerous thing to do in those days. He and the poet's grandmother, Margaret Riley, were leaders in the camp meetings of Randolph and Delaware Counties. William A. Thornburg, an elderly neighbor who remembered the Marines living nearby, told Marcus Dickey, an early Riley biographer, that "Elizabeth Marine was remarkably pure- minded. I never saw anyone so beautiful in a calico dress. She loved to wander along streams and wander in the green woods. She was always seeing things among the leaves." Elizabeth met Johnny Appleseed who planted apple cores among the settlements and liked to listen to listen to his accounts of his wanderings and his views on Christianity one of which was that folk do not die but "go right on living." Every boy has an early determination - a first one - to follow some exciting profession, once he grows up to man's estate, such as being a policemen or a performer on the high trapeze. Riley was not interested in these nor in being the "People's Laureate," but the Greenfield baker, had his fairy godmother granted his "boy-wish." Here is how Riley remembered his "wish" in his later life.
"AN IMPETUOUS RESOLVE" (1890)
When little Dickie Swope's a man, He's going to be a sailor; And little Hamey Tincher, he's A'going to be a Tailor; Bud Mitchell, he's a'going to be A stylish Carriage-Maker; And when I grow a great big man I'm going to be a Baker. And Dick will buy his sailor-suit Of Hame; and Hame will take it And buy as fine a double rig As ever Bud can make it; And then all three'll drive round for me, And we'll drive off together Slinging pie-crust along the road Forever and forever.
To Riley, running a bakery "seemed the acme of delight," using again his own expression. Happiness was "to manufacture those snowy loaves of bread, those delicious tarts, those toothsome bon-bons. And then to own them all, to keep them in store, to watch over and guardedly exhibit. The thought of getting money for them was to me a sacrilege. Sell them? No indeed. Eat `em - eat `em, by tray loads and dray loads! It was a great wonder to me why the pale-faced baker in our town did not eat all his good things. This I determined to do when I became owner of such a grand establishment. Yes, sir. I would have a glorious feast. Maybe I'd have Tom and Harry and perhaps little Kate and Florry in to help us once in a while. The thought of these playmates as `grown up folks' didn't appeal to me. I was but a child, with wide-open eyes, a healthy appetite and a wondering mind. That was all. But I have the same sweet tooth to-day, and every time I pass a confectioner's shop, I think of the big baker of our town, and Tom and Harry and the youngsters all." As a child, Riley often went with his father to the courthouse where the lawyers and clerks playfully called him "Judge Wick, Jr." Here as a privileged character he met and mingled with the country folk who came to sue and be sued, and thus early was exposed to the dialect, the native speech, the quaint expressions of his "own people." How frontier folk spoke took firm root in the fresh soil of his young memory. Why was he called "Judge Wick, Jr.?" William Wick was Circuit Judge of Hancock County from 1850 to 1853. It was during his tenure, James Whitcomb Riley came to have the nickname, "Judge Wick, Jr." The nickname came about when Reuben Riley made James Whitcomb Riley, about four years old, a suit of clothes identical in style and cloth to that worn by the Judge. The boy was given to wear a long swallowtail coat and matching trousers. When Riley first wore that outfit going with his father to court, he earned the name "Judge Wick, Jr." The judge gave him this name. It stayed with Riley through early adolescence when he hated it so much no one dared call him it anymore. While his father was in court, the poet listened and played in the back or in the window sills where he could see what was going on while cases were being tried. At about this time, he made his first poetic attempt in a valentine which he gave to his mother. Not only did he write the verse, but he drew a sketch to accompany it, greatly to his mother's delight, who, according to the best authority, gave the young poet "three big cookies and didn't spank me for two weeks. This was my earliest literary encouragement." 1856 was a critical year for the Riley family. It was the year Reuben Riley joined his friend Oliver P. Morton is forming a new political party in Indiana. Then, as the 1860 presidential election loomed, Reuben was an Indiana delegate at the Chicago convention that nominated Lincoln for the Presidency. After this convention, Reuben arrived home in the middle of the night to announce what had happened at the Chicago convention. Abraham Lincoln, the "Emancipator," had been nominated in part through Reuben's efforts in the Indiana delegation. Hancock County did not share Reuben's enthusiasm for Lincoln. Lincoln failed to carry Hancock County in the crucial 1860 election. Nevertheless, much of the rest of Indiana was solidly in the majority for Lincoln as was the tier of Northern states sufficient to elect Abraham Lincoln to the presidency. Reuben Riley was named a Lincoln "elector" to vote Indiana's selection of Lincoln for electoral college purposes. Before throwing in his lot with Oliver Morton and Abraham Lincoln, Reuben Riley had been Hancock County Prosecutor in 1844, Representative in the Indiana Legislature in 1845 (Reuben was the youngest member of the state legislature at the time) and 1848, published a newspaper, The INVESTIGATOR in Greenfield for six months in 1847, was prominent in the county Democratic conventions since 1845, and in 1852 became Greenfield's first mayor. This in effect made him a judge and enforcer of the city's ordinances, mainly against things such as assaults and batteries.
What did Riley remember of his earliest days in the log cabin at Greenfield? He recalled the first time the family had a night lamp. Here came Reuben Riley bringing home a lamp and chimney in one hand and a bottle of coal oil in the other. The family tinkered with it the whole evening. Riley said, "To us it gave forth marvellously lustrous light..I was then reading the "Arabian Nights," wholly enraptured with that magic story, and had come to the tale of the Wonderful Lamp and the cry of new lamps for old. Well, the smell of that coal oil became associated in my mind with Aladdin and his Wonderful Lamp, and to this day I cannot smell coal oil without recalling the old delights of the story and feeling myself lying prone on my stomach reading, reading, and reading by the hour." A story survives of how Riley wandered after older boys toward the "Ole Swimmin' Hole" before he could swim. His father learned of this and ran toward the crick in a great panic. Upon arriving at the banks, his worst fears were realized. Riley was out in the middle splashing in the water. Only after Reuben jumped in and got out to save his son did he discover the poet was in no danger. He had been holding on to a submerged root that extended out from a huge tree. What about Riley's dismal school record? Mrs. Neill's was the first to try. She did not teach in a free public school, but rather a private pay one. The school began in the early Spring. Mrs. Neill had no experience as a teacher but enrolled students after advertising in a local Greenfield newspaper, "Mrs. Neill will open school at her residence on Monday next. This lady has had much experience and will, no doubt, render good service." Mrs. Neill taught as a mother would rather than as a formal teacher. She encouraged good behavior for a week by hanging a bright silver dollar around the scholar's neck until the good behavior stopped. Mrs. Neill did not tolerate either lying or tattle-telling. Lying resulted in getting one's mouth washed out with lye soap and tattle-telling earned wearing a card with "tattle tale" in large letters. If a child was restless she took the child into her kitchen and gave him a cookie from the cookie jar or if thirsty permitted the child to go to the well and drink from a yellow gourd from a bucket drawn up with its cool water. All drank from the same gourd. On Friday afternoons she passed out small cardboard rings with holes in the center and brought out a box of colored yarn. The yarn was drawn in and out of the hole until filled and then the children had fluffy, colored balls to take home for the weekend. If a child fell asleep she took the child into her sitting room to a pallet beside her blind husband who sat on a rocker day in and day out rocking monotonously. After attending Mrs. Neill's school, Riley went on to attend the Greenfield Academy in the late 50's. The school was first taught by a Greenfield Presbyterian Minister, Rev. David Montfort to supplement his salary. Reuben Riley was the secretary of this school. At the Academy, Riley was not comfortable. He didn't join "gangs" very easy because the boys did robust things that required more stamina than he had. He always lost in races. He sometimes went off by himself in depression. Reuben Riley wished his son to be more of a competitor. It is not believed Riley was able to rise above the Primary Department because of his difficulty with mathematics. Later in 1861, the Greenfield Academy moved to the Methodist Church where Lee O. Harris became the teacher after he got back from 90 days service. Then this private church-housed school ceased to operate because of the Civil War. Lee O. Harris had enlisted in the Fifth Indiana Cavalry for a three year term. During this period, Riley is recalled as being truant in school, but it was more anti- social than anti-intellectual. He was said to be a persistent truant and to go off by himself into the woods. Probably recalling this period, Riley wrote of truanting "Out to Old Aunt Mary's in his later days:"
OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S (1884)
Wasn't it pleasant. O brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth - when the Saturday's chores were through, And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too, And we went visiting, "me and you," Out to Old Aunt Mary's? -
"Me and you" - And the morning fair, With the dewdrops twinkling, everywhere; The scent of the cherry-blossoms blown After us, in the roadway lone, Our capering shadows onward thrown - Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
It all comes back so clear to-day! Though I am as bald as you are gray, - Out by the barn-lot and down the lane We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
The few last houses of the town; Then on, up the high creek-bluffs and down; Past the squat toll-gate, with its well-sweep pole, The bridge, and the "the old 'baptizin'-hole,'" Loitering, awed, o'er pool and shoal, Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
We crossed the pasture, and through the wood, Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry, And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing"-sky And lolled and circled, as we went by Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Or, stayed by the glint of the redbird's wings, or the glitter of song that the bluebird sings, All hushed we feign to strike strange trails, As the "big braves" do in the Indian tales, Till again our real quest lags and fails - Out to Old Aunt Mary's. -
And the woodland echoes with yells of mirth That make old war-whoops of minor worth!... Where such heroes of war as we? - With bows and arrows of fantasy, Chasing each other from tree to tree Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
And then in the dust of the road again; And the teams we met, and the countrymen; And the long highway, with sunshine spread As thick as butter on country bread, Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead Out to Old Aunt Mary's. -
For only, now, at the road's next bend To the right we could make out the gable-end Of the fine old Huston homestead - not Half a mile from the sacred spot Where dwelt our Saint in her simple cot - Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Why, I see her now in the open door Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er The clapboard roof! - And her face - ah, me! Wasn't it good for a boy to see - And wasn't it good for a boy to be Out to Old Aunt Mary's? -
The jelly - the jam and marmalade, And the cherry and quince "preserves" she made! And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare! - And the more we ate was the more to spare, Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
Ah! was there, ever, so kind a face And gentle as hers, or such a grace Of welcoming, as she cut the cake Or the juicy pies that she joyed to make Just for the visiting children's sake - Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
The honey, too, in its amber comb One only finds in an old farm-home; And the coffee, fragrant and sweet, and ho! So hot that we gloried to drink it so, With spangles of tears in our eyes, you know - Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And the romps we took, in our glad unrest! - Was it the lawn that we loved the best, With its swooping swing in the locust trees, Or was it the grove, with its leafy breeze, Or the dim haymow, with its fragrancies - Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Far fields, bottom-lands, creek-banks - all, We ranged at will. - Where the waterfall Laughed all day as it slowly poured Over the dam by the old mill-ford, While the tail-race writhed, and the mill-wheel roared - Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
But home, with Aunty in nearer call, That was the best place, after all! - The talks on the back porch, in the low Slanting sun and evening glow, With the voice of counsel that touched us so, Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And then, in the garden - near the side Where the beehives were and the path was wide, - The apple-house - like a fairy cell - With the little square door we knew so well, And the wealth inside, but our tongues could tell - Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And the old spring-house, in the cool green gloom Of the willow trees, - and the cooler room Where the swinging shelves and the crocks were kept, Here the cream in a golden languor slept, While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept - Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And as many a time have you and I - Barefoot boys in the days gone by - Knelt, and in tremulous ecstasies Dipped our lips into sweets like these, - Memory now is on her knees Out to Old Aunt Mary's -
For, O my brother so far away, This is to tell you - she waits to-day To welcome us: - Aunt Mary fell Asleep this morning, whispering, "Tell The boys to come"...And all is well Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Some think that "Aunt Mary" was "Aunt Rachel Loehr," the relative of Almon Keefer, an older neighbor boy as the "Aunt Mary." Riley visited her often as a vagrant child escaping his poverty-stricken adolescent home. The Loehr and Riley families visited each other as well. Minnie Belle Mitchell provides an idealized picture of Riley's youth going to Aunt Rachel's as follows: "...the three boys, Bud, John and Hum with Almon Keefer would go to Aunt Rachel's alone, walking the entire distance, loitering along country roads....cutting through time land, playing games of make-believe, giving Indian and catbird calls and gathering hackberries and haws along the way. But all weariness disappeared when Aunt Rachel's home was reached and they were welcomed...The country home...had its gourd vine climbing to the roof... It had its windless well, its little spring house where the milk and butter and all sorts of good things were kept cool and fresh. There hollyhocks at the windows and a swing hung from an apple tree. And after the children had taken their usual bareback rid on the old mare, slid down he hay stack, and had visited the traps where robber rabbits and foxes were caught...Aunt Rachel would call them to dinner. The boys recalled the wild scramble to the well for the hasty washing of hands and faces, the "jellies, jams and marmalades," the usual cherry cobbler or custard pie with plenty of milk to drink. The poem is nominally written to Riley's brother, John, which helps to date its first writing. Riley used an original four stanzas for "Old Aunt Mary's" from the letter in his early platform appearances. New stanzas were added over the years. In a special edition of the poem in 1904, the poem was completed with twelve additional stanzas. Riley's great poetic characters were all "composites." There were actually many "Aunt Mary's." Aunt Mary was a "character type" of warm-hearted persons who cared for children. Possibly a new such person contributed every time Riley revised the poem which was often. Additionally every time an older person died, she seems to have been eulogized by obituary and funeral sermon as the kindly "Aunt Mary" of Riley's poem if Riley had only a remote connection to the decedent. One version of how the poem "Out to Old Aunt Mary's" happened to be written has Riley and friend, "Haute" Tarkington, later Mrs. Ovid Butler Jameson, preparing to accompany Haute's little brother, Booth, who lived at Indianapolis, on a week-end visit with the grandparents and his Aunt Mary. Sunday came and with it, the prospect of a visit to Aunt Mary but it had to be postponed. On hearing of this disappointment Booth began to cry over the unexpected failure of his plan. This suggested a theme for the poet, who, with his characteristic genius wrote one of his best poems -"Out to Old Aunt Mary's." The poem was first published in the Indianapolis JOURNAL and later revised. This Mary was Mary Tarkington Alexander and she lived in Greensburg, Indiana. Her portrait shows a warmly "pudgy" faced woman with friendly eyes, wide smile a close cropped white hair in a matronly gown. She was a person any child wanted to embrace in a hug. Among other candidates of "aunt's" were "blood" aunts in Mooresville and Martinsville, Indiana. The family of Riley's mother, the Marines, were very close. Riley visited their families often as a child, adolescent and in his later years. When a childhood friend heard Riley recite the poem in later years, he noted that the poem had changed and wrote Riley to enquire about it after which the following letter was returned: Ann Arbor, Mich. Oct. 29, 1893
(Dear Clint Hamilton:) This, as I read it in public, is the "completion" of "Old Aunt Mary's." By joining these four stanzas, at fifth one of printed form, thereafter following in order as here written until last stanza of printed is reached - then using that still as closing stanza. Keep this copy, so hastily done, in your possession.
The jelly - the jam, and the marmalade, And the cherry and quince "preserves" she made! - And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare! And the more you ate was the more to spare, Out to old Aunt Mary's!
And then, in the garden, near the side Where the bee-hives were, and the path was wide, - The apple-house, like a fairy cell, With the little square door we knew so well - And the wealth inside but our tongues could tell - Out to old Aunt Mary's!
And the old spring-house, in the cool green gloom Of the willow trees, - and the cooler room Where the swinging shelves and crocks were kept, Where the cream in a golden languor slept, Where the waters gurgled and laughed and wept - Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
And as many a time have you and I Barefoot boys in the days gone by - Knelt, and with tremulous ecstacies Dipped our lips into sweets like these, - Memory now is on her knees Out to old Aunt Mary's! Very truly your old friend, - James Whitcomb Riley Here is Riley's picture of a life lived meaningfully in service to others. Riley's niece by marriage, Harriet Eitel Wells remembered Riley telling her this incident from his schooling as she related in the Indianapolis STAR of October 7, 1934. When Riley's teacher asked him once where Christopher Columbus went on his second voyage, Riley asked his teacher who was Christopher Columbus? Then Riley admitted he didn't know where the fellow went on the first trip. Math went in one ear and out the other. Riley's math teacher once commented "He doesn't know which is more - Twice ten or Twice Eternity." Riley was Jucklet in his early schooling. He was an errant scholar and traveler even before he got Riley into mischief in many other ways. He loved fun. As a scholar, Riley knew how to slide a piece of wood under the old school clock and get it out of plumb so it ran faster, shortening the school hours which seemed far too long. This way Riley caused his school to be dismissed early from time to time pleasing the other pupils, especially his `swimmin'-hole' buddies. Riley was often a hero of his schoolmates. If caught on any of his pranks, he took his "licking" like a boy should, and did not try to lay the blame on someone else. William B. Davis recalls it was in the winter of `59 that he first saw and met Jim Riley. He was in the rear of the old music hall at Greenfield working on a horizontal bar. "He was the quickest fellow - boy -that I ever saw. He was just like a squirrel going round and round in a cage. He was 10 years old then - and he could turn either backward or forward." Riley often went out to the Davis's farm because Reuben kept his horse there. There is another incident about Riley's schooling of this period. Inside his big geography and held down under a rubber band, Riley frequently had a copy of Longfellow's poems which he read surreptitiously. When Riley's instructor, Lee O. Harris passed up and down the aisles between the rows of desks and came near Riley's desk, he always pretended not to see the book of poems. How it would delight this old professor to know that toward the end of this little pupil's life he would receive so many college degrees that he would remark he would have to stop writing poetry so as to remember his degrees. When the Greenfield Academy fizzled out due to the Civil War, Riley went to study at the home of Rhoda Houghton Millikan who arrived in Greenfield in 1862 and opened a school in her home. Rhoda Millikan was the daughter of a Superior Court Judge and a native of Vermont. She was a cultured, educated lady and possessed many talents. She was the widower of a man who had left his family in Ohio to prospect for gold in Calfornia during the "gold rush." The husband never returned leaving Rhoda Millikan to raise five children - two girls and three boys. She taught school to make ends meet. Riley practically moved into the Millikan home. One of the daughters was Nellie Millikan who was "Dwainie" of "The Flying Islands of the Night." Nellie was slightly older than Riley and enchanted him with her playing of the piano and guitar. One of the boys, Jesse, became Riley's best friend. Rhoda Millikan's family were readers and had many books. They were musical and both girls played and sang. Riley held the mother in great esteem. She had a bright schoolroom, pictures which she painted on the walls, and wooden benches for the students to sit on. She kept hanging jars filled with garden flowers in summer and in winter, parlor ivy and wandering jew trailed about. The woods were visible from her back yard to offer shade for a recess playground. She directed Riley's studies along the lines of his interest, art, literature and poetry. Riley was memorizing verse she discovered. She gave him prominent parts in Friday afternoon exercises and allowed him to recite poems he memorized from his mother. Mrs. Millikan - who was an artist - began a Saturday afternoon class in painting and drawing. Riley became a pupil and found he could draw almost anything and easily became her star pupil. An incident from Riley's adolescence in Mrs. Millikan's school survives. As a young self-conscious teen, Riley's face was covered with freckles and he was called "Spotted Face" by friends. As an adolescent he became very conscious of these. He tried many things, buttermilk, vinegar and salt and was often washing his face with lye soap. He took an old custom seriously and prayed for May to wash his face in its due which he was told would get rid of them. One day his mother sent him to the store to get sugar for 50 cents and he bought a bottle advertised "A sure cure for freckles, - Balm of a thousand flowers" instead. He charged the sugar, went home to deliver the sugar, and stopped at a deserted barn to coat his face with the Balm of a Thousand Flowers without reading the instructions. When he arrived at school, Ms. Millikan was angry and while the schoolmates laughed took him from the room to look at his face as yellow as a pumpkin. The Balm was supposed to be washed off almost immediately after being put on. His face was stained for several days and when it came off the freckles and also a layer of skin came with it. He never again had freckles. There really is no play character from Riley's autobiographical poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" who relates to Riley's adolescence except Nellie Millikan Cooley, "Dwainie," in Riley's life. This reflects the great unhappiness and poverty Riley knew as an adolescent. Riley was not a happy teenager. He ascribed his lack of a social life to a "poor start" from those days. He claimed frustration from the very first. When he wished to escort his first sweetheart to a party, Riley said he dressed very carefully and knocked at his first love's door. Her father opened it, eyed him critically and demanded: "What you want, Jimmy?" When Riley said, "Come to take Bessie to the party," the father snorted, "Humph! Bessie ain't goin' to no party; Bessie's got the measles!" Riley knew very well she didn't. As the Civil War came to a close, Greenfield reopened the Academy. In fact, Reuben Riley was chosen as the president of the public meeting called to plan its operation. This school began in 1866 and ran a fourteen week session. Riley started this school but attended in a very haphazard manner. He was truant as much as he was present. During one such truancy, his father beat him severely. It did not help. Riley quit school at sixteen. After Riley was a drop out, his reputation in Greenfield slipped lower and lower. The other boys weren't to be around him. In a youthful letter to a friend who has been told to stay away from him, the sixteen year old Riley comments, "Your father forbids your associating with me. Well, with his understanding of my character, he did what was right. Well, so long as he thinks me a mean boy, just so long you must abide his law, for he thinks it for your good. Sometime, maybe, I can show him my real character..." Riley did not attend another school for several years but he was present on January 26, 1870 when Greenfield opened its first public school with 236 students. The school ran from January to May. Lee O. Harris was one of the teachers. Riley distinguished himself as an editor of one of the two school newspapers, his being The CRITERION. Meredith Nicholson, Riley's friend in later life and noted American author, believes that Riley "would have been injured rather than benefited by an ampler education. He was chiefly concerned with human nature, and it was his fortune to know profoundly those definite phases and contrasts of life that were susceptible of interpretation in the art of which he was sufficiently the master." Riley's education best came from riding his horse about the American woods and towns and from contacts with the popular culture of America itself. Riley's first employment was as a decorator of the shaving mugs that ornamented and did service to the customers of the barbershop of a black barber of Greenfield, George Knox. Knox says he received "35 cents per mug, for which there never was a time he did not seem duly grateful and appreciative. ...during five years, in return for the many services rendered in the line of his trade (painting), I kept him "shaven and shorn" without price or remuneration save as he paid me in the manner indicated above." We remember that Riley lived in a poverty stricken home after his father was discharged from the Civil War as a disabled man. The sting of poverty never left Riley. As an old man, he refused to take change from any newsboy after buying a newspaper and when asked about this he explained that he remembered when he was that age when "coins were scarce." Knox has written, "I nicknamed (Riley) Mr. Jones and we played at imagining that he was a rich farmer of eccentric ideas, and fixed impressions of his importance and standing as a tiller of the soil. I would frequently say to him: "Well, Mr. Jones, how does it happen that you are in town so late today," and he would reply in the dialect of the Hoosier farmer, accompanied with the peculiar nasal twang that have made his recitations famous - "Wal, I kum into town to-day, intendin' to go right back as soon as possible, and what did they do but pop me on the jury first thing. I put up at the tavern and there was so much noise about I couldn't sleep, so I got up about 4 o'clock this mornin' and bought me a cegar - two fer five you know - they last longer. I kum over to git a shave; how much do you ask for a shave, George." I would say ten cents. "Now, that's too much; I'll give you five cents for a shave." etc., etc." George Knox remembered the neighbors "sneered at him (Riley), (spoke) derisively of him and declared him no good."
Riley escaped into literature to avoid his wretched poverty as a teenager. He read more out of school than in. He came to love the literature of Charles Dickens most of all. Jucklet seized upon Dickens even though Dickens was not known for his poetry but rather for his prose. Meredith Nicholson, commented: Riley "knew his Dickens thoroughly, and his lifelong attention to "character" was due no doubt in some measure to his study of Dickens's portraits of the quaint and humorous." Early in his schooling, Riley ran away when Dickens's "The Death of Little Nell" was read. "It was a matter of eternal wonder to me, how the other children could go strong- voiced and dry-eyed through those tragedies that almost broke my heart," he once said.
DEATH OF LITTLE NELL (From McGUFFEY'S ECLECTIC READER) She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived, and suffered death. Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had used to favor. "When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her words. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird, a poor, slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed, was stirring nimbly in its cage, and the strong heart of its child mistress was must and motionless forever! Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. sorrow was dead, indeed, in her; but peace and perfect happiness were born, imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose..." A strange thing happens when we read about the life of Charles Dickens. It begins to sound like Riley's. We review the facts of the life of Charles Dickens, 1812-1870, to note the great parallels of the lives of Jucklet and him. Dickens was born in Portsmouth, but spent nearly all his life in London. It would turn out that Riley, born in Greenfield, would spend most of his adult life in Indianapolis. Dickens's father was a conscientious man, but lacked capacity for earning a livelihood. This reminds one of Riley's father. In consequence, Dickens's youth was much darkened by poverty as was Riley's. Dickens began his active life as a lawyer's apprentice; but soon left this employment to become a reporter. Riley did the same. Dickens followed this employment from 1831-1836. Dickens's first book was entitled, "Sketches of London Society, by Boz." This was followed, in 1837, by the "Pickwick Papers," a work which suddenly brought much fame to the author. His other works followed with great rapidity, and his last was unfinished at the time of his death. Riley's books of poetry were very popular from the first and Riley kept on writing them. He wrote on and on and on. Dickens visited America in 1842, and again in 1867. During his last visit, he read his works in public in the principal cities of the United States. This was what Jucklet came to have in mind for Riley to do. The resources of Dickens' genius seemed exhaustless. He copied no author, imitated none, but relied entirely on his own powers. He excelled especially in humor and pathos. He gather materials for his works by the most careful and faithful observation. And he painted his characters with a fidelity so true to their different individualities that, although they sometimes have a quaint grotesqueness bordering on caricature, they stand before the memory as living realities. His writings present very vividly the wants and sufferings of the poor and encourage kindness and benevolence. Finally, somehow, despite his poverty-striken youth, Dickens came to great fame and, when he died, was honored with burial in Westminster Abbey, London. Here was a live route for Riley to follow. Riley's life parallels that of Dickens. I think this is intentional. Riley looked to Dickens as a role model. Out of such devotion, Riley gave to America figures as compelling as Dickens did for his Englishmen. Dickens gave to England "Little Nell," while Riley gave to America "Little Haly" of "On the Death of Little Mahala Ashcraft" (1882).
"Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree; "Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee; "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the killdeer at twilight; And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night.
The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence; The old path down the garden walks still holds her footprints' dents; And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come And start it on its wortery errant down the old beegum. ...
Riley took from Dickens the impetus to get close to his own people in order to reflect them in his writing. Riley learned from Dickens in the novel way that Riley did things. He made a play about Dickens' characters and got his chums to act them out in their lives in Greenfield. The shoeshop of Thomas Snow was "base." In fact, the cobbler, a recent immigrant from England who knew his Dickens, was the "stage manager." The adolescent boys mixing it up with Riley in this Dickens "life production" of Riley's called themselves the "Fagan Club." Occasionlly, things got out of hand as when the Fagan Club members acted as Fagan's thieving band of children and literally stole everything they could "pickpocket." It was fun and Riley was learning how to become Dickens. They did not get caught often enough to get thrown in jail. As the years continued, Riley probed the perimeters of Dickens's precedents. To be as Dickens was, Riley felt it necessary to write publicly at every opportunity. This included writing letters to the editor of newspapers. In 1873 A friend in Mooresville, A.W. Macy, suggested Riley write a letter from Anderson to the Mooresville paper about his life in Anderson and Riley did so. Doc Marigold was the name Riley used in a correspondence letter published in the May 8, 1873 issue of the Mooresville ENTERPRISE. In one of Dickens' short stories a vendor of cheap articles was named "Doc Marigold. "Riley's letter was written at Anderson, April 24, 1873. "Dear ENTERPRISE: I have ben intending to write you a letter, but have deferred it from day to day until I could bestow more attention to it than has been at my command for some time. I have not been still in one place long enough to write my "John Hancock" in a legible manner on hotel registers; and now that I have at last "found a level, I am not certain that I can interest you; for I know so little of general importance that, was there nothing else to write about, my little would be as brief as the tail of Tam O'Shanter's mare. Anderson is a very handsome little city of about five thousand inhabitants - good people, speaking generally, though, of course, "It takes all kinds of people," etc ... The Methodist church is in strong power here; and noble and energetic ministers and members are doing great and good work. The leading business men here are principally workers in the church - as I believe they are in every thriving place. it the city has one flaw it is its Courthouse - that looks really lost and out of place and uncomfortable, surrounded as it is with beautiful business blocks..." In keeping with the scheme of Dickens to write of what he knew, Riley studied the Hoosier landscape very carefully and noted its many moods. Jucklet kept his eyes open if he was going to have Riley survive as a writer. The strained mind of the adolescent Riley saw in the life of Dickens not just a man, but the range of characters that Dickens was able to portray. Possibly out of this observation, Riley began to create his own characters, those he could see around him. Some of them were even promising "selves" for roles for him to become. During Riley's twenties, Jucklet also very much liked hoaxes. Riley was familiar with practically all of such literature of every age. The Jucklet in him chose out the fantastic and weirdly amusing from it. One can imagine Riley overjoyed at coming across Poe's great hoax writing called "The Balloon Hoax." Riley no doubt wondered if the American public of 1878 would appreciate the sensational as had Poe's reading public. Poe's "The Balloon-Hoax" opened with the headline: "ASTOUNDING NEWS BY EXPRESS, VIA NORFOLK! - The Atlantic Crossed in Three Days! - Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason's Flying Machine! -Arrival at Sullivan's Island, near Charlestown, S.C., of Mr. Mason...in the Steering Balloon, Victoria..." This was of course impossible in Poe's day but the fun of concocting a hoax as Poe had done no doubt played on Jucklet's mind. Riley was determined to outdo Poe! Riley's poetry came to bear the mischievousness of Jucklet.
WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING (1871)
There wasn't two purtier farms in the state Than the couple of which I'm about to relate; - Jinin' each other - belongin' to Brown, And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town. ... (Smith, a rich town merchant with no knowledge of agriculture decides to buy one, live in the country "where the air is free" and take up farming, disastrously from a financial point of view.) ... Mr. Smith found he was losin' his health In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; So at last he concluded to move back to town And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. Further'n this I have nothin' to say Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns And leave agriculture alone - and the Browns.
There is something to be said about simply surviving. As James Whitcomb Riley grew to maturity, it was obvious that he was not going to survive easily. He was simply not born to be a domineering, noticeable person. Riley was a "shrimp" of a boy and man. He was not physical. He was not some macho study either. Most women took one look at him and said good-bye. There is a letter Riley's friend, Nellie Cooley, wrote to him after she moved to Illinois. In the letter, Nellie tells him she has heard from a friend that Riley "has gone to the dogs." To which she replies that she "raved" about him as loyal Nellie always did. Nellie was the exception as she always was for Riley. Perhaps total loyalty and friendship blinded her. Only by his wits did Riley survive. Riley needed to play Jucklet badly. As alcoholic as he was becoming, his wits remained. Some part of Riley needed to deal with his ever- increasing dependence upon alcohol. How does an alcoholic survive? Riley acknowledges in his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," that he did it by relying upon his mischievous minstrelsy persona he calls Jucklet. Jucklet, in the autobiographical poem, is the "tool" of Crestillomeem for survival purposes. However, when Riley understands he must be sober for some reason or another, he turns to his Jucklet role. When it comes to survival, Jucklet takes over the transformative role in the poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." When it is necessary to "ditch" Crestillomeem, his dependency on alcoholism, Jucklet defies Crestillomeem and takes over. From the third act of "The Flying Islands of the Night," we find the following:
"(General sensation within, and growing tumult without, with wrangling cries of "Plot!" "Treason!" "Conspiracy!" and "Down with the Queen!". "Down with the usurper!" Down with the Sorceress!")
Crestillomeem (Wildly) Who dares to cry "Conspiracy!" Bring me the traitor-knave!
(Growing confusion without - sound of rioting, - Voice, "Let me be taken! Let me be taken!" Enter Guards, dragging Jucklet forward, wild-eyed and hysterical - the Queen's gaze fastened on him wonderingly.)
Crestillomeem Why bring ye Jucklet hither in this wise?
Guard O Queen, 'tis he who cries "Conspiracy!" And who incites the mob without with cries Of "Plot!" and "Treason!" Crestillomeem (Starting)
Ha! Can this be true? I'll not believe it! - Jucklet is my fool, But not so vast a fool that he would tempt His gracious Sovereign's ire. (To guards) Let him be freed!
(Then to Jucklet, with mock service)
Stand hither, O my Fool!
Jucklet (To Queen)
What! I, thy fool? Ho! ho! Thy fool? -ho! ho! Why, thou art mine!"
Jucklet is not merely the survival force at work within Riley's alcoholism, but also Riley's savior. Riley saw his wit and capacity to be humorous and to "minstrelize" as a pathway to salvation from his alcoholism and to get by. Riley's father sought out a more concrete way of getting by for his son when he arranged that Riley take up house and sign painting. The former slave George L. Knox recalled, "One evening as I sat in my (barber) shop I heard three men talking. They seemed very much interested in their boys. One suggested that the carpenter's trade would be a good trade for his son to learn, another thought the painter's a good trade. The parents of the three boys finally concluded that they would have their sons learn the painter's trade. The men were Captain (Reuben) Riley, Morris Pierson and Mr. Lipskin. It seemed strange to me to hear these white men talk of putting their boys out to learn trades, as where I came from (the South) white boys did not have to work. The boy who was most indulged and petted and did the least was thought the most of. I wondered why three men took such an interest in their boys, as I thought to teach the white boys to work was out of the question. One of the boys who was to learn painter's trade was James Whitcomb Riley, now the Hoosier Poet, another Wm. Pierson, now Dr. Pierson of Morristown, and the other Harry Lipskin. They all learned their trade from a man by the name of Kiefer who could paint all kinds of pictures. He was thought quite an artist by the people of Greenfield. Some of the boys were more successful in their trade than the others. Young Riley seemed the most apt. He could drawn anything and would take up his pencil and a piece of paper and make a perfect picture of anything he wanted to. The boys, when they were out of the shop (Keefer's) would come to my place of business to lounge and idle the time away. James Whitcomb used to come quite often. He seemed different than the other boys and did not choose his associates from among the boys, but the men, such as Dr. Milligan, Ed Milligan and others. The other boys would keep coming, and bother me more or less, while young Riley would come around, but seldom bothered me or got in the way. I said to him one day, "J.W." I always called him that "you can come around to the shop when you desire; I like to have you; you are not like the other boys." He gradually became a frequent visitor at my place." When we think of Riley in his twenties, we think of Riley traveling around Indiana living as a wanderer. He often returns to Greenfield, his hometown, but he rarely stays. He has learned to be a painter. Employments are casual and transitory. He paints a barn or a sign to earn enough money to go someplace else. What kind of signs was Riley painting? In the Post-Civil War Era, it was customary for every merchant to have his windows ornamented with a neatly worded sign done in different colors and always in a sort of scroll design with many fancy letters, mostly in script. An example of one is recorded by Henry Miller, a retired merchant who painted with Blowney's at South Bend, Indiana, at the same time James Whitcomb Riley did. A Riley sign in South Bend was at George Muessel's grocery store on the two lower lights of each window which consisted of four large panes and on the two lower ones he painted the following signs: "G.C. Muessel-queensware and crockery," and on the other two panes, "G.C. Muessel -groceries and provisions." The sign was done with Riley's usual flourish and many colored paints. Riley stayed where he could. He grew a long red mustache. The pace is quick. Riley needs money so he travels from town to town in search of painting jobs. He returns to Greenfield as we know he did in February, 1873 but then heads back to Anderson where he and his friend, Jim McClanahan branch out into the Graphics, named after the NEW YORK GRAPHIC MAGAZINE, a periodical popular with designers. The Graphics consist of no less than three but sometimes more living on craftsmanship services offered to residents of the Indiana towns they pass through. These gentlemen lived freely and easily. The Graphics did many odd-jobs. Frank Spear dressed silk hats while Riley painted signs. Others of the Graphics and what happened to them were remembered in an Anderson IN Morning HERALD article on the death of Frank Spear of Jan. 4, 1895. Edward Lemon committed suicide in a newspaper office at Nellsville, Wisconsin. Jim McClanahan, who Riley called "The Poor Man's Friend," lived in Anderson. He subsequently died of exposure after being found drunk. Will Ethell was an artist of prominence and Turner Wickersham ended up in Kansas City. Life with the Graphics was an "off and on" employment for Riley for four years - from 1873 until the Spring of 1877. The Graphics modus operandi for making a living was worked out slyly and mischievously. They would dress fashionably and enter a town and entertain especially the girls and get contracts to make signs from merchants. Farm wives along the roads would give them pies. They would then survive having the fun of it all while they travelled together. In this journey, Riley found his way to South Bend, Indiana in July 1873, where the Graphics disbanded for a time and each went his own way until reforming again the next Spring. Riley stayed in South Bend for several days. One of Riley's most famous projects was the making of a mural about the progress of South Bend that took two weeks to finish. In 1873, After five weeks, Riley heard his father married again to a Quaker woman from a farm near Pendleton. In November, 1873 Riley went back to Anderson to work for Doc McCrillus but went home to Greenfield shortly afterwards to see his father and meet his father's new bride. Riley stayed in Greenfield in late 1873 to help start up a theatrical troop, the Adelphians, to put on plays in Greenfield during the winter. Lee O. Harris, Riley's old teacher, was still in Greenfield and they worked together on theatricals. Riley continued to write during this period of time and sent a poem to the Danbury Connecticut NEWS published in its February 25, 1874 issue. Originally the concept of painting advertising signs outside the stores, on barns, fences, or prominent places was profitable. Sign painting was a new medium. As the group traveled around Indiana, Jim McClanahan was able to bring in many new jobs. New helpers were brought in. The Graphics made great profits. Soon, however, new advertising "firms" sprang up. Competition grew fierce. New jobs became scarce and profits were just a memory. The business of "The Graphics" dwindled away until nothing when in the spring of 1877 Riley and McClanahan returned to Anderson insolvent where they knew they had room and board at least in Mother McClanahan's household. Riley was a witty and companionable associate. The "Ho!", often repeated as "Ho! Ho!" or Ha!, etc., in the autobiographical poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" is an identifier of Jucklet, the "minstrel" Riley persona. Perhaps it likens Riley "To the Wine-God Merlus" of a poem of that name subtitled, "A Toast of Jucklet's" wherein the "Ho! Ho!" represents Jucklet's state when "the jolly god, with kinked lips and laughter-streaming eyes," has "liftest me up." As Riley's years with the Graphics ended, he wrote his "Craqueodoom" for the Anderson DEMOCRAT of June 1, 1877. In the newspaper world there was great consternation. What did it mean? Craqueodoom" was exchanged with other newspapers and reached other audiences.
The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon And wistfully gazed on the sea Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee." The quavering shriek of the Fly-up-the creek Was fitfully wafted afar To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek With the pulverized rays of a star.
The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig, And his heart it grew heavy as lead As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wing On the opposite side of his head, And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodrill Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies, And plead with the Plunk for the use of her bil To pick the tears out of his eyes.
The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance, And the Squidjum hid under a tub As he heard the loud hooves of the hooken advance With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub-dub And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died, "My fate there is none to bewail," While the Queeen of the Wunks drifted over the tide With a long piece of crape to her tail.
At Kokomo, the Editor Oscar Henderson published not only the poem but also two queries to the poet as to the meaning. William Croan, Riley's Editor at the Anderson DEMOCRAT, passed the queries along to Riley who went on to draft a reply subsequently published in "The DISPATCH." Riley's reply was evasive and mysterious. "Although in endeavoring to reply to the above query, I feel that I place myself in rather a peculiar position, I can but trust, in so doing, to escape the incessant storm in inquiries haled so piteously upon me since the appearance of the above mentioned poem - of whatever it is. As to its meaning - if it has any I am as much in the dark, and as badly worried over its incomprehensibility as anyone who may have inflicted himself with a reading of it; in fact more so, for I have in my possession now not less than a dozen of similar character; and when I say they were only composed mechanically, and without apparent exercise of my own thought, I find myself at the threshold of a fact that over which I cannot pass. I can only surmise that such effusions emanate from long and arduous application - a sort of poetic fungus that springs from the decay of better effort. It bursts into being of itself, and in that alone from the decay of better effort. It bursts into being of itself, and in that alone do I find consolation. The process of much composition may furnish a curious fact to many, yet I am assured that every writer of either poetry or music will confirm the experience I am about to relate. After long labor at verse you will find there comes a time when everything you see or hear, touch, taste, or smell, resolves itself into rhyme, and rattles away until you can't rest. I mean this literally. The people you meet upon the streets are so many disarranged rhymes, and only need proper coupling. The boulders in the sidewalks are jangled words. The crowd of corner loungers is a mangled sonnet with a few lines missing. The farmer and his team an idyl of the road, perfected and complete when he stops at the picture of a grocery and hitches to an exclamation point. This is my experience and at times the effect upon both mind and body is exhausting in the extreme. I have passed as many as three nights in succession without sleep - or at least without mental respite from this tireless something which "Beats time to nothing in my hand From some old corner of the brain."
I walk, I run, I writhe and wrestle with it, but I cannot shake it off. I lie down to sleep and all night long it haunts me. Whole cantos of incoherent rhyme dance before me, and so vividly at last I seem to read them as from a book. All this without will power of my own to guide or check; and then secure a stage of repetition - when the matter becomes rhythmically tangible at least, and shapes itself into a whole of sometimes a dozen stanzas, and goes on repeating itself over and over till it is printed indelibly in my mind. This stage heralds sleep at last, from which I wake refreshed and from the toils of my strange persecutor; but as I have just said, some senseless piece of rhyme is printed on my mind and I go about repeating it as though I had committed it from the pages of some book. I often write these jingles afterward, though I believe I never could forget a word of them. This is the history of the "Craqueodoom." This is the history of the poem I give below. I have theorized in vain. I went gravely to a doctor on one occasion and asked him seriously if he didn't think I was crazy. His laconic reply that he "never saw a poet that wasn't." is not without consolation. I have talked with numerous writers regarding it, and they invariably confirm a like experience, only excepting the inability to recall these Gypsy changelings of a vagrand mind." Riley's father thought his son was out of his mind for traveling with the Graphics and no doubt writing such strange poetry as "Craqueodoom," and got him home to learn lawyering. Reuben Riley was a lawyer who taught many others to become lawyers in the county seat of Greenfield. We find in the county histories of Hancock County many members of the Hancock County Bar Association admitted on his motion. On many occasions we find James Whitcomb Riley drawn to his father's law office. Now came one of those times. The father's hope no doubt was that James Whitcomb Riley was apprenticing himself for the law. The fact was simply the opposite. While the father was away, Riley wrote poetry or fiddled around drawing funny pictures in his father's somber lawbooks. In the back of Riley's mind must always have been the expectation that he might return to finish apprenticing as a lawyer to take over his father's law practice. Mainly, I believe, he preferred his writing and was also rebellious against the law and order lawyering upheld. There are those in the legal profession who attempt to move the recalcitrant legal system into another posture usually failing miserably. Riley took a wider road toward humanitarian lifework. Reuben A. Riley himself was a product of the legal apprenticeship system and was admitted to the Hancock County Bar after reading in Randolph county. Upon moving to Greenfield, Reuben was admitted to the Hancock Bar on motion of R. M. Cooper August 19, 1844. The Motion of Reuben to admit his son as a qualified reader in his office never came. Lawyers admitted to the Hancock County Bar on the Motion of Reuben Riley included Gustavus N. Moss, August 18, 1845; William P. Davis, August 10, 1847; Nimrod Johnson, August 10, 1847; Michael Wilson, August 10, 1857; William R. Hough, August 10, 1857; Joseph R. Silver, May 26, 1859; William H. Pilkinton, February 15, 1860; Brayan C. Walpole, February 1860; Oliver P. Gooding, August 15, 1865; Augustus W. Hough, February 13, 1866; W.W. Kersey, February 13, 1866; John H. Popps, August 21, 1866; Prestly Guymon, February 15, 1867; Matthias M. Hook, February 15, 1867; W.S. Denton on June 4, 1877; Richard A.M. Black, October 15, 1877; Samuel B. Waters, March 26, 1878; William C. Barrett, June 13, 1881, etc. Since the party who moved the admission of the bar member was most often the master of the apprentice, it can be seen how active Reuben Riley was in educating new lawyers in Greenfield. He didn't get the job done with his son. And so Riley's life in his twenties went...never very seriously...mostly as Jucklet truanting about in carefree poverty with friends. Eventually, Riley settled down at Anderson, Indiana to write for a newspaper, the Anderson DEMOCRAT. Riley had taken odd jobs with newspapers before, but the Anderson DEMOCRAT offered him the steadiest work and the chance for a journalism career. We will note what happened to this position with the story of "Leonainie."
Riley's play character Jucklet deviously arranged for Riley to come to great fame in the way that the scheming, ludicrous minstrelsy of this character would do such a thing: through a "hoax" more outrageous than any "hoaxer" had ever "pulled" before. In July, 1877, shortly after Riley had composed the poem "Leonainie" and shortly after poetry he had sent to an Eastern magazine for publication had been rejected, Riley spoke with anguish to friends. He angrily proposed the theory that his poetry was rejected by national publications in the Eastern cities simply because his name was unknown, not because his poetry was not good enough. To prove the theory, Riley proposed to pass off his poem "Leonainie" as one written by Edgar Allan Poe. His hypotheses was that the poem would be immediately successful because its author was known to fame. Riley's friend, William H. Croan, Junior Editor of Riley's newspaper, the Anderson DEMOCRAT, and a journalist from the competing Anderson newspaper, William Kinnard of the Anderson Herald, together with Mrs. D.M. Jordan, a contributor to the Richmond "Independent" were the initial conspirators about the project. The three decided on the Kokomo DISPATCH as the newspaper to approach about initially printing the hoax poem. Riley wrote the Editor of that paper, Oscar Henderson, the following letter: Office of The Anderson DEMOCRAT Todiman and Croan Anderson, Indiana July 25, 1877 Proprietors Editor DISPATCH - Dear Sirs: I write to ask a rather curious favor of you. The dull times1 worry me, and I yearn for something to stir things from their comatose condition. Trusting to find you of like inclination, I ask your confidence and assistance. This idea has been haunting me: - I will prepare a poem - carefully imitating the style of some popular American poet deceased, and you man "give it to the world for the first time" thru the columns of your paper, - prefacing it, in some ingenious manner, with the assertion that the original MS. was found in the album of an old lady living in your town - and in the handwriting of the poet imitated - together with signatures etc. etc. - You can fix the story - only be sure to clinch it so as to defy the scrutiny of the most critical lens. If we succeed, and I think sheer audacity sufficient capital to assure that end, - after "working up" the folks, and smiling over the encomiums of the Press, don't you know; we will then "rise up William Riley,2" and bust our literary bladder before a bewildered and enlightened world !!! I write you this in all earnestness and confidence, trusting you will favor the project with your valuable assistance. It will be obvious to you why I do not use our paper here. Should you fall in with the plan, write me at once, and I will prepare and send the poem in time for your issue of this week. Hoping for an early and favorable response, I am, Very truly yours, J.W. Riley 1. Some might argue the times were not so dull. At the time of this letter, America was in the midst of a crippling and bloody railroad strike from Illinois to the Atlantic Coast, Indiana's current Senator and former Civil War Governor, Oliver Morton, was seriously ill. In Utah, Brigham Young, the founder of the Morman Church, was dying. Then, too, the Russians and Turks were in a desperate war. 2. The expression "rise up William Riley" was a reference to "Riley songs," old English or Irish ballads preserved by mountaineer bards of Tennessee and Kentucky. One began "Rise up, William Riley, you must appear this day\ The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you free..."
The Editor of the Kokomo DISPATCH wrote back the following: The DISPATCH Kokomo, Ind., July 23, 1877 J.W. Riley, My Dear Sir: Your favor of this date is just received. Your idea is a capital one and is cunningly conceived. I assure you that I "tumble" to it with eagerness. You are doubtless aware that newspaper men, as a rule, would rather sacrifice honor, liberty, or life itself, than to deviate from the paths of truth - but the idea of getting in a juicy "scoop" upon the rural exchanges, causes me to hesitate, consider, yea, consent to this little act of journalistic deception. Yes, my dear Riley, I am with you boots and soul. But hadn't I better forestall the poem by a "startling announcement" or something of the sort one week before its publication? The public would then be on the tip-toe of expectancy, etc. I merely offer this as a suggestion. We would hardly be able to publish the poem, if of any great length, this week. Copy is well in for Thursday's issue now, same some local paragraphs. Send copy as soon as you can and we may print next week. If you like, you may also write the preface as you have indicated. Perhaps you could do better than I. I enclose this letter in a plain envelope to disarm suspicion. Let me hear from you. Fraternally, "Mum's the word." J.O. Henderson
Riley read the Henderson letter and communicated its good news to Croan and Kinnard and wrote to the out-of-town member of the conspiracy, Ms. Jordan, as follows: Anderson, Ind. July 25, 1877 Dear Friends: I write - not in answer to your letter, for I haven't time to do that justice now - but to ask of you a very special favor. I have made arrangements with the editor of the Kokomo DISPATCH that he shall publish the poem "Leonainie," under the guise of its being the work of Poe himself. Henderson is to invent an ingenious story of how the original manuscript came into his possession, and when it appears with a hurrah from the DISPATCH, I shall copy and comment upon it in the DEMOCRAT - in a way that will show that I have no complicity and I want you to review it, if you will, favorably, in the Independent - I don't want you to really admire it - but I do want you to pretend to, and eulogize over it at rapturous length, and as though you were assured it was in reality the work of Poe himself - as the DISPATCH will claim. Our object is to work up the "Press" broadcast if possible, and then to unsack the feline, and let the "secret laughter that tickles all the soul" erupt volcanically. The "Ring" around the literary torpedo as it now lies includes but four persons, including yourself, and it must be the unwavering resolved of every member to hold the secret safely fastened in the bosom quartette till time shall have ripened the deception, and the slow match had reached the touch-hole of success. Now will you do this for me at once, for I shall not be thoroughly happy till the answer which I believe, in your great kindness, you will give, reaches me. How are you, anyway? Happy, I trust, as I am to sign myself Your friend, J.W. Riley
Riley also replied to Henderson: Anderson July 26, `77 Dear Henderson: Your letter did me good, and as I am something of an enthusiast, I am more than ever assured of the ultimate success of our detour. You ask me to fix up the story, and although I have two or three in crude design, I think it will be better, since the poem is to be unearthed at Kokomo, that you manufacture it to suit the surroundings; beside, were I to do it, the trick might be betrayed in some peculiarity of composition - no matter how trifling; for if the ruse succeeds at all, it will certainly receive most rigid scrutiny, and that too of a keenness that will probe to deepest limits. No, I think you will concede the propriety of weaving that fabric on your own loom, I will make suggestions, however, which you may use or ignore as they may be adapted to your surroundings, "In time of peace prepare for war" - that is get ready for afterclaps - or in other words fix a firm foundation. I would get some old woman, we'll say who does washing, or something of that sort, and if she hasn't got an old album, she's got an old book of some kind from which can be torn a blank leaf. Tell her frankly that you want to create a little sensation, and ask her to assist you by saying - should anyone inquire of her as to the truth of it - "that there some poetry written in the book, and that you had noticed it, and asked where the book come from, and she had said it was a book her grandmother used to have; then you had asked her if you mightn't tear out the poetry and print it, and she had acquiesced." Or, - hunt out an old wood-sawer, or an old chap who lives alone, and give him a good send off of some kind - swear him, and then tear a leaf from some old book of his - or if he hasn't got an old book, get him one and let him say "his mother gave it to him fifty year ago - that he don't know where she got it, only that he'd heard her say a young feller about twenty stayed at their house one night, and acted strange like, and looked pale, and paced the floor till morning, and the book was in his room, and when he went away she found the poetry written in it and signed simply E.A.P." -for I have selected Poe to imitate from. And now can you find anything in these suggestions you can utilize - or does not your own fancy suggest a better plan. think. there are a thousand ways, select the most feasible, and nip it at once - taking care to make it anything but complicated or sensational, -and right here while I think of it: You will be called on to produce the M.S. - say simply that you have sent it to W.D. Howells, of The Atlantic," or some other eminent critic for inspection; and if Will Siddell is in your office, let him into it, and he can have seen it, and set from it - but don't let too many know it - only a very few in whom you can repose every confidence. And now my dear Henderson, I have worried you enough. I turn the whole thing over to you - feeling you will get all out of it there is in it. When you publish it, I will copy and review it in a manner that shall evince most thoroughly that I have no complicity with it; and do not be surprised if I exhibit, in what I shall have to say, a covert jealousy of the "DISPATCH" - I'll do anything to throw unfavorable comment out o' gear. It might be well, as you suggest, to prepare the people for it in some startling way. Do nothing tho' without mature deliberation. Copy the poem with every care and don't omit a mark, for I have taken every precaution to imitate the most minute characteristics of the erratic original. Write me that this is received O.K. and what you think of it. Another thing, preserve our correspondence. Yours J.W. R. --- LATER ---It might be well for you to refresh yourself in Poe history - for such material cannot fail to be of most effective service in the "tangled web we weave." By such a course you will be enabled to locate the old lady at whose house the wild-eyed stranger stayed and penned the "Matchless lines;" and also to most minutely describe the poet's chirography. Write me at once - if only a line, for I am interested. J.W.R. "State that the original M.S. has not a single word crossed out, nor sign of erasure - and is copied exact in all particulars. Henderson received Riley's letter that same day and had Will Siddell, his head type-setter, set up the poem "Leonainie" in type and strike off a galley proof to enclose with a letter to Riley reading as follows:
The DISPATCH J.W. Riley Kokomo, Ind., July 27, 1877
My Dear Sir: Your favor and poem received yesterday. Your suggestion is good. Will publish poem next Thursday. It is really Poe- tical in every word and line - a superbly written and matchlessly conceived poem It certainly would not detract from Poe's transcendental genius to father the fugitive. I assure you it is withal a marvelous and rare creation, honoring you and the State as well. Have not yet matured my story but will have it in due time. Have you any additional suggestions? We have your "Kalamazoo1" Sargeant a left- handed dig in the ribs this week in the DISPATCH, but do not wish to antagonize the DEMOCRAT. Can't you favor us with a poem written over your own signature, sometime "when you have nothing else to do?" Our readers are quite well acquainted with "Riley the Poet," already. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson 1. "Kalamazoo" was the nickname of a baseball player named Sargeant who played for the Anderson baseball team and was called a notoriously "dirty player" in another article in the Kokomo DISPATCH. Riley responded to Henderson's letter as follows: OFFICE OF THE ANDERSON DEMOCRAT Todiman and Croan Anderson, Indiana, July 30, 1877 Proprietors
Dear Henderson:
Your letter has furnished me special pleasure, as it indicates that you are sanguine of success. You ask if I have any more suggestions; None I believe - unless it be to say that the typographical form of the poem is faulty in the regard of architectural construction; tho' doubtless you have already remedied the defect, i.e. - it is not properly indented. Have you noticed? If not, repair if this reaches you in time. Nothing more - only "Courage, Courage, Mon Comrade!" We'll drive `em bald-headed I'm sure. Yours, J.W. Riley The Kokomo DISPATCH printed the following story in its issue of August 2, 1877, at the top of the fourth column of editorial page 2: POSTHUMOUS POETRY---"A Hitherto Unpublished Poem of the Lamented Edgar Allan Poe - Written on the Fly-Leaf of an Old Book now in Possession of a Gentleman in this city ---The following beautiful posthumous poem from the gifted pen of the erratic poet, Edgar Allan Poe, we believe has never before been published in any form, either in any published collection of Poe's poems now extant, or in any magazine or newspaper of any description; and until the critics shall show conclusively to the contrary, the DISPATCH shall claim the honor of giving it to the world. That the poem has never before been published, and that it is a genuine production of the poet who we claim to be its author, we are satisfied from the circumstances under which it came into our possession, after a thorough investigation. Calling at the house of a gentleman of this city the other day, on a business errand, our attention was called to a poem written on the back fly-leaf of an old book. Handing us the book he observed that it (the poem) might be good enough to publish, and if we thought so, to take it along. Noticing the initials E.A.P., at the bottom of the poem it struck us that possibly we had run across a "bonanza," so to speak, and after reading it, we asked who its author was, when he related the following bit of interesting reminiscence: He said he did not know who its author was, only that he was a young man, that is, he was a young man when he wrote the lines referred to. He had never seen him, himself, but had heard his grandfather, who gave him the book containing the verses, tell of the circumstances and the occasion by which he, the grandfather, came into possession of the book. Hs grandparents kept a country hotel, a sort of wayside inn, in a small village called Chesterfield, near Richmond, Va. One night, but before bed-time, a young man, who showed plainly the marks of dissipation, rapped at the door and asked if he could stay all night, and was shown to a room. That was the last they saw of him. When they went to his room the next morning to call him to breakfast he had gone away and left the book, on the fly-leaf of which he written the lines given below. Further than this our informant knew nothing, and, being an uneducated, illiterate man, it was quite natural that he should allow the great literary treasure to go for so many years unpublished. That the above statement is true, and our discovery no canard, we will take pleasure in satisfying any who care to investigate the matter. The poem is written in Roman characters, and is almost as legible as print itself, though somewhat faded by the lapse of time. Another peculiarity in the manuscript which we notice is that it contains not the least sign of erasure or a single inter-lineated word. We give the poem verbatim - just as it appears in the original. Here it is: LEONAINIE
Leonainie - angels named her; And they took the light Of the laughing stars and framed her In a smile of white: And they made her hair of gloomy Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy Moonshine, and they brought her to me In the solemn night.
In a solemn night of summer, When my heart of gloom Blossomed up to meet the comer Like a rose in bloom; All the forebodings that distressed me I forgot as joy caressed me -- (Lying joy that caught and pressed me In the arms of doom!)
Only spake the little lisper In the angel-tongue; Yet I, listening, heard her whisper, - "Songs are only sung Here below that they may grieve you - Tales are told you to deceive you - So must Leonainie leave you While her love is young."
Then God smiled and it was morning, Matchless and supreme; Heaven's glory seemed adorning Earth with its esteem: Every heart but mine seemed gifted With the voice of prayer, and lifted Where my Leonainie drifted From me like a dream. The next morning Henderson sent Riley a copy of the story of the hoax clipped from the DISPATCH with a letter: The DISPATCH Dear Riley: Kokomo, Ind. Aug. 3, 1877 We published the poem yesterday. The net-work enveloping the old book, ignorant possessor, etc., you will observe, has been altered materially, for the best, we think. We have our man, a Mr. Hurd, formerly of Va. all posted, primed, etc. The ruse works. Our people think it the "finest poem" Poe ever wrote. Those best acquainted with him declare "Leonainie" to be Poe-tical in every detail. It is success here. We have sent marked copies to Cincinnati, Indianapolis, Boston, New York, Chicago, and Louisville papers. Also to the Monthlies - Atlantic, Harpers, Scribners, etc. The thunder of their voices will soon be reverberating through the length and breadth of the commonwealth. Do you want any extra copies of the DISPATCH If so, will send you. What do you think of it? How are you pleased with it, etc. Answer. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson Riley received Henderson's letter the same day it was written and immediately did two things to avoid suspicion of himself. He composed a squib for insertion in that days "DEMOCRAT" August 3, as follows: The Kokomo DISPATCH of yesterday "startles the nation and the hull creation" by publishing a posthumous Poe poem clamorously claiming the honor of its first presentation to the world. Lack of space prevents us from further remark; but we will say, however, that of all the Nazareths now at large, Kokomo is the last from which we would expect good to come." Secondly, Riley wrote Henderson a post-card, purposely worded to convey a message if read by the curious at Anderson or Kokomo, as follows: Anderson, Ind. August 3, 1877 Editor DISPATCH Kokomo, Ind. Dear Sir: Some literary thug has gobbled our DISPATCH containing your Poe discovery. Please send me two or three extra copies. What does it mean? Are you in earnest? I would like to enter into a correspondence with you regarding it, for even though you be the victim of a deception I would be proud to know your real author. Do I understand from your description that the manuscript is written like printed letters? Write me full particulars and I will serve you in response in any way in my power. Very truly, J.W. Riley The next day, Riley wrote another letter: Anderson Aug. 4, 1 `77 Dear, dear Henderson - and I've a notion to call you darling, - Your Leonainie introductory is superb, and as for the leading paragraph, a neater, sweeter lie was never uttered. I fancy Poe himself leans tiptoe o'er the walls of Paradise and perks an eager ear to listen and believe. There may be a feature or two open to attack, but that's at it should be, for once the excitement of controversy started, a thousand hydra-headed critics will rise up in its behalf - if only to be contrary. I am well pleased; and especially grateful for the evident interest you bestow upon it. Let me caution you again to guard the imposition with most jealous care. Let no one know it - not even your mother-in-law, if you possess so near and dear a relative. Nor would I seem over-anxious to convince unbelievers, for they will strive to run you thro' the gauntlet on that very point; - excuse me for useless suggestions, but I am so fearful of detection a shadow scares me, and I find myself "Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on And turns no more his head, Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread." And so, dear Henderson, walk with me, "and the devil may pipe to his own" till our designs shall have ripened into the fullest bloom of victory, - then we'll have our day. I sent you a postal yesterday which will understand and use perhaps to advantage. And now let me post you in regard to those who are assistants in the deception, - for you might be approached by persons claiming to be into the secret falsely, and by so doing catch you off guard. Mrs. D.M. Jordan, of the Richmond INDEPENDENT, and Mr. Kinnard here, of the HERALD, are the only ones outside yourself and DEMOCRAT who know of it. The former - Mrs. J. - will be of greatest value to the success of the scheme, and the latter -Mr. Kinnard - in his way, will be no less effective and valuable. So now you are fortified on that point, and all you have to do is smile inwardly, "and with a lack-luster, dead blue eye" await the unfoldings of it at least a curious future. I believe I have said as little and as much as now is necessary: but you must write me in the meantime, and keep me lubricated with the oily experience which I can but fancy will be yours. Send extra papers. I shake your hand in silence and in tears; and in the language of Artemus Ward, - "I am here; I think so. Even of those." J.W. Riley The fact was also that another person knew of the conspiracy. Riley also told his roommate, Jim McClanahan of all the details. On Monday, Riley wrote Henderson again: Anderson, Ind. Aug. 6 Dear Henderson: This from the Indianapolis NEWS of the 4th is rather pointed. Yet i trust it will not have the effect of discouraging you in the least. We can't expect the public to gulp it whole, you know; for they are bound to suspect the "worm" contains a hook. "Patience and shuffle the cards!" The singular reticence of the other dailies may auger good - or bad - time only will disclose; and bear in mind no critic has as yet pronounced upon it. We will give them "a long pull - a strong pull, and a pull all together," and in the meantime let me assure you that my ardor is not in the least dampened. "Mrs. Jordan's review will soon prod them, and your humble servant's likewise, and should you receive letters or coms., select quotations etc. etc., and publish good and bad alike, in order to show your willingness to abide by the public decision - in a measure at least. I find it necessary for surrounding circumstances, to claim in my review that you may perhaps be the victim of a clever deception, and also to rend the tender fabric of the poem to some extent. I do this for the double purpose of directing the attention from your complicity, and to draw attention from my own; and although I evidently strive to condemn the poem, I indirectly furnish more praise than blame - but you understand. Let nothing discourage you, I shall not. I shall watch carefully for any new points, and in case I "drop" on anything, will alter criticism to suit the public appetite. Write me if any new developments - write anyhow, and tell me you are not discouraged. Yours fraternally, J. W. Riley --- LATER ---In case my review of the poem should cause any public comment to its detriment, I will furnish you with a private letter in which I will express the belief that the poem is certainly genuine, and you may answer my article by reproducing it - see? It will be well, perhaps, for you to give me a slur of some kind this week - in response to our notice in last issue. Make it hot - call us jealous, etc. etc. I notice Harding of the HERALD steps round it as carefully as he would a torpedo. If he'd only bit I could die resigned. I have examined two or three here with regard to it -but they're wary, and don't want to commit themselves. Our best literary man says its a GRAND thing, and reads it like a Murdoch. Prof. Hamilton pronounces it a fine thing, but thinks it yours. He knows you, and is almost satisfied that it is your composition. This is all "fruit" for me, you know, and after an interview of this character, I generally "wind up" my face and let it "run down" the other way. I notice that it worries `em, and that's a good sign -a good sign! Another feature, - everybody would like to believe - they want to the worst way, and all we have to do is to exercise proper policy; and as the old man has it "We study to please." Let nothing shake your first convictions, and although we eventually cry Peocavi, the "euchered" public will be forced not only to forgive, but render homage. And now whatever you do, write to me - Write, and keep me informed as to the welfare or the dangers attending our orphan venture - Very truly, J.W. Riley The Indianapolis NEWS item referred to by Riley read, "The Kokomo DISPATCH publishes for the first time a poem said to have been written on the fly-leaf of an old book, by Edgar Allan Poe. The poem bears no internal evidence of such paternity." The Harding referred to is Reverend George C. Harding, owner and editor of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD, one of Indiana's most distinguished editors. The Saturday HERALD commented, "The Kokomo DISPATCH prints what it claims to be an unpublished poem of Edgar A. Poe."
Henderson replied to Riley's letter, saying: THE DISPATCH
Dear Riley: Kokomo, Ind., Aug. 7, 1877. Your very kind letter was received yesterday. I admire your zeal and join you heartily in the hope of ultimate success. Our people here believe the poem a "true bill." The TRIBUNE folks have interviewed me and I believe I succeeded in "stuffing" them to the muzzle. They feel a trifle jealous of our journalistic "scoop" - hence their reticence. That's their way. If they doubted the genuineness of the story or poem, they would stand on their hind legs and howl furiously. Please send us every extract or notice of the poem you find in the prints with the name of the paper in which you find it. Next week perhaps we will publish all "comments of the press" etc. concerning it. This week will be too early to hear from them. Be sure to send me Mrs. Jordan's notice. We don't get the INDEPENDENT. I will keep you posted. Do the same with me. Write. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson On August 9th, the Kokomo DISPATCH published an item stating "Our Edgar Allan Poe poem, published in last week's DISPATCH, is creating quite a flutter over the country. The literary critics are giving it the closest scrutiny." Henderson continued to risk his professional prestige and that of his newspaper in participating in this hoax.
The same day, he wrote Riley as follows: THE DISPATCH Dear Riley: Kokomo, Ind. Aug. 9, 1877. The dawn of success is breaking, and every day brings us fresh evidence of ultimate triumph. Glory! The N.Y. HERALD of last Friday, Aug. 5, is before me and it has nibbled. It republished the entire article from The DISPATCH, comments on poem and credits it to The DISPATCH; so did The N.Y. SUN last Tuesday. The Rochester UNION-SPY (Ind.) also publishes the entire article. Soon we shall hear its thunder reverberating through the length and breadth of the Union! It is a success. The plot or story that we told in introducing the poem seems to somewhat disarm criticism. Think of the N.Y. HERALD, the grandest journal in Christendom, gulping it down! Riley, your fame is assured! You are destined to become a second Thomas Chatterton! Shake! I am sanguine and overjoyed for your sake. I feel that the poem has merit that should place it in the front ranks of poetry in America. Hail, conquering hero! Fraternally, J.C. Henderson P.S. The reticence of the Cincinnati papers is strange indeed. I sent them all copies. Keep on the lookout and write me every paper that refers to it. J.C.H. The only comment of the New York HERALD was in its headline: "EDGAR ALLAN POE - An Indiana Journal Professes to Have Exhumed a Hitherto Unpublished Poem - Inscription on an Old Fly-Leaf." The New York SUN published a condensed version of the DISPATCH story and the complete poem, but without any headlines or comments.
Riley wrote Henderson a letter the same day with this letterhead: ---WILLIAM R. MYERS --- --------- ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW COLLECTIONS MADE A SPECIALTY
"All claims entrusted to his care will be attended to without fear, favor or affection. Anderson, Ind. Aug. 9, 1877 Dear Henderson: The JOURNAL this morning "nibbles," and other papers will zip it - in consequence the J. will be forced to champion the poem. I can't tell you how sanguine of success I now am. I can only exclaim, in the delirious eloquence of the gifted Poe, - " W H O O P ! " A steady nerve is all that is now required. Keep me informed of any new phases. I will send you Richmond paper when it appears. Have only time to write this. Yours, J.W. Riley
The next day, Riley wrote to Henderson again: Anderson, Aug. 10 Dear Henderson: -- 1877 --
I presume you have seen New York SUN of the 7th., and Cincinnati GAZETTE of yesterday - both got it - bad! The SUN reproduces a portion of your editorial, and the poem entire, but ventures no comment of its own. The GAZETTE heads article "An Old Poem by Poe." It must surely bring some critic to the fore ere long. I have written my review in a way that will be apt to awaken a reply from some quarter, and I shall mark the article and ship it to the four winds. Why don't you write? I hope you are not losing faith, or becoming "tired now and sleepy too" - for - God bless us - we are certainly at the very threshold of success! I am eager for the fray. That the poem has merit is established, you see, and all we have now to do is "Hold the Fort!" till our own good time, and in the meantime aggravate controversy from every possible quarter. Can't you come over and see me. If we could talk for one square hour we could make ourselves believe it! That's what we want - is to get together -Come over to-night or tomorrow - or Sunday - anytime that will suit you - only come. Yours "Till death us do part." J.W, Riley That same day Riley finished his review of "Leonainie" for publication in his own newspaper, The Anderson DEMOCRAT. As the day progressed, Riley's review was set up in type, placed in the form and was waiting press time when Riley decided to withdraw it from that day's issue. He then added a section to Henderson's letter before mailing: --- LATER --- I have "weakened" at the last moment. I have been afraid of my review, - I mean the effect of it - Is it right or wrong? I have withheld it from this issue. I will be sure I'm right before I go ahead. I send proof of it for your inspection. Examine carefully - mark what new points may strike you - suggest - etc. etc., and I'll hash it over for next issue - `Twill be better maybe for the delay: tho' I much regret that I am not better assured of the success of the article. You know the object of it all - now criticize it impartially, and tell me how I may improve it. I do wish you would come over - Come, in god's name if possible. Yours etc. J.W. Riley Riley's request that Henderson come to Anderson should be put into perspective. Henderson was a co-owner of the Kokomo newspaper and Riley was an Associate Editor of his, merely an employee. Henderson simply couldn't leave his newspaper to come to Anderson. Both the Anderson HERALD and DEMOCRAT were published on Fridays. Kinnard when he learned of the "Leonainie" story in the DISPATCH of August 2d then wrote the following for his newspaper, The HERALD: "We expect a rhapsody of jealous censure from the jingling editor of the sheet across the way, and shall wait with the first anxiety ever experienced for the appearance of the DEMOCRAT. We look for an exhausting and damning criticism from Riley, who will doubtless fail to see "Leonainie's" apocryphal merit, and discover its obvious faults. As it is, we were led to believe "Leonainie," to quote from Riley, is a "superior quality of the poetical fungus, which springs from the decay of better thoughts." No doubt our young friend Riley will belittle this poem and say it is not the work of Poe. But it is Poe, and Poe's best manner." At the last minute, Riley decided to publish his review of the poem and stopped the press, already printing that week's issue, to make room for his review. This did not endear Riley to the press foreman. The review reads as follows: THE POET POE IN KOKOMO An alleged important literary discovery was announced by The Kokomo DISPATCH in its issue of last week, in which the following extract from a lush and juicy article occurs: (Riley repeated the full Kokomo DISPATCH article and poem, "Leonainie.") We frankly admit that upon first reading the article, we inwardly resolved not to be startled; in fact we resolved to ignore it entirely; but a sense of justice due - if not to Poe, to the poem - has induced us to let slip a few remarks. We have given the matter not a little thought; and in what we shall have to say regarding it, we will say with purpose far superior to prejudicial motives, and with the earnest effort of beating through the gloom a path-way to the light of truth. Passing the many assailable points of the story regarding the birth and late discovery of the poem, we will briefly consider first - IS POE THE AUTHOR OF IT? That a poem contains some literary excellence is not assurance that its author is a genius known to fame, for how many waifs of richest worth are now afloat upon the literary sea whose authors are unknown and whose nameless names have never marked the graves that hid their value from the world; and in the present instance we have no right to say, -"This is Poe's work - for who but Poe could mould a name like LEONAINIE?" and all that sort of flighty flummery. Let us look deeper down, and pierce below the glare and gurgle of the surface, and analyze it at its real worth. Now we are ready to consider, - IS THE THEME of the poem one that Poe would have been likely to select? We think not; for we have good authority showing that Poe had a positive aversion to children, and especially to babies. And then again, the thought embodied in the very opening line is not new - or at least the poet has before expressed it when he speaks of that "rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore," and a careful analysis of the remainder of the stanza fails to discover a single quality above mere change of form or transposition. The second verse will be a more difficult matter to contest; for we find in it throughout not only Poe's peculiar bent of thought, but new features of that weird facility of attractively combing with the delicate and beautiful, the dread and repulsive - a power most rarely manifest, and quite beyond the bounds of IMITATION. In fact, the only flaw we find at which to pick, is the strange omission of capitals beginning the personified words "joy" and "doom." This, however, may be an error of the compositor's, but not probably. The third stanza drops again. True, it gives us some new thoughts, but of very secondary worth compared with the foregoing, and is such commonplace diction the Poe- characteristic is almost entirely lost. The first line in the concluding stanza, although embodying a highly poetical idea, is not at all like Poe; but rather so UNLIKE, and for such weighty reasons we are almost assured that the thought could not have emanated with him. It is a fact less known than remarkable that Poe avoided the name of the Deity. Although he never tires of angels and the heavenly cherubim, the word God seems strangely ostracized. That this is true, one has but to search his poems; and we feel we are safe in the assertion that in all he has ever written the word God is not mentioned twenty times. In further evidence of this peculiar aversion of the poet's, we quote his utterance, - "`Oh, Heaven! oh, God! How my heart beats in coupling those two words." The remainder of the concluding verse is mediocre till the few lines that compete it - and there again the Poe- element is strongly marked. To sum up the poem as a whole we are at some loss. It most certainly contains rare attributes of grace and beauty; and although we have not the temerity to accuse the gifted Poe of its authority, for equal strength of reason we cannot deny that it is his production; but as for the enthusiastic editor of the DISPATCH, we are not included, as yet, to the belief that he is wholly impervious to the wiles of a deception. J.W. Riley
Paul Henderson, the author and compositor of this series of letters, newspaper articles and background of notes, calls this review by Riley "a masterpiece of subtle chicanery. Setting the scene with his sly reference to the poem's merit: "...a sense of justice due - if not to Poe - to the poem," Riley had the impudence to refer to his own pet theory: "...that a poem contains some literary excellence is not assurance that its author is a genius known to fame!"" Riley then analyzes the poem revealing his own great knowledge of Poe's style as well as acclaiming his own poem as one "of grace and beauty." The next day, Riley wrote Henderson: Anderson, Aug. 11 `77 Dear Henderson: "I wrote you yesterday that I would not publish my review this week, but receiving a letter from a literary friend in Indianapolis, enclosing "Leonainie," I stopped the press in time to insert my article for benefit of more notable exchanges at least. I think it was best, for my criticism will do everything to throw them from the agent. And now do you think it will be a good idea for me to write you a "put up" letter, praising the poem and expressing a belief in its genuineness? Write me at once - or come over. Id' come to you - but can't possibly leave work out before me. Yours in the bonds -J.W. Riley "Will send Richmond papers as soon as they appear." Henderson then wrote Riley a letter on the next Monday afternoon: THE DISPATCH Dear Riley: Kokomo, Ind., Aug. 13, 1877. Your two letters Saturday received. I would like to visit you ever so well but can't get away for two weeks at least. My brother and partner has gone to Baltimore, Md., and per consequence I am tied at home. Have you seen notice in N.Y. WORLD, TRIBUNE, POST; Chicago TRIBUNE, INTER-OCEAN, Cincinnati papers, COURIER JOURNAL? I am saving all notices and will publish them this or next week. Your notice in DEMOCRAT is capital; so is HERALD'S, but it sounds like you all over. Our plot is developing rapidly. The ball is now fairly in motion and will not stop until it reaches every State in the Union. No article was ever published in a "country" paper in the State that has had such a run as this has and will have. The end is not yet. I am anxious to see The ATLANTIC, SCRIBNER'S MONTH, etc. They are the critics. Send me all extracts you find. Get WORLD'S if possible. We do not get the paper here. Would be happy to receive a visit from you if only for one night. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson It should be noted that the two had not yet figured out how they would release the secret of the hoax. It should also be noted that we know Riley was at the point of physical collapse at this point in his life. He was both writing and editorializing at his regular work for The DEMOCRAT and trying to cope with the strain of his hoax. On Wednesday morning, the Editor of The DEMOCRAT, Croan, sensing Riley's near breakdown, suggested that Riley go to Kokomo to work out a definite plan. He could take the Panhandle railroad connection at 1:20 P.M. and get to Kokomo a couple of hours before Henderson's newspaper went to press. A problem was the manuscript on the fly-leaf of an old book. Croan suggested he take a book with him to Kokomo and selected out of a small book-case beside his desk an Ainsworth's Latin Dictionary with a blank fly-leaf. Croan also knew of a facsimile of Poe's handwriting from a back issue of Scribner's Magazine. Croan went to see a friend he knew who kept back issues of Scribner's and found the facsimile poem in the September 1875 issue by tracing through the annual index of the previous December. The poem was "Alone" and was said to have been written when Poe left West Point in 1829 - at about the time Riley would have been about twenty. Riley needed a forger and knew where to find one in an artistic friend of his. Riley went to see his friend Sam Richards at his boarding house but Sam had gone to Indianapolis and wasn't due back until late that night. Riley left a note with the boarding house owner to be given to Richards the minute he returned to Anderson and then went to see his Graphics friend, Will Ethel. Riley didn't want to buy the "pale ink of a bluish tinge" himself and needed a friend to buy it for Sam to use on his forgery which Ethel did. The next morning, Sam Richards came to The DEMOCRAT office. Riley gave him the book with the fly-leaf, his own copy of "Leonainie" and the bottle of ink from Will Ethel. He also gave him the facsimile poem of Poe's as a model. Riley said he had to have the poem on the flyleaf by 1:20 to take to Kokomo. Initially, Richards tried to do the job at The DEMOCRAT office but Riley hovered over him so he couldn't do it and said he was going to take it back to his own room to work on. Riley agreed but said he was coming up to see how he was doing in an hour. When Riley went, Richards said he was still practicing on Poe's handwriting and wasn't going to do it without "perfection." Meanwhile Riley was pacing around because he had to make a train to Kokomo with the forgery at 1:20. After Riley left, Richards went back to work. He showed up at Riley's office at The DEMOCRAT to say he had not been able to get more than the first verse done on the fly-leaf. Although Riley was taken aback and very disappointed, a coincidence happened. A compositor of Henderson's own newspaper, the DISPATCH, happened to be visiting Riley's newspaper to talk to a friend who was a pressman there. The man, Will Siddell, had come to Anderson to see his sick mother and decided to stop in for a visit. When Riley learned of this he decided not to go to Kokomo until the next day but instead to have this Will Siddell tell Henderson about the forgery. Will Siddell took notes that would permit Henderson to write up the forgery document for his next issue. Riley told him about the Ainsworth's Latin Dictionary, the pale, blueish ink on both sides of a single sheet, or fly-leaf, taken from the back of the book, writing remarkably clear, can be read as easily as print, though dimmed by time and exposure. Riley told Siddell to make sure Henderson knew he himself would be over with the forged document on the next day's train. On the next morning, Thursday, August 16th, Henderson got a letter from a Boston publisher and sent Riley a letter about it. Henderson's letter was hasty because he wanted Riley to have it that day. This meant he had to post it on the 9:35 "Panhandle" train to Anderson for Riley to get it at about 1:00 P.M. when the train would arrive at Anderson. Henderson knew something must be done. Disastrous exposure of the hoax would surely follow if no manuscript was in his hands. THE DISPATCH J.W. Riley Kokomo, Ind., Aug. 16, 1877 I have just received a letter from WM. F. GILL & CO., Publishers, at Boston, requesting me to forward original MSS, of our Poe's poem. Mr. Gill has just written and published a "Life of Poe" and writes that he has the MSS. of his "Bells." He says he can identify his MSS beyond cavil and such identification would be of value to me. I send you his letter and notice of his book which please return to me at once. What shall I write him! Where is original MSS? Notices still come in - latterly from the South, Baltimore, etc. Send me all your clippings. I will need them by Friday or Saturday to publish in next week's DISPATCH - outside. I would like to see you but can't leave office until my brother returns. "Nothing succeeds like success," and this is a success. Watch "Monthlies" closely. Write. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson. Henderson then had his office boy take the letter to the train for dispatch to Anderson. Later that day, Will Siddell arrived from Anderson with Riley's message that he would be over the next day with the forged poem and its description. Based on Siddell's notes, Henderson edited in the description to a previously written article for his newspaper as follows: "The furor over our discovery of Poe's remarkable and hitherto unpublished poem - the sweet and beautiful "Leonainie," is just not in its insipiency. The poem is traveling like wild-fire all over the country, and the ablest critics in the land have leveled their lenses upon it. If we have been the victim of a deception, we are as willing as anybody to know it. We believe in the paternity of the poem and can await with complacency the verdict of the reading public. The original MS., together with the book from which the leaves were torn, are now in our possession. The book is one of an old edition of "Ainsworth's Dictionary," considerably time-worn. The poem is written in pale ink of blueish tinge on the fly-leaf taken from the back of the book. The chirography is remarkably clear and can be read as easily as print. Of course it is somewhat dimmed by time and exposure. It is written on both sides of a single leaf. The MS will be sent East to critics for examination and judgment. The poem is indeed remarkable, and its accidental discovery is a valuable contribution to American literature." Henderson slipped up here by saying he had the MS. "now" since in the original announcement he stated he took the MS into his possession which would have been two weeks previous. Another article in the same DISPATCH newspaper edition was an "out and out" lie. Referring to the Friday previous, Henderson wrote the enclosed article for publication: J. W. Riley, the Hoosier poet, was in the city last Friday, and of course called at the DISPATCH office. He is a bright, sparkling conversationalist, and a more excellent elocutionist. Riley writes rhymes as easily as he writes prose. He is probably the ablest poet in Indiana. He is considerably "shook up" over our Poe's poem discovery. While he shakes his head in seeming doubt, it is evident that he believes "Leonainie" to be worthy of Poe. While here he examined the original MS., and a perplexed expression o the countenance told he was considerably worried over it, if not entirely "at sea". Later that same Thursday, Richards brought Riley the completed forgery of the poem on the fly-leaf. It was a beautiful piece of work identical with the facsimile of Poe's writing from Scribner's. Riley showed the forgery to Croan and both agreed that Riley could spend Friday night in Kokomo, perhaps with Charley Philips, the Editor of the rival newspaper to the DISPATCH. Then Riley said he would go down to Greenfield to spend the weekend with his family. The next afternoon, Friday, Riley got on the 1:20 "Panhandle" train to Kokomo carrying the old Dictionary wrapped in brown paper with "Leonainie" on its fly-leaf. Once in Kokomo, Riley took a round-about path to the DISPATCH office which was on the second floor of the Kokomo "opera house" block on Railroad Street at the North-West corner of Court House Square, facing the Square. He did this to avoid being seen by his good friend, Charles Philips, whose Kokomo TRIBUNE office was also on Railroad Street. When Riley arrived at the office, he met Henderson for the first time. The session was a "great time" with both laughing gleefully and with great chuckles at how everyone was deceived. Later the two however began to argue about how to bring closure to the hoax. Riley proposed that Charles Philips of the Kokomo TRIBUNE, Henderson's great rival, be contacted and that the hoax be revealed through that newspaper. Henderson exploded. He did not like the plan and told Riley that he was the one who would have to live in the town after the hoax was over. The two agreed to think of another plan. Henderson asked Riley to spend the night since there was no train back to Anderson that night, but Riley declined. He was going to see his friend Charles Philips and anticipated spending the night there as he had on many occasions. When Riley looked up Charles Philips at the TRIBUNE office, Charley asked him what he was doing in Kokomo. Riley said he came to see the "Leonainie" MS. Riley told Charley that he saw it and Henderson kept it in his office safe. Riley further said the poem certainly sounded good enough for Poe. Then Riley spent the night at Charles Philips home. While staying in Kokomo, Riley wrote his Anderson girlfriend, Kit Myers, saying: Dear Kit: Kokomo, Ind. August 18, 1877 I write to tell you how happy I am, and yet how miserable; happy that I find my pet schemes here in such lovely working order, and miserable that I can't tell you about them verbally - never mind - I'll have whole cantos to tell you when we meet again, and soon. I have only time now to write you these few words, for I'm to take a jaunt this morning thro' Ko-ko-mo, the new way of saying it - behind the laziest horse the market affords. The eds. of both papers are making a lion of me, which you, knowing my weakness, will accept as the best of reasons for my present blissful condition and brevity of letter talks. Write to me at once, won't you, at Greenfield, for I will be there Monday at the fartherest. Love to all my friends, and for yourself, the warmest love of `Mr. Riley' From that day's Kokomo TRIBUNE, Charles Philips had written the following personal: J.W. Riley, of the Anderson DEMOCRAT, the author of the strange and fantastical poem, "Craquedoom," published in these columns several weeks ago, is in the city, and gave us a pleasant call last evening. Riley is becoming well-known throughout the country for his original compositions and he has a bright future before him. Riley left for Greenfield on late Saturday afternoon. He was so close to complete physical exhaustion that his short holiday extend to nearly two weeks in Greenfield. The next Monday, August 20th, was a critical day in the life of the "hoax." Metcalf, Kinnard's partner at the Anderson HERALD had learned that Riley wrote "Leonainie" from a person he called a "young man" and came into the HERALD office to see Kinnard. He was determined that they should expose the hoax. Kinnard was forced to tell Metcalf that he knew of the hoax and could not reveal it in their newspaper. Despite every argument, Kinnard refused to budge. The news spread around Anderson, however, that Riley was the author of "Leonainie." When Riley's Editor, Croan, heard the rumors he wrote Riley that he needed to get back to Anderson, but this day Riley had decided to go to Indianapolis to visit his friend, George Harding, Editor of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD. During the visit, Riley told Harding of seeing the "poe" manuscript. Riley was trying to build up discussion of the "manuscript." This visit did result in a the following notice in The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD: The HERALD was favored on Monday last with a call from one of Indiana's favorite poets - Mr. J.W. Riley, of the Anderson DEMOCRAT. Mr. Riley had just returned from a trip to Kokomo, where he had gone for the purpose of investigating the authenticity of the alleged Poe poem, discovered by the editor of the Kokomo DISPATCH. Mr. Riley reports favorably to the honesty of the claim put forward by the editor of the DISPATCH. Whatever may be the facts, he firmly believes in the authenticity of the poem and guards it with jealous care. The book, on the fly leaves of which the poem is written, is kept under double lock and key, and it was only by tearful pleading that Mr. Riley was permitted a sight of it. The discoverer stood uneasily by while Riley studied the faded manuscript, and heaved a great sigh of relief when the precious volume was once more locked up in the safe." On Tuesday, Metcalf still could not convince his partner that the Anderson HERALD should expose the hoax and so he wrote the full details of the hoax to Charles Philips of the Kokomo TRIBUNE. Apparently he decided that if his newspaper couldn't benefit by exposure of the hoax, he would give the benefit of it to another newspaper, the Kokomo TRIBUNE. Also Metcalf did not tell his partner Croan that he had written the letter. At this point it should be mentioned that the poem "Leonainie" had traveled from coast to coast and particularly in the press of the East. Once the publicity about the poem had reached the East, it was re-published from the great Eastern newspapers of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Baltimore to those newspapers that fed on their exchanges. Between August 2d and August 25th, 1877, the Kokomo DISPATCH story with the "Leonainie" poem in it was reprinted in at least thirty-five cities in seventeen of the nation's then thirty-eight states exclusively of Indiana. Literally, from Boston to Portland, Oregon, from New York to San Francisco, from Philadelphia to Richmond and Savannah, from Chicago to Nashville, the poem "Leonainie" was printed. Not one of the newspapers in any of these places accompanied the article with editorial comment. Most tellingly however was the fact that not one of the newspapers also believed that Edgar Allan Poe had actually written "Leonainie." Not one was fooled. From the New York EVENING POST of August 7th, '...a poetic sin has been laid at (Poe's) door..." From the Philadelphia COMMONWEALTH of August 8th, "...The gin mills of Maryland and the Old Dominion never turned out liquor bad enough to debase the genius of Poe to the level of these wretched verses..." From the New York WORLD of August 8th came the suggestion that a renegade of young men in a boisterous literary club called "The Perforators" were probably behind the hoax. From the Baltimore AMERICAN of August 9th, "...The unfortunate poet (Poe) was no doubt guilty of many indiscretions, but it is hard to suppose that in his most eccentric mood he could ever have penned such wretched doggerel as that which is now attempted to be fastened on him under the name of "Leonainie..." From the Brooklyn DAILY EAGLE of August 9th, "The composition is wild enough to have been written under the influence of Egyptian or Terre Haute whiskey, and possesses, therefore, what an eminent journalist of this city defines as a local flavor..." From the Philadelphia PRESS of August 9th, "...If Poe wrote it, he probably intended to call it `La Inane.'" From the Nashville DAILY AMERICAN of August 10th, "(Poe) will surely pay his respects to the scalp of the Indiana man who brought it out." From the Richmond ENQUIRER of August 10th, "It is fair to presume that the discoverer of `Poe's Unpublished Poem' wishes that he had kept his secret..." From the New York DAILY GRAPHIC of August 15th, "Set your nonsense to music and announce that it is copied from Edgar A. Poe's lost memorandum book, and it will travel from the South Pole to Symme's Hole and excite the wildest enthusiasm." From the Denver ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS of August 16th,"... Now we can easily imagine the ebon darkness of the maiden's hair, but the `bloomy moonshine' of her eyes is what troubles us. Were they white eyes, shining in the night?" From the Detroit FREE PRESS of August 16th, "...`Bloomy moonshine.' One sees that kind best while hanging on to the lamp post." From the Oakland DAILY TRANSCRIPT of August 19th comes the thought that "Leonainie" should have been signed "Pooh!' instead of with the initials E.A.P. Nevertheless, in almost every account there is the statement of the hoax that the poem "fooled even William Cullen Bryant." This singular misstatement comes from the fact that Bryant, even though in his eighty-third year at the time, still wrote regular reviews and probably wrote the one for the New York EVENING POST.
The "grand expose" appeared on Saturday morning. It was written in the Kokomo TRIBUNE, the rival newspaper of Henderson's DISPATCH. The article was written by the doughty owner and fire-eating senior editor of the TRIBUNE, Theophilus C. Philips, who had been anxious for some time to "take down" Henderson, who he called the fresh "collegiate boy editor." On page four of the August 25th TRIBUNE appeared the following headline: LEONAINIE --- EXPOSE OF A CONTEMP- TIBLE FRAUD. --- A RISING YOUNG MAN IN A SMALL BUSINESS. --- A KOKOMO NEWSPAPER, SEEK- ING FAME, SUCCEEDS IN COV- ERING ITSELF WITH INFAMY. --- THE MOST ASTOUNDING LYING ON RECORD. The columns of this paper are witnesses that we have attributed to young J.W. Riley, of Anderson, or rather of Hancock County, talent beyond one of his age and experience. We regret sincerely to expose him in a piece of fraud that will let him down many notches in the estimation of his former friends. A few weeks ago, after writing and re-writing the poem, `Leonainie,' imitating the style of Poe, he conceived the idea that if he could get it out upon the world as Poe's production and afterwards establish himself as the author, he would make a world-wide fame at one jump. But the effort to reach fame by such a deception shows that his talent is more than ever balanced by his lack of moral perception and mother wit. Having concocted his plans, he looked about for an obscure paper in which to bring out the poem, for the more obscure the paper the less likely that the fraud would be suspected. Mr. Riley found in The DISPATCH, of this city, a willing tool, a paper anxious for fame and unable to reach it by climbing in the regular way. It was a bold attempt. If it succeeded all would be well, and they, the young man, author and editors, in the exuberancy of their youth, never dreamed but that the deception would take like wild-fire. As the verdant young man who picks up a pair of boots in a store and takes them away without paying for them, only to be caught and sent to jail, these youths attempted a bold trick, but one as gauzy as bobinet. But to come to the story: Mr. Riley put "Leonainie" into the hands of The DISPATCH. On August 2d, inst., they published it under head-lines and the positive statements, that they believed it written by Poe. They pledged their honor to the truth of all they said in regard to it. After it was out, under the direction of Mr. Riley, copies of The DISPATCH were sent to all the leading newspapers, magazines, and authors of the country. The answer that was returned just about crushed Mr. Riley. The DISPATCH did not seem aware of its misery, but actually paraded the criticisms in its columns, changing some of them that pronounced positively against the fraud, so as to make them read like quasi endorsements. Those who saw the criticisms must have noticed that everybody who had intelligence and discernment recognized the fraud, while a few inexperienced persons, who probably never read Poe, waxed enthusiastic over the poem. Mr. Riley himself wrote a criticism in which he admitted some of the lines were, indeed, Poeish. But the worst of the story is yet to come. One of the eastern publishers to whom the paper, containing the poem was addressed, wrote the editors of The DISPATCH to send them the original manuscript, saying they were familiar with the lamented poet's chirography, etc., and they offered to pay all expenses, and to faithfully return the same to Kokomo. Here was a dilemma. The DISPATCH folks decided at once what they would do. They sent a letter to Anderson with a request. There, a very old copy of Ainsworth's dictionary was procured and an expert penman placed the poem on the fly- leaf in writing as near like Poe's as possible, a recent number of Scribner's Monthly containing a facsimile of the poet's chirography. Mr. Riley carried that book to this city, himself, on Friday of last week for the purpose of having it forwarded east. Much might have been written about this attempt at a swindle but we have only sorrow and pity for all concerned and are willing to let the matter rest. Every honorable person will be astonished that such a trick should have been attempted. Had Mr. Riley published the poem as his own it would have given him additional credit, for it is really good for a young man just beginning a literary course. Hereafter, whatever he writes, no matter how good, will go out at a discount, and no poem bearing his name will be incontrovertible with pure literary currency. Had the DISPATCH published `Leonainie' without the flourish of so many trumpets, it might have crawled out of its present position by announcing the poem as quiet joke. But it has placed it in one scale and its honor, reputation, classical knowledge and truthfulness in the other. `Great literary treasure,' for the present, farewell. We know exactly what The DISPATCH and Mr. Riley will say; we know the testimony they will adduce. When they are through, we shall puncture their bubble again. P.S. Since J. Oscar first got the old book from a gentleman in this city, whom he says is `unlearned and illiterate' and had Riley's `Leonainie" place on a fly-leaf, how does it happen that a second old Ainsworth had to be procured at Anderson in order to have a copy sent East? Boys, how do you feel? Have you sent Gill a copy yet? Never mind, this week's TRIBUNE will suit him as well. J.W. Riley hit the nail on the head when he selected The DISPATCH as a paper willing to pledge its brains and honor to a falsehood and swindle, but we are surprised that he didn't know there was another paper here smart enough to gather in every point of the attempted fraud. Poor boys, we really feel sorry for them. Also in this issue of The TRIBUNE was another bite: "`Leonainie,' poor girl, has already fallen into the arms of doom...`Leonainie' has evaporated into `bloomy moonshine.'" "...It was with tears in his eyes that J.W. Riley told us he `had come all the way from Anderson to see that manuscript of Poe's(?) poem, but he was afraid J. Oscar wouldn't let him look at it." " ...`The angels framed `Leonainie' in a smile white, but the boys lay her out on the fly-leaves of two old dictionaries" "...For silly, lying, verdant deception, and gauzy smartness, the `Leonainie' fraud beats anything we ever saw..." "The comments on `Leonainie,' which The DISPATCH editors published this week are a total `give-away' for that paper, one of the extracts have been garbled and remodled until the editors have manufactured indorsements out of burlesque paragraphs." This is the article which the Editor of the DISPATCH, Henderson, saw as he read the Saturday morning rival newspaper. He wasted little time and went down to the Court House Square and then over to the rival newspaper to Talk to Charley Philips. Philips greeted him derisively and Henderson acknowledged that the joke on him. He confirmed the truth of the statements in The TRIBUNE and then said it was fun while it lasted. Philips did tell Henderson that a letter from Anderson two or three days before gave him the details of the hoax. Henderson tried to find out who wrote the letter but Philips would only say the writer was "young man" who was a most intimate friend of Riley. Henderson wrote Riley upon his return to the newspaper office. Aug. 25, `77 ------------ "Saturday, 10 A.M. Dear Riley: The Tribune of this city, this morning, published the enclosed Expose of `Leonainie.' They tell me that they never `tumbled' until they received a letter from a gentleman at Anderson the other day `exposing' the poem. They say the `exposer' is a young man - a most intimate friend of yours. It is Mr. K., I presume. You see they seem to think they have earned a place in glory for their `expose.' What shall we do? Of course, we must explain the matter next Thursday - but how? In order to scoop The TRIBUNE again, would it not be well to acknowledge the poem, plea manly and turn the joke on them? In this wise: Say that J.W. Riley is the father of the poem; that he selected The DISPATCH as the proper medium which he would send his poem to the world; he selected The DISPATCH on account of its high merit as a weekly paper, its well known literary tastes, and above all, its wide-extended circulation; that we entered into the plot and helped to play the ruse merely as a clever journalistic coup de main, that the poem is worthy of Longfellow, Poe, etc.; praise it and you very highly; say that you had a half dozen men as witnesses, with three more at Anderson, of the genuineness of the poem; that you and I arranged with a friend in Anderson to write to The TRIBUNE under cover of secrecy and `expose' the ruse, knowing that they would do it heartily and with all their soul, hoping thereby to `get even' with The DISPATCH; that thus we made a cat's-paw out of The TRIBUNE and accomplished our end, etc. - and then take a hearty laugh over the ruse, The TRIBUNE'S dilemma, etc. What say you, Riley? Don't you think it a capital idea? You know we must`fess up' next Thursday anyway. Let us turn the laugh. Write me immediately. If you please you may also write or block out reply to TRIBUNE and I will compare with mine. Do this at once and write me. I would like very much to have a poem from you, over your own signature written for The DISPATCH. It would help us to pacify the public mind and extricate ourself from the charge of duplicity, etc. Please write something for The DISPATCH as soon as possible. I feel that much is due the paper, don't you? Our readers would laugh heartily over the little ruse, forgive us for our part, and love you the more when they should read a poem openly by you in The DISPATCH. I would suggest that you write a parody or something after the style of `Leonainie,' poking fun at The TRIBUNE and `exposing' the `Expose' of `Leonainie.' Such a poem would come in capitally. Write me at once. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson Riley received the letter in Greenfield on Monday, August 27, 1877. He remained in Greenfield instead of going back to work in Anderson because he was unable to control his drinking or depression. He did however walk to the Greenfield post office where he found Henderson's letter with The TRIBUNE's expose. He read it after he got back to the Riley home at the Seminary. He also read The Indianapolis JOURNAL editorial of that day stating: The Kokomo TRIBUNE , of Saturday, exposes a fraud on the part of The DISPATCH of that city, and J.W. Riley, the poet of the Anderson DEMOCRAT. Some time ago The DISPATCH claimed to have found in that city, on the fly-leaves of an old book, a poem by Edgar A. Poe, hitherto unknown, which it published under the title `Leonainie.' The TRIBUNE claims that this was written by J.W. Riley for the purpose of enabling him to achieve a little reputation, by claiming the authorship after the prose had pronounced a favorable verdict. But the favorable verdict was not awarded, and now the whole plot, in all of its littleness, is exposed. The facts given by The TRIBUNE are corroborated by private information of the JOURNAL from Anderson. That same day Riley wrote to Henderson, as follows:
Greetings: It's a trifle warm! Greenfield, Aug. 27 - `77 Dear Henderson: Unfortunately your letter of Saturday did not reach me till too late for me to strike to-day's mail - in consequence this may not reach you till too late to be of any service. I will say briefly that I do not like the idea of being compelled to confess the fraud before real critical tests have been applied. It has not gone too far - The TRIBUNE'S expose can be successfully refuted even tho' you have verbally acknowledged its truth. You can claim that their story was manufactured for them by me, and for the purpose of claiming a poem whose excellence I envied - don't you see. Treat the matter with the same complacency that has marked your past course, and express regret that one so full of promise could stoop to such a depth, and all that sorto'stuff. Claim that my visit to Kokomo was to hatch the scheme with the Philips, and that you suspected some trickery of me and treachery from my first appearance in your office. Another thing you can mystify the Philips with but it must be done indirectly. let someone, apparently his friend, tell him that Riley has put up the job on him, for if the Anderson man was my friend why did he give me away - say that it rather looks like he - Philips - had bit at the very thing I wanted. O we can mystify anything they can pit against us! I have a friend here who has written a letter to the SENTINEL, Indianapolis, which will perhaps appear in tomorrow's issue - look for it, and I think you'll find a cue for a better course than yet to confess. When we get ready we'll confess, and I really think we can select our own good time. Yours in the bonds, J.W. Riley Write me in plain envelopes. My course will perhaps be silence dark and deep. ---LATER --- I have just written to have a letter `cooked' at Anderson, which if it reaches its proper destination will bother the public wonderfully, and be particularly unwholesome for Metcalf of the HERALD, and the TRIBUNE. It will be claimed that Metcalf is my tool, and that the story he gives The TRIBUNE is of my own manufacture - for I am satisfied that Metcalf and not Kinnard gave them the story. That I am right I think you will agree when I tell you I had word direct from Anderson last week that Metcalf had threatened to give full expose in HERALD - Well, he didn't - why? - because Kinnard wouldn't have it, and so he sneakingly sends it to The TRIBUNE, and posts them to tell you that they got it of a young man, and my intimate friend in order to make you acknowledge - see? Well, if this ruse works and I'm almost certain it will - it will cripple them too badly to ever smile again. Then we can go on till our own good time. Yours ever, J.W. Riley In the meantime to more confuse the listening public, you hatch up a letter from Kokomo to The Indianapolis JOURNAL in which you shall claim that the whole plot was concocted by The DISPATCH and TRIBUNE jointly for the purpose of notoriety to each, and that it was originally written by Judge Biddle, and never published till several years and years ago in Logansport PHAROS - and that the copy - doctored somewhat-is now in your possession - you being a civilian, and sign bogus name. Do this and we have another barricade from danger.
Here is Jucklet at work big time! Here is a mischievous minstrel piping up great court intrigue. Here is a jester who simply does not wish his jest to cease. There is also in this a great push to drain every ounce of publicity out of the great controversy that Riley can. He wants his `Leonainie' to bring him "fame." He does not seem to care a great deal about the consequences to any of the newspapers with which he is dealing. His manipulations do not reveal a great regard for reality to say the least and one senses Crestillomeem is confusing his perceptions of what reality is. To a half-drunken man, staggering can seem walking a straight line. This day, Riley also wrote a "pseudonymous" letter - which he signed "W," his middle initial - to the Indianapolis SENTINEL which in fact was published the next day: To the Editor of The SENTINEL: Sir - I notice in this morning's Indianapolis JOURNAL a covert attempt to claim for their poet, J.W. Riley, of this place, the authorship of the lately discovered poem of Edgar A. Poe, the beautiful and mysterious `Leonainie' which has for some weeks been bewildering the literary world. The article referred to apparently sides with an article taken from The Kokomo TRIBUNE, savagely jealous of the good future of the rival paper that discovered the poem. Whether it is indeed Poe's I do not undertake to state, but this much I am assured of, that the well laid plan of Riley, The Kokomo TRIBUNE and The JOURNAL is altogether too thin a proposition to go down in the community. Riley may possess some genius for verse making, but he can't mislead with equal grace, and a recent visit of his to Kokomo points directly to his complicity with The TRIBUNE'S story of the poem's paternity. I have not seen the article as originally published, but that it was written by his own hand I am confident, and guarantee that an inspection of it will testify the fact. Greenfield, Ind. Aug. 27. W. Nor was Riley so incapacitated that he did not take Henderson's suggestion that he write a poem parody poking fun at "Leonainie." Riley did not however write only one parody. Instead, he wrote two. Writing verse was absolutely no trick at all to him. He wrote doggerel verse all the time for advertising as well as personal instance. When, for example, he would go to visit someone and the person wasn't there, he would often leave a rhymed note to state his reason for the visit or some other thought. Many evidences of this survive. The first of the doggerel "parodies" he sent not to his fellow conspirator Henderson, but rather to his friend Charles Philips who had just participated in the "expose." If Philips published it, the "spoof" would mean even more publicity for Riley. Then he wrote another for The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD. Riley had not told Henderson he was sending the parody to his rival newspaper so Riley wrote Henderson a second letter with this information. The parody he wrote for The Kokomo TRIBUNE was called "Leoloony": LEOLOONY Leoloony, angels called her, And they took the bloom Of the tickled stars and walled her In the nom de plume, And they made her hair of plaited Midnight, and her eyes of grated Moonshine, and with her inflated Me with solemn gloom.
With a solemn gloom of frenzy For my heart of sin Blossomed up with influenza When they brought her in. Every phase of dissipation I indulged at this donation -- (For I knew of no foundation For a joke so thin.)
Only spake the small pretender, Angel-like and calm, Yet I, listening, heard her render "Mary's Little Lamb;" And she closed the lines by saying I'd no further need of praying, For she knew `twas useless playing Longer such a sham.
Then I grinned, for I was grateful As a jolly Thug. And the loss of one so hateful Overflowed my mug -- Every grain of pain I sifted From the dust of sin was lifted As my Leoloony drifted From me like a bug.
The second parody Riley wrote that day he sent to The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD which published it the following Saturday, September lst: LEONAINIE Leonainie - Riley named her, And he took the glow Of the `laughing stars,' and framed her In the style of Poe; And he chuckled with the notion Of her voyage of commotion O'er the literary ocean With his fame in tow.
He was but a local poet Full of coy deceit, And, tho' many didn't know it, He was `out o' meat;' And this Leonainie fever Struck him as the magic lover To uptip the world and heave her Worship at his feet.
Only spake the rhythmic lisper In a jingly strain, That to critics seemed to whisper - "All pretense is vain. I'm too thin for public diet And I long for calm and quiet Where unnoticed I may lie at Rest from every pain!"
Then we smiled at this conclusion - Pocketed our grief - Thankful Riley's dread delusion Had a life so brief. Every heart but his seemed gifted With a joy the breezes lifted Where his Leonainie drifted Like a withered leaf.
The events of Monday after the expose of the hoax were not over. Up in Anderson, Metcalf ran into Riley's roommate, Jim McClanahan on the street. In the course of the conversation, the hoax was brought up and Metcalf suggested to McClanahan that Kinnard had told The TRIBUNE. McClanahan immediately went to Riley's boss at the Anderson DEMOCRAT, Croan. Croan then wrote Riley at Greenfield with the entire conversation's contents. Meanwhile the evening Indianapolis newspaper carried the following story: The Kokomo TRIBUNE publishes a long expose of the fraud attempted to be played upon the public by The DISPATCH, in publishing `Leonainie' as a new found poem of Edgar A. Poe. It was very thin imitation by a local poet named Riley who can do much better untrammeled by a model. The joke was harmless and foolish enough, but it was complicated by an eastern publisher, who sent for the original. The TRIBUNE avows that Riley then got an old copy of Ainsworth's dictionary and had the lines copies into it, and sent the book east. If he did it, it was an exceedingly foolish act, if nothing worse.
The next morning, Riley found Coran's note of the night before at the Greenfield Post Office. When he had returned home he wrote his girlfriend in Anderson: Dear Kit: Greenfield, Ind., August 28, 1877 I fear one thing has saddened you, and made you anxious on my account. I refer of course to the premature exposure of my Poe imitation. But there is not the slightest fear on that account. I was, I admit, greatly worried when I first heard of the treachery of some pretended friend, but now I am so fortified that I can laugh at the poor weak dupes who sought to injure me. I have been assured that Mr. Kinnard exposed the whole affair, but I do not believe it, and I want you, my dear Kit, to go to him and tell him that I do not doubt him in the least. I like him and my faith in him is perfect as the day I held his hand and said good-bye. I have not been well for many days or would have written a letter for The DEMOCRAT. So you see I have not forgotten my old love. Whew! but I have bitter enemies in Anderson! I once suspected it, but now I know! and won't I make 'em scringe! My ire is like the storm-scourged surf in that light-house poem for I "hold it up and shake it like a fleece!" In my defense I've been forced to take the most peculiar position imaginable, but I shall not fail! And if you should read some very bitter `Leonainie' squibs, just fancy I'm the author of them all, and know what I'm about. I have written a most atrocious parody or two in which I attack myself with a savageness the world will wonder at; but remember, Kit, Out of the darkest sorrow - Out of the deepest night - Into the peaceful morrow Flows the purest light!
All this you must keep strictly secret, and that all will yet go well, rest assured. I will not write you more now, for I do not wish to worry you with never ending "Leonainie" venture. I have too many irons in the fire to think of better things. I shall expect a letter from you tonight, but if disappointed will hope at least that all is well with you. My regards to your good folks; my love to Jess, Mr. Croan and to your brother Will. Devotedly yours, J.W. Riley. That afternoon, Riley wrote his "Card" to the General Public, confessing his part in the hoax and explaining his reasons for concocting it. To the Public:
Having been publicly accused of the authorship of the poem, "Leonainie," and again of the far more grievous error of an attempt to falsely claim it, I deem it proper to acknowledge the justice of the first accusation. Yes, as much as I regret to say it, I am the author,\; but, in justice to the paper that originally produced it, and to myself as well, I desire to say a few words more. The plan of the deception was originally suggested to me by a controversy with friends, in which I was foolish enough to assert that 'no matter the little worth of a poem, if a great author's name was attached, it would be certain of success and popularity,' and to establish the truth of this proposition, I was unfortunate enough to select a ruse, that, although establishing my theory, has been the means of placing me in a false light, as well as those of my friends who were good enough to assist us in the scheme, for when we found our literary bombshell bounding throughout the length and breadth of the Union, we were so bewildered and involved we knew not how to act. Our only intercourse had been by poet, and we could not advise together fairly in that way; in consequence, a fibrous growth of circumstances had chained us in a manner, and a fear of unjust censure combined to hold us silent for so long. To find, at last, a jocular explosion of the fraud, we thoughtlessly employed a means both ill-advised for ourselves and others. And now, trusting the public will only condemn for the folly, and hold me blameless of all dishonorable motives wherein I have feigned ignorance of the real authorship of the poem, etc. etc., I am, Yours Truly Anderson, August 28 J.W. Riley This card was printed in The Indianapolis JOURNAL on August 30th. On the same day the Kokomo DISPATCH published its own reply to the expose. --- LEONAINIE --- A CLEVER RUSE SUCCESSFULLY PLAYED --- J.W. RILEY THE AUTHOR OF THE POEM --- HOW THE KOKOMO TRIBUNE WAS USED AS A TOOL TO FURNISH THE EXPOSE --- WHAT PART THE DISPATCH PLAYED --- "On the 23rd of July, we received a letter from Mr. J.W. Riley - then connected with the Anderson DEMOCRAT, but now residing in Greenfield - in which a proposition was made to furnish The DISPATCH with an original poem a parody on Poe, subject to these conditions: We were to envelope the poem with additional interest by clothing it with a fictitious net-work of own fabrication, in which we should loosely and in the most flimsy manner charge its paternity to Poe. It was also distinctly agreed that in the course of a few weeks, after the poem had had audience with the ablest literary critics in the land, that we would explain the ruse and declare Mr. Riley the real author of the poem. But this was not to be done until some other journal, innocent of the plot, should be duped into making a `thrilling expose' from facts furnished indirectly by Mr. Riley's friends. This, of course, would attract greater attention to Mr. Riley than if we should make the exposure ourselves. Owing to its morbid and inordinate jealously of The DISPATCH, The Kokomo TRIBUNE was selected as the paper to be used as the tool to further Mr. Riley's and our purpose. A friend in Anderson was posted and the job was handsomely set up. The friend, a pretended enemy of Mr. R., disclosed the `terrible secret' to The TRIBUNE under the strictest bond of secrecy. That paper was not to `give its informant away,' etc., d'ye see? But to return to our part of the play: Everything was in readiness and The DISPATCH of August 2nd, published the poem. We then lay quiet and laughed in our sleeves at the comments of the press - and The TRIBUNE'S silence. That paper was thunderstruck, and for two weeks never opened its mouth. It believed the story and was just dying with jealousy, envy and pique. In the meanwhile, the poem was traveling over the country from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Eminent critics had written us concerning it. Last week we published nearly three columns of comments. The opportune moment had arrived, and the `Expose' trap was sprung. The TRIBUNE greedily jumped at it like a bull-frog at a red flannel bait. The plot has worked admirably. All The DISPATCH wished for has been done. We have only to say, that in behalf of Mr. R., we heartily thank The TRIBUNE for its valuable, yet unwittingly rendered aid in the ruse. We have been on the inside all the time while The TRIBUNE has been in the dark on the outside. Its jealousy has for once served a useful purpose, and we can readily forgive it for past displays of this hateful passion. Really we feel like embracing The TRIBUNE for its stupidity in this matter, for we were apprehensive that it would certainly `tumble' to it, but it didn't. Mr. Riley is so grateful that he has written and forwarded to The TRIBUNE a parody of `Leonainie,' which that paper will probably publish this week - if it doesn't get too mad when it sees what a booby it has been. The TRIBUNE really deserves a sugar tit, and we are glad Mr. Riley has been so grateful as to forward one in the shape of a parody. It has richly earned two parodies for its assistance in this matter. The TRIBUNE will never forget `Leonainie.' We are sure our readers will forgive us for the part we played in this ruse. Our object was two-fold, both of which have been accomplished: First, to perpetrate a quiet, pleasant joke - which we would afterward explain; secondly, to give Mr. Riley's genius as a poet a fair, full and impartial test before the ablest critics in the land, uninfluenced by local prejudice or sectional bias. The only fiction about the transaction was the Poe story. The poem possesses a vast deal of merit and would do no violence to the reputation of our more pretentious bards of today. Although it has been pretty roughly criticized in certain quarters, it has been praised as a work of genius in others. No poem ever passed through a more relentless gauntlet of criticism than this. No one has ever had a more general reception by the press of the United States. Mr. Riley is a young poet of great promise, and will, we predict, yet make his mark as one of the sweetest singers of his age. Riley wrote back on August 31st to Henderson in part, "I have just rec'd your letter of today, and am glad at heart.'..." Kinnard of The Anderson HERALD wrote on August 31st: "Upon our first page we present The TRIBUNE'S exposure of the poetical fraud `Leonainie.' We are sorry that Mr. Riley should have proven himself so mendacious, and sorrier still that he is the author of the poem. We might have forgiven him his want of veracity, but it is hard to condone `Leonainie.' The Kokomo DISPATCH, however, has sacrificed every claim to truth, and hereafter every statement it may make, no matter how trivial or commonplace, must be taken with a wide margin left for falsehood. The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD'S loyal editor, Rev. George Harding, reprinted Riley's card of confession of the hoax in its September lst issue and added: "J.W. Riley, in a note to the JOURNAL, admits the authorship of the `Leonainie' poem, but disclaims any dishonorable intention. He only wanted to see if a poem of no merit could be floated into popularity by attaching a distinguished name to it. The rage of the fools who swallowed the bait is comical." When Riley felt well enough, on September lst, to return to Anderson, he was told by Todiman, the co-proprietor of The Anderson DEMOCRAT that "his services were no longer required." Riley later described this by saying "The paper on which I gained my meagre living excused me." Two weeks later The Kokomo DISPATCH had the announcement of a rosy little girl born weighing ten pounds who was named Leonainie Titus. She died about a year later, and Riley memorialized her death with another "Leonainie" poem "To Leonainie," which was published in The Kokomo TRIBUNE of February 1, 1879. TO LEONAINIE (1879) In memory of Leonainie, infant daughter of W.B. and Lotta Titus, these line are tenderly inscribed.
"LEONAINIE!" angels missed her - Baby angels - they Who behind the stars had kissed her E'er she came away; And their little, wandering faces Drooped o'er Heaven's hiding-places Whiter than the lily-vases On the Sabbath day.
"Leonainie!" crying, crying, Crying through the night, Till her lisping lips replying, Laughing with delight, Drew us nearer yet, and nearer That we might the better hear her Baby-words, and love her dearer Hearing not aright.
Only spake the little lisper In the Angel-tongue, Fainter than a fairy-whisper Murmured in among Dewy blossoms covered over With the fragrant tufts of clover, Where the minstrel honey-rover Twanged his wings and sung.
"Leonainie!" - And the glimmer Of her starry eyes Faded and the world grew dimmer E'en as Paradise Blossomed with a glory brighter Than the waning stars, and whiter Than the dying moon, and lighter Than the morning skies.
After the "Leonainie" hoax received continuing great comment throughout the United States, many other "Poe" poems were found. One, allegedly found etched on a barn door, read: MARIENNEY
Mary Ann her parents named her, But SHE wrote it Marienney; And though angels have not claimed her She's as fair as any. For her eyes are dark and gloomy, And her nose is sort o' bloomy, And her mouth is rather roomy, -- And have angels whispered to me, Marienney? No, not any etc. E.A.P.
The New York comic magazine "Puck" in its September 12, 1877 issue reported the arrest of "The young lady without an abdomen" who was arrested on the Bowery under the poetic name of "Melusine," for fraud carrying a Poe forgery of a poem of her name signed E.A.P. The poem reads in part, "Melusine, so they named her\ Stomachless, but beauteous bright!\ In a looking-glass they framed her\ To deceive the people's sight.\ But the angels wouldn't stand it,\ `Move on, Mellie!" they commanded,\ Melusine's biz was stranded,\ And she vanished ere the night. etc. "Leonainie" was set to music in March 14, 1879 by Will H. Ponthius of Cincinnati. The Ainsworth's Latin Dictionary containing the Poe forgery was sold for twenty-five dollars to a New York book dealer, Charles B. Foote. Following Foote's death, a Cleveland, Ohio collector of Riley, Paul Lemperly, bought the forgery. Following his death in 1939, Scribner's Sons purchased it. Riley eventually included "Leonainie" in his volume of poems entitled "Armazindy," published October 7, 1894. The Indianapolis SENTINEL in reviewing the book repeated the details of the hoax, commenting that "It was extensively copied, and so clever was the imitation that American and English reviewers, and even an eminent authority like Edmund Clarence Stedman pronounced it genuine; and when the name of the real author was disclosed, Mr. Stedman still maintained that the poem was unquestionably written by Poe." For many years, "Leonainie" reappeared in various places in the world as a "previously unpublished" poem of Poe's such as in the The New York CRITIC of April 8, 1886. On June 5, 1886, an article printed in the Paris, France newspaper THE AMERICAN REGISTER recounted "Leonainie" was widely known in Italy as a poem of Poe's. The London FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW of February, 1904 brought it forth as a new poem of Poe's, etc. etc. There is an element of the "Leonainie" hoax that might easily be overlooked if we did not examine it here. Riley was perpetrating the hoax within a tradition Riley enjoyed immensely. Riley enjoyed the poetry of the "master hoaxer" Thomas Chatterton. There was once this angry, suicidal young man, fatherless early in life, originally thought an idiot from birth, named Thomas Chatterton. Actually, Thomas Chatterton was a creative and literary genius in Riley's view. Born in Bristol on November 20, 1752, Chatterton's father, a teacher, died shortly after his son's birth. The mother took in sewing and ran a "home school" to support herself and child. Chatterton refused to play with other children nor communicate. His first school expelled him for being a dullard. Chatterton then chose to lock himself often in the attic of the family home where he found ancient paper which his father had brought home as waste paper. The paper had been old music folios the father had come across while a sub-chanter at the Church of St. Mary Redcliff in Bristol. The father brought the old papers home with him for his wife to use as sewing-patterns, or for himself as bookbindings. Chatterton made use of these old papers in quite a different way. Chatterton became a forger. With reading materials limited to a huge family Bible, a bad printing of Chaucer, and borrowed "faulty" dictionaries and glossaries, Chatterton produced literary pieces he proposed as the works of a 15th Century monk named Thomas Rowley (Rowleie). They were Chatterton's own poems, of course, written on dad's purloined sheets of music folios. We remember that Chatterton was only in his early teenaged years and not considered very bright so when he started selling these works of the Middle English monk, Thomas Rowley, they were considered a great "find." Chatterton was desperate for funds. He was unhappily apprenticed to an attorney when all else failed him. This position drove him even more suicidal and he began drawing and writing poetry in the lawyer's office until the attorney found a suicide note dated for the next day unless the attorney released him from his apprenticeship. He did. Chatterton left for London where he hoped to make his mark as a poet. Hunger and poverty awaited him in London and he died by poisoning himself with arsenic at the age of seventeen. Two of those most influenced by this strangely possessed boy were William Wordsworth, an English poet who extolled him in poetry as "The marvellous boy,\ The sleepless soul that perished in his pride" and James Whitcomb Riley, the American poet. Chatterton's poetry and particularly his faked "Rowley poems" in fact had great literary merit as Riley recognized. Even though the poems were certainly not medieval manuscripts, they are very richly decorative pieces filled with mystery and "gut" emotion. Modern critics call Chatterton the first "Romantic" poet. Not just Riley and Wordsworth, but also Keats and Byron acknowledged indebtedness to his poetry. Riley took from Chatterton's works a love of their richness of imagery and great technical dexterity. We must not forget Chatterton as an influence on Riley's "The Flying Islands of the Night," written the year after "Leonainie." Chatterton's "AElla" is similarly written in play form. It concerns a pre-Norman conquest warrior named AElla whose wooing of his beloved Birtha is interrupted by a Danish invasion of England. Believing Birtha is taken into the arms of another man, AElla commits suicide ("stabbeth hys breste") with his sword. Just before his death, a noble Danish warrior, Hurra, who respects AElla's honor brings Birtha to him. She chooses to die with AElla saying, "Oh! ys (is) mie (my) AElla dedde?\ O! I will make hys (his) grave mie (my) vyrgyn (virgin) spousal bedde." Riley's subject matter in "The Flying Islands of the Night" goes in quite another direction. Both "plays" are impossible to produce and set in the strange Chaucerian style. And so ends our journey through the "Leonainie" hoax through correspondence, references, clippings and recollections.
We think of Riley as being a journalist, or perhaps a newspaper poet, as well as lyceum circuit "lecturer" during the 1880's. Jucklet 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. Jucklet 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 Jucklet. Jucklet 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. Jucklet 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. Jucklet 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 Jucklet's mischievous minstrelsy involved in Riley's elderly years? Yes, Jucklet 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 Jucklet 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 Jucklet'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. Jucklet 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."
JUCKLET'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 Jucklet was not Riley's most enduring role, and certainly was not the character in Riley's life who produced his finest poetry, nevertheless Jucklet must receive credit for a job successfully done. Riley survived on his inner laughter.
AMPHINE
WHERE IS LOVE FOR RILEY? - AMPHINE'S WOMAN PROBLEMS AND CAPACITIES FOR GREAT FRIENDSHIPS
There is at least one event in everyone's life which "tears you up." In Riley's great poem of self-scrutiny "The Flying Islands of the Night," Riley is "torn up" because of love. He can know it only at the level of the soul with an already married woman. How could a poetic genius have been driven to such an impasse? What foul fate fickled him? Riley's self that bears this scar is Amphine, the Riley who can love. Riley wants to know love very badly. He needs his soulmate. Amphine is the lover who seeks reunion with his recently deceased married friend, Nellie Millikan Cooley who died in the days before he wrote "The Flying Islands of the Night." No, Riley's relationship with Nellie Millikan Cooley was no ordinary one. Would we expect the tapestry of Riley's romance to be woven as traditional cloth? Riley's affair with Nellie was a combination silver, gold and diamond friendship of souls. Riley is dealing with his emotional self in great turmoil in the poem "The Flying Islands of the Night." Where is love? Where can he find love now that his beloved soul-mate Nellie Millikan Cooley is dead? Riley is dealing with the essential sensibility of a poet, love, a "feel" of warmth, of passion, of happiness, of fulfillment, occasions of loving and being loved in the past and future as well as the present. There is no definition of love but it does have a root meaning which can be expressed in descriptions of qualities and expressions, never matters of intention or demand, but always in happening and gift. It has to do with affection but is not limited to spheres of affections but rather finds its expression in relationships and the yearning to be with another. Riley knew this great love for Nellie Cooley, the source of his great inspiration. That is why it had the worth of silver, gold and diamond. Riley as Amphine was also a play character of love who expresses Riley's need for companionship with men as well as women. This is love which the Greeks referred to as "philia" rather than "eros." Riley was capable of assuming the role of Amphine, the lover and man of affectionate relationships, with ease. The company of others often saved him from his deep depression which we will consider in a following section on Crestillomeem, Riley's dejected and alcoholic self in the poem and in his life. The company of Amphine probably leaves Riley at the end of "The Flying Island of the Night." Riley sought relief from his heavy depression in alcohol on many occasions. Riley "drowned" his sorrow as some refer to it. We are reminded of an effect of alcohol from Shakespeare's "Macbeth," Act II, iii29-40, where Macbeth's porter made the following remark to a houseguest: "Macduff: What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes. It provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink can be said to be an equivocator with lechery. It makes him and it mars him, it sets him on and it takes him off, it persuades him and disheartens him, and makes him stand to and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the lie, leaves him." Modern science supports Shakespeare's observation. Amphine did not depart Riley other than as impotence might have resulted from too great a consumption of alcohol. Possibly such problems marred every single one of Riley's later attempts to find a marriage partner. Most of the women Riley seems to have courted after his thirties cited Riley's alcoholism as a reason why they did not wish to marry him. We simply do not know what this meant. Riley retained the great capacity for affectionate relationships. Anyway, Riley's "affair of the souls" with Nellie Millikan Cooley was enough to remember. It was a North Star to guide Riley's emotions even after her death. We have so very, very little to go on to recreate the setting of the great "soul-level" love of James Whitcomb Riley's for Nellie Millikan Cooley. Those in Greenfield who gossiped after noticing Riley's horse tethered at Nellie's house so often are long gone but their tales have lived on to the present time in folklore. Riley retreated to Greenfield from wherever he wandered when he "felt bad." The soul-mate who shared this escape to find comfort in an unfriendly world who helped him survive such bouts was Nellie Millikan Cooley. We know that Nellie, married to another man, George Cooley, was taken from Greenfield by her husband to a far point in Illinois after many years of rambunctious youth for Riley and his Nellie together. Prior to that must have occurred the moments of sharing that brought Nellie and Riley into such great union of souls. Nellie and her husband, George Cooley, remained married for only a short time in Illinois -about two years -before Nellie died there. She was brought back to Greenfield for burial and Riley wrote a great emotionally draining obituary shortly before writing "The Flying Islands of the Night." Were it not for this autobiographical poem and "taking stock of himself after Nellie's demise" we would probably have nothing at all from Riley about this great soul-love of his life. Riley would never have brooked causing Nellie's reputation to suffer because of their relationship. The poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" contains much speculative material about this relationship which will be considered further in this section on the life of Amphine, Riley's romantic self, but for now we read a letter of Nellie's sent to Riley from her exile with her husband in Illinois.
LETTER FROM NELLIE COOLEY January 13, 1877
Jim dear boy ---...We have been too true and loving friends to say "Good Bye" and let that be all. How many times I have thoughts of you, how many good things I have read and wished you could read it. Oh, how many times I have only asked for one more evening like those happy ones spent in old G... when you would come over and bring your violin and perhaps have one of your charming poems in your pocket to read to us and when it would rain and I would send the beggar maid to see you home. Jim, when your letter was brought to me yesterday, I was sitting reading over some of your poems and some of our correspondence, very strange "was noted." Sometimes you appear to me in a dream and how we do talk and laugh, and always we are the same warm friends that we have been for so many years and every evening I play over the same waltzes and sing the same songs but alas there is a missing link. I sound A in vain, but I still play them all the same... Your devoted friend til death Nellie M. Cooley Nellie's standard farewell was, "Your devoted friend," as in another letter extant of June 1, 1877. The distance of Riley from Nellie after George took her to Illinois apparently did not cool their "soul companionship." Forgive me for a little quote that comes to mind from Shakespeare's 116th Sonnet: "Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds..." This seems to describe how Riley felt about Nellie wherever she might be. Riley's soul found a home in the encouragement of Nellie. Even death did not sever Riley's cord of regard for Nellie. We also have a poem from one letter from Riley to Nellie preserved by her daughter, Emma Cooley Cox, which was brought to light in 1878 about eight years after Nellie's death. It attests to Nellie's encouragement to Riley.
A LETTER TO A FRIEND (To: Nellie Cooley)
The past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory Of the Morning's early gleams; And - at my shadow glancing - I feel a loss of strength, As the Day of Life advancing leaves it shorn of half its length.
But it's all in vain to worry At the rapid race of Time - And he flies in such a flurry When I trip him with a rhyme, I'll bother him no longer Than to thank you for the thought That "my fame is growing stronger As you really think it ought."
And though I fall below it, I might know as much of mirth To live and die a poet Of unacknowledged worth; For Fame is but a vagrant - Though a loyal one and brave, And his laurels ne'er so fragrant As when scattered o'er the grave.
Nellie's daughter, Emma Cooley Cox, mentioned this poem to the editor (Ochiltree) of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD who thereafter published it many years after Nellie's death. Riley included the poem in a letter to Nellie in which Riley responded to Nellie's saying she felt his fame was growing stronger as she thought it ought. In the original poem, "The Flying Island of the Night" as it appeared in the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD in 1878, Amphine, Riley's romantic and affectionate self, loved only the one woman, Dwainie, recently deceased as far as earthlife was concerned. Nellie was only dead weeks at this time. Dwainie is Nellie. Dwainie - Nellie Millikan Cooley - was a woman married to another man whose life we shall connect with Riley's as Amphine grew into adolescence and with Nellie into his mid- twenties. Now, by the time Riley wrote his autobiographical poem, Nellie had died. Nellie was the great foe of Crestillomeem of the poem. While Crestillomeem plotted Riley's downfall, Dwainie, steeped in love for Riley, returned to Riley from the dead to save his great life-plan to achieve fame. Crestillomeem early in the poem recognizes Dwainie:
'Tis Dwainie of the Wunks who peeks and peers With those fine eyes of hers in our affairs And carries Krung, in some disguise, these hints Of our intent! See thou that silence falls Forever on her lips, and that the sight She wastes upon our secret action blurs With gray and grisly scum that shall for aye Conceal us from her gaze while she writhes blind And fangles as the fat worms of the grave!
Nellie Millikan Cooley was not simply the woman who Riley loved, she was his great booster and encourager. Her death preceded the writing of the poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" bears Riley's otherwise unexpressible grief at her passing. Without Nellie, his love interest became alcohol, the Crestillomeem of the poem. His soul had lost its mate and needed another. Crestillomeem sought Riley's courtship. "The Flying Islands of the Night" tells us that Riley loved Nellie Cooley. That is not to say that he did not have affection for others or even encounters "on the run" in his years of early manhood. These seem extremely probable. But with Nellie Cooley did Riley indulge in his great "soul" love affair. "The Flying Islands of the Night" written during Riley's great grief following Nellie's death, contains what this biographer considers the finest love lyric in all of literature. One recognizes echoes from Riley's obituary of Nellie alive in "Warm depths of azure skies, where merry birds, afloat on waves of sunshine, poured out their sweetest songs, and so baptized the world with sweetest melody..."
AY,DWAINIE! - MY DWAINIE
Spraivoll (Singing)
Ay, Dwainie! - My Dwainie! The lurloo ever sings, A tremor in his flossy crest And in his glossy wings. And Dwainie! - My Dwainie! The sinno-welvers call; - But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all.
The teeper twitters Dwainie! - The tcheucker on his spray Teeters up and down the wind And will not fly away: And Dwainie! - My Dwainie! The drowsy oovers drawl; - But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all.
O Dwainie! - My Dwainie! The breezes hold their breath - The stars are pale as blossoms, And the night as still as death: And Dwainie! - My Dwainie! The fainting echoes fall; - But Dwainie in Spirkland And answers not at all.
The death of a beloved can never make more sense than Riley gives to this Dwainie poem of "The Flying Islands of the Night." Love blurs reality and takes its imagery from absurdity or from such alienation as delirium dreams. There is only scant evidence of the life of Nellie Millikan Cooley. Although Riley's obituary of her shows her burial in Greenfield's Park Cemetery, no stone remains to mark the spot nor record of where she is buried. Nor does the cemetery have record of it. The winter of the writing of this biography, 1997, the biographer located the grave with cemetery personnel from Greenfield's Riley Park Cemetery using a probe into the soft early winter earth. Only the pea gravel which covered the wooden coffin gave the tracings of the spot of her burial. I placed a wreath of the usual variety on the grave once located. It will probably never be of interest hereafter. The thought of my causing a "probe" to be sent into the ground to disturb her grave causes me horrible regret. Nellie, "Dwainie," forgive my curiosity. Riley sent his soul down into that grave I found to marry his Dwainie there. Marriage with any other was impossible. In the 1870 United States census, Nellie is listed as living in Greenfield, Indiana in the household of George B. Cooley, age 30, as Nellie M. Cooley, age 25, "keeping house" and born in Ohio. Her children are listed as Emma, age 4, and Susannah, age 1. Also listed in the household of George B. Cooley is the mother, Rhoda Millikan, Riley's art and "home school" tutor from Riley's youth. She is listed as being age 50 and as an "artist." The Millikans are not recorded in the 1860 United States census as being residents of Hancock County, Indiana. They arrived shortly after the American Civil War began and Nellie Millikan's mother, Mrs. Rhoda Millikan, took up schooling in Greenfield from the opportunity that the local school had disbanded when its men teachers went off to war. Shortly after her arrival with her family in the year 1862, Nellie Millikan - as a girl - joined the Ladies Saxhorn Band which apparently took the place of the men's group after it enlisted en masse to become a regimental band for a Hoosier Civil War Regiment. While still a young girl, Nellie married George Cooley on February 22, 1865. George was in advertising and often traveled. History tells us that Nellie, and sometimes her husband, George, were members of many casts of the Adelphians, a Greenfield dramatic club. The Adelphians put on plays at the Greenfield Masonic Hall. James Whitcomb Riley was very active in this group in the early 1870's and was said to have made most of the stage scenery and backdrops while Nellie provided piano accompaniments. Other familiar faces mentioned in Riley poetry or within his circle of friends who were in the casts were Lee O. Harris, George A. Carr, War Barnett, E.P. and Jesse Millikan. "Mother" Rhoda Millikan died October 2, 1903 after returning to Greenfield Indiana. She had lived with her son Jesse Millikan, born the same year as James Whitcomb Riley, who died the month before on September 1st. While Jesse Millikan lay on his deathbed shortly before his death, James Whitcomb Riley went to see him and tried to cheer him up saying, "Jesse, I just met old Fate up on the street and I knocked him the other way: he is going east now." Jesse was not able to do much more than smile and died shortly afterward. Riley loved the Millikans as his own family because they were in his mind his own family through his soul-love for Nellie. When Nellie died in Riley's late 20's his world was shattered. Nellie's brothers, Ed Millikan, a Greenfield painter, and Jess Millikan, a Greenfield shoemaker, remained among Riley's closest friends throughout their long lives. After Riley bought his boyhood home in Greenfield, he left a standing order with Nellie's brother Ed to paint it once a year - "twice a year if you have time." When Nellie's brother Jess got sick, Riley cheered him by saying, "Hurry and get well, Jess, and if you haven't any leather in your shop, I'll see to getting some if I have to tan my own old hide," and to Jess's doctor, he said, "You've got to cure this man - I don't care what it costs." Riley paid for the care including an extended hospital bill. Let us pose what Riley's life was like with Nellie. Can we imagine Riley serenading her? Serenading was very popular in the days of Riley's and Nellie's youth. Riley played the violin, mandolin, guitar, banjo and anything else he could lay his hands on. Did they make fudge, pull taffy or pop pop-corn? Their moments together are shrouded in oblivion. The finality of the death of Nellie Cooley in 1878 left Riley with only the dreams of a life a woman with whom he could share his life's goals and aspirations, love and affection. But let us return to the earlier days in Riley's 20's when he returned to Greenfield on so many occasions to be with Nellie. Gone seemed all of the truanting days of his young manhood. His life when Nellie was alive included croquet parties, ice cream festivals on the courthouse lawn, dancing at the Twilight Club. They acted together in Adelphian plays and private entertainments. He played violin on moonlit nights with Nellie at the stone culvert over the Bradywine where the boys and girls of Greenfield went for privacy. Public appearances included other women. Alice Thayer took Riley as a date to a February party and he acted like a skittish girl. Then after the fun and socializing, if he didn't feel the urge to write and if he felt the need to bare his genius- soul, he went to Nellie's. George, who travelled selling advertisements, was perhaps not always around. Or perhaps he was. George did not get in the way. The final stanza of "The Flying Islands" seems to indicate Riley's determination to love only Nellie and be content with these dreams of her even after her death. "Tho' I have found restored to me my life - Tho' I have found a daughter, I have lost A son - for Dwainie, with her sorcery, Will, on the morrow, carry him away." The dead Nellie took Riley's life of his soul-love as one feels for a true mate to the grave with her. Riley married Nellie in heaven. Riley once dismissed his failure to marry in another way as, "Should he find the right woman she would fail to find him the right man." But we suspect some altogether different reason. Nellie was the only woman he fully loved. He seems to have enjoyed relationships with other women but these were simply encounters. There were no more Nellies. Content with his dreams permitted great imaginative contacts with her, one of which was Riley's poem, "An Old Sweetheart of Mine," written in 1875 before Nellie left Greenfield with her husband or Nellie was resettled by her husband in Illinois. It is useless to speculate why Nellie left Greenfield with her husband at about the time Riley also left Greenfield. Did George become jealous about Riley and his wife's relationship at a soul level which he could not share? The relationship of Riley and the Cooleys in the lonesome letters that Riley later wrote to Nellie do not indicate any strain in Riley's friendship with George. Riley's sadness at Nellie's departure is reflected in poetry of the Amphine of 1876 who wrote romantic and narrative verse. His was a stifled inspiration most often drawn from recollection and personal experience. On the other hand some of Amphine's themes are borrowed from literary sources. Unlike Spraivoll's great kenotic poetry, inspired by an indirect route from the great Lutheran German theologians, Amphine's inspiration comes from Riley's heart. Here is a poem written after Nellie's departure from Greenfield when she was taken to Illinois by her husband.
ONLY A DREAM (1876)
Only a dream! Her head is bent Over the keys of the instrument,1 While her trembling fingers go astray In the foolish tune she tries to play. He smiles in his heart, though his deep, sad eyes Never change to a glad surprise As he finds the answer he seeks confessed In glowing features, and heaving breast.
Only a dream! Though the fete is grand, And a hundred hearts at her command, She takes no part, for her soul is sick Of the Coquette's art and the Serpent's trick, - She someway feels she would like to fling Her sins away as a robe, and spring Up like a lily pure and white, And bloom alone for him to-night.
Only a dream That the fancy weaves. The lids unfold like the rose's leaves, And the upraised eyes are moist and mild As the prayerful eyes of a drowsy child. Does she remember the spell they once Wrought in the past a few short months? Haply not - yet her lover's eyes Never change to the glad surprise.
Only a dream! He winds her form Close in the coil of his curving arm, And whirls her away in a gust of sound As wild and sweet as the poets found In the paradise where the silken tent Of the Persian blooms in the Orient, - While ever the chords of the music seem Whispering sadly, - "Only a dream!"
1. Nellie often played the piano while Riley sang or played his violin or guitar.
For two years the Cooleys lived in Belleville, Illinois where Riley wrote them this letter in Oct. 28, 1877.
Dear Friends - `Mother,' Nell, George: I have neglected writing to you for so long that I come to you at last with my apologetic features elongated and stretched to their utmost tension. If you can forgive me for my long silence do so in God's name, and if you can't w'y take me your prisoner and `fasten me down forever in the round tower of your heart' and I'll never murmur for release till heaven dawns thro' the gates. I am so glad today - so `sure-enough' glad - that you must join me in my joy, and become a portion of that fat and rare old sentiment - `W'ats the hodds so long as you're happ!" I've a a thousand things to tell you, and a thousand things to ask: but first I would suggest - by way of casual introductory - the propriety of your getting together the accessories of instant response, for I shall expect a reply by return mail. Everything has changed here - everything - except, perhaps, old Johnny Rardin - who won't die, and don't care a cuss who knows it. Yes, Johnny is as "bright" as ever and as thoroughly up with the styles. I saw him blow past awhile ago in a cloud of leaves, but as he had taken precaution before, leaving home to have his straw hat firmly strapped on his head, that - valuable adornment will doubtless plug up some window of the future or furnish fodder of facts for some historian yet unborn. Speaking of old Johnny - you wouldn't know the old street passing his palatial residence - the old road home, you know. W'y it's had all the twists taken out of its vertebra, and dug down and filled up till it's as level as a brickyard from A to Izzard; a lovely sidewalk on either side, and a stone and iron fence occasionally - well, in fact it's the `boss' thoroughfare in the city - no mistaking. But then, for all that, it can never be so good a friend to me as when in the old days - it led me through its ruts and puddies to the Cooley mansion. And as I write the words, a gust of memories blown from the Long Ago comes like a fragrance o'er my yearning heart and thrills me with - "A feeling of sadness and longing That is not akin to pain And resembles sorrows only --- as the mist resembles the rain."
You were better friends to me than I could know - or appreciate then - but now - now when great blank miles and miles of cruel separation intervene I can but reach with empty hands and fancy they are pressed again with that old warmth of hale regard that still burns in your bosoms I am sure -but pardon! "My heart grows as weak as a woman's" and it "behooves me to fend off such puerile tho'ts and turn to manlier things - the girls for instance. I was at "the Club" last night (Terpsichorean)...(I'd like to give in this connection a genuine Hartpence local1, but - space forbids, and thank God, that "Space" is still in our midst!" Well, I've rattled away here for an hour or more, and have said nothing of importance or interest yet forgive me for my intentions were the best. Before I close I want to ask if you don't think it would do you all good to come home here for awhile. I want to see you - your friends want to see you, and in fact Greenfield as an individual would greet you with open arms. I have been building castles of a visit to you, but the Fates won't hear to it yet awhile. I will come tho' the very minute my incoming `ship' sticks her nose against the shore... I have been quite busy with my literary studies, and am progressing with every promise of success. I have in course of construction now a work I'd like to read to mother and Nell before the great eyes of the public - get a peek. Whatever you do write to me and write now and kiss the children for your old friend. J. W. Riley 1. "Hartpence local" would be a local news account for William Hartpence, the Editor of the Greenfield NEWS to which Riley contributed (and later edited) until it folded. The very subtitle of "The Flying Islands of the Night" reflects Nellie and Riley's love for her. In the original publication of "Flying Islands of the Night" in the Buzz Club series, Number IV of August 24, 1878, the poem was subtitled "A Twintorette." What is a "Twintorette?" As in many other instances, one can look to other writing of Riley for assistance in interpretation. A poem entitled "A Twintorette" was first published in 1881 but no doubt was written much earlier.
A TWINTORETTE
Ho! my little maiden With the glossy tresses, Come thou and dance with me A measure all divine; Let my breast be laden With but thy caresses - Come thou and glancingly Mate thy face with mine.
Thou shalt trill a rondel, While my lips are purling Some dainty twitterings Sweeter than the birds'; And, with arms that fondle Each as we go, twirling, We will kiss, with twitterings, Lisps and loving words.
"Twinning," as this poem proposes, has to do with romantic joinder. It refers to intimate union of two things. Torrid is suggestive of the depth of the "twinning" and "ette" simply means a short poem. Flying Islands was originally of course, published on a single page, Page 6 of the Indianapolis Saturday Herald of August 24, 1874. A "twintorette" seems to be a poem in which a lover and beloved are rejoined. The two who are the subjects of this poem are Riley and his beloved Nellie Cooley, recently deceased by a bare two months, at the time of the writing. Riley wrote to Mrs. Emma Cox, Nellie's daughter, on April 10, 1885 in response to the publication of a poem Riley had written to Nellie which Nellie's daughter had published. Dear Friend: - It is Sunday, but to write you as I do is like a prayer, - Your beautiful tribute in the HERALD touched me deeply, recalling so tenderly your absent mother's kindliness when she was here; her brave, glad nature; the noble generous gentlewoman that she was; the truest friend on earth, or now in Heaven - God bless us always with the sweetness of her memory! I can say no more now - only, my dear friend, I am very proud of your friendship, and of your talents - in music - composition - every way, and God bless us every one!' Gratefully and always, as ever, your friend. J.W. Riley
Literary friends of Mrs. Rhoda Millikan, Nellie Cooley's mother, asked her, during the summer of 1902 (a year before her death) to write her first impression of Mr. Riley. Though 83 years old she was still a constant reader, her mind was clear and her handwriting easily legible. Her recollections were reported in the Indianapolis STAR of October 4, 1931.
AN IMPRESSION OF JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY "I have been requested by some friends of Mr. James Whitcomb Riley to write my first impressions of that much admired poet, humorist and artist. My first impression of Mr. Riley was vague and uncertain. When I first saw him I was a middle-aged woman. He was a small boy, quiet, shy and modest. When I came to Greenfield, I was a stranger. I took charge of a school there. I had some of my own children with me. They soon became quite well acquainted with `Jim' Riley. It was a great treat to them to hear him talk and they were constantly telling me something concerning what he had said to them. I soon became interested and requested them to bring their admired companion to my room. I soon saw he was trying to become a writer. After a time he could be found willing to read some of his poems and prose sketches to me. I was greatly surprised when I heard them though I had a hard time to make him believe they were of any merit. After a while some of his poems were published in some of the Greenfield papers. They were not copied in papers outside of Greenfield. This was discouraging to our very young writer. He came to talk to me about it and said he would write no more. I told him that was what young writers might look for. Greenfield was then quite a small place, and editors of magazines were not looking for gems in small country papers. I talked a good deal to him at this time as he was not much encouraged by his father, a lawyer of decided ability, who was anxious to have James study law... Mr. Riley was in the way of coming in sometimes of an evening. He never was much inclined to talk very much, but what he did say counted. He nearly always had a pencil in his hand, and when he left the house we would find some of the most comical drawings or the queerest little poems imaginable. One night, I remember, a Japanese fan had been left on the table. The picture on the fan was quite as ridiculous as are usually found on fans of that kind. It represented an impossible bridge, with three Chinamen in undress costume fishing on from the bridge. My daughter had just been singing Kingsley's "Three Fishers." We saw Mr. Riley writing something on the fan which proved to a parody on the first verse of "The Fishers' - "Three fishers came walking out of the west. Out of the west when the sun went down: - And so they came almost undressed To be prepared if the bridge broke down" Well, time when on. I have lived eight-three years in this world and have seen many people, but I have never met any one that I felt was like James Whitcomb Riley. He stands quite alone. His writings are a strange mixture of humor and pathos blended with a strong element of unexpectedness which is a fascination of itself. I have been made happy by his success. I have able to exclaim with the famous old lady, "I told you so." Rhoda H. Millikan While Nellie Millikan Cooley lived, it seems that Riley was able to use the verse of Longfellow as inspirational models to produce ballad like poetry of a similar ilk to Longfellow's. After Nellie died the possibility of Longfellow lyric also departed. Perhaps its lilt and feel were simply no longer possible in Riley's life. Riley's earliest published poetry seems to have the ring of Longfellow about it. Much of his earliest poetry, published in local Greenfield newspapers such as the Greenfield COMMERCIAL, is lost but we do have the early "Amphine" poem "Man's Devotion" of 1872 published in The Indianapolis Saturday MIRROR to look at. Its theme is romantic in that we find the departures or separations of innocent first lovers is an inexplicable but necessary life situation.
MAN'S DEVOTION (1872)
A lover said, "O Maiden, love me well For I must go away: And should another ever come to tell Of love - What will you say?" ... (The Maiden promises to remain faithful to him until he returns, keeps his picture, but eventually after "years -dull years -in dull monotony" she marries another who eventually dies. The young wandering man\lover returns after much time, but the "Maiden" must admit she has been married.)
And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet He calmly spoke - no sigh Betrayed his inward agony - "I count you meet To be a wife of mine!"
And raised her up forgiven, though untrue; As fond he gazed on her, She sighed, - "So happy!" And she never knew He was a widower.
I suppose we recall that about this time, Riley was leaving Nellie Cooley behind in Greenfield for jaunts out into the countryside to paint barns or signs and also to travel in the medicine shows. His theme explores how attachments between lovers change and marital conditions become inevitable drawbacks to the permanency of stolen initial innocent love. Nevertheless personal ties, "vows," remain real and circumstances may later permit the first lovers to resume a more permanent residence together. In the poem the woman marries another but eventually the two again find each other and resume life together again. It sounds like a "pipe-dream" but Riley perhaps had the youthful thought in his head, as evidenced by the poem, that he could leave Greenfield and come back to find the woman he loved a widow and then marry her. After Nellie's death, the lyric of Longfellow's romantic ballad's was pretty much stilled. While Nellie lived, and was close, he could write "An Old Sweetheart of Mine," with its sentimental strain of satisfaction in a loving home he could conjure up with Nellie. Then Nellie left and we have no more such "Longfellow" type ballads. Much has been made of the relationship of the early James Whitcomb Riley and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This derives from Riley's recollections that Riley read Longfellow poetry from an early age. Riley's early ballad narratives do seem to bear this influence. His "Longfellow" poetry also seems to bear on his relationship with Nellie in the early period of Riley's twenties. Perhaps the figure in this poem was the Riley who never married because the woman he loved was already married. Perhaps one day they might marry. Perhaps we can see a little of Nellie as "Mary" and Riley in this one. In 1874, Riley wrote
FARMER WHIPPLE - BACHELOR (1874)
It's a mystery to see me - a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more - A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say That you can guess the reason why I feel so good to-day!
I must tell you all about it! But I'll have to deviate A little in beginnin', so's to set the matter straight As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife - Kindo' "crawfish" from the present to the Springtime of my life!
I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five - Three brothers and a sister - I'm the only one alive, - Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' Mother's ways, You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise.
The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat - We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that! But someway we sort o' suited-like! and Mother she'd declare She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair
Than we was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year', And every hour of it she growed to me more dear! - W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve!
I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride In thinkin' all depended on me now to pervide Fer mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place With sleeves rolled up - and workin', with a mighty smilin' face, -
Fer somepin' else was workin'! but not a word I said Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head, - "Some day I'd maybe marry, and brother's love was one Thing - a lover's was another!" was the way the notion run!
I remember onc't in harvest, when the "cradle-in'" was done, (When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one), I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day - A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way! And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down the lane: I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain. Well - when she turned and kissed me, with her arms around me - law! I'd a bigger load o' Heaven than I had a load o' straw!
I don't p'tend to larnin', but I'll tell you what's a fac', They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanac - Er somers - 'bout "puore happiness"- perhaps some folks'll laugh At the idy - "only lastin' jest two seconds and half." -
But it's jest as true as preachin'! - fer that was a sister's kiss, And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this: - "She was happy, bein' promised to the son o' Farmer Brown." And my feelin's stuck a pardnership with sunset and went down!
I don't know how I acted, and I don't know what I said, - Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead; And the hosses kind o' glimmered before me in the road, And the lines fell from my fingers - And that was all I knowed -
Fer - well, I don't know how long - They's a dim rememberence Of a sound o' snortin' horses, and a stake-and-ridered fence A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where
I was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside down A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a-whirlin' roun'! And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague Sort o' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg.
Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh As I'd keep a-gettin' better instid o' goin' to die, And wonder what was left me worth livin' fer below, When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know!
And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind When Brown and Mary married - Railly must 'a' been my mind Was kind o' out o' kilter! - fer I hated Brown, you see, Worse's pizen - and the feller whittled crutches out fer me -
And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respec' - And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck! My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one.
Then I went to work in airnest - I had nothin' much in view But to drownd out rickollections - and it kep' me busy, too! But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day.
Then I'd think how little money was, compared to happiness - And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess! But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year, Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, might near!
Well! - A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand Astin' how'd I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land - "The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate," -
And then it closed by sayin' that I'd better come and see." - I'd never been West, anyhow - a'most too wild fer me, I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town Said I'd find myself mistakend when I come to look around.
So I bids good-by to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train, A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again - And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, I think it's more'n likely she'd 'a'went along with me!
Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last: And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' I was a train O' cars, and skeered at somepin', runnin' down a country lane!
Well, in the morning airly - after huntin' up the man - The lawyer who was wantin' to swap a piece o' land - We started fer the country; and I ast the history Of the farm - its former owner - and so forth, etcetery!
And - well - it was interestin' - I su'prised him, I suppose, By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose! - But his su'prise was greater, and it made him wonder more, When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the door! -
It was Mary:...They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here - Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear. - It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit! And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about it yit!
I bought that farm, and deeded it, afore I left the town, With 'title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown! And fu'thermore, I took her and the childern - fer you see, They'd never seed their Grandma - and I fetched 'em home with me.
So now you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'! - And I've jest come into town To git a pair o' license fer to marry Mary Brown."
While Nellie was alive, Riley might imagine a hopeful future. With Nellie in Greenfield, Riley could visualize his arrangement with her almost as a married life. He included the thought in poetry, thinking of her as the companion he had grown up with and the wife she might have been or could one day become after her more elderly husband's death, one of which is the following:
AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE1 (1875)
An old sweetheart of mine! - Is this her presence here with me, Or but a vain creation of a lover's memory? A fair, illusive vision that would vanish into air Dared I even touch the silence with the whisper of a prayer?
Nay, let me then believe in all the blended false and true - The semblance of the old love and the substance of the new, - The then of changeless sunny days - the now of shower and shine - But Love forever smiling - as that old sweetheart of mine.
This ever-restful sense of home, though shouts ring in the hall. - The easy chair - the old book-shelves and prints along the wall, The rare Habanas in their box, or gaunt church-warden-stem That often wags, above the jar, derisively at them.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album, all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of Fancy, til, in shadowy design, I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.
The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, As I turn it low - to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.
'Tis a fragrant retrospection, - for the loving thoughts that start Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart; And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine - When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.
Though I hear beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, The voices of my children and the mother as she sings - I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream -
In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm, - For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.
O Childhood-days enchanted! O the magic of the Spring! - With all green boughs to blossom white, and all bluebirds to sing! When all the air, to toss and quaff, made life a jubilee And changed the children's song and laugh to shrieks of ecstasy.
With eyes half closed in clouds that ooze from lips that taste, as well, The peppermint and cinnamon, I hear the old School bell, And from "Recess" romp in again from "Blackman's" broken line, To smile, behind my "lesson," at that old sweetheart of mine.
A face of lily beauty, with a form of airy grace, Floats out of my tobacco as the Genii from the vase; And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.
I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine Grew 'round the stump," she loved me - that old sweetheart of mine.
Again I made her presents, in a really helpless way, - The big "Rhode Island Greening2" - I was hungry, too, that day! - But I follow her from Spelling, with her hand behind her - so - And I slip the apple in it - and the Teacher doesn't know!
I give my treasures to her - all, - my pencil - blue-and-red; - And, if little girls played marbles, mine should all be hers, instead! But she gave me her photograph, and printed, "Ever thine" Across the back - in blue-and-red - that old sweetheart of mine!
And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, As we used to talk together of the future we had planned, - When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do But write the tender verses that she set the music to...
When we should live together in a cozy little cot Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine.
When I should be her lover forever and a day, And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come.
But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, And the door is softly opened, and - my wife is standing there: Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign, - To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine." 1. This poem was one of Riley's most popular. It was said to have earned him $500 a word - a princely sum in Riley's day. A story set in New York City demonstrates its popularity, A vagabond named McGlaughlin was brought to Court on an October day charged with loitering and vagrancy. In defending himself he said that he was an actor and simply out of work. "To prove I'm an actor just give me a poem to recite. I'll orate any piece you choose." The judge said if he could recite "An Old Sweetheart of Mine" he would acknowledge that he was no "bum." McGlaughlin did so and his reading was so good that the judge not only dismissed the charges but also had a collection taken up for the man in his courtroom. 2. Apples were the most commonly mentioned food in Riley's poetry and the variety known as Rhode Island Greening is the most obscure of Rileyana.
Shortly after the writing of this poem, Nellie was taken from Greenfield by her husband to exile in Illinois. Others have vied ever since for the honor of being Riley's "Old Sweetheart of Mine." One of the most unseemly debates in all of literature is that over who was the woman pictured in the poem "An Old Sweetheart of Mine." It seems that almost every otherwise "reputable" Greenfield family of the last century tried to publicize some one or other of its otherwise modest and chaste daughters as having sultry, wildly adulterous or loose affairs with Riley in order to have them pictured as the "Sweetheart." Some even published books to have a daughter deemed the one, unconcerned that their daughter's reputation might suffer a little in the process. It seems hard to imagine the mothers and fathers fighting so to have a daughter deemed promiscuous with James Whitcomb Riley, but they went at it with "unadulterated" frenzy. Of course the poem was the most widely known poem of the last century and made Riley rich, but that hardly seems like a good excuse to slander an otherwise nice young daughter. I think this genre of books, pushing a woman's claim to having had an affair with Riley, is the strangest of any ever published, but apparently the goal of having the woman declared the "Sweetheart" offered the gift of fame beyond any wish to keep the more private things of life about a family member under wraps, assuming an encounter between Riley and any of the girl candidates ever did occur with any of the many proposed "Sweethearts." It seems to me we ought to leave all of these candidates to their own little private reminiscences as to what did or did not happen with James Whitcomb Riley. Although I do not believe any one woman is the model for the "Sweetheart," I agree with Minnie Belle Mitchell, one of the poet's great biographers, that the most important female influences on his life, and thus probably in his mind in picturing the Sweetheart, would have been his own mother, Elizabeth Riley, Nellie Millikan Cooley, and Adda Rowell Barber, both of the latter being early Riley girlfriends who married other men. Having said that, let us remember the poem itself, not because it made Riley the most wealthy poet who ever lived, or because it has been the most widely published American piece of poetry in history, or for any other reason than to indulge in a picture of American homelife by Amphine's most hopeful vision of love itself within the intimacy of lover's fantasy sheltered from the world outside.
While it seems that Nellie Cooley was Riley's only fully beloved woman, Nellie's husband was also a friend of Riley's and perhaps never aware how intimate Riley and Nellie were. George Cooley wrote Riley letters of encouragement as did Nellie.
LETTER FROM NELLIE COOLEY'S HUSBAND, GEORGE Bellesville, IL Jan 1, 1877 (Holiday Eve) My Dear James, I have had my letters but seldom one as welcome as yours to myself and Nellie. Those lines to Nellie were beautiful indeed. You have a talent - that is bound to meet with its first reward. Should you live a few years (Greenfield notwithstanding). Go on my Boy. never look backward. It is in you. I only wish it was in my power to point you to a shorter and lazier road to fame than that you seem to have been compelled to travel but as before said, pass on. Look forward. Work - be determined and despite all back biting and jealousy, such as has been displayed with Hancock. Take my word for it. The time will come when it won't be Jim Riley, but James W. Riley, Esq. one of America's Famous Poets.
He goes on to encourage Riley to write both or either himself or Nellie and states Nellie will be writing him the next day. As the poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" comes to an end, Riley comments how Dwainie takes Amphine with him into the grave. Riley's memorial to Riley was not just his written obituary to her or his poetry to her but also his play/ poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." This poem, with all of its many revisions and additions and editings, retained the references to Nellie as its core.
Linger, my Dwainie! Dwainie! lily-fair, Stay yet thy step upon the casement-stair1 - Poised be thy slipper-tip as is the tine Of some still star. - Ah, Dwainie - Dwainie mine, Yet linger - linger there!
1. A casement is a window-frame. For it to be a stair would refer to it as an access down from heaven through it, or possibly, the reference is to the stair leading to Riley's place of writing at "The Seminary" where the Riley family lived called the "Crow's Nest" where Riley wrote much of this poetry. Thy face, O Dwainie, lily-pure and fair, Gleams i' the dusk, as in the dusky hair The moony zhoomer1 glimmers, or the shine, Of the swift smile - Ah, Dwainie -Dwainie mine, Yet linger - linger there!
1. Summer in intoxicatese.
With lifted wrist, where round the laughing air Hath blown a mist of lawn and clasped it there, Waft finger-thipt1 adieus that spray the wine Of they waste kisses toward me, Dwainie mine - Yet linger -linger there!
1. (tipped) - language in simply intoxicated thickly uttered speech.
What unloosed splendor is there may compare With thy hand's unfurled glory, anywhere? What giant of dazzling dew or jewel fine May mate thine eyes? -Ah, Dwainie - Dwainie mine! Yet linger - linger there.
My soul confronts thee; On thy brow and hair It lays its tenderness like palms of prayer - It touches sacredly those lips of thine And swoops across thy spirit, Dwainie mine, The while thou lingerest there.
The recollection of Nellie did not dim over the years. Riley added the following poem to the text of "The Flying Islands of the Night" many years after her death during a later revision:
Ah, help me! but her face and brow Are lovelier than lilies are Beneath the light of moon and star That smile as they are smiling now - White lilies in a pallid swoon Of sweetest white beneath the moon - White lilies in a flood of bright Pure lucidness of liquid light Cascading down some plenilune1 When all the azure overhead Blooms like a dazzling daisy-bed - So luminous her face and brow, The luster of their glory, shed In memory, even, blinds me now.
1. Something like plenteous lunar rays in intoxicatese.
Nellie remained Riley's salvation over the many years of his life. Nellie, from her dead state, continually intervened to encourage Riley over the years and fend off Crestillomeem. By the time "The Flying Islands of the Night" was revised thirteen years later and placed into book form in 1891, Riley chose to add another beloved from his life to join the cast with Dwainie, Nellie Millikan Cooley. This was AEo, Riley's mother. The name derives from the centered letter "E," the abbreviated first letter of his mother's name surrounded by the Greek alpha and omega substitutes signaling his mother meant to him the beginning and end of his love. The tombstone of James Whitcomb Riley's mother, Elizabeth Riley, at Greenfield, Indiana's Park Cemetery reflects that she lived from 1823 until 1870, "the year the mother died." Her grave on a hill overlooks Brandywine Creek meandering through the Hoosier landscape, the same "crick" on which was James Whitcomb Riley's "Old Swimmin' Hole" was located to the north near the old "National Road." Her name was Elizabeth Marine before she married Reuben Riley and bore James Whitcomb Riley as her third child. We can elaborate more upon the life of Riley's beloved mother. Elizabeth's family had come to America to avoid persecution in Europe. This seems to be the case with most of our ancestors which is why I find it so hard to understand how any American can have prejudice toward any member of another church, creed or race. Elizabeth's Marine (or Merine) grandparents were Welch Quakers who came to America when Quakers were being persecuted in England. The Marine grandmother's family had fled to England to avoid Protestant persecution in France. Their son, John, married Elizabeth's mother, Fanny. They were living on the border between North Carolina and South Carolina, near Rockingham, when Elizabeth, their tenth of eleven children, was born. When Elizabeth was only two, her parents left North Carolina broke. By the time the family fled over the Blue Ridge Mountains and into Indiana, their total resources were a wagon pulled by a single horse. Elizabeth's parents became pioneer settlers of a Randolph County farm. At this place, Elizabeth became acquainted with Johnny Appleseed personally and had listened to the tales he told the pioneer children. Most people know of Johnny Appleseed's quaint habit of wearing a cooking pot for a hat and for planting apple trees wherever he went, but not everybody remembers that Johnny was also a gospel carrying preacher. Elizabeth believed him when he said you grow old on earth but you grow young again in heaven. You can find traces of Johnny's preachings in the poetry of James Whitcomb Riley, Elizabeth's son. As a child Elizabeth went to school obediently to her parents' wishes, but she enjoyed most wandering through the Hoosier woods. Her father tried to turn part of his farm into a town called Rockingham after the town in North Carolina he had fled. The project failed and the platted town remains farmland to this day except for what was to be the town cemetery without stones in one of whose graves rests Elizabeth's mother, Fanny. After her mother died, the Marines moved to a settlement on Cabin Creek near the Mississinewa River. At a Fourth of July picnic in 1843, Elizabeth met Reuben Riley. There was an Indian trail between the creek Elizabeth lived on and the one where the family of Reuben Riley resided, Cabin Creek. After the two, Elizabeth and Reuben, met at the picnic, it is said this trail got worn down by Reuben's use. In Feb. 1844, Elizabeth married Reuben in a beautiful pioneer wedding performed by the local Methodist preacher. Pioneer Indiana was not so backwoodsy and crude as many think. Elizabeth wore a long white veil, white kid gloves and shoes, and a pale pink silk dress. She was a truly beautiful woman. Elizabeth and her new husband left for Greenfield five months after the wedding to settle in Greenfield. In the year 1844, Greenfield was a settlement of about 300 people. The legislature had only "created" Hancock County 16 years before. The town was mainly cabins and a few frame houses and businesses around the "public square." The Riley Home, then a cabin, was on the West edge of Greenfield and the Hoosier woods was behind it. Elizabeth Riley was said to be gentle, kindly, sympathetic, tolerant, and patient. She and her son were on the same wave length at all times. Both were poetic, imaginative. If one saw fairies in their walks through the woods the other saw them too and each wove fanciful stories. Both were dreamers to live above the sordid impoverishment of their daily lives. She was the only one who fully recognized his talents and visualized the heights he could attain. Some have stated Elizabeth Riley was over-solicitous of James Whitcomb Riley. They note that on September 4, 1851, when he was two, his older sister, Martha Celeste died and that as sometimes happens after a child's death, the mother becomes extra extra careful about the next child. What is clear is that Riley leaned heavily upon his mother's sympathetic encouragement and understanding and love and clung to her as strongly as he clung to his goal of being a writer. She was necessary to his very existence. He wished his success for her. Then one day she died. The death of his mother gave Riley a deep abiding sympathy and pity for those who suffered bereavement and he wrote SINCE MY MOTHER DIED (1879)
"Since my mother died, my face Knows not any resting-place, Save in visions, lightly pressed In its old accustomed rest On her shoulder. But I wake With a never-ending ache In my heart, and naught beside, Since my mother died. ...
What was her legacy to the boy? A psychologist of my century, Jerome Kagan, teaches that an intelligent person is not necessarily creative but a creative person is generally intelligent with creativity based on three key characteristics: they have a mental set to search for the unusual, they take delight in generating novel ideas and they are not unduly apprehensive about making mistakes. A creative person is one whose life is not subject to humiliation upon failure. The caregiver has given such a person great freedom to try, to succeed, and to fail. High- risk solutions can be tried without fear of their potential. This describes Elizabeth Riley's strategy for her son, James Whitcomb Riley. She encouraged each of the three characteristics. Elizabeth Riley was the source of the poet's strength and courage as well. In Riley's "Poem of the Seven Faces" comes the confession of a "face" of a character who is not one of the "Flying Islands" of the cast. The faces of the poems are those vivid recollections that confront Riley's life every day and often drive him into the relief of intoxication. The "Second Face" of the poems speaks of someone other than one of Riley's play-characters representing a fragmentation of himself. This "Second Face" says of Crestillomeem, Riley's alcoholic self:
I knew her - long and long before High AEo2 loosed her palm and thought: "What awful splendor have I wrought To dazzle earth and Heaven, too!"
Elizabeth Riley, Riley's mother who died in the midst of the poverty stricken years when Riley was 20, confesses from her seat in heaven that her departure has precipitated Riley's initial descent into alcoholism. From heaven, AEo can only be horrified at Riley in the throes of Crestillomeem. Riley's mother was with him as a living presence throughout his life as the poem acknowledges.
Jucklet
In one strange phase he spake As though some spirited lady (AEo1) talked with him. - Full courteously he said: "In woman's guise Thou comest, yet I think thou art, in sooth But woman in thy form. - Thy words are strange And leave me mystified. I feel the truth Of all thou hast declared, and yet so vague And shadow-like thy meaning is to me I know not how to act to ward the blow Thou sayest is hanging o'er me even now." And then, with open hands held pleadingly, He asked, "Who is my foe?" - And o'er his face A sudden pallor flashed, like death itself, As though, if answer had been given, it Had fallen like a curse.
1. AEo, Riley's mother, now dead tries to caution him against his drunken lifestyle.
A letter is preserved which Riley wrote as an old man to a child, James L. Murray, confirming his mother was still very much in his thoughts. Dear Little Boy, -No-sir-ee! I couldn't write verse when I was nine years old like you. But, as you do, I could get verses "by heart," for speeches at School - only I always got pale and sick and faint when I tried to speak `em - and my chin wobbled, and my throat hurt, and then I broke clean down and cried. Oughtn't I been ashamed of myself? I bet you ain't goin' to cry - in the Second Room of the A Grade! I was sorry to hear your mother died when you were only one year old. My mother is dead, too; and so I wouldn't be surprised if your mother and my mother were together right now, and know each other, and are the best friends in their World, just as you and I are in this. My best respects to your good father and teachers all. Every your friend, James Whitcomb Riley Riley's finest set of complete works was published 1915 with dedication to his mother as the Elizabeth Marine Riley Edition. Original watercolors are inserted as illustrations in many of the limited edition of 150. From George Richman, a Hancock County historian we learn that Riley's mother was a "woman of rare strength of character, combined with deep sympathy and a clear understanding." Others recalled her as being a gardener and a writer of verse. Speaking to his nephew and secretary, Edmund Eitel, Riley commented on the death of his mother when asked about it and after a long period of silence. "Sometimes I think mentality is developed by such things. Some terrible experience comes and worries and worries you until your mind seems stretched like the head of a drum. Well, you bear up bravely, and say to yourself, I can stand just this - but no more. Then some greater horror comes and turns the screws and turns the screws until you feel that your mind is surely strained to breaking...and so on, and so on, and if it doesn't break, it becomes very strong. " The same Edmund Eitel added, "(Riley's mother, Elizabeth) alone understood the boy, Riley, and sympathized with him. Riley said, "I was her child in color of hair and eyes, in heart and soul. I worshiped her, and to see her in poverty and suffering was agony for me -and a mother so worthy of the best!" Riley's mother probably did not know of his great love of Nellie Cooley in real life, but Riley imagined she must know of it from her vantage in heaven. She would also know of her son's great anguish at Nellie's departure from Greenfield and then death. After the death of Nellie Cooley, great sadness must have stroked Riley's life. Nellie did not outlive her husband, George, so that Riley might rush to Illinois, find her a widow with children, marry her and bring her back to Indiana to find happiness in the way envisioned in the 1974 poem, "Farmer Whipple-Bachelor." The only memory Riley had was of his stolen love with Nellie as a married woman. This relationship might otherwise have been a sordid affair except that Riley knew that the "mother's heart" of Elizabeth understood his needs and situation and approved it. He writes of this in his autobiographical poem's Act II when speaking to the dead spirit of Nellie, he says:
"Amphine Then, Thou lovest! - O my homing dove, veer down And nestle in the warm home of my breast! So empty are mine arms, so full my heart The one must hold thee, or the other burst.
Dwainie (Throwing herself in his embrace)
AEo's own hand methinks hath flung me here; O hold me that He may not pluck me back!"
Riley felt his mother must have understood how much he needed Nellie. Her "own hand" encourages the relationship. There was an earlier love interest of Riley than Nellie Cooley that we should speak of. Adda Rowell was Riley's first romantic interest in his teens. The year was 1868. Adda was 16 when her family moved to Greenfield, arriving in town shortly after the Civil War. John Rowell, the father, was a New Englander and he was accompanied by his wife, a son, Edward, and the beautiful daughter, Adda. Riley was nineteen and fresh from an apprenticeship with John Keefer, the village sign painter. According to the memoir of Minnie Belle (Alexander) Mitchell, Riley had not before had an "affair of the heart" before Adda. Mitchell remembers, "Little Adda Rowell slipped easily into the social life of the village. She attended parties, shared in charades and tableaux, attended plays in the old Masonic Hall where the Riley youth displayed his unusual histrionic talent and, as a crowning glory, she heard him play the trap drum in the old Adelphian Band." I repeat the account of this romance in the words of Mitchell who witnessed the events. "All through the gay glad summer, young Riley worshiped at the shrine of winsome Adda, singing, rhyming and absorbing from her the art of playing the guitar. They had long walks down by Brandywine Creek, loitering in shady places and with Adda's little sunbonnet handing by a string... At that early period a culvert made of rough hewn stone spanned a small brook which intruded through the heart of the village. Its low graceful arch was topped on either side by broad stone balustrades which provided sets for weary travelers, as well as trysting place for lovers. It was, indeed, a beautiful spot and a favorite resort of Bud's since it was an integral part of the old road which his father had glorified in his stories of early pioneer days. So the old stone culvert easily lured Bud and the fair Adda still with a smile in her eyes, to its broad sides where the moonlight tunneled its way through borders of willow reeds and fell benignly upon the lovers. The guitar, of course, shared in the scene and the lovers played and sang, she exchanging her eastern melodies for the lad's "Lilly Dale," "Sweet Belle Mahone," "Laurena," "Sweet Genevieve" and other songs of the day." Mitchell accounts this romance one from May, when Adda arrived in Greenfield, to Autumn. She recalls Riley re-naming Adda as the "Airy Fairie Lillian" and being very desperately in love with her. The romance ended in the fall when John Rowell took his family from Greenfield to go to the Northwest. Riley and Adda exchanged letters for a time. Riley's were sometimes in rhyme. Eventually Adda married and became Adda Barber living in Oregon and their letters ceased. She was later widowed with two daughters. Riley's last letter to Adda, written in 1906, just ten years before his death, was addressed in care of her brother, Edward, in Michigan. It contained two books, volumes of "Rhymes of Childhood," so Riley must have found out his Adda had two children, with the following inscription, "For Mrs. Adda Rowell Barber, From her old Hoosier friend and fellow townsman of the days of our youth at Greenfield, Indiana, where Jess and Nell and Alice were living - now, alas, long gone. James Whitcomb Riley." Even though he returned often to Greenfield, and apparently to Nellie Cooley, Riley did not feel constrained from seeking the company of many young women in the places he visited. The recollections of James Whitcomb Riley by friends and letters support the probability that Riley, like many other unsettled young men of his time and ours, expressed his sexuality "on the run." From every town where Riley traveled in his early days of his twenties and as he traveled from town to town painting signs and composing poetry on the sly, there seems to be a legend about an eligible young lady "left behind." An example comes from when Riley lived in Peru, Indiana earning his way as a sign painter. An acquaintance, A. William Neff, recalled a casual love affair Riley had while there. This was in the year 1872. Riley's partner named "Smith" was also a resident. They set up their shop on the second floor of a two story building over a livery stable owned by John and Ben E. Wallace located on East Third Street between Broadway (the main street of Peru) and Wabash Street. The business prospered and they became known in the community. Soon Riley became interested in a young woman named Catherine Musselman, an Irish girl. The year before, she had gone to live with the Neffs and lived there about five years. Riley dated her and called at the Neff residence on the corner of East Third and Wabash only half a block from his workshop. Most of his evenings in Peru were spent in her company and usually at the Neff home. Another recollection of Neff's should be recorded. A. William Neff remembered Riley spending rainy days painting signs and pictures very skillfully. A few years young than Riley, Neff remembered spending time watching him point and he was also Riley's messenger boy to take messages to Catherine. Eventually, Riley gave Neff several pictures as he painted them which remain in Peru and have been exhibited from time to time. One of the scenes was a farm scene with a young couple in a hay field with arms intertwined, the girl with a rake in her left hand the boy holding a hay fork,.. In the background was a cabin and dense woods. The boy was kissing the girl and a caption read, "Making Hay While the Sun Shines." Another picture was the head of a beautiful school girl in a low cut blouse, large white beaded necklace and wide brimmed hat. The picture was painted on poplar board and has "Riley and Smith" on the top for signature. It is believed they are on display at the Miami County Historical Museum. While in Peru, it is remembered that Riley belonged to a social club known as the Academy Club of Peru. The club was composed of young men and had a dancing room and club room on the third floors of adjoining buildings at Second street and Broadway connected by a doorway. The club employed Riley to paint and redecorate the rooms. Riley frescoed the club room. Eventually, Riley simply up and left. Catherine had no more explanation than anyone else. Eventually a letter came to Catherine and in it was a poem, "The Little Town of Tailholt," which Riley had just written and sent to her. Catherine Musselman was saddened at his departure. She was not the only one left behind. All the rest joined her in this situation. Another recollection of Riley from roughly the same period - but a little later - has him at South Bend. In South Bend, Riley worked for Major Blowney who was a painting contractor and had a number of men in his employment. As Henry Pershing remembers it, there were always many girls hanging around in Blowney's shop talking to the boys while they worked. Riley liked to talk if there was anyone to listen while he painted signs in the shop. Riley was considered a "jolly short of fellow and everybody liked him; in fact, he was regarded by everyone as a hail fellow, making friends easily." In particular an incident is recalled in which Riley was sitting after his lunch holding a newspaper in his hand, while the fellows were eating their lunch, he read to them. On this occasion, Riley began to read out loud so all could plainly hear him giving all the details about a disastrous fire over in Mansfield, Ohio, where the house of a "Henry Bronson" was burned to the ground and how the owner was barely saved by the firemen from a terrible death in the burning building. Riley read it with all the details of how Mr. Bronson was carried out by the firemen, when up jumped Jim Bronson, one of Riley's fellow workers who had been sitting in the circle listening, exclaiming, "My God, that's my father." Riley's reading had produced the affect desired and that was what he wanted and they all had a good laugh when Riley told them he was simply making it up as he went along. Riley had the reputation of being quite a joker. Jucklet was in Riley's heart. Henry Miller, a friend working at Blowney's with Riley, does not remember Riley paying much attention to the girls in South Bend. When he called on the daughters of a Mrs. Harper, a prominent family in South Bend society, Miller reports that Mrs. Harper was not impressed enough with him to permit her girls to see Riley. He was apparently not, at least in South Bend, Indiana, a steady lover. It is possible that Riley's sexuality was expended on casual sexual acquaintances both before and after the writing of "The Flying Islands of the Night." The record from "before" is far the greater. A letter of McClanahan preserves the casual nature of the casual morality practiced by at least that close friend. The letter is addressed to Riley from McClanahan in Ackley, Iowa, and is dated February 25, 1876. McClanahan is with a woman he calls "Baby." She has been sick. "I'm blue as hell to night." He says "Baby" is taking all his "sugar." He mentions things were fine when Baby was working and paying bills. Then in August, 1876, Mack is writing Riley from Dearborn Street in Chicago, sans "Baby." Then in December he is over with Doc. Townsend traveling with another medicine show. He says he doesn't feel well. In fact he feels like someone "after taking a few drops of Dock's balsam tonight while I am smoking a `bald head.'" Such was the life of the best friend of Riley's early 20's. While we must be true to Riley's autobiographical understanding of his own life, we shall expand the activities of Riley as Amphine to include those other persons for whom he showed affection - correspondents and friends - particularly the many close friends who bore such close camaraderie with Riley. Among his closest friends during his teenaged years and early twenties were the members of the Adelphians theatrical troupe. The Adelphians began as a band of musicians in 1868 during a political campaign. The group purchased a band wagon manufactured locally and while its driver, James Cox, maneuvered the bandwagon in political parades, the uniformed band members, William Davis, Ed Millikan, War Barnett, Thomas Carr, Charles Warner, Jesse Millikan, Isaac Davis, John Davis, John Guymon, Fred Hafner, Emsely Wilson, Hiram Riley and Riley's brother John played rousing musical numbers. Riley and his friends, Clint Hamilton and Fred Beecher, also occasionally played in this band. Later in Riley's life, in 1890, Riley composed a poem about his days as a musician in the Adelphians or sometimes called the Davis Brother's Band as follows:
THE OLD BAND (1890)
It's mighty good to git back to the old town, shore, Considerin' I've b'en away twenty year and more. Sense I moved then to Kansas, of course I see a change, A-comin' back, and notice things that's new to me and strange; Especially at evening when yer new band--fellers meet, In fancy uniforms and all, and play out on the street - ...What's come of old Bill Lindsey and the Saxhorn fellers - say? I want to hear the old band play.
What's come of Eastman, and Nat Snow? And where's War Barnett at? And Nate and Bony Meek; Bill Hart; Tom Richa'son and that Air brother of him played the drum as twic't as big as Jim; And old Hi Kerns, the carpenter - say, what's become o' him? I make no doubt yer new band now's a competenter band, And plays their music more by note than what they play by hand, And stylisher and grander tunes; but somehow - anyway, I want to hear the old band play.
Sich tunes as "John Brown's Body" and "Sweet Alice," don't you know; And "The Camel Is A-Comin'," and "John Anderson, My Jo"; And a dozent others of 'em - "Number Nine" and "Number 'Leaven" Was favor-rites that fairly made a feller dream o' Heaven. And when the boys 'ud saranade, I've laid so still in bed I've even heerd the locus' blossoms droppin' on the shed When "Lilly Dale," er "Hazel Dell," had sobbed and died away ...I want to hear the old band play.
Yer new band ma'by beats it, but the old band's what I said - It allus 'peared to kind o' chord with somepin' in my head; And, whilse I'm no musicianer, when my blame' eyes is jes' Nigh drowned out, and Mem'ry squares her jaws and sort o' says She won't ner never will fergit, I want to jes' turn in And take and light right out o' here and git back West ag'in And stay there, when I git there, where I never haf' to say I want to hear the old band play.
About two years later, in April 1870, many of the members of the old Adelphians or Davis Brothers Band decided to put on entertainments at the Old Masonic Hall in Greenfield. They called their club "The Adelphi" and themselves "The Adelphians." The group became best known for dramatic performances which continued for several years. James Whitcomb Riley and his beloved Nellie Millikan, later Mrs. George Cooley, were very prominent in these productions. Other members of the Adelphians were Lee O. Harris, George Carr, War Barnett, A. Ford, Nellie's brothers Ed and Jesse, George B. Cooley, O. N. Ridgeway, John Skinner, H. McGruder, Clint Hamilton, Angie Parker, Mary Dille, and Kate Geary and others from time to time. Riley commonly painted backdrops and produced the stage scenery used in the plays. The group seems to have continued until about 1875, mainly being active in the Christmas seasons and winters. The Adelphians' combined talents produced entertainments and plays for several years in Greenfield. Most were given at the Old Masonic Hall catycornered from the Bradley Methodist Church. I detail an early program for one from Nov. 28, 1869, calling itself A GRAND ENTERTAINMENT THE PROCEEDS OF ONE EVENING'S PERFORMANCE TO BE GIVEN TO --THE POOR -- THE OTHER ASIDE FROM EXPENSES WILL GO TO THE BENEFIT OF --THE GREENFIELD CORNET BAND -- General Manager, J. W. Riley Stage Manger, Lee O. Harris Leader of Orchestra, I.R. Davis.
There was a general musical introduction followed by "The Great Moral and Domestic Drama of the Chimney Corner." If James Whitcomb Riley developed stage presence and dramatic and comical stage skills someplace, it came from living and breathing on his hometown's stage. Adolescence became the time when Riley learned enough about characters to be able to play the parts he later assumed. His character types were a wide number of persons many from the world of literature and art. He spent more time reading Dickens at Tom Snow's and read poetry such as Keats, Herrick, Tennyson, Longfellow and Poe. Snow had bought fragments of the old township library and Jim borrowed Lives of Eminent Painters and Sculptors. He poured over the work and life patterns of artists. At 20, Riley was into theatrical plays, chewed tobacco, loved the girls, and possessed neither skill nor job. He played Solomon Probity, in November, 1869, of that year in "Chimney Corner." In playing this part, Riley followed Jimmy Rarden, an old man, around town for a week, watching him sit and stand, walk and talk. He constructed the fireplace for the set and had a good time. In that one year, from Dec. 26 through the holidays at the end of the year, this group put on "Child of Waterloo," "The Rough Diamond," "More Blunders Than One," "Charles the XII," "The Obstinate Family," "Box and Cox," and "Grandfather Whitehead." James Whitcomb Riley took a part in every one of these many plays and in many he had the leading part. Although Riley's adolescence was not notable for being happy in his life, it was perhaps the most important epoch in the respect that during this time Riley learned to live life by acting out play characters. This came about through Riley's experiences as an actor in plays and productions in his hometown of Greenfield, Indiana. The Christmas season of 1869, his troupe presented seven plays. "Child of Waterloo" written by Lee O Harris was the first one. Riley sharpened his awareness of play acting by attending plays wherever he happened to wander. We know he attended plays at White's Hall while at Marion in 1872. The entertainments in those days were mostly local productions. Few traveling companies journeyed through the Midwest. Townspeople put on the plays as the enterprising among them conceived and did them. Riley was a major actor in his adolescent years. He kept on acting when he left the stage and continued on and on, doing the parts, throughout his life. He memorializes his most important parts in his great autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." The early experiences of acting contributed materially to Riley's later success. Booth Tarkington, says, "In Mr. Riley's `platform career,' during those years when he went about the country "reading," his poems he saw with his eyes, and heard with his ears, what people thought of him. "Never any other man stood night after night on stage or platform to receive such solid roars of applause for the `reading' of poems - and for himself. "He did not read his poems; he did not recite them either; he took his whole body into his hands; as if were, and by his wizard mastery of suggestion left no James Whitcomb Riley at all upon the stage. Instead, the audience saw and heard whatever the incomparable comedian wished them to see and hear. He held literally unmatched power over them for riotous laughter or for actual copious tears and no one who ever saw an exhibition that power will forget it - or forget him." Remember Greenfield as it was then a village, twenty miles away from Indianapolis, but still very isolated. There were no libraries and no telephones and no autos for quick transportation and so in Greenfield a group composed of the school teachers and others joined in literary groups to share experiences. Books and magazines were passed along with may comments on their margins. The ones James Whitcomb Riley passed added thumbnail sketches of the characters. A former city resident, Mrs. Charles E. Cox, formerly Emma Cooley, Nellie's daughter, remembered one on "Mrs. Weatherbee's Quilting Part" a story by Alice Carey included in the old "Clovernook Sketches." Perhaps the medium most attuned to Riley as Amphine was raw art of which his sign painting was a commercial variant. It is said he loved to draw from childhood. When he was 5, he drew valentines and is said to have written verses on them for his friends for which his mother praised him greatly. Little of this survives. In an "approved" sketch of his life, Riley gave his nephew, Edmund Eitel, information for the following account. "Shortly after his sixteenth birthday, young Riley turned his back on the little schoolhouse and for a time wandered through the different fields of art, indulging a slender talent for painting until he thought he was destined for the brush and palette, and then making merry with various musical instruments, the banjo, the guitar, the violin, until finally he appeared as bass drummer in a brass band. "In a few weeks," he says, "I had beat myself into the more enviable position of snare drummer. Then I wanted to travel with a circus, and dangle my legs before admiring thousands over the back seat of a Gold Chariot. In a dearth of comic songs for the banjo and guitar, I had written two or three myself, and the idea took possession of me that I might be a clown, introduced as a character-song-man and the composer of my own ballads. My father was thinking of something else, however, and one day I found myself with a `five-ought' paint brush under the eaves of an old frame house that drank paint by the bucketful, learning to be a pointer. Finally, I graduated as a house, sign and ornamental painter, and for two summers traveled about with a small company of young fellows calling ourselves `the Graphics,' who covered all the barns and fences in the state with advertisements." Another possibility he explored was working as a printer and working in the village print-shop and a later ambition was acting, encouraged by the good times he had in the theatricals of the "Adelphian Society of Greenfield.""In my dreamy way," he afterward said, "I did a little of a number of things fairly well - sand, played the guitar and violin, acted, painted signs and wrote poetry. My father did not encourage my verse-making for he thought it too visionary, and being a visionary himself, he believed he understood the dangers of following the promptings of the poetic temperament. I doubted if anything would come of the verse- writing myself."
Many stories survive of a possible love affair of James Whitcomb Riley with Clara Bottsford, a teacher and poet in her own right who once lived with the Riley family in "The Seminary" and went on to teach and write much poetry. Her sister, Lotta M. B. Cooper, has written a book documenting this relationship called CLARA LOUISE. She commences her account with the statement: "It is well known in Greenfield and Hancock County that James Whitcomb Riley and Clara Louise Bottsford were at one time lovers for some years." The connections are numerous and can be seen in the very subject matter of Riley poetry. Clara Louis Bottsford and Riley were said to be seeing each other when she was teaching near the "Little Town of Tailholt" and was living in the family of "My Old Friend, William Leachman." Her sister writes: "The dark-eyed girl had overflowing vitality, and unbounded enthusiasm for the things she liked, and the attraction grew to be the love of the poet's life, and of hers, the living, ardent expression of which lasted through a period of nearly eight years, in which they walked and talked, and read and sang, and laughed together. They read the poets endlessly, it seemed to us, and much history and mythology. In this time, too, the poet's father loaned the girl books and talked to her about them... It is impossible for strangers to know, to see, or to feel the personal charm of a poet in his youth and intimate associations. This poet was also a musician as the Troubadours were so. He played the guitar and sang with fine effect the old love songs. We lived, a group of young people in the midst of an acre of trees, where had been our father's and mother's home, (Biographer's note: Clara Louise's parents died much earlier and shortly after they purchased a farm along Sugar Creek in Hancock County, Indiana, in 1860. The Bottsford children, with Clara Louis as the eldest and her father's administratrix, stayed on the farm and raised themselves.) On summer nights with the moon shining through the branches, the soft air vibrated with tenderness as he sang: "Unloose the snood that you wear, Jeanette, Let me tangle a hand in your hair, my pet, For the world to me holds no daintier sight Than your brown hair veiling your shoulders white. Than your brown hair veiling your shoulders white." Another of the Riley's favorite songs she recalls was "Juanita:" "Nita, Jaunita, let me linger by thy side, Nita, Juanita, be my own fair bride." The courtship was open and admitted, though unannounced. The family were included or disregarded as it might happen, she being the oldest. It was not a matter of moment to the pair who sat with them, or didn't, though the youngest brother spent much time with them; he was a lovely boy and a favorite with both... "Jim" liked to do caricature, too, and when he sang: "If there's any girl here wants a kiss from me She'll find me as young as I used to be." ...I think it was along here that he tried lecturing, giving entertainments, but he suffered from a disability which in his day was common to temperamental men and plainer ones as well. (Biographer's note: alcoholism.) ...About this time it was that the young brother one day, having gone part way with Mr. Riley to the railroad station, came close to the grown-up sister and said almost in a whisper, "You don't know what he said to me. He said the one thing in all the world he wanted was to succeed at something so that you and he could be married." (Clara Louise) answered, smiling, "And was it news? I've known that for a long time." In all poetic justice, they should have married and been happy; but poesy was never known to take account of that which men call justice, and the element of chance, which so sore afflicts mankind may be to the gods, opportunity. Who knows. Time went on and lengthened out. Success seemed no nearer. With discouragement and uncertainty, the poet's propensity for following Bobby Burns (Biographer's note: alcoholism) in his best known characteristic grew stronger and finally brought the end of the love story." What do we know of this alleged lover? Miss Clara Louise Bottsford was a native of Johnson County and moved to Sugar Creek Township when she was a child. Her parents, E.S. and Lorinda Bottsford, died within one year of each other leaving an orphaned family of seven children including Clara Louise, one child having died earlier. Clara Louise taught in the schools of Greenfield and boarded in the home of Reuben A. Riley where she met and was allegedly courted by James Whitcomb Riley. The Bottsford daughters and sons kept the farm home, living there in the summer and teaching in the winter, until the youngest was grown up. John H. Binford, author of the first HISTORY OF HANCOCK COUNTY, knew her in the first normal school of the county and as superintendent of the Greenfield graded schools licensed her to teach. She first wrote with a nom de plume in the county papers, then in FRANK LESLEY MAGAZINE, CHIMNEY CORNER, and The New York LEDGER and then, after 1882, wrote over her own signature in the Indianapolis JOURNAL and HERALD, Chicago INTER-OCEAN, New York SUN, and other metropolitan newspapers. The following poem has been popularly said to have been inspired by her:
"DREAM" (1878)
Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow tried To drown within the amber tide; Because the looks, whose ripples kissed The trembling lids through tender mist, Were dazzled with a radiant gleam - Because of this I called her "Dream."
Because the roses growing wild About her features when she smiled Were ever dewed with tears that fell With tenderness ineffable; Because her lips might spill a kiss That, dripping in a world like this Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream To sweetness - so I called her "Dream."
Because I could not understand The magic touches of a hand That seemed, beneath her strange control, To smooth the plumage of the soul And calm it, till, with folded wings, It half forgot its flutterings, And, nestled in her palm, did seem To trill a song that called her "Dream."
Because I saw her, in a sleep As dark and desolate and deep And fleeting as the taunting night That flings a vision of delight To some lorn martyr as he lies In slumber ere the day he dies - Because she vanished like a gleam Of glory, do I call her "Dream."
In 1950, a folk-recollection of Riley and his connection with Clara Bottsford is found in the pamphlet THE PRINCE AND PRINCE'S LAKES by Joan Lattimore. When the area of Johnson County, Indiana, south of Indianapolis where Clara Bottsford's family once lived, was being developed and lakes were created, the developer, Howard Prince, published a newsletter for the residents called "Prince's Lakes News" that contained the following article. "BELOVED HOOSIER POET LOST FIANCEE AT HISTORIC HOUSE NEAR ENTRANCE." "Some may have wondered what we intended to do with the old house at the entrance across from our administration building. Frankly there have been many other things more urgently in need of immediate attention that this. However we do intend to repair this old house and paint it up, but we do not intend to radically change its appearance on account of its historical background. We are informed by Mrs. Earl Wilks who used to live in this house, that a second cousin of hers, Clare (sic) Louise Bottsford was the fiancee of James Whitcomb Riley and the inspiration for his poem "An Old Sweetheart of Mind." Mrs. Wilks says that Riley courted her cousin and became engaged to her here at this old house. On the day they were to be married he came to the house intoxicated and she broke off the engagement. Later on they began going together again and again became engaged. On the day set for the wedding he again came intoxicated and this time Miss Bottsford broke off the engagement for good. Mrs. Wilks informs us that Riley then made the statement that he would never marry, which vow we all know he kept..." Later it was decided the house should be torn down. Greenfield folk considered Clara to be Riley's mistress for many years. The relationship continued sporadically for the later years after the departure of Nellie Cooley for Illinois in 1875 until 1883. In that year, responding to his sister Mary's insistence, Riley allegedly made arrangements for a quiet wedding to Clara and hired a minister and a church in Indianapolis. Clara turned down this offer. Later she married a bartender and her last years were lived without notoriety. This strange development is recorded in the autobiographical poem as Crestillomeem indicates how she will foil Riley's attempts at love by shriveling him up so that she marries another man whose sire Riley knows. This situation is detailed in the "expanded" 1892 version of the poem in which Riley refers to his loss of a "princess." "She strangely went Astray one moonset from the palace-steps - She went - nor yet returned. -Was it not strange? - She would be wedded to an alien prince The morrow midnight - to a prince whose sire1 I once knew, in lost hours of lute and song, When he was but a prince - I but a mouth For him to lift up sippingly and drain To lees2 most ultimate of stammering sobs And maudlin3 wanderings of blinded breath.
1. When Clara married her bartender, Riley knew his sire, "red eye." Clara Bottsford was allegedly lost to Riley because of his alcoholism. "Sire" is a catchword of Riley's referring to one who exercises dominion or rule, one's lord or sovereign, the business of alcohol in this context. 2. A lee is a place of protection or resting place. Possibly the lee was a tavern where both Clara's new husband and Riley shared alcohol. 3. A term used to refer to a stage of drunkenness in which one is tearful and effusively sentimental.
After the Clara Louise episode, it appears that Riley gave up any hope of marriage. There is no record of any later offer of marriage. His women friends after Nellie are "dreams." He means this proabably literally as well as sarcastically. He sometimes addresses "hopefuls" just that way. They really are dreaming if they think they are going to marry James Whitcomb Riley! He admits his feeling of futility about love in his introductory letter to Elizabeth Kahle of Feb. 21, 1879, "...I am a young man and unmarried. I write sentimental verses occasionally, simply because I don't believe in love and am anxious to convince myself of my error, possibly - I don't know why else." Riley associated with many other women in many different respects. Some are as literary correspondents, some are "Nellie" or "Clara" substitutes or hopefuls. Another one written to at the same time as Elizabeth Kahle was Ella Wheeler, an eligible woman for marriage, correspondent and poet of Wisconsin. Unfortunately, when Riley met her in Wisconsin when he went there with his friend Rev. Myron Reed on a hunting trip in June 1880 both were disgusted with each other. How strange Riley's relationships with these "literary lovers" was! For example, during the months Riley was living in Anderson, sharing an apartment with his friend, James McClanahan, and dating a lawyer's sister, Kate Myers who he called "Kit," he was also writing Elizabeth Kahle "love letters" in Pennsylvania and Ella Wheeler "love letters" in Wisconsin. While Riley was going with Kit to picnics, dances and parties, and composing his poems, as he did in bed at night next to Jim McClanahan in the double bed they shared, Riley was also writing letters of great romantic intention to "My dearest friend," Elizabeth Kahle. Riley's correspondence with Elizabeth went on three years before Riley even met her and after he did their relationship cooled to ice. Neither Elizabeth Kahle nor any of the other literary correspondent companions could be the "soul partner" that Nellie Cooley was so they all faded away into fantasy holding on tightly to letters written to them by Riley preserved with great hope for later publication. In this category we find "love letters" to Ella Wheeler, Edith Thomas, Evaleen Stein, and many others. Some of the latter are known through self- promoted "gossip" as that of Elizabeth Fisher Murphy, a married lady in Delphi who for years claimed to have been Riley's lover when he visited Dr. Smith in Delphi. She was another self-promoting "Old Sweetheart of Mine" candidate too. Since James Whitcomb Riley never married, his various courtships - none resulting in marriage - have been highly debated. Who did he really love? I believe "The Flying Islands of the Night" pretty much answers the question. His hope for married love in the traditional sense in home and family was destroyed because his "partner chosen for him in heaven," Nellie Cooley, was already married. Perhaps due to impotency from his alcoholism and with the exception of occasional intimacies, Riley seems to have concentrated more socially on making friends with men and women than with investing in romantic dalliances. One measure of his success in making friends is found in his work for the Kokomo Saturday TRIBUNE when Riley was its Home Editor in 1879. As such Editor, Riley rounded up literary contributions for the newspaper from among his friends. Here is a list of those who wrote poetry for Riley for an issue of December 27th, 1879: Maurice Thompson, Lee O. Harris, Mary H. Krout, Sarah T. Bolton, Louise V. Boyd, Emily T. Charles, Frank Mayfield, Asa Burrows, M.E. Harmon, H.W. Taylor, Mrs. O.B. Hewitt, Luther G. Riggs, W. J. Lampton, Dan L. Paine, H.S. Taylor, B.S. Parker, D,M. Jordan, Clara Louise Bottsford, John W. Tindall, John N. Taylor, Horace P. Biddre, Frank Winter, Celeste M.A. Winslow, Lilla N. Custhman, L.E.F.R. with prose by Mary Dean, Margret Holmes, Mary A. Cornelius, Mrs. T.C. Vickrey, J.P. Charles, W.C. Cooper, Dr. P. Baldwin, Mary F. Tucker, R.H.J., Mary H. Catherwood, Amy E. Dunn, "Christie," N.L. NBraffett. Kittie Knox, Willard G. Nash, Smith Griffith, and "G.P." Riley had many, many friends who wrote pieces for him to publish. Who were some of his closest friends? Riley sought out friends. One was Meredith Nicholson. Nicholson's verses had been picked up in a Cincinnati newspaper as Riley discovered. Riley investigated to find where Nicholson worked and went to meet him. When they met, Nicholson was employed in a law office where he copied legal documents, ran errands, and scribbled verses in his spare time. Nicholson says, "He was the most interesting as he was the most amusing and the most lovable man I have known." Some of Nicholson's other comments about Riley should be recorded. They point out how peculiar was this fellow Riley to his friends. "(Riley) was always curious as to the origin of any garment or piece of haberdashery displayed by his intimates, but strangely secretive as to the source of his own supplies. He affected obscure tailors, probably because they were likelier to pay heed to his idiosyncrasies than more fashionable ones. He once deplored to me the lack of attention bestowed upon the waistcoat by sartorial artists. This was a garment he held of the highest importance in man's adornment." Nicholson adds, "He inspired affection by reason of his gentleness and inherent kindliness and sweetness. The idea that he was convivial person, delighting in boon companions and prolonged sessions at table, has no basis in face. He was a domestic, even a cloistral being; he disliked noise and large companies; he hated familiarity, and would quote approvingly what Lowell said somewhere about the annoyance of being clapped on the back. Riley's best friends never laid hands on him; I have seen strangers or new acquaintances do so to their discomfiture." Riley and Nicholson liked to loaf together at a common bookstore where once Riley noted many copies of a Nicholson book. Later when Nicholson returned he learned that Riley had furtively purchased seventy-five of them to distribute widely to friends. Riley often did that for authors he liked. He was beloved within the literary community because he boosted others careers. In the course of time, Riley's fame as a poet and platform speaker brought him recognition from many of the best writers of his era. They wrote him letters that he was glad to answer in his inimitable style and through correspondence and personal contacts there was established a lasting friendship with such writers as Mark Twain, Joel Chandler Harris, John Burroughs, Rudyard Kipling, William Dean Howells, John Hay, William Lyon Phelps and many others. James Whitcomb Riley had a phenomenal gift of making and keeping friends. One of his oldest was John Skinner. Riley and Skinner knew each other from school days on through Riley's years of early great alcoholism. In fact they lived together more often than not when Riley was not off wandering on some nomadic escapist venture. Riley knew Skinner as a train dispatcher in Butler, Indiana during later years, but in the former years, both shared living in Room Eleven in the Dunbar House, a hostelry. The basis of the arrangement began in teenaged years. Skinner and Riley were both "printer's devils" for the rival newspapers of Greenfield. Their job was to "roll" the presses with printer's ink. This connection with newspapers, as lowly as it was, was the starting point for each to become interested in newspaper work. In their final year of "graded" school, in 1870, both undertook editorial supervision of the "Criterion," the Greenfield school newspaper. The two edited this newspaper there in the room at the Dunbar House working through the night to put out its issues. Riley had a genius for friendship and bound his friends to him with `hoops of steel' as his secretary, Marcus Dickey, once said. To some extent the phrase would be better put as with "hoops of red eye." Riley's closest friends were almost always those whose indulgence approached his own. Almon Keefer and Clint Hamilton share Riley's inscriptions in the records of the Greenfield Mayor's Court for public intoxications. His closest friend of his wandering days, Jim McClanahan was hopelessly alcoholic and eventually died after a binge of exposure. Even Charles Holstein, into whose house Riley moved at 528 Lockerbie Street, was initially Riley's friend from being a drinking companion. Riley was a prolific letter writer and in consequence there are several collections of letters written to various friends, each correspondence revealing some one of the many diverse sides of his lovable nature. Strangely, and in conflict with the obvious strength of his many friendships, Riley apparently believed he had more enemies than friends. He wrote in a letter to Elizabeth Kahle on February 21, 1879, "I have many friends, but more enemies, and can scarcely tell which I most enjoy - for I really enjoy being hated by some people. I am cynical in a marked degree, and disagreeable at time, I most frankly admit. Socially I move in the best circles, - not, -perhaps, because I was `to the manor born,' but because - because - well, I recite dialectic poems acceptably, sing comic songs and make funny faces, all of which seems to pelase ever7body but myself, for when I seem the happiest is when I feel the most like crying - though there are times I could take the whole world in my arms, and love it as I would a great, fat, laughing baby with a bunch of jingling keys..." Riley apparently believed he had friends only so long as he was entertaining and funny. This is not a man who is comfortable with who he really is. Riley certainly loved his family and particularly his sisters. His greatest tenderness was extended to those who were vulnearable as was his sister Mary. Riley was very tender-hearted towards his sister, Mary, as she thoguht, to make up for the lack of a mother's care in growing up. He earned very little at first, but after Mary was grown and married and moved to Chicago, and other places, Here is a letter Riley wrote to his sister while on a platform tour: Oskaloosa, Iowa March 25, 1889 My Dear Sister Mary: Your last letter, just read, seems as though some rainy Sunday at our dear old home. I had spit on my hands and written it myself. You take a Riley, for instance, and mix him up with a Marine - and Lord! - don't we make a combination!..As to your doctor's doleful prognostications, I know the profession too well to believe a word of it. All you want is some decided change and sensible care of yourself...Anyway in the world, and I am now, comparatively wealthy, that I can serve you, my Mother's dearest child, don't you know how it would please me who have done so little good and in so poor a way? When I neglect you, writing - it's because only I've neglected everybody else and everything else in this final struggle to get some good green dollars sucked into the bank - enough at least that I can lie down and die without folk's tearin' out the tail-gate of my bed for a headstone. And now at last I'm accumulating money, nothing would better please me than for you to enjoy any share of it you choose. Have been thinking very seriously of buying the old original home at Greenfield, if I can get it. How would you like that - to go back there and live? Or any other place in your fancy I could supply or help to .... `So I want you to feel utterly secure in the love of a brother now so better able than ever before to prove myself so, without stint of material wealth, as wealth of affection. As ever, with tenderest love, your bro., Jim Riley was compassionately tender together with an inimitable sense of humor that never deserted him even during the strain of years of greatest struggle. Crestillomeem was his "pressure valve" when tenderness and humor failed. Riley's own alcoholism placed him in sympathetic relationships with others who greatly influenced his writing both in character and subject matter. Especially the "intoxicatese" of such people was a well-spring of humor and source of "golden lines." Old Sport, William Stafford, provided a persona for the John Walker series. John W. Campbell was another gentleman who Riley liked to imitate with friends. He was a rural Hancock farmer but had a penchant for coming in to town to get drunk and chat with friends in the bars of Greenfield. Campbell was a hunter on land he owned in Arkansas. Riley enjoyed his amusing stories about his exploits as a hunter down on his Arkansas reserve. When he was intoxicated, the Greenfield boys, including Riley, would taunt him, "When are you going to Arkansas?" The kindly old farmer sometimes replied, "I'll be ready to strike out when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock." This was repeated in Riley's story telling and eventually became the "golden line" in his famous Benjamin Johnson poem of that name.
Perhaps we should detail James McClanahan's life who we have mentioned incidentally earlier. Let us see what happened to him. He was Riley's sign painting "partner" from Riley's early twenties. Jim McClanahan was born May 5, 1855 in Indiana. His father was T.J. McClanahan, a Marylander, as was his mother Harriet Settor. James McClanahan appears to have considered Anderson his domicile all his tragic life. He however leaves few traces. He shows up in the Emerson's City Directory of Anderson of 1876-7 listed as a "traveling agent" with a room at the corner of Bolivar and Jackson. Not until the 1891-2 city directory does he re-appear, this time as James "McClenehen" residing in a house at 84 W, 9th Street. No intervening or later city directory lists him at all. His obituary is on page one of the newspaper not because he was notable but because he was connected with the life of James Whitcomb Riley, then world-famous. A wife, May McClanahan, was indicated on his death certificate at the Madison County (Indiana) Health Department. She is listed as deceased. The obituary had said she was dead thirty years. Unfortunately no record of her exists anywhere. Wherever she slipped away, it made insufficient splash to be recorded. According to his obituary in the Anderson HERALD of Sunday morning, July 27, 1913, James McClanahan was found dying in the Anderson City Park and expired at Anderson's St. John's hospital the evening of July 26th, just before midnight. He died at 58 leaving only two half sisters. It does not seem too hard to speculate that a similar end to James Whitcomb Riley might have occurred. The newspaper article relates, "In a dying condition Mr. McClanahan was found lying in a shed in the City Park, formerly the fair ground, yesterday afternoon by workmen who were tearing down the sheds. Police were notified and the patrol wagon and Patrolman Beeman took Mr. McClanahan to the county jail. There it was discovered that the man was very ill and he was transferred to St. John's hospital." Apparently Jim McClanahan, Riley's comrade beginning thirty years before, had been passed out there in a ramshackle building, and probably been trying to live there, sick for at least since the prior Wednesday. One suspects alcoholism had drained his will to live. The building had formerly been the animal show barn of the Madison County Fair where livestock were exhibited until the place had been turned into a city park. Jim McClanahan had had no food and been exposed to the weather there and when found and arrested could hardly speak and soon lapsed into unconsciousness before dying. The medical records of that admission show that a doctor first saw him on the Saturday of his death, July 26 at 3:10 P.M. He was brought to the hospital from the jail in an ambulatory condition where he had been taken after a vagrancy arrest. At first there was no room for him at the hospital, but he was taken to Ward 2 of the hospital eventually. The only thing noted about him is that he was 58 and died the next day at 2 A.M. apparently without any treatment by the hospital staff. The hospital records do not reflect he was an alcoholic. The doctor's note says, "Ailment. Supposed to be overcome by heat and hunger." The man's death certificate at the Madison County Health Department gives the cause of death as "Exhaustion following acute alcoholism." /s/ Dr. Elmer S. Albright. Death Record CH9, page 23. Undertaker Earl Sells then took over. McClanahan had apparently been married to someone whose name escaped mention in his obituary - although it shows up in the death certificate as "May" - probably because she had died thirty years before, around the time he and James Whitcomb Riley had become friends, and he had never re- married. His rambling, nomadic life had included the times with "Baby" and no doubt others. We can trace Jim McClanahan and James Whitcomb Riley through the years with Doc McCrillus and the year after the McCrillus summer together. They both were members of a group called the Graphics who painted signs along with Will Ethell, who would move to Washington, D.C. This sign painting consortium would give Riley cause to travel all over the State of Indiana mainly painting barns and fences in the countryside and buildings in many cities and towns. The path of McClanahan diverged after these ventures with Riley and Ethell and the Graphics characters whose lives we will soon explore. James Whitcomb Riley went into writing. Will Ethell went into business. McClanahan had no such enterprising design and took whatever odd jobs he could find. He must have been very dispirited. He mainly worked about hotels, barber shops or livery barns cleaning up. Throughout the years, Riley contributed to Jim's income although McClanahan always maintained that he had never asked his soon-to-become wealthy friend for even a cent of charity. The parting of the intimate friends is described from just the prior month before McClanahan's miserable death. Anderson had held a week-long "Made in Anderson" Week honoring James Whitcomb Riley. The city could rightfully claim that Riley was their product. He had really begun his serious writing at that place. During one of the entertainments of the week, at the home of Mr. and Mrs. T.N. Stilwell, Riley insisted that he must see James McClanahan, his friend from the Doc McCrillus medicine show days and the Graphics capers. Half an hour later, it is said the Jim McClanahan was brought to Riley from a hotel office where he was working. What a strange meeting this must have been. Riley was by this time nationally prominent many times over, wealthier than any other writer in America, obviously fawned over and highly reputed. McClanahan would have been almost the antithesis. One can imagine the man, alcoholic and unshaven, someone who doesn't raise his eyes from the ground very often. Death was probably in those eyes even then. The two drew apart from the crowd of Riley well-wishers and spent the next minutes together again as they had been thirty years before. They said their good-byes. As Jim left Jim, it was recalled that McClanahan had given a wave. That was the last time they would ever see each other. (I should note that the last name of Riley's intimate friend is spelled in many ways in many accounts often within the same reference. I have stuck to the spelling "McClanahan" although I find it spelled McClannahan or M'Clanahan or M'Clannahan. Apparently he was considered so nondescript that he was not even worth having a consistently spelled last name.) Riley chose not to attend the funeral of this traveling companion of his youth who he had helped support over the years. There is absolutely no clue on which to speculate why. What can we really know about the man, Jim McClanahan, or whatever his name really was? We know that he was Riley's traveling companion with Doc McCrillus during his first summer away from home. We also know in the next years he and Riley formed a partnership to paint signs and barns and that both later became members of "The Graphics" about which more will come later. All of this is unfortunately very little. The shadowy and illusive Jim McClanahan seems to have existed in history only as a friend and traveling companion to James Whitcomb Riley and then fallen back into the obscurity of a man who took odd jobs cleaning horse stables, being a handyman, sweeping up barber shops, painting from time to time, or performing maintenance at Anderson hotels. He apparently lived where he could, if he could afford it, and in his last years, anywhere with even scanty shelter such as the abandoned animal barn at the Madison City Park where he was found after a bout with intoxication which cost him his life. This man may not have lived much of a life and certainly his life is not celebrated in many ways. But it certainly is in the poetry of James Whitcomb Riley.
THE RAGGEDY MAN (1890)
O The Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa; An' he's the goodest man ever you saw! He comes to our house every day, An' waters the horses1, an' feeds 'em hay; An' he opens the shed - an' we all ist laugh When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf2; An' nen - ef our hired girl says he can - He milks the cow3 fer 'Lizabuth Ann. - Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! W'y, the Raggedy Man -he's ist so good, He splits the kindlin'4 an' chops the wood; An' nen he spades in our garden5, too, An' does most things 'at boys can't do. - He clumbed clean up in our big tree An' shooked a' apple6 down fer me - An' 'nother 'n' too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann - An' 'nuther 'n' too, fer The Raggedy Man. - Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' The Raggedy Man one time say he, Pick' roast' rambos7 from a' orchurd-tree, An' et 'em - all ist roast' an hot! - An' it's so, too! - 'cause a corn-crib got Afire one time an' all burn' down On "The Smoot Farm," 'bout four mile from town - On "The Smoot Farm"! Yes - an' the hired han' 'At worked there nen 'uz The Raggedy Man! - Ain't he the beatin'est Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy Man's so good an' kind He'll be our "horsey," an "haw" an' mind Ever'thing 'at you make him do - An' won't run off - 'less you want him to! I drived him wunst way down our lane An' he got skeered, when it 'menced to rain, An' ist rared up an' squealed and run Purt' nigh away! - an' it's all in fun! Nene he skeered ag'in at a' old tin can... Whoa! y' old runaway Raggedy Man! Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes, An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes: Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers the'rselves: An', rite by the pump in our pasture-lot8, He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can Turn into me, er 'Lizabeth Ann! Er Ma, er Pa, er The Raggedy Man! Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' wunst, when The Raggedy Man come late, An' pigs9 ist root' thru the garden-gate, He 'tend like the pigs 'uz bears an' said, "Old Bear-shooter'll shoot 'em dead!" An' race' an' chase' 'em, an' they'd ist run When he pint his hoe at 'em like it's a gun An' go "Bang!-Bang!" nen 'tend he stan' An' load up his gun ag'in! Raggedy Man! He's an old Bear-Shooter Raggedy Man! Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' sometimes The Raggedy Man lets on We're little prince-children, an' old King's gone To git more money, an' lef' us there - And Robbers is ist10 thick ever'where: An' nen - ef we all won't cry, fer shore - The Raggedy Man he'll come and "splore The Castul-Halls," an' steal the "gold" - An' steal us, too, an' grab an' hold An' pack us off to his old "Cave"! - An' Haymow's the "cave" o' The Raggedy Man! - Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy Man - one time, when he Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry11 fer me, Says "When you're big like your Pa is, Air you go' to keep a fine store like his - An' be a rich merchunt - an' wear fine clothes? - Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows?" An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, An' I says "'M go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!" I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man! Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
1. Every home needed a well for water obtained by hand pump, sole source of water for drinking, cooking and washing. Grooming horses was a daily task. Draft horses were the tractors and vehicle motors of the nineteenth-century. 2. A bull calf raised as a steer was sometimes kept or "fed out" by a family to provide meat for the family. 3. Every morning and evening, a family's cow had to be milked in the late Nineteenth Century. Each family commonly kept a cow, even those in the towns, in a barn or shed behind the home. The ordinary breed was a Shorthorn, a dual purpose breed good for both milk and beef. 4. Most homes kept "kitchen" gardens in the mid-Nineteenth Century. With the exception of sugar, coffee and tea, most food that a family ate was raised at home. 5. Apples were a fruit staple. They were eaten fresh, kept in cellars (precursors of basements), sometimes canned, or dried for use in pies. 6. Kindling are finer strands of wood or material to initially take flame to start a fire. Keeping a good supply of firewood was a year-round task and a woodlot was in most Hoosier backyards. 7. rambo refers to a large cooking apple and apple variety that has a coat streaked with red. 8. From early Spring, domestic animals no longer had to be fed hay and grain but could be sustained on grass in pasture- lots. 9. Pigs were tended by men and boys in the Hoosier gender scheme of division of chores. Black and white Poland China pigs were the most popular Hoosier breed in the Nineteenth Century, a breed originated in southwest Ohio during the mid- Nineteenth Century. 10. just 11. pioneer children played "settler and Indian" with the bow and arrow being the Indian weapon of choice.
As all of Riley's poems are, "The Raggedy Man" is a composite of many characters that Riley had known. I think one of them was Jim McClanahan. Another was a man who had worked for Walter Smoot, a farmer near Greenfield, whose name is lost. The "Raggedy Man" is the archetypical good-hearted handyman and helper of every child or vulnerable person one seems to find in Riley's poetry. He is warm, hale, friendly, even if he is also worthless by worldly criterion of wealth or family reputation people. He is a Riley invention who entertains us with lack of sophistication on the way the world has passed him by or driven him down, lacking ambition to overcome the temptations of the world, such as alcoholism. But down deep we know such people are us, could have been us, or might be us. Bumbling, good-for-nothing, Jim McClanahan is worth a shout of joy about life, not because he is someone who we are better than, but because we know in the scheme of things to the vulnerable ones of this world does God show equal favor as to any other. Let us turn our attention to Luther Benson. Riley came to laugh at himself for ever having anything to do with the odd temperance speaker, Luther Benson. That was a great failing on the part of Riley. Luther Benson gave Riley to be able to deal with Crestillomeem after the death of Nellie Cooley as Riley clearly was unable to do before. In fact, Riley came to actively mock this American temperance figure. One of his platform sketches became "Benson Out-Bensoned." In this sketch, Riley made himself into a sadly laughable caricature of a "floudering drunken do gooder." The sketch was not well-received at the time and there is no record of its content which survives. Who was Luther Benson? His life spanned the years 1847- 1898, and he was a temperance movement figure. THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF BIOGRAPHY OF INDIANA, 1899, gives this record of the man's life: "Any biography of this man is necessarily a record of one of the greatest triumphs ever achieved by mortal in his life-and-death struggle with abnormal appetite. This appetite was undoubtedly inherited from his maternal grandfather and was fostered and strengthened by the customs of the day, spirituous liquors being kept and freely used by every family. Luther Benson was one of a family of nine children, seven of whom were boys. His father, John Harley Benson, was born Mar. 2, 1802... In 1835 he left Kentucky with his family and located in Rush County, Ind... Here his son Luther, destined to become so singularly distinguished, was born Sept. 9, 1847, and grew to manhood assisting with the work of his father's farm. He obtained the rudiments of an education in two little log school-houses- one standing by a stream called Hood's Creek, the other on the site of the present Ammon's mill. When sixteen years of age he began attending school at the little village of Fairview...His education was completed at Moore's Hill College near Cincinnati, after which he began the study of law; but the time had come when the onward current of his expanding young life was to receive a fearful check and its sweet and wholesome waters be turned to bitterness. His passion for drink had come upon him; and although he afterward entered college, his attendance was of short duration. Henceforth his best efforts must be expended in fighting the fiend that threatened his destruction. Of his moral sense and moral stamina his later years of triumph gave abundant proof; but that triumph came only after a long season of misery and humiliation to himself, his family and friends. On Jan. 21, 1877, he experienced a profound revulsion to his manner of life and determined to raise above his weakness. This seeming conversion occurred at Jeffersonville, Ind., and was the forerunner of his permanent conquest of a few months later at Fowler, although a period of relapse to his pitiful thralldom intervened. During the ten years prior to this time he had been engaged in the practice of law, a vocation to which in some ways he was admirably adapted, having, when not under the influence of liquor, a logical intelligence and eloquent flow of language. he had begun his legal studies in the office of Hon. John S. Reid, at Connersville, and had subsequently opened one on his own account at Rushville, where he practiced with good success until, himself released from the tyranny of strong drink, he felt impelled to devote his remaining days to the rescuing of like victims. Imbued with the moral courage of a lofty purpose, the chosen scene of his first lecture was Raleigh, whose inhabitants had been eye-witness to his most reckless dissipations. After this he proceeded from one to another of the principals towns of Indiana until, within three years, he had delivered nearly five hundred lectures in his home State. Subsequently he made a tour in the East...his efforts meeting everywhere with much appreciation and enthusiasm... In 1883 or 1884 Mr. Benson received the Democratic nomination for Congress from the Sixth District, but in a manly letter declined the nomination, not wishing actively to enter into political life...In 1884 Mr. Benson was married to Anna C. Slade. His domestic life was made beautiful by a wealth of affection, and his death which occurred June 21, 1898, was deeply and widely deplored... Not only with oral eloquence did Mr. Benson labor for the cause of temperance; he toiled with pen as well. FIFTEEN YEARS IN HELL is the significant title of a book of which he is the author and which has had a phenomenal sale throughout the country; and Mrs. Benson holds for publication the manuscript of her husband's autobiography, completed shortly before his death..." One of those who read this autobiography was James Whitcomb Riley. The life of Luther Benson must have seemed so similar to his own at the time. James Whitcomb Riley's poem "Luther Benson," was written in 1878 at approximately the same time as the composition of "Flying Islands" which it parallels in many respects. "The Flying Islands of the Night" is Riley's autobiography just as the one Riley was reading of Luther Benson's.
LUTHER BENSON (1878) (After reading his Autobiography)
Poor victim of that vulture curse1 That hovers o'er the universe, With ready talons quick to strike In every human heart alike, And cruel beak to stab and tear In virtue's vitals everywhere, - You need no sympathy of mine To aid you, for a strength divine Encircles you, and lifts you clear Above this earthly atmosphere.
And yet I can but call you poor, As, looking through the open door Of your sad life, I only see A broad landscape of misery, And catch through mists of pitying tears The ruins of your younger years, I see a father's shielding arm Thrown round you in a wild alarm - Struck down, and powerless to free Or aid you in your agony.
I see a happy home grow dark And desolate - the latest spark Of hope is passing in eclipse - The prayer upon a mother's lips Has fallen with her latest breath In ashes on the lips of death - I see a penitent who reels, And writes, and clasps his hands, and kneels, And moans for mercy for the sake Of that fond heart he dared to break.
And lo! as when in Galilee A voice above the troubled sea Commanded "Peace; be still!" the flood That rolled in tempest-waves of blood Within you, fell in calm so sweet It ripples round the Savior's feet; And all your noble nature thrilled With brightest hope and faith, and filled Your thirsty soul with joy and peace And praise to Him who gave release.
1. Alcoholism, which curse struck Riley too. 2. This poem could almost be an outline of "The Flying Islands of the Night."
Luther Benson wrote Riley a letter of encouragement upon hearing of Riley's alcoholism. Riley went to meet him. Benson was Riley's age and like Riley, a bachelor. In November, 1877, Riley toured Northern Indiana for a short time with Luther Benson and then returned to Greenfield with a copy of Benson's autobiography which he studied and pondered. As his biographer, I would have to say that Riley was greatly informed about the alcoholics confessional genre of writing from his experience with Luther Benson. The friendship with Benson continued. Before his winter tour of 1884 commenced, Riley had to borrow money because he was no longer employed by the Journal. He went to Luther Benson to borrow $80. He gave him a note which Riley never repaid. In Jan. 1888, Riley went to Luther Benson's home to give readings for his guests. Benson wrote out that the $80 he loaned him before was repaid. Riley did say he would repay him "when he got ahead." After Riley's success, Benson sued Riley for the $80 in 1992 except Riley had kept the paper showing the debt repaid and produced it in court. Benson lost. How closely Riley could feel about a friend is revealed in a letter to Charles Philips.
The Morgue, midnight, August 15, 1879
Dear Charles, I wrote you last evening, requesting especially, that you should answer me to-night, and looked certainly for a reply - for you have never failed me. But there was none. I can not tell you the depth of my disappointment and anxiety- for all evening I have gone about with a strange feeling of heaviness, and last it has grown intolerable and I have just risen from my sleepless bed to write you this. In my letter of last evening I fear I unintentionally wounded you, and that you are "striking back" with silence. I wrote hurriedly, I know, but it was with the very warmest feeling of brotherly regard. What I said, I distinctly said for the effect of force more than elegance, but it was not meant to hurt -neither was it as I thought an undue license in one as warmly interested in you as your own true character compels me to be. When I like any one, perhaps it is my fault to enter too deeply into their personal affairs, or, in other words - am inclined to meddle with matters that do not concern me. If I have done this with you, I earnestly ask you to regard it as an insane burst of affection, for at worst it is that. I don't think you understand my real nature. I have thought different at times, but as I write, I fear with a regret there is no name for, that like the grand majority, you misjudge me. I do not blame you if you do, only it hurts, my dear friend, just to wade on through existence as I do with no one soul of all the world's wide millions that well see me as I am. I try very hard to laugh down this idea of mine that I am being eternally misinterpreted, but every fresh experience only seems more firmly to fix and rivet the truth of it within me. When I tell my friend I love him, I love him. There is no play in the grooves of my affection. And when a friend slides in my heart he fits there and the bony hand of Death can not jostle him. Maybe I do you wrong to doubt the strength of your regard, but I want such giant strengths of friendship that sometimes I think my own will never be matched here - that it is more than I could ask or expect. In any instance I am what I am. God made me so, and if I do not pass for my full value here, Heaven will be brighter comprehending it. Tomorrow I go down to Indianapolis. I may not hope to see you then as I desired; but wherever you are through life and death fell always that my love is with you. J. W. Riley Such a letter betrays such deep emotion the mood is nearly romantic. Who would Riley write such a letter to? Who is this man Charles Howard Philips? He was a young man like Riley who Riley had met during his Graphics wandering days. His biography was published along with his death notice in the Kokomo TRIBUNE when Charles Philips died at the young age of 25. It read: "Charles Howard Philips, Born June 6th, 1856 Died November 5th, 1881, Age 25 years, 4 months, 29 days. His death resulted from consumption, after a severe attack of typhoid fever. For over a year he had been an invalid, traveling North and South, hoping for a healthful climate. His death was quiet and painless. Philips was an accomplished journalist. Three years before his death, he married Kate Kennedy October 17, 1878 who died in Florida in the Spring 1880. The mother lingered and eventually died from complications of the birth. The child, a daughter, Kate, died during the summer of 1881, just weeks before Charles Philips' death. He had received a common school education until the age of 13 when he began doing editorial work and typesetting on his father's newspaper. He became a partner in the Kokomo TRIBUNE his family's newspaper when the father died in July 1878." One wonders if the above letter is simply "fawning" to gain a position on the Kokomo TRIBUNE. We do know Riley as a man desperate for fame. We also know that Philips was Editor of the Kokomo TRIBUNE who eventually placed Riley in charge of his Kokomo TRIBUNE column, "Home Department." At Philips' untimely death, Riley published a poem in memoriam: CHARLES H. PHILIPS (1881)
Obit November 5th, 1881
O Friend! There is no way To bid farewell to thee! The words that we would say Above thy grave to-day Still falter and delay And fail us utterly.
When walking with us here, The hand we loved to press Was gentle, and sincere As thy frank eyes were clear Through every smile and tear Of pleasure and distress.
In years, young; yet in thought Mature; thy spirit, free, And fired with fervor caught Of thy proud sire, who fought His way to fame, and taught Its toilsome way to thee.
So even thou hast gained The victory God-given - Yea, as our cheeks are stained With tears, and our souls pained And mute, thou hast attained Thy high reward in Heaven!
Riley's poem was in the genre of "In Memoriam" poems of the time. Another example of the type is one by Frank Winter in the Kokomo TRIBUNE of November 12, 1881 titled "In Memoriam. Charles Howard Philips." November's chilling winds had come. The falling leaves on hill and dale: Gave Nature a sad look at home And told our hearts a deathly tale. A noble man, tho' young in years, Had sought the guilded halls of Fame; Thro' joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, Had won himself an honored name. (three further stanzas.) Riley's great feeling toward friends is reflected in the feeling of blessedness as we find in a roughly contemporaneous poem "To H.S.T." with the subheading, "The Morgue, Midnight, July 3, 1879." This poem was published in the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD in Riley's "Poetical Gymnastics" column of July 12, 1879.
TO H.S.T.
Friend of a wayward hour, you came Like some good ghost, and went the same; And I within the haunted place Sit smiling on your vanished face, And talking with - your name.
But thrice the pressure of your hand - First hail - congratulations - and Your last "God bless you!" as the train That brought you snatched you back again Into the unknown land.
"God bless me?" Why, your very prayer Was answered ere you asked it there, I know - for when you came to lend Me your kind hand, and call me friend, God blessed me unaware.
Here is a poem of a friendly visit to Riley that provides us a picture of Riley friends and friendliness. This friend who we know was H.S. Taylor, an author, came from Illinois to Greenfield, where the "Morgue" was located, shook Riley's hand three times, first to greet him, then to congratulate him, and then with a farewell blessing. The handshakes give us to know the substance of the visit. We do not need to hear the conversation. The importance to a biography of Riley from this poem derives from its climaxing thought. With friends behind him, Riley was confident God was blessing his poetic activity. Riley did not even need to know others were thinking kindly of him. His work was a product of hopes for his success by others. He felt the power of friendship as an energy. We do not speak of the direction of the "push." Riley simply knew his audience of well-wishers appreciated him. The thrill of this recognition presaged his resolution of what to do with himself. His immersion into kenotic poetry followed. Perhaps the spotlight of fame nudged him into a humbling response. Support of friends encouraged him to take his poetry out from narrative and romantic themes and into a realm of desperate illusion as we found in "Flying Islands" where Riley gained the self-vision of his personal fragmentation that permitted self-conversation and dialogue. Riley and Eugene V. Debs were very friendly in the days when Riley was employed at the "Indianapolis Journal" and Debs was Terre Haute's elected city clerk, state legislator and union organizer. In 1880 Debs arranged three Riley appearances in Terre Haute sponsored by the Occidental Literary club. Often Debs would close an issue of his union's (then called a "Brotherhood") magazine, BLF MAGAZINE with a Riley poem, including one called "Terry Hut," in which Riley describes Debs as a man "as warm a heart that ever beat Betwixt here and the Mercy Seat." This was many years before Debs was incarcerated during the Pullman labor strike, ran for President on socialist tickets or became a cause celebre by being incarcerated for ten years upon conviction under the American "Espionage Act" in 1918 for speaking in Canton, Ohio about the relationship between capitalism and the First World War, the uneven burden of the war on workers, and the injustice of the government's loyalty program. Riley knew Debs as an active Terre Haute citizen rather than a labor unionist, a radical and a militant fighter against the social order of his time. He was a kindly soul, had a heart of gold, and he appeared to Riley mysteriously. Riley never thought of him as a politician although Debs was a Socialist candidate for President of the United States several times, but he did admire the character and loved the man. Riley's poem "Regardin' Terry Hut," is about Debs. In fact it is "Debs." Riley exercises his kenotic discernment to describe how Debs can live in Terre Haute, Indiana feeling the way he does about an American society which does not credit its conscience with concern for the worker, the poor and the socialist agenda for the vulnerable. He says no town "beats old Terry Hut!" "It's more'n likely you'll insist I claim this 'cause I'm predjudist, Bein' born'd here in old Vygo In sight o'Terry Hut; but no, Yer clean dead wrong! - and I maintain They's nary drap in ary vein O'mine but what's as free as air To jes' take issue with you there! - `Cause, boy and man, fer forty year, I've argied ag'inst livin' here..." Much has been said of Riley's friendship with Debs but not a great deal of effort, excepting mutual admiration, were expended on maintaining the early warm friendship in latter years when the two took divergent paths. Riley supported his friend when he was incarcerated as a result of the Pullman strike and no doubt would have stood by him during his incarceration from a conviction in the "red scare" period following Riley's death. I am not aware of a single instance in which Riley violated a bond of friendship formed during his own early vulnerable life. The press of fame caused him not to be able to cultivate many potential friendships or preserve earlier ones. Turning his back on a friend was not in Riley's nature. Riley's friendship with Dr. Wycliffe Smith went back many years. It began when Riley delivered a lecture at Delphi. After the lecture, Riley walked the streets alone until he saw a stranger ahead and asked him for a match. It was Dr. Wycliffe Smith. "Come up to my office, but up the stairs," the doctor said. Turning into a dark stairway, he did so. Riley followed and the two men, Riley and "Doc" Smith, were soon getting acquainted. The poet sat in the doctor's office where the two talked over many worldly things and found each other's acquaintance worth cultivating. Many considered Dr. Smith to be gruff and plain-spoken, but he was every inch a man, and friend of the downtrodden and poor. Dr. Smith suggested Riley "rest awhile" in Delphi and they would take trips into the country. The two, poet and physician, began a long friendship whereby the two rambled through Carroll county, usually on horseback. They became a familiar sight, both riding along in Prince Albert coats and plug hats. Dr. Smith rode his stallion, "Dexter," and Riley rode his mare, "Hanky Panky." Many of the poems of the Riley poetry volume called "Green Fields and Running Brooks" depict Carroll County and arose from Riley's jaunts with Dr. Smith. One of Dr. Smith's memorable deeds was his effort to save a Delphi family from death by smallpox. He fought the battle alone, but was unable to do more than save one child, Joe Sneathon, whom he practically adopted. The boy became known as "Smallpox" Sneathen. A famous picture of the boy with Riley and Dr. Smith was taken by the two on a lark. While riding with Dr. Smith, the poet met a Deutschman named Herr Weiser and wrote a poem commemorating him on August 18, 1884. The two were often visiting the fascinating man, an old gunsmith, on his thickly wooded farm.
HERR WEISER (1884)
Herr Weiser! - Threescore years and ten, - A hale white rose of his countrymen, Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam, And blossomy as his German home - As blossomy and as pure and sweet As the cool green glen of his calm retreat, Far withdrawn from the noisy town Where trade goes clamoring up and down, Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife, May not trouble his tranquil life!
Breath of rest, what a balmy gust! - Quit of the city's heat and dust, Jostling down by the winding road, Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode. - Tether the horse, as we onward fare Under the pear trees trailing there, And thumping the wooden bridge at night With lumps of ripeness and lush delight, Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn, Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon.
Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face, And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace of unassuming honesty, Be there to welcome you and me! And what though the toil of the farm be stopped And the tireless plans of the place be dropped, While the prayerful master's knees are set In beds of pansy and mignonette And lily and aster and columbine, Offered in love, as yours and mine? -
What, but a blessing of kindly thought, Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not! - What, but a spirit of lustrous love White as the aster he bends above! - What, but an odorous memory Of the dear old man, made known to me In days demanding a help like his, - As sweet as the life of the lily is - As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise Born of a lily in Paradise. At Delphi, Riley often was seen at the home of Mrs. Elizabeth Fisher Murphy. She was a grand person who adopted three daughters and lived to be 92. She and Riley were said to be lovers. Dr. Smith one time persuaded Riley and Bill Nye to come to the small town of Delphi. Riley cancelled other engagements to accommodate the request of his friend. When they arrived in town, they were surprised to find Doc Smith had plastered the town with huge yellow posters saying his friend was going to be at the opera house that night. The evening was one of the more memorable ones in Delphi history. Riley introduced Nye as follows: "This entertainment, is composed of a poet and a lyre. I am the poet." With a nod at Nye, the entertainment began. Riley came to adopt Delphi as a second home. When Walter Whistler, a Carroll county youth who was with the Greeley expedition to the North Pole, died and was returned to Delphi for burial, Riley went "home" to Delphi for the funeral. In the meantime, Dr. Smith was hired by the family to perform an autopsy. Without food, the polar exploration party reportedly agreed to cannibalism to survive on the basis of the drawing of lots. When a name was drawn, the party would use that person's body for food. The grandparents had heard this rumor and wondered if their grandson's name had been drawn. Dr. Smith performed the autopsy and upon opening the metallic casket found unmistakable evidence that the boy had in fact been the victim of cannibalism. The friendship of Dr. Smith and Riley lasted until the doctor got killed at a roadway intersection with the Wabash railroad, west of Delphi. A train struck his buggy which he was sharing with a little Filipino boy, Francisco Sousa, who Dr. Smith brought home with him from the Spanish-American war. Riley was so touched by the death of his physician friend that he wrote a tribute to him, "The Noblest Service." In the poem, Riley lauded him saying, "universal good he dreamed and wrought..." Two of Riley's friends in Lafayette were Evaleen Stein, a poet and artist fourteen years his junior, and her brother, Orth Stein. Some have linked Riley romantically with Ms. Stein. He not only wrote her but also attended a literary banquet in her honor at Purdue in 1907. Riley perhaps met her at one of his two stage appearances at Lafayette or when he performed at the opening of a rollerskating rink there in 1885. The connection with Ms. Stein's brother Orth Stein is less clear. Orth Stein was a brilliant illustrator and writer of fiction. Unfortunately he was also a white collar criminal leaving a trail of bad checks and confidence games from Baltimore to San Jose. He had also shot and killed a man in a fight over a woman in Kansas City in 1882. How Riley and the roving Orth Stein were in contact no one knows but when Orth Stein died of consumption in 1901 at a New Orleans hotel, an autographed book of Riley poems lay at his bedside. It was "Poems Here at Home" and Riley's written inscription bears a hauntingly beautiful and mysterious message intended to be personal and special:
And the sense caught through the music Twinkles of dabbling feet; And glimpses of faces in covert green And voices faint and sweet;
And back from the lands enchanted When my earliest mirth was born, The trill of a laught was blown to me, Like the blare of an elfin horn.
There is a novel of pleasant reading by Meredith Nicholson called THE POET published in 1914. The poet of the book is clearly a representation of James Whitcomb Riley, the friend of the author. The novel opens with a child, Marjorie, in dejected play. The poet sees her and says, "The lonesomeness of that little girl over there is becoming painful...I can't make out whether she's too dressed up to play or whether it's only shyness." The child's father, Miles, turns out to be a securities dealer who the poet knew earlier in his life as an aspiring artist. The father gave up art to become wealthy in business. This broke up his family. His wife, Marian, the mother of Marjorie, left him because she could not stand the fanatical "money-grubber" that he had become. Marjorie, the child, was withdrawn. Her nurse commented to the poet, "She's always like that...and you can't do anything with her." Maybe most people would not even bother. But Nicholson's "poet" is not an ordinary man. He orchestrates visits to the father, Miles, and mother, Marian, and forces each to recall their obligation to the child. Marian presses on with divorce proceedings. Fate intervenes when a securities issue Miles is involved in is found to be fraudulent. Though Miles makes good all losses, he is broken financially. When his pursuit of money fails, he finds the strength to seek a return to his former happier life as an artist with his reunited family, his wife, Marian, and his child. The poet has been the kind counselor, reconciler and sound adviser about life and morality throughout the alienating period of their lives. The "friend in deed" is really the true life picture of James Whitcomb Riley as one sees him in the eyes of his friends. This was the caliber of the man as his friends perceived him. Nicholson knew this "helper" Riley from experience. Nicholson was having little luck getting his first work recognized when Riley, already established in 1890, wrote the editor, Charles Warren Stoddard this praise of Nicholson: "By this time you doubtless have his first book of verse, wherein he says such things as though God some new hymn had writ and whispered it from star to star." George Ade, a Hoosier humorist and dialectician, spoke at a Memorial Services for Riley at the Indiana Society of Chicago, October 29, 1916. RILEY'S STYLE OF FRIENDSHIP "Riley shrank from idle and promiscuous friendships. He selected for his confidences those who met him fairly and acknowledged the brotherhood without protesting the same. He made his own ratings and never consulted the social register. He loved to sit into the night talking with Benjamin Harrison, a former President and his great friend. Also he was given to long and intimate confabulations with a negro barber who showed a devouring interest in the stories brought to him by Riley. These stories concerned a certain Frank who lived at Fortville, Indiana; also his wife, Minnie, a most courageous and resourceful character. Frank and Minnie were of the adventurous sort; taking many railway journeys, adopting unusual trades and professions and overcoming all sorts of adverse circumstances. Of course, they had no existence except in the bubbling imagination of Riley but he continued the fascinating serial year after year. An author's best reward is one good listener and Riley gave reams of manuscript to the spell-bound colored brother. Just three days before he died, Riley sat in the barber chair and told how Frank had gone to the Mexican border with one of the Indian regiments and was in charge of the cook tent and having his own troubles with tarantulas and bandits. Think of a man sixty-seven years old delightedly weaving these make-believe yarns, just for the satisfaction of pleasing an humble audience. That was Riley. But how he could get under cover and stay under cover when his canny instinct told him that some one was trying to exploit him or exhibit him. He was the best platform entertainer of his time, always idolized by the public and yet he dreaded these public appearances and always suspected that he was about to fail and disappoint his audience. Once I heard him say "Every morning when I wake up the first thought that comes to me is, `This is the day they get on to me.'" He was the best story-teller I ever heard because his character impersonations were vivid and accurate and convincing beyond all belief. Henry Irving (a famous contemporary English actor) was right when he said that Riley would have been one of the few truly great character actors of the English speaking stage. Take his well-known verses, "Good bye, Jim, take keer of yourself." I have heard them recited by Sol Smith Russell, Maurice Barrymore and David Warfield (the most noted contemporaneous American actors) and they put into their renditions the skill of the trained reader - every trick of the actor's trade and each gave to the reading the strength and warmth of a genuine personality, but after you heard Riley recite those wonderful verses which reveal the real Hoosier - saturated with sentiment but ashamed to be sentimental - and you felt the lump coming into your throat and your eyes began to blink, you knew that our friend had gifts and graces which I really believe were not given to nay other man of his generation." Riley loved to visit George Ade at his home, "Hazelden" at Brook in Newton County. During those visits Riley most enjoyed napping to rest and meditating in the shade of a giant hickory tree there. It is said when the old hickory tree finally died and had to be removed Riley stopped visiting saying the place wasn't the same home without its meditating tree. In his very last years, and particularly after his 1910 stroke, Riley spent much time re-visiting the places in his life where he had known love and friendship of former days. His automobile, a "Peerless" gave him this opportunity. He took daily rides in this automobile which he purchased in 1911 and most often when his chauffeur would ask him the question, "Where do you want to go?" Riley answered, "Let's go to Greenfield." As your biographer completes this short recount of Riley's life as Amphine, the starkness of it strikes me to the core. Where is there justice in the facts? Where is there equity in life? Was it necessary that Riley should truly find comfort only with a woman already married? Is there justification in his later love of so many in affectionate regard and expression? We simply have no answer except to recall that love and justice concepts are bafflingly conflicting always. RILEY WITH OTHER SPIRITS Nellie Cooley (Dwainie) and Elizabeth Riley (AEo) were not the only two "dead souls" with whom Riley lived and communicated. There were many stories of others. Riley was firmly commited to the belief in ministrations from the spirit world. One story had to do with Robert Louis Stevenson, Riley's friend and fellow author. When Stevenson died, the publisher of his books wrote Riley and asked him to prepare an appreciation. Riley readily complied. In a few days a very liberal check came in the mail from the publisher. Riley returned it saying he could not possibly accept a check for paying a tribute to so dear a friend. The the publishers wrote back that they would like to send Riley Stevenson's books in appreciation. Riley wrote back to accept the gesture providing the books were of a modest binding. But the books never came. Riley wondered and wondered what had happened to them. Then on his birthday, they arrived. Bright and early on that morning an expressman came whistling up the walk and delivered them. Riley commented to many people that he was sure his friend had had the delivery delayed until his birthday to give the gift special meaning. Another dead friend who intervened in Riley's life was fellow author and reader Eugene Fields. Riley had written a memorial poem about Fields when he died. A joint friend, the opera singer Francis Wilson, sent Riley a book of Fields's poems and asked Riley if he would inscribe his memorial poem to Fields inside and return it to his hotel in Cincinnati. Riley did so. Then the book was lost. The opera singer wrote Riley if it was recovered to send it to another address but of course Riley could not do so. About a year later, the opera singer was in Chicago and went into a bookstore that Riley was not aware of. The bookstore manager recognized Wilson and said he had a package for him. It was the Fields poetry inscribed by Riley. When Riley was informed of this he thought nothing of it. "Eugene Fields did that," he said. Another member of his cast of "dead souls" who lived with Riley after their deaths was his long time lyceum partner, Bill Nye. Every time Riley's luggage was missing while Riley was traveling by train - which was almost always- Riley would dismiss it as Bill Nye pulling another trick on him. Friends from the other world helped Riley avoid loneliness and despair.
CRESTILLOMEEM
DRUNKENNESS AND DELIRIUM TREMENS AS A LADY TRYING TO RUIN RILEY'S LIFE
In the Preface we first met Crestillomeem.1 She is the naggy depression and drunkenness that threatens Riley. She is Riley's "Queen." She has taken charge of him in his late 20's when "The Flying Islands Of the Night" was written. Riley calls her his "Second Consort" in the later "book" editions of the poem. His first and foremost "Consort" was his beloved "soul-mate" Nellie who died shortly before the poem was first composed.
1. We remember her name is an elision of "crestfallen" (dejected), "ill" and "me" backwards and forwards.
Crestillomeem is the Riley who goes crazy about life sometimes and becomes a binge drinker before pulling himself out. She is also the scary tremens and torporous deliriums of alcoholism. These are, of course, the vision of Riley's great autobiographical poem "The Flying Islands of the Night." Crestillomeem is the nasty Queen of Riley's life trying to destroy its meaning and hope for success. Crestillomeem is one of Riley's "Flying islands." Flying islands are Riley's lives in the poem. They are not a singular island. Riley, with great insight, knew himself as an archipelago afloat in "red eye" whiskey at the time of the writing of "The Flying Islands of the Night." All of the islands make up Riley's conception of his own life as a man in great alienation acting through life as a cast of players. Riley was a great enough actor to get by with this. He simply was not a single "himself." Islands are lonely images. They are by themselves and don't have "connections." Riley must have felt so very, very lonely at times to take upon himself this representation of himself in his imagination. I suspect this loneliness was the cause for becoming Crestillomeem at times. Most often, Riley retreated to Greenfield when he fell under Crestillomeem's spell and "waited her out" among friends and family. We see Riley using this depressed and sometimes drunken aspect of himself most often in his John C. Walker poems which we will discuss later in this book. For now, we might want to get a taste of how this persona wrote poetry:
JOHN GOLLIHER'S THIRD WOMERN1 (1879) (From the Kokomo Saturday TRIBUNE of Dec. 27, 1879) I'm a-talkin' - not adzac'ly in the old-maid kindo way O' sayin' things onpleasant `cause there're plenty sich to say: - `Ner cause I am a womern `ats tuck sich manly part In Tempernce institutions as to spile her womern's heart:-
But I `low `at married people, as a rule, all has their sheer O' troubles and vexations. - Yet theyr're one example here `At some folks find confusin' - seein's how they used to say John Golliher's third womern wouldn't be alive today!
You see, John's ben a drinker - jest a SOAKER thue and thue!- As his daddy was afore him, and his old grandaddy, too! - W'y, the Golliher's, I reckon, ef you'd stand `em in a row, Would make a string o' drunkards clean from here to Jericho.
John was drunk at his first weddin', But his wife had made her brags She'd have him, drunk or sober, ef she had to dress in rags,- And thems the kind o' clothin' she dome to `fore she died, And laid `em down forever, thanking God, and saisfied.
John's sobered up a little after that; and found a place For the little girl still left him - like her mother in the face; And fer-well, a year and better, he kep' straight enough, I guess Til he met a widder womern `at upset him more or less.
He was warned agin the womern -she was warned agin the man,- And ef that won't make a weddin', w'y there're nothin' else `at can! And when THAT couple married, they was some `at even bet The widder would out-last him, but - John's a-livin yet!
Things was might bad, I tell you, at that funeral o'hern!- No serous indications o' very deep concern- Except the tears `at Mary his grow'd-up dorter shed Fer the crazy wretch with tremans howlin' there beside the dead!
W'y the preachers worked their sermints out o' that!- and women wrung Their empty hands in meetin! and shouted, cried and sung: And little sleepy childern was shuck awake to pray, With "Golliher'll git ye fer neglectin' that-away!"
They was no one else to `tend him, so I staid there -more on Account of Mary's feelin's than fur any keer o' John, - Fer that fust thing, when he rallied so's he knowed me, I- says- I- "I'm mighty feered the chances is you aint a-goin' to die!"
O I said it! and I meant it! and was jest a stoopin' down To bathe the feller's forred when he whispered, with a frown,- "Don't, then! I'll DIE - A DRUNKARD! and the womern who can say As mean a thing as that is, ortn't tetch him! GO AWAY!"
It was afterwards `at Mary told me she was peekin' thue The kitchen-door, and saw me, knelln'- like I used to do In public meetins' - on'y, the prayer, she said was more Full o' lovin' stren'th `an any `at she'd ever heerd afore.-
And, railly, I reckon the girl's opinion was About as nigh pefection as they git `em now - because, Her father he forgive me- quit his drinkin'- and is- Well, John Golliher's third womern ain't got nuthin' else to tell.
1. This poem parenthetically points out the difficult life of women in Riley's day. Life was literally a woman-killer. A man might marry the first time for love, resulting in several children. To bring up the children, he might marry several more times "for convenience." Riley describes housework of women in "My First Womern:" "Fer I'm allus thinkin' - thinkin' Of the first one's peaceful ways. A bilin' soap and singin' of the Lord's amazin' grace. -And I'm thinkin' of her constant, Dyin' carpet-chain and stuff And a makin' up rag carpets, When the floor was GOOD ENOUGH! And I'm allus thinkin' of her reddin' up around the house; Er cookin fer the farm hands; er drivin' up the cows. - And there she lays out yander By the lower medder fence. W'y they ain't no sadder thing Than to think of my first womern, and her funeral last spring."
Crestillomeem's spell on Riley really wasn't so humerous as John C. Walker portrayed. She brought about Riley's depression or was at least a product of it. But she is also a uniquely important person in the life of James Whitcomb Riley because she impels him through dialogue to see her as a consequence to him if he does not pursue the only other goal for his life that James Whitcomb Riley could imagine more powerful - the lust for fame (another figure in Riley's imaginative self-life who Riley thinks of as an equally clearly defined "flying island" named Krung. We shall meet Krung later on in this book. The happy result of it all was, however, to allow Spraivoll, yet another character, to sing poetically. This conforms to the common description of alcohol as "the great exciter of the Yes function in people." It was about himself as the sinful persona dominated by his alcoholic Crestillomeem that Riley's 1878 poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," was written in the turmoil of one of his greatest periods of intoxication and tremens and possible concern over impotency. In the "Flying Islands of the Night," Riley knows that Crestillomeem, his alcoholism, is constantly beckoning him. She seeks to destroy him and even seek his death. Crestillomeem demands Riley toe her line and meet her demands. She invites him to imprison himself in the tower of servitude to alcoholism and its fantasies. We read: "The Queen (Crestillomeem) Impatiently awaits his Majesty And craves his presence in the Tower of Stars, That she may there express full tenderly Her great solicitude." In alcoholics' confessional genre literature the curse of alcohol manifest in a person, here Crestillomeem in James Whitcomb Riley, always leads to self-destructive behavior. As the great temperance mediator Luther Benson states in Fifteen Years in Hell, "(to go out on an alcoholic spree) "is to quench the light of ambition, to crush hope, entomb joy, lay waste the powers of the mind, neglect duty, desert the family and commit in the end suicide." In the poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," Riley is able to cast her off. In reality Riley never was able to fully subdue his alcoholism. Riley's capacity to physically love was probably affected by Crestillomeem. One suspects that impotence was her legacy, possibly manifest about the time he began writing "The Flying Islands of the Night" and after the death of Nellie Cooley, the only woman Riley had loved as a soul-mate. The Crestillomeem character of Riley's fragmented life is "roughly" referenced in verse in James Whitcomb Riley's poem "Luther Benson" contemporaneously written with "Flying Islands" as the poem's subtitle says, "After reading his autobiography." The poem describes alcoholism as the "vulture curse, That hovers o'er the universe, With ready talons quick to strike In every human heart alike." Benson's autobiography, Fifteen Years in Hell, like Riley's play/poem, marks how Benson was wasted in alcohol addiction, reformed, and went on to "lecture" extensively throughout Indiana and the nation as a temperance speaker. The parallel to the movement of the acts of "Flying Islands" is pronounced as is the eventual progress of Riley's own life...although Riley's "cause" was not temperance but the spread of humanistic and "kenotic" themes. His dependency makes of his dissolute and alcoholic nature the relationship of something wedded to him as a queenly wife as well as curse. Possibly "Flying Islands" was originally intended as an extensive farcical account of the life of Benson, based on Benson's autobiography, in the nature of Riley's comical imitation of Benson on the platform called "Benson Out-Bensoned" but if so Riley's realization that the alcoholic addiction was similar to his own probably changed the story line and the play\poem into Riley's own autobiography. Benson does not seem to be remembered much these days, but his book Fifteen Years in Hell describing his alcoholic years was a national best- seller in the 1880's. A major event in Riley's life must have been his first encounter with tremens from his alcoholism. This was the most dispiriting aspect of play with himself as Crestillomeem. I am informed that such tremens come only to one of lengthy and alcoholic lifestyle. Riley admits his writing is "under the influence" in his Sixth and Final episode of the Buzz Club Papers in which series "The Flying Islands of the Night" appears. When writing "The Flying Islands" the author was stated to be under the "baleful influence of intoxicants...driving reason from her Throne." The work is the product of "old crime." Riley was, of course, notorious for using pseudonymous names for his writings. The ostensible writer of the original "The Flying Islands of the Night" is Mr. Clickwad, a member of the "Buzz Club" whose poetry is deliberately questioned in the very first of the "Respectfully Declined" Papers of the Buzz Club. Another member asks: "The gentleman who has just favored us," said Mr. Plempton, "is a weird cuss, but if he'll pardon my curiosity I should like to inquire if he was ever troubled with the tremens?" The answer is obvious. "The Flying Islands of the Night," appearing in the fourth installment of the "Respectfully Declined" series, is introduced as Mr. Clickwad's work. Riley knows of the tremens. He experienced them. He also wrote of them in such prose accounts as "Jamesy" where he refers to them as "jim jams." At one point in that short narrative appears the following colloquy which might relate to one of James Whitcomb Riley's own experiences: "Liable to what?" said I "Liable to jist keel over - wink out, you know - cos he has fits, kindo jim jams, I guess. Had a fearful old matinee with him last night! You see he comes all sorts o' games on me, and I have to put up for him - cos he's got to have whisky, and if we can on'y keep him about so full he's a regular lamb, but he don't stand no monkeyin' when he wants whisky, now you bet!.." Riley must have felt enraged because intoxication was not supposed to have such a down side! As Riley's teenaged years dawned alcohol use was only beginning to questioned. When Riley was 11, a newspaper article published in the Hancock DEMOCRAT of July 3, 1861 stated, "It was at one time generally believed that the use of alcoholic liquors was positively necessary and beneficial to all men...Physicians recommended such beverages and regular daily rations of rum were provided in all armies and navies. These notions are still entertained by many persons, and very generally there is a want of correct information on the subject. It is very common for soldiers of all classes to indulge in the use of alcoholic beverages...By close observation and many experiments, it has been found that the tissues and the blood of drunkards, as well as those who continually tipple in beer and whisky, but do not get drunk, are generally in a state of degeneration. Alcohol passes into the blood and retards the elimination of waste and injurious matter from the body and thus tends to produce disease, especially fever..." The effects of alcohol were obviously unclear in Riley's time. Eventually, Riley came to see his alcohol addiction to personify the activity of a person he called Crestillomeem and took her vision of himself as his own to see what it meant. This was done in "The Flying Islands of the Night." Crestillomeem never left Riley but came to become a pretty much subdued lady except for many private but also a few highly publicized incidents such as one recurrence in Louisville, Kentucky in February 1890 which caused the breakup of his stand-up comedy partnership with Edgar Nye. Crestillomeem did not produce poetry. Riley wrote no poetry when he was in delirium. Crestillomeem did, however, provide the delirious subject matter of a small body of very important poetry to a biographer. She gave Riley "An Adjustable Lunatic" with its vision of a lover in another dimension whose ethereal connectedness is an otherwise mad man's only touch with reality. FANTASY (1878) (FROM "AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC") (a poem written by a fictional author in a Riley sketch, a man who subsequently committed suicide within the story line and who described himself as "an adjustable lunatic" by profession. The sketch from which this poem derives portrays the writer of "Fantasy" as a penniless bachelor, the owner of a painting of a mysteriously enchanting woman in his room. The poem reveals an impossible romantic attachment so real and yet so imaginary that it severs the man from his senses. As a biographer, I find the story bears relation to Riley's relationship with his married friend, Nellie Cooley, so recently dead at the time of its writing.)
A Fantasy that came to me As wild and wantonly designed As ever any dream might be Unraveled from a madman's mind, - A tangle-work of tissue, wrought By cunning of the spider-brain, And woven, in an hour of pain, To trap the giddy flies of thought -.
I stood beneath a summer moon All swollen to uncanny girth, And hanging, like the sun at noon, Above the center of the earth; But with a sad and sallow light, As it had sickened of the night And fallen in a pallid swoon. Around me I could hear the rush Of sullen winds, and feel the whir Of unseen wings apast me brush like phantoms round a sepulcher; And, like a carpeting of plush, A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, Bespangled o'er with flowers as sweet To look upon as those that nod Within the garden-fields of God, But odorless as those that blow In ashes in the shades below.
And on my hearing fell a storm Of gusty music, sadder yet Than every whimper of regret That sobbing utterance could form, And patched with scraps of sound that seemed Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, And pitched to such a piercing key, It stabbed the ear with agony; And when at last it lulled and died, I stood aghast and terrified. I shuddered and I shut my eyes And still could see, and feel aware Some mystic presence waited there; And staring, with a dazed surprise, I saw a creature so divine That never subtle thought of mine May reproduce to inner sight So fair a vision of delight.
A syllable of dew that drips From out a lily's laughing lips Could not be sweeter than the word I listened to, yet never heard. - For, oh, the woman hiding there Within the shadows of her hair, Spake to me in an undertone So delicate, my soul alone But understood it as a moan Of some weak melody of wind A heavenward breeze had left behind.
A tracery of trees, grotesque Against the sky, behind her seem Like shapeless shapes of arabesque Wrought in an oriental screen; And tall, austere and statuesque She loomed before it - e'en as though The spirit-hand of Angelo Had chiseled her to life complete, With chips of moonshine round her feet. And I grew jealous of the dusk, To see it softly touch her face, As lover-like, with fond embrace It folded round her like a husk: But when the glitter of her hand Like wasted glory, beckoned me, My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim - My vision failed - I could not see - I could not stir - I could but stand, Till, quivering in every limb, I flung me prone, as though to swim The tide of grass whose waves of green Went rolling ocean-wide between My helpless shipwrecked heart and her Who claimed me for a worshiper.
And writhing thus in my despair, I heard a weird, unearthly sound, That seemed to lift me from the ground And hold me floating in the air. I looked, and lo! I saw her bow Above a harp within her hands; A crown of blossoms bound her brow, And on her harp were twisted strands Of silken starlight, rippling o'er With music never heard before By mortal ears; and, at the strain, I felt my Spirit snap its chain And break away, - and I could see It as it turned and fled from me To greet its mistress, where she smiled To see the phantom dancing wild And wizard-like before the spell Her mystic fingers knew so well.
What is it? Who will rightly guess If it be aught but nothingness That dribbles from a wayward pen To spatter in the eyes of men? What matter! I will call it mine, And I will take the changeling home And bathe its face with morning-shine, And comb it with a golden comb Till every tangled tress of rhyme Will fairer be than summer-time; And I will nurse it on my knee And dandle it beyond the clasp Of hands that grip and hands that grasp Through life and all eternity!
Something like this vision became Act II of Riley's great delirious, autobiographical play\poem "The Flying Islands of the Night." The other subject matter is in such poetry as "Quitting California." The poem is not, of course, about the State of California at all, but rather about a brand name of whiskey. While one is led by the poem to believe that the poem's writer is becoming temperate and giving up alcohol, the poem playfully concludes that the writer is merely changing to another brand of cheap whiskey and not giving up whiskey at all.
ON QUITTING CALIFORNIA (1879)
O rare old drink, the oldest, strongest far Of which the house can boast, Whose guardian, smiling, betteth at the bar On who can drink the most -
How art thou conquered - tamed in all the pride Of average beauty still! How brought, O painter of the human hide, To know thy master's will!
No more the shallow goblet is baptized Until it overflows; No more thy liquid blushes are capsized, And succored by the nose.
For now the wild oats thou hast helped to till In pain are harvested, And, as the boss presents his little bill, The gleaner droops his head.
Yet at thy shrine shall thousands kneel again Beneath thy mystic spell; O mother-in-law of great and mighty men, Thou do'st thy mission well!
Thy newer children shall restore the right I force you to resign And future years yield up an appetite, Perchance as wild as mine.
Though order, justice, social law shall scowl On all the works reveal, And art and science shake their heads and howl With unabated zeal,
The marble, shaken from its glassy sheath, Shall twirl and palpitate For those of fiery eye and potent breath Who take their whisky straight.
The cornless cob shall drain its warmest blood - The still its blackest lees, And all transfusive percolations flood Thy swollen arteries,
Till "Tremens," as he hides himself away Within thy depths, shall wink As victims pour him down from day to day At fifteen cents a drink.
When Mr. Clickwad is finished his friends congratulate him at least on agreeing to quit alcohol. Mr. Clickwad denies this intent and admits that he is only quitting the one brand indicated. He remains an unrepentant alcoholic which is his nature. While the poetry of Crestillomeem is small in volume, Riley considered it his personal record of the hell of his life and treasured it inordinately. One finds his poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" being published again and again from 1878 to the end of his life. None of the printings was popular. Most contained changes as Riley considered and reconsidered its autobiographical cryptic subject matter. The poem came to have a strange life of its own because of its beautiful lyrics and of course authorship by the famous James Whitcomb Riley. Riley simply hid himself in this poem. No one except possibly his alcoholic brother Hum (who died three years after "The Flying Islands of the Night's" composition) and friend, Dr. Frank Hays, knew the poem was a delirium. Why? Among the reasons why Crestillomeem was not a visible presence was Riley's later popularity and commercial posture. But another reason was that Crestillomeem lurked within his soul. Riley couldn't account for this himself. His vision of life included a simple belief that ultimately life was inexplicable. When his father died, Riley had engraved on the Riley family marker in the little Greenfield cemetery where he was buried, "God is his own interpreter and will someday make things clear." Riley's alcoholism like his father's death was a part of life that God alone understood. Nevertheless there was an expectation that it fit in with some greater plan. Crestillomeem was Riley in his uneasiness about his alcoholism. Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography, declared uneasiness was the central human motive. Riley was constantly in a state of uncertainty about himself. His incentive to survive despite his alcoholism required great mental work, emotionality and activity. After a person's biological needs are satisfied, time and energy are next spent in a narrow space of mind bounded on the right by boredom and ordinarily on the left by terror of the bizarre. Riley often lived in this region of the bizarre and actually knew it as a comfort. He often lived in the nurture of Crestillomeem. Others have commented that Riley's "weakness" was even beneficial. Rev. Finley Sapp, minister of a Greenfield Protestant Church from 1904-1906 and knew Riley, has written: "James Whitcomb Riley touched the heart of humanity as only a few have. "Jim" was really more "`ligious" when "lit up" a little, than most of the saints at camp meeting." (From page 54, A HISTORY OF THE GREENFIELD CHRISTIAN CHURCH, Dorothy June Williams). So who is Crestillomeem? She is the one whose life is explained in The Flying Islands as an entourage of faces. She is the soul breaking apart in Riley's "Poem of Seven Faces." In tremens deliriums, Riley encounters faces swarming around him telling him all about Crestillomeem.
CRESTILLOMEEM'S STORY IN A CHORUS OF SWARMING FACES
First Face
And who hath known her - like as I Have known her? - since the envying sky Filched from her cheeks its morning hue, And from her eyes its glory, too, Of dazzling shine and diamond-dew.
Second Face
I knew her - long and long before High AEo1 loosed her palm and thought: "What awful splendor have I wrought To dazzle earth and Heaven, too!"
1. AEo is Elizabeth, Riley's mother, who died when he was twenty. The E is her initial surrounded by the alpha and omega representing the scope of Riley's affection for her from beginning of life to end. Riley idolized his mother causing deep agony upon her death and Riley's initial need for consolation and escape in alcoholism.
Third Face
I knew her - long ere Night1 was o'er - Ere, AEo yet conjectured what To fashion Day of - ay, before He sprinkled stars across the floor Of dark, and swept that form of mine E'en as a fleck of blinded shine, Back to the black were light was not.
1. Night is related to the past in the alcoholics confessional genre of literature such as "The Flying Islands of the Night." SEE: Benson, Fifteen Years in Hell, (night as a black, unlighted past).
Fourth face
Ere day was dreamt, I saw her face Lift from some starry hiding-place Where our old moon was kneeling while She lit its features with her smile.
Fifth Face
I knew her while these islands3 yet, Were nestlings - ere they feathered wing, Or e'en could gape with them or get Apoise the laziest-ambling breeze; Or cheep, chirp our, or anything! When time crooned rhymes of nurseries Above them - nodded, dozed and slept, And knew it not, till, wakening. The morning stars agreed to sing And Heaven's first tender dews were wept.
3. Riley's fractured lives are the "flying" islands, disassociated "play/cast" entities, of the poem.
Sixth Face
I knew her when the jealous hands Of Angels set her sculptured form Upon a pedestal of storm And let her to this land with strands Of twisted lightnings.
Seventh Face
And I heard Her voice ere she could tone a word Of any but the Seraph-tongue. - And O sad-sweeter than all sung - Or word-said things! - to hear her say, Between the tears she dashed away: - "Lo, launched from the offended sight Of AEo! - anguish infinite Is ours, O Sisterhood of Sin! Yet is thy service mine by right, And, sweet as I may rule it, thus Shall Sin's myrrh-savor taste to us - Sin's empress - let my reign begin!4"
4. After his mother's death and then Nellie's death, Riley fell to pieces and launched a life of abandonment to alcoholism supported by meager casual employments.
RILEY'S FOUR GREAT ENCOUNTERS WITH CRESTILLOMEEM
There were four great encounters Riley had with Crestillomeem. Each led to a new era in Riley's life and the crises were closer together in years in his 20's than later on. Each proved devastating and led to great life changes for the sensitive poet. The first occurred as Riley was faced with the death of his mother on Aug. 9, 1870 when Elizabeth Riley died of heart disease. Riley floundered after this and eventually took to the road with a traveling miracle medicine show of Doc McCrillus. After returning to his home to settle down, a second event occurred when he was in his 20's which thoroughly unsettled him. This was a "black lynching" by a band of masked Hancock County men who broke into the Greenfield jail to drag a presumably innocent black man out for his date with a rope at the local fairgrounds. Riley again left his hometown for a second trip with a traveling medicine show, this time the one of Doc Townsend. Again returning to Greenfield after a time, he learned of the death of his soul-mate he most loved, Nellie Cooley, and after writing her obituary and burying her back in Greenfield, he again entered into a period of great despondency resulting in his eventual move to Indianapolis to work for a newspaper there. It was after this third great "depressing" circumstance that Riley wrote his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." By this time, Riley was brought in contact with kenotic teachers and was taking to the platform. His great Benjamin Johnson of Boone poems were written during a period of recovery in this period. The fourth great onset of depression culminated in 1890 when Riley could not take the strain of constant platform touring any longer and was found drunk and with the "shakes" in public. This ended Riley's lyceum circuit days as they had been. The event did however usher in a gentler time when Riley wrote most of his annual books and became "The Children's Poet." We will examine each of these periods of Riley's great bouts with Crestillomeem in turn before getting into his great poetry written as Spraivoll of the play/poem "The Flying Islands of the Night."
CRESTILLOMEEM
DRUNKENNESS AND DELIRIUM TREMENS AS A LADY TRYING TO RUIN RILEY'S LIFE
In the Preface we first met Crestillomeem.1 She is the naggy depression and drunkenness that threatens Riley. She is Riley's "Queen." She has taken charge of him in his late 20's when "The Flying Islands Of the Night" was written. Riley calls her his "Second Consort" in the later "book" editions of the poem. His first and foremost "Consort" was his beloved "soul-mate" Nellie who died shortly before the poem was first composed.
1. We remember her name is an elision of "crestfallen" (dejected), "ill" and "me" backwards and forwards.
Crestillomeem is the Riley who goes crazy about life sometimes and becomes a binge drinker before pulling himself out. She is also the scary tremens and torporous deliriums of alcoholism. These are, of course, the vision of Riley's great autobiographical poem "The Flying Islands of the Night." Crestillomeem is the nasty Queen of Riley's life trying to destroy its meaning and hope for success. Crestillomeem is one of Riley's "Flying islands." Flying islands are Riley's lives in the poem. They are not a singular island. Riley, with great insight, knew himself as an archipelago afloat in "red eye" whiskey at the time of the writing of "The Flying Islands of the Night." All of the islands make up Riley's conception of his own life as a man in great alienation acting through life as a cast of players. Riley was a great enough actor to get by with this. He simply was not a single "himself." Islands are lonely images. They are by themselves and don't have "connections." Riley must have felt so very, very lonely at times to take upon himself this representation of himself in his imagination. I suspect this loneliness was the cause for becoming Crestillomeem at times. Most often, Riley retreated to Greenfield when he fell under Crestillomeem's spell and "waited her out" among friends and family. We see Riley using this depressed and sometimes drunken aspect of himself most often in his John C. Walker poems which we will discuss later in this book. For now, we might want to get a taste of how this persona wrote poetry:
JOHN GOLLIHER'S THIRD WOMERN1 (1879) (From the Kokomo Saturday TRIBUNE of Dec. 27, 1879) I'm a-talkin' - not adzac'ly in the old-maid kindo way O' sayin' things onpleasant `cause there're plenty sich to say: - `Ner cause I am a womern `ats tuck sich manly part In Tempernce institutions as to spile her womern's heart:-
But I `low `at married people, as a rule, all has their sheer O' troubles and vexations. - Yet theyr're one example here `At some folks find confusin' - seein's how they used to say John Golliher's third womern wouldn't be alive today!
You see, John's ben a drinker - jest a SOAKER thue and thue!- As his daddy was afore him, and his old grandaddy, too! - W'y, the Golliher's, I reckon, ef you'd stand `em in a row, Would make a string o' drunkards clean from here to Jericho.
John was drunk at his first weddin', But his wife had made her brags She'd have him, drunk or sober, ef she had to dress in rags,- And thems the kind o' clothin' she dome to `fore she died, And laid `em down forever, thanking God, and saisfied.
John's sobered up a little after that; and found a place For the little girl still left him - like her mother in the face; And fer-well, a year and better, he kep' straight enough, I guess Til he met a widder womern `at upset him more or less.
He was warned agin the womern -she was warned agin the man,- And ef that won't make a weddin', w'y there're nothin' else `at can! And when THAT couple married, they was some `at even bet The widder would out-last him, but - John's a-livin yet!
Things was might bad, I tell you, at that funeral o'hern!- No serous indications o' very deep concern- Except the tears `at Mary his grow'd-up dorter shed Fer the crazy wretch with tremans howlin' there beside the dead!
W'y the preachers worked their sermints out o' that!- and women wrung Their empty hands in meetin! and shouted, cried and sung: And little sleepy childern was shuck awake to pray, With "Golliher'll git ye fer neglectin' that-away!"
They was no one else to `tend him, so I staid there -more on Account of Mary's feelin's than fur any keer o' John, - Fer that fust thing, when he rallied so's he knowed me, I- says- I- "I'm mighty feered the chances is you aint a-goin' to die!"
O I said it! and I meant it! and was jest a stoopin' down To bathe the feller's forred when he whispered, with a frown,- "Don't, then! I'll DIE - A DRUNKARD! and the womern who can say As mean a thing as that is, ortn't tetch him! GO AWAY!"
It was afterwards `at Mary told me she was peekin' thue The kitchen-door, and saw me, knelln'- like I used to do In public meetins' - on'y, the prayer, she said was more Full o' lovin' stren'th `an any `at she'd ever heerd afore.-
And, railly, I reckon the girl's opinion was About as nigh pefection as they git `em now - because, Her father he forgive me- quit his drinkin'- and is- Well, John Golliher's third womern ain't got nuthin' else to tell.
1. This poem parenthetically points out the difficult life of women in Riley's day. Life was literally a woman-killer. A man might marry the first time for love, resulting in several children. To bring up the children, he might marry several more times "for convenience." Riley describes housework of women in "My First Womern:" "Fer I'm allus thinkin' - thinkin' Of the first one's peaceful ways. A bilin' soap and singin' of the Lord's amazin' grace. -And I'm thinkin' of her constant, Dyin' carpet-chain and stuff And a makin' up rag carpets, When the floor was GOOD ENOUGH! And I'm allus thinkin' of her reddin' up around the house; Er cookin fer the farm hands; er drivin' up the cows. - And there she lays out yander By the lower medder fence. W'y they ain't no sadder thing Than to think of my first womern, and her funeral last spring."
Crestillomeem's spell on Riley really wasn't so humerous as John C. Walker portrayed. She brought about Riley's depression or was at least a product of it. But she is also a uniquely important person in the life of James Whitcomb Riley because she impels him through dialogue to see her as a consequence to him if he does not pursue the only other goal for his life that James Whitcomb Riley could imagine more powerful - the lust for fame (another figure in Riley's imaginative self-life who Riley thinks of as an equally clearly defined "flying island" named Krung. We shall meet Krung later on in this book. The happy result of it all was, however, to allow Spraivoll, yet another character, to sing poetically. This conforms to the common description of alcohol as "the great exciter of the Yes function in people." It was about himself as the sinful persona dominated by his alcoholic Crestillomeem that Riley's 1878 poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," was written in the turmoil of one of his greatest periods of intoxication and tremens and possible concern over impotency. In the "Flying Islands of the Night," Riley knows that Crestillomeem, his alcoholism, is constantly beckoning him. She seeks to destroy him and even seek his death. Crestillomeem demands Riley toe her line and meet her demands. She invites him to imprison himself in the tower of servitude to alcoholism and its fantasies. We read: "The Queen (Crestillomeem) Impatiently awaits his Majesty And craves his presence in the Tower of Stars, That she may there express full tenderly Her great solicitude." In alcoholics' confessional genre literature the curse of alcohol manifest in a person, here Crestillomeem in James Whitcomb Riley, always leads to self-destructive behavior. As the great temperance mediator Luther Benson states in Fifteen Years in Hell, "(to go out on an alcoholic spree) "is to quench the light of ambition, to crush hope, entomb joy, lay waste the powers of the mind, neglect duty, desert the family and commit in the end suicide." In the poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," Riley is able to cast her off. In reality Riley never was able to fully subdue his alcoholism. Riley's capacity to physically love was probably affected by Crestillomeem. One suspects that impotence was her legacy, possibly manifest about the time he began writing "The Flying Islands of the Night" and after the death of Nellie Cooley, the only woman Riley had loved as a soul-mate. The Crestillomeem character of Riley's fragmented life is "roughly" referenced in verse in James Whitcomb Riley's poem "Luther Benson" contemporaneously written with "Flying Islands" as the poem's subtitle says, "After reading his autobiography." The poem describes alcoholism as the "vulture curse, That hovers o'er the universe, With ready talons quick to strike In every human heart alike." Benson's autobiography, Fifteen Years in Hell, like Riley's play/poem, marks how Benson was wasted in alcohol addiction, reformed, and went on to "lecture" extensively throughout Indiana and the nation as a temperance speaker. The parallel to the movement of the acts of "Flying Islands" is pronounced as is the eventual progress of Riley's own life...although Riley's "cause" was not temperance but the spread of humanistic and "kenotic" themes. His dependency makes of his dissolute and alcoholic nature the relationship of something wedded to him as a queenly wife as well as curse. Possibly "Flying Islands" was originally intended as an extensive farcical account of the life of Benson, based on Benson's autobiography, in the nature of Riley's comical imitation of Benson on the platform called "Benson Out-Bensoned" but if so Riley's realization that the alcoholic addiction was similar to his own probably changed the story line and the play\poem into Riley's own autobiography. Benson does not seem to be remembered much these days, but his book Fifteen Years in Hell describing his alcoholic years was a national best- seller in the 1880's. A major event in Riley's life must have been his first encounter with tremens from his alcoholism. This was the most dispiriting aspect of play with himself as Crestillomeem. I am informed that such tremens come only to one of lengthy and alcoholic lifestyle. Riley admits his writing is "under the influence" in his Sixth and Final episode of the Buzz Club Papers in which series "The Flying Islands of the Night" appears. When writing "The Flying Islands" the author was stated to be under the "baleful influence of intoxicants...driving reason from her Throne." The work is the product of "old crime." Riley was, of course, notorious for using pseudonymous names for his writings. The ostensible writer of the original "The Flying Islands of the Night" is Mr. Clickwad, a member of the "Buzz Club" whose poetry is deliberately questioned in the very first of the "Respectfully Declined" Papers of the Buzz Club. Another member asks: "The gentleman who has just favored us," said Mr. Plempton, "is a weird cuss, but if he'll pardon my curiosity I should like to inquire if he was ever troubled with the tremens?" The answer is obvious. "The Flying Islands of the Night," appearing in the fourth installment of the "Respectfully Declined" series, is introduced as Mr. Clickwad's work. Riley knows of the tremens. He experienced them. He also wrote of them in such prose accounts as "Jamesy" where he refers to them as "jim jams." At one point in that short narrative appears the following colloquy which might relate to one of James Whitcomb Riley's own experiences: "Liable to what?" said I "Liable to jist keel over - wink out, you know - cos he has fits, kindo jim jams, I guess. Had a fearful old matinee with him last night! You see he comes all sorts o' games on me, and I have to put up for him - cos he's got to have whisky, and if we can on'y keep him about so full he's a regular lamb, but he don't stand no monkeyin' when he wants whisky, now you bet!.." Riley must have felt enraged because intoxication was not supposed to have such a down side! As Riley's teenaged years dawned alcohol use was only beginning to questioned. When Riley was 11, a newspaper article published in the Hancock DEMOCRAT of July 3, 1861 stated, "It was at one time generally believed that the use of alcoholic liquors was positively necessary and beneficial to all men...Physicians recommended such beverages and regular daily rations of rum were provided in all armies and navies. These notions are still entertained by many persons, and very generally there is a want of correct information on the subject. It is very common for soldiers of all classes to indulge in the use of alcoholic beverages...By close observation and many experiments, it has been found that the tissues and the blood of drunkards, as well as those who continually tipple in beer and whisky, but do not get drunk, are generally in a state of degeneration. Alcohol passes into the blood and retards the elimination of waste and injurious matter from the body and thus tends to produce disease, especially fever..." The effects of alcohol were obviously unclear in Riley's time. Eventually, Riley came to see his alcohol addiction to personify the activity of a person he called Crestillomeem and took her vision of himself as his own to see what it meant. This was done in "The Flying Islands of the Night." Crestillomeem never left Riley but came to become a pretty much subdued lady except for many private but also a few highly publicized incidents such as one recurrence in Louisville, Kentucky in February 1890 which caused the breakup of his stand-up comedy partnership with Edgar Nye. Crestillomeem did not produce poetry. Riley wrote no poetry when he was in delirium. Crestillomeem did, however, provide the delirious subject matter of a small body of very important poetry to a biographer. She gave Riley "An Adjustable Lunatic" with its vision of a lover in another dimension whose ethereal connectedness is an otherwise mad man's only touch with reality. FANTASY (1878) (FROM "AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC") (a poem written by a fictional author in a Riley sketch, a man who subsequently committed suicide within the story line and who described himself as "an adjustable lunatic" by profession. The sketch from which this poem derives portrays the writer of "Fantasy" as a penniless bachelor, the owner of a painting of a mysteriously enchanting woman in his room. The poem reveals an impossible romantic attachment so real and yet so imaginary that it severs the man from his senses. As a biographer, I find the story bears relation to Riley's relationship with his married friend, Nellie Cooley, so recently dead at the time of its writing.)
A Fantasy that came to me As wild and wantonly designed As ever any dream might be Unraveled from a madman's mind, - A tangle-work of tissue, wrought By cunning of the spider-brain, And woven, in an hour of pain, To trap the giddy flies of thought -.
I stood beneath a summer moon All swollen to uncanny girth, And hanging, like the sun at noon, Above the center of the earth; But with a sad and sallow light, As it had sickened of the night And fallen in a pallid swoon. Around me I could hear the rush Of sullen winds, and feel the whir Of unseen wings apast me brush like phantoms round a sepulcher; And, like a carpeting of plush, A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, Bespangled o'er with flowers as sweet To look upon as those that nod Within the garden-fields of God, But odorless as those that blow In ashes in the shades below.
And on my hearing fell a storm Of gusty music, sadder yet Than every whimper of regret That sobbing utterance could form, And patched with scraps of sound that seemed Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, And pitched to such a piercing key, It stabbed the ear with agony; And when at last it lulled and died, I stood aghast and terrified. I shuddered and I shut my eyes And still could see, and feel aware Some mystic presence waited there; And staring, with a dazed surprise, I saw a creature so divine That never subtle thought of mine May reproduce to inner sight So fair a vision of delight.
A syllable of dew that drips From out a lily's laughing lips Could not be sweeter than the word I listened to, yet never heard. - For, oh, the woman hiding there Within the shadows of her hair, Spake to me in an undertone So delicate, my soul alone But understood it as a moan Of some weak melody of wind A heavenward breeze had left behind.
A tracery of trees, grotesque Against the sky, behind her seem Like shapeless shapes of arabesque Wrought in an oriental screen; And tall, austere and statuesque She loomed before it - e'en as though The spirit-hand of Angelo Had chiseled her to life complete, With chips of moonshine round her feet. And I grew jealous of the dusk, To see it softly touch her face, As lover-like, with fond embrace It folded round her like a husk: But when the glitter of her hand Like wasted glory, beckoned me, My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim - My vision failed - I could not see - I could not stir - I could but stand, Till, quivering in every limb, I flung me prone, as though to swim The tide of grass whose waves of green Went rolling ocean-wide between My helpless shipwrecked heart and her Who claimed me for a worshiper.
And writhing thus in my despair, I heard a weird, unearthly sound, That seemed to lift me from the ground And hold me floating in the air. I looked, and lo! I saw her bow Above a harp within her hands; A crown of blossoms bound her brow, And on her harp were twisted strands Of silken starlight, rippling o'er With music never heard before By mortal ears; and, at the strain, I felt my Spirit snap its chain And break away, - and I could see It as it turned and fled from me To greet its mistress, where she smiled To see the phantom dancing wild And wizard-like before the spell Her mystic fingers knew so well.
What is it? Who will rightly guess If it be aught but nothingness That dribbles from a wayward pen To spatter in the eyes of men? What matter! I will call it mine, And I will take the changeling home And bathe its face with morning-shine, And comb it with a golden comb Till every tangled tress of rhyme Will fairer be than summer-time; And I will nurse it on my knee And dandle it beyond the clasp Of hands that grip and hands that grasp Through life and all eternity!
Something like this vision became Act II of Riley's great delirious, autobiographical play\poem "The Flying Islands of the Night." The other subject matter is in such poetry as "Quitting California." The poem is not, of course, about the State of California at all, but rather about a brand name of whiskey. While one is led by the poem to believe that the poem's writer is becoming temperate and giving up alcohol, the poem playfully concludes that the writer is merely changing to another brand of cheap whiskey and not giving up whiskey at all.
ON QUITTING CALIFORNIA (1879)
O rare old drink, the oldest, strongest far Of which the house can boast, Whose guardian, smiling, betteth at the bar On who can drink the most -
How art thou conquered - tamed in all the pride Of average beauty still! How brought, O painter of the human hide, To know thy master's will!
No more the shallow goblet is baptized Until it overflows; No more thy liquid blushes are capsized, And succored by the nose.
For now the wild oats thou hast helped to till In pain are harvested, And, as the boss presents his little bill, The gleaner droops his head.
Yet at thy shrine shall thousands kneel again Beneath thy mystic spell; O mother-in-law of great and mighty men, Thou do'st thy mission well!
Thy newer children shall restore the right I force you to resign And future years yield up an appetite, Perchance as wild as mine.
Though order, justice, social law shall scowl On all the works reveal, And art and science shake their heads and howl With unabated zeal,
The marble, shaken from its glassy sheath, Shall twirl and palpitate For those of fiery eye and potent breath Who take their whisky straight.
The cornless cob shall drain its warmest blood - The still its blackest lees, And all transfusive percolations flood Thy swollen arteries,
Till "Tremens," as he hides himself away Within thy depths, shall wink As victims pour him down from day to day At fifteen cents a drink.
When Mr. Clickwad is finished his friends congratulate him at least on agreeing to quit alcohol. Mr. Clickwad denies this intent and admits that he is only quitting the one brand indicated. He remains an unrepentant alcoholic which is his nature. While the poetry of Crestillomeem is small in volume, Riley considered it his personal record of the hell of his life and treasured it inordinately. One finds his poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" being published again and again from 1878 to the end of his life. None of the printings was popular. Most contained changes as Riley considered and reconsidered its autobiographical cryptic subject matter. The poem came to have a strange life of its own because of its beautiful lyrics and of course authorship by the famous James Whitcomb Riley. Riley simply hid himself in this poem. No one except possibly his alcoholic brother Hum (who died three years after "The Flying Islands of the Night's" composition) and friend, Dr. Frank Hays, knew the poem was a delirium. Why? Among the reasons why Crestillomeem was not a visible presence was Riley's later popularity and commercial posture. But another reason was that Crestillomeem lurked within his soul. Riley couldn't account for this himself. His vision of life included a simple belief that ultimately life was inexplicable. When his father died, Riley had engraved on the Riley family marker in the little Greenfield cemetery where he was buried, "God is his own interpreter and will someday make things clear." Riley's alcoholism like his father's death was a part of life that God alone understood. Nevertheless there was an expectation that it fit in with some greater plan. Crestillomeem was Riley in his uneasiness about his alcoholism. Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography, declared uneasiness was the central human motive. Riley was constantly in a state of uncertainty about himself. His incentive to survive despite his alcoholism required great mental work, emotionality and activity. After a person's biological needs are satisfied, time and energy are next spent in a narrow space of mind bounded on the right by boredom and ordinarily on the left by terror of the bizarre. Riley often lived in this region of the bizarre and actually knew it as a comfort. He often lived in the nurture of Crestillomeem. Others have commented that Riley's "weakness" was even beneficial. Rev. Finley Sapp, minister of a Greenfield Protestant Church from 1904-1906 and knew Riley, has written: "James Whitcomb Riley touched the heart of humanity as only a few have. "Jim" was really more "`ligious" when "lit up" a little, than most of the saints at camp meeting." (From page 54, A HISTORY OF THE GREENFIELD CHRISTIAN CHURCH, Dorothy June Williams). So who is Crestillomeem? She is the one whose life is explained in The Flying Islands as an entourage of faces. She is the soul breaking apart in Riley's "Poem of Seven Faces." In tremens deliriums, Riley encounters faces swarming around him telling him all about Crestillomeem.
CRESTILLOMEEM'S STORY IN A CHORUS OF SWARMING FACES
First Face
And who hath known her - like as I Have known her? - since the envying sky Filched from her cheeks its morning hue, And from her eyes its glory, too, Of dazzling shine and diamond-dew.
Second Face
I knew her - long and long before High AEo1 loosed her palm and thought: "What awful splendor have I wrought To dazzle earth and Heaven, too!"
1. AEo is Elizabeth, Riley's mother, who died when he was twenty. The E is her initial surrounded by the alpha and omega representing the scope of Riley's affection for her from beginning of life to end. Riley idolized his mother causing deep agony upon her death and Riley's initial need for consolation and escape in alcoholism.
Third Face
I knew her - long ere Night1 was o'er - Ere, AEo yet conjectured what To fashion Day of - ay, before He sprinkled stars across the floor Of dark, and swept that form of mine E'en as a fleck of blinded shine, Back to the black were light was not.
1. Night is related to the past in the alcoholics confessional genre of literature such as "The Flying Islands of the Night." SEE: Benson, Fifteen Years in Hell, (night as a black, unlighted past).
Fourth face
Ere day was dreamt, I saw her face Lift from some starry hiding-place Where our old moon was kneeling while She lit its features with her smile.
Fifth Face
I knew her while these islands3 yet, Were nestlings - ere they feathered wing, Or e'en could gape with them or get Apoise the laziest-ambling breeze; Or cheep, chirp our, or anything! When time crooned rhymes of nurseries Above them - nodded, dozed and slept, And knew it not, till, wakening. The morning stars agreed to sing And Heaven's first tender dews were wept.
3. Riley's fractured lives are the "flying" islands, disassociated "play/cast" entities, of the poem.
Sixth Face
I knew her when the jealous hands Of Angels set her sculptured form Upon a pedestal of storm And let her to this land with strands Of twisted lightnings.
Seventh Face
And I heard Her voice ere she could tone a word Of any but the Seraph-tongue. - And O sad-sweeter than all sung - Or word-said things! - to hear her say, Between the tears she dashed away: - "Lo, launched from the offended sight Of AEo! - anguish infinite Is ours, O Sisterhood of Sin! Yet is thy service mine by right, And, sweet as I may rule it, thus Shall Sin's myrrh-savor taste to us - Sin's empress - let my reign begin!4"
4. After his mother's death and then Nellie's death, Riley fell to pieces and launched a life of abandonment to alcoholism supported by meager casual employments.
RILEY'S FOUR GREAT ENCOUNTERS WITH CRESTILLOMEEM
There were four great encounters Riley had with Crestillomeem. Each led to a new era in Riley's life and the crises were closer together in years in his 20's than later on. Each proved devastating and led to great life changes for the sensitive poet. The first occurred as Riley was faced with the death of his mother on Aug. 9, 1870 when Elizabeth Riley died of heart disease. Riley floundered after this and eventually took to the road with a traveling miracle medicine show of Doc McCrillus. After returning to his home to settle down, a second event occurred when he was in his 20's which thoroughly unsettled him. This was a "black lynching" by a band of masked Hancock County men who broke into the Greenfield jail to drag a presumably innocent black man out for his date with a rope at the local fairgrounds. Riley again left his hometown for a second trip with a traveling medicine show, this time the one of Doc Townsend. Again returning to Greenfield after a time, he learned of the death of his soul-mate he most loved, Nellie Cooley, and after writing her obituary and burying her back in Greenfield, he again entered into a period of great despondency resulting in his eventual move to Indianapolis to work for a newspaper there. It was after this third great "depressing" circumstance that Riley wrote his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." By this time, Riley was brought in contact with kenotic teachers and was taking to the platform. His great Benjamin Johnson of Boone poems were written during a period of recovery in this period. The fourth great onset of depression culminated in 1890 when Riley could not take the strain of constant platform touring any longer and was found drunk and with the "shakes" in public. This ended Riley's lyceum circuit days as they had been. The event did however usher in a gentler time when Riley wrote most of his annual books and became "The Children's Poet." We will examine each of these periods of Riley's great bouts with Crestillomeem in turn before getting into his great poetry written as Spraivoll of the play/poem "The Flying Islands of the Night."
CRESTILLOMEEM'S FIRST GREAT ENCOUNTER WITH RILEY AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER
At what point in Riley's life he became severely depressed we do not know. His experience with alcohol tells us nothing about this. We remember Riley was from a Hoosier Deutsch family. The Hoosier Deutsch were very lenient in regard to alcohol use. The Hoosier Deutsch were a very industrious farming people in central Indiana. Their farms, distinguished because their farm houses were often built in the middle of their land rather than along the roads, were very prosperous. Nothing was wasted. Whiskey was made from their excess corn crops and all of their holidays and weddings involved great drinking of whiskey. Deutsch-run taverns were in every locale where the Deutsch settled in Indiana and were places of common social and even family gathering. Whiskey was kept in homes and children were given it for medicinal reasons at the drop of a hat. Riley no doubt had tasted corn whiskey or "red eye" on many, many occasions as a child. In adolescence we hear of Riley's drunken times with friends. Riley once admitted, "I've went more (miles) so's to come back by old Guthrie's still-house where minors got liquor providing we showed him that Old folks sent for it from home." The occasions were social and the stories from these times are humorous. One night when John E. Davis, met "Uncle" Billy Davis (not related) and Riley, Davis got his nickname "Durbin." The three were "whooping" it up on Greenfield streets. They had just stopped in at a Deutsch tavern in Greenfield, the "Last Chance," but found it closed for the night. Riley led the three to another place to get a drink, a water pump that Riley sighted. According to Davis, "Riley grabbed hold of the pump handle, clapped me on the back and said, "I want you to meet Mr. Durbin. Now Mr. Durbin, I want the boys to have all they want. It's on the house, boys."" Davis continued, "We drank water and pumped and drank again. And ever since, they've called me after a kind of pump manufactured in those days known as the Durbin pump." Davis also mentioned another story. As a boy, Durbin said, Riley "always had a pocketful of poems even when we swam down on the Brandywine. I've seen him turn somersaults, recite a poem, and then jump clean over the muddy bank into the swimmin' hole. He knowed all of Charles Dickens' works by heart." As a boy, "Uncle" Davis said Riley wasn't much of a swimmer but preferred to loiter in the shade while the others swam. "We'd go in natural and many's the time we'd tie each others clothes into knots and throw mud at each other. He used to make up poems down there and recite them to us while we swam around. There were some dandies all right. There's one of them I'll never forget. I only wish it could be printed." After Riley quit school at 16, he apparently fooled around with alcohol. The casual attitude toward drinking by the young men of the time is revealed by a story contemporary with this period in Hancock County in which a young man riding home one night slightly "bour bonized" looked at the moon with great contempt and said, "You needn't be so proud, Madame Moon. You are full once a month and I every night." In any case, Riley was familiar with alcohol use even before his first great encounter with Crestillomeem.
THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER CAUSED RILEY'S FIRST GREAT PERIOD OF INTOXICATION
The death of Riley's mother Elizabeth was publicly announced in the Hancock DEMOCRAT of Thursday morning, August 11, 1870 as follows: SUDDEN DEATH On Tuesday morning last our citizens were much astounded to hear that Mrs. Elizabeth Riley, wife of Capt. R.A. Riley, of this place, had died very suddenly and unexpectedly that morning, about half past seven o'clock, of heart disease. Some time during the latter part of the night, she felt unwell and got up from her bed without awaking any of the family. In a short time Capt. Riley was aroused by someone falling on the floor. He soon discovered that it was his wife who had fallen as if in a swoon. The alarm was given and the neighbors and physician sent for. No serious danger was at the time apprehended, but toward daylight she begun to grow worse and died as we have stated above. She was buried in the new cemetery on yesterday morning. A large number of our citizens were present at the funeral services, conducted by Rev. J.W. Lacy, and all sympathized deeply with the bereaved family. We tender our condolence to our friend, Capt. Riley, and his bereaved and afflicted children. In the death of the one they loved so well, we can truthfully say that she was a kind and good woman and that is the best epitaph that can be written upon the tomb of a departed wife and mother. Brother John wrote in his diary of that day, "What shall we do with Jim now that mother is dead?" The answer was that nothing on this earth could console Riley except alcohol. Riley was very "tied to his mother's apron strings." Here is a little poem Riley wrote that shows his depth of affection for his mother remembered even in his older age.
A BOY'S MOTHER (1890)
My mother she's so good to me, Ef I was good as I could be, I couldn't be as good - no, sir! - Can't any boy be good as her!
She loves me when I'm glad er sad; She loves me when I'm good er bad; An', what's a funniest thing, she says She loves me when she punishes.
I don't like her to punish me, - That don't hurt, - but it hurts to see Her cryin', - Nen I cry; an' nen We both cry an' be good again.
She loves me when she cuts an' sews My little cloak an' Sund'y clothes; An' when my Pa comes home to tea, She loves him most as much as me.
She laughs an' tells him all I said, An' grabs me up an' pats my head; An' I hug her, an' hug my Pa An' love him purt' nigh as much as Ma.
Riley's secretary, Marcus Dickey, has recorded how Riley recollected his reaction to his mother's death. "The bereavement caused a complete change in his life. It sent him into the world to make his own living, and in numerous ways it was a forlorn road he had to travel. A few hours after her death he walked alone through a cornfield to a favorite retreat south of the railroad to an old clearing. "I was alone," he said, "till as in a vision I saw my mother smiling back upon me from the blue fields of love - when lo! she was young again. Suddenly I had the assurance that I would meet her somewhere in another world. I was gathering the fruit of what had been so happily impressed on me in childhood. I had seen that the world is a stage. Now I saw that the universe is a stage. Another curtain had been lifted. My mother was enraptured at the sight of new scenery. It was the dream of Heaven with which `Johnny Appleseed' had impressed my mother in the Mississinewa cabin." The first thing Riley did after his mother died was to go to Rushville to sell Bibles with some man unknown in history. Reuben Riley was very skeptical about this enterprise and did not know the Bible salesman Riley had taken off to Rushville with. On December 19, 1870 we find the father writing to the son, "I have been patiently waiting for a letter from you and have received none. Scarcely an hour passes without my thinking of you and wondering how you are getting along? how you are doing? how you are managing? I have had much more experience in the world than you. It is all important that you associate with none but those of good character, that you be self-reliant and aim high and suffer no stain to attach to your conduct. I would like to counsel and advise with you. Please write me fully and confidently, and all reasonable assistance in my power I will render..." "It turned out," said Riley, "that citizens of Rushville had all the Bibles they needed; they had not time to read those they had." Soon Riley was back in Greenfield apprenticed to Almon Keefer's uncle, John Keefer, a painter by trade. Reuben paid for the apprenticeship. Soon Riley was armed with a Number 5 paint brush and a bucketful of paint under the eaves painting houses in Greenfield. Riley worked at painting houses for two summers while he learned the more delicate art of painting signs. Eventually Riley rented a paint shop above a drugstore which he called the "Morgue" and slept there much of the time because he did not want his family to see how intoxicated he often became. The Editor of Century Magazine, Hewitt Hanson Howland, claimed Riley's life was dominated by two fears, the fear of life and the fear of death. "From my earliest recollection of him, he would, on the death of a friend, take on an added air of confidence, almost of gaiety. `You can't make me believe he isn't around here somewhere,' he would say, `probably listening to us now and chuckling over our distress.'" I thought of him then as whistling in the dark; today we'd call it defensive mechanism. But by whatever name, Riley always gave the departed the best of the bargain." The death of his mother left him outside her physical presence but with the hope that she was still with him and had gone right on living. When Riley wrote poetry he was in a way still participating in an activity with his mother. Riley told Hamlin Garland in an interview that he got his verse-writing from his mother's family, the Marines. A characteristic of the whole family was their ability to write rhymes, but all unambitiously. "They wrote rhymed letters to each other, and joked and jim-crowed with the Muses." This family love of poetry was the legacy of the poverty stricken mother to her son. She had nothing else to give him. After the mother's death, poverty in the Riley home continued to render life there miserable. Riley's brother, Hum, and sisters remained. The period was one of great privation. Reuben Riley was not a good provider at any time following his very brief Civil War service. Riley's younger brother gives evidence of this in a brief plaintive letter to brother John who left home to live and earn an income in Indianapolis. Riley's brother, Hum at 13, wrote his brother John, "Dear Brother, I want you to send me a cap if you pleas (sic) by tomoro (sic) evening. I have none but one old one and it is not fit to wear to the festival a cheap one will do so it looks well. Yours truly, /s/ Hum The boy hadn't funds to wear the cap that the other boys had. Another letter from Riley himself to his brother, John explains Riley's poverty.
July 14, 1871 Dear Bro.: Yesterday morn I failed to write to you - I found "the folks" all well - that is, "on their pins," but all pretty blue and no wonder. There is no one to help May, who still continues to "gaze in vacancy" the greater part of the time. I "waked" her for a little time yesterday by reading a sketch or two from Dickens. Father is chief-cook-and bottle washer. I was going to say but Hum washes the dishes. Father has to go to the court house and be fined $10 for contempt of court. John, I tell you, our noble House is on the wane - everything is going - going - the same old carelessness marks our "progress." ...I am going to work for Harris in a day or two. Father, I guess don't want to get, or keep a girl to assist May - economy, you know. I've been laughing forced laughs and dancing forced jigs till I'm about gone up - they don't appear to take - it will take a deeper trick - "simulating" happiness, to be a success. Augustus and Marie were up last evening and Dora from Pendleton - we had a pleasant time in our front parlors - the kitchen door open and father with his sleeves rolled up to his knees, getting supper for his clamor of offspring who ate crackers and water for dinner - maybe I don't talk right- I can't say other way -Your affectionate bro. Jim. Elva May Riley, at fourteen, took the mother's place in the family. Harris was Riley's school master. In his schoolhouse in Lewisville, Riley and Harris spent half the night studying the poetry, especially Tennyson, and writing verse. The first poems were printed in Greenfield in local newspapers about this time. Riley wrote them under the name Edyrn, taken from Tennyson's IDYLLS OF THE KING. Although Elva May Riley assumed the role of the mother of the bereaved family, the younger crippled child, Mary, was left in great inconsolable sorrow by the death of her mother. Following Elizabeth's death, Riley took to the habit of coming to his sister Mary's side at night after she had been put to bed to recite Tennyson and Longfellow. Both came to know some of these poems by heart and she remembered her brother particularly tried to emulate the musical cadence of the "The Lady of Shalott". She recalled him as loving Keats best of all, but "he did not repeat those poems to me as a girl." Mary and Riley formed a special bond during this period. Often Riley came home to the Riley homestead drunk and the little girl came down to assist him get to his room. Throughout the remainder of his life Riley considered his sister, Mary, as a special charge and supported her and her daughter, Leslie, financially through many travails. Born during the Civil War, Sister Mary suffered from spinal meningitis and was 15 years younger than Riley. His financial help kept her in a rather expensive standard of living. She and her daughter, Lesley, lived in Paris, France, for many years dependent upon the assistance of the poet who gladly provided whatever resources were needed. Riley did this in memory of his mother as well as out of love for his sister. His sister's life was as shattered by Crestillomeem as was his own. Eventually, still in grief at his mother's death, Riley left Greenfield, his boyhood home, in May 1872, when he was twenty-two by joining the traveling medicine show of Dr. Samuel Brown McCrillus. As the Twentieth Century ends, we can hardly imagine such a wild and strange event as the appearance in town of a medicine show. But to the folk of Greenfield and the little towns of Indiana in the decade following the Civil War, the coming of a patent medicine wagon offered an occasion for fun and excitement. Dr. McCrillus was not just a "doctor" who made his own prescription in Anderson - the one principal remedy for almost every illness to hear him tell it - McCrillus' European Balsam - he was also an entertainer back in the days when folk with that duo proclivity would take to the roads and sell medicine at medicine shows. Imagine yourself in the Greenfield of the decade after the Civil War. Supper is over and the women are busy with a sinkful of dishes and the children are finishing their chores for the day. The men are out on the front porches having an after-dinner chaw of tobacco. Only the buzz of a persistent fly breaks the lazy silence of the warm summer evening. Suddenly, this halcyon scene is broken by a near- deafening blast of a trumpet. The Greenfield folk rush out of their houses to see what is going on. Down State Street from the direction of Anderson come a pair of matched, plumed horses pulling a gaily decorated wagon. It is painted in gaudy reds and blues and is embellished with curlicues in gold. Is it a circus wagon? No. Even so all the kids of the town, cheering and pushing to get close, rush toward it and circle it as it heads down to the courthouse square. Dr. McCrillus has brought his medicine show to Greenfield once again as he did every year during this era. We would all know him. Dr. Samuel Brown McCrillus is one of the most notable men in this part of Indiana. He has made sure he is well known by hiring an "advance man" to paint his advertisements for his patent medicines in Greenfield on every available barnside, post and rock. Dr. McCrillus sits on the wagon seat, dignified and smiling, and he waves his hat to the men and bows and lifts his hat in a mannerly way to the ladies along the way. He is a great humanitarian who takes the tributes of the crowd in stride. After all not everyone has curing the sicknesses and ailments of folk in their hearts like the good Quaker doctor. After encircling the town square, Dr. McCrillus stops his bright wagon and climbs down. Soon he is joined by the young man with him, Jim McClanahan, who will present an evening performance on the tailgate of the wagon in the flickering late summer light along the Greenfield downtown Main Street. Frequent commercials were interjected into the entertainments. Dr. McCrillus would signal for silence and a hush would encompass the crowd. "Friends and neighbors, " he would say, "let's get one thing clear at the beginning. I don't want your money. I have come to Greenfield to help you." He really meant it. Then he would give his 19th Century hard sell, a pitch for "McCrillus European Balsam" and it worked, probably unlike the medicine itself. One observer of this has recorded Dr. McCrillus's standard introduction of himself, as follows: "I have been engaged in the medicine business ever since I can recollect. I made pills by the day when only a boy of ten years. For the past thirty-eight years, I have been engaged in putting up what is known as Dr. McCrillus' popular standard remedies, European Balsam, Tonic Block Purifier, Oriental Liniment, and Hoarhound Expectorant. They are sold by druggists. I could offer thousands of genuine certificates, but I am willing to leave the great public to judge of their merits. I have adopted for my special use a trade mark, whereby the public may be protected against fraud and imposition. Relief has been obtained by thousands of sufferers by the use of my medicines and they in turn have recommended them to others. In this way, I am making living advertisements for myself and medicines. Be sure the name of Dr. S.B. McCrillus, Anderson, Indiana, is on every bottle, otherwise it is a fraud." (As found in the Madison County Historical GAZETTE of October, 1979.) Dr. McCrillus worked all winter making pills and preparing his tonic in his laboratory. Then in the summer he would pack them all up in a bright wagon driven by his two sorral horses and travel all over Central Indiana putting on these little shows to cause people to congregate. When Doc McCrillus left Greenfield on this occasion, he took James Whitcomb Riley with him. When James Whitcomb Riley left Greenfield at the age of twenty-two to join a traveling patent medicine show, he had not just hooked up with a simple charlatan. Doc McCrillus was a patent medicine manufacturer who believed in his products and traveled around Indiana in the summers peddling his cures with vim and vigor. The Doc would give wondrous programs from his wagon to extol the virtues of his many cures. Somehow he also kept open a little medicine shop on the south side of Anderson's public square during this era according to the EMERSON AND WILLIAMS ANDERSON CITY DIRECTORY of 1876-77. In a way, Riley was lucky that Doc McCrillus took him on. Jim Riley tried to talk his way into the good doctor's traveling miracle medicine show on the basis that he could do a good public relations job. Riley had experience painting signs - Riley's dad apprenticed him to a Greenfield signmaker at an early age to keep the boy from being a juvenile delinquent - and he told Doc McCrillus he would advance to the next towns on the circuit and make signs for his show. The problem is that Doc McCrillus already had one sign painter, a young man named James McClanahan also from the doctor's hometown of Anderson. The more Riley talked though, the more the doctor felt favorably inclined to include the young man in his travels. Like many others, Doctor McCrillus knew Reuben Riley, Jim's dad, and knew his father, a lawyer, was a good showman in his own way. Then he asked Riley to see some of his signs. Riley sighted him to a bridge where he had painted an eagle and a flag. With the boy's father's permission, James Whitcomb Riley was off on his first adventure away from Greenfield and home. Doc McCrillus's visit to Greenfield was the first of the patent medicine man's stops in the summer of 1872. Actually, the Doc took his two Jims back to Anderson and to his home at 3 East Lincoln Street there on its historic brick street that still remains after the Greenfield trip to prepare for the entertainments for the rest of the summer. Jim Riley and Jim McClanahan learned to perform many acts together. Riley had brought with him his guitar and banjo along with his natural gift of wit and novelty. The program would provide a forum for Doc McCrillus to spiel out his philosophic approach to his patent medicines, then the three would sing a trio and other entertainments would follow. In this summer, Riley became a comedian and give recitations and also sang, as well as went on ahead of the medicine show to the oncoming towns to paint signs advertising the show to come. It is a shame that Doctor McCrillus has faded into such obscurity as a historical figure. No obituary of him survives. We only know that he was born in Dubois County on June 27, 1830 and died at the age of 70 in Anderson on Feb. 12, 1901. His wife was from Southern Indiana. Her name was Helen Coningore and the two married in 1861 in Paoli. The doctor's parents were Aaron Bailey and Sarah (nee Brown) McCrillus. We know from the standard Dubois County Histories of the Nineteenth Century that Dr. Samuel McCrillus was educated in a pioneer school - his only education that I could uncover-in the front room of a "Professor Cheaver on the southeast corner of the public square of Jasper, and was elected as the first Auditor of Dubois County before he was twenty-one under Indiana's Second Constitution, before migrating to Anderson in 1861 for some unknown reason and taking to patent medicine manufacture. Medical School anywhere is not in his resume. I suppose he had learned as Auditor of Dubois County that to be a medical doctor in this period of history one only had to register as such with the County Auditor where you wished to be an M.D. Among the places his children settled was Wilkinson, in Hancock County. This was the man who would spirit James Whitcomb Riley away from Greenfield and offer him the chance to become an entertainer and meet many characters. None of this may particularly sound like a background experience for a young man who would help define what an American home and its life would involve. But James Whitcomb Riley was a young man who "itched" to move right then. Whether he knew it or not, James Whitcomb Riley was on a quest to understand the meaning of his life as well as to understand his Greenfield home where he had lived in his youth, a home whose coup he had now flown. His quest would cause him to write extensively and famously and he would explore every element of what others might think were elements of his dream. Strangely he would never have a home such as he would formulate as an ideal for his readers and listeners. In a newspaper interview about taking on James Whitcomb Riley to join his patent medicine show, Doc McCrillus once said, "This patent medicine business was not organized then like it is today." (I suppose he meant after the passage of laws like the Pure Food and Drug Act regulating what could be sold as "drugs.") "I did as big a business as any one. All of us then had great, fine wagons and would load up with our medicines and drive from town to town. We would carry a sign painter along and as we jogged from place to place would stop and paint signs on fences or barns. I would take part of the pay for the medicines in paint." "We got to Greenfield...(His "sign painter," James McClanahan was present at this interview too)... "and when I was over at the drug store, Jim McClanahan, who was my painter, scraped up an acquaintance with this fellow Riley, who was a red-head, sorry-looking young fellow." "Yes, (McClanahan said,) Doc had gone over to the drug store and I had let down the back and was looking over the supply of paint when this feller Riley came up and commenced to talk to me. He told me he was a painter, too. I sized him up and shot back - 'Yes, I see as how you're a blin' painter,' and I pointed out some green paint on his clothes - the green that we used to daub the blinds with. That was the worst thing you could say to a painter, and Riley blushed and said that he could paint more than blinds and houses and he pointed out a sign or two. When Doc came back to the wagon I told him the young fellow wanted to go with us, that he had painted those signs; and that he said he could play the guitar and the fiddle - Riley never liked the word fiddle. Doc took him on to help me out and to help him in his lectures. Riley was a fast painter and his lettering was good, and he helped McCrillus entertain the crowds in the street." (From a newspaper interview found in loose papers at the Indiana University library at Indianapolis.) It is easy to say that Riley's career began on Doc McCrillus's gaudy "show wagon." The entertainments that Riley performed to gather crowds for Doc McCrillus were the start of his public career as a showman himself...and entertainer from the stage. After his death, a contemporary American author of Riley's, Hamlin Garland, would say of him, "...in truth his success did not come so much in print as through his own reading of his lines from the platform. He had in him something of the minstrel. He possessed notable power to charm and move an audience, and everywhere he spoke he left a throng of friends. To hear him read - or recite - "A Song of the Airly Days" was to be moved in a new and unforgettable way. His vibrant individual voice, his flexile lips, his droll glance, united to make him at once poet and comedian - comedian in the sense which makes for tears as well as for laughter." (From "Commemorative Tribute to James Whitcomb Riley" by Hamlin Garland, read in the 1920 Lecture Series of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.) Riley's "minstrelsy" or showmanship may have been an offshoot of Doc McCrillus's, or at least substantially influenced by him. People would come to listen and be entertained by the patent medicine man and his young men consorts. At most these audiences were a "testing ground" for the young James Whitcomb Riley to learn his craft of entertaining and amusing audiences. There is a tendency to think this shallow and not necessarily significant. That conclusion would be dead wrong. There is not just a "give" but rather a "give and take" in the performing arts. James Whitcomb Riley participated in the life of these audiences around the brightly painted patent medicine wagon. The crowds became a part of the entertainer who would write down his poetry from time to time. What the crowds found "right" in Riley's poetry became Riley's subject matter. Since establishing homes was the main thrust of the small town populaces Riley entertained, ideas of home abound in Riley's poetry. Riley's trip with Doc McCrillus was a start on a journey which would take him through his life and even take his life at the end. It was a tragic quest which was buried in humor and hopeful sentiment. It was a journey to find love and to try to be loved in the life of his Hoosier people. Its meaning would boil down to a concept of home. Unfortunately, the meaning was one which proved a truce by which American homelife could become established and normalized and permit the thriving of others, but not for himself. A lonely death in a small upper apartment of an Indianapolis house would be James Whitcomb Riley's lot. In the Biographical Edition of his poetry, Riley described his employment with Doc McCrillus, the traveling miracle medicine man with whom Riley escaped Greenfield: "My duty was the manipulation of two blackboards swung at the sides of the wagon during our street lecture and concert. These boards were alternately embellished with colored drawings illustrative of the manifold virtues of the nostrum vended. Sometimes, I assisted the musical olio with dialect recitations and character sketches from the back steps of the wagon." In describing his getaway from the memories of this death with a medicine man selling his cure-all, Riley said "I rode out of town with that glittering cavalcade," the poet said, "without saying good-bye to anyone, and though my patron was not a diplomaed doctor, as I found out, he was a man of excellent habits and the whole company was made up of good, straight, jolly, chirping vagabonds like myself." Riley fitted easily into this roving company as a black board and colored chalk artist, illustrating the virtues of the medicine vended, supplemented with a repertoire of songs, jokes and original recitations. After a wonderful tour, the poet returned to Greenfield with pockets as empty as they were when he left. In May 31, 1872 Riley wrote his brother, "... I have been advertising for the Farmer's Grocery for three or four days and am feeling pretty sore, physically - but quite the contrary mentally for I have now removed a load of about $6 from my mind and so - "Patience and shuffle the cards," - and I'll soon be out of debt. John, I have an offer from a young advertiser, who was attracted by my card in the post-office, to travel and do Medicine advertising and such, and I believe I will go. I can be at home as often as you. I guess: so we won't be broken badly. I think it will be the best thing I could do: I'll be in the open air all the time, and I do like advertising - especially where I have a chance of making $5 and $6 a day. I send you a photograph of my card. - How do you like? - I received a complimentary squib in both our worthy papers. The young man i am going with is a good business agent and sharp as the proverbial tack. He is not much on the letter, but knows how to get work and handle "expenses" and all that. He is entirely stranger to me - but he is from Anderson, and refers me to dozens of the best men the town contains. We will do general advertising: he has had experience and knows all about it - I will go as partner or not at all. If we succeed it won't be a great while before I show advertisers what advertising is like the card I send you for instance - I can design them and we can have them engraved and furnish cards novel, new and unique for so much a thous - look out! Yours &c Jim Then on July 17th 1872, he wrote his brother that he was about to start on a week's trip to neighboring towns. When Riley and McClanahan traveled by themselves to paint, they entered a town to great theatrical display. Riley said, "On entering a town, McClanahan went first to the livery stable and with unfailing instinct picked out the best horses. It was not long before we were in the good graces of the livery-man and had as our reward the best team in the barn free of charge for the afternoon. Then the two made a dashing appearance into town to talk to the leading merchants proposing to advertise them on every barn fence and boulder on each of the roads leading into town. Riley remembered saying "these signs will stand as long as the fence or barn or stone remains...Why, you spend that much each year on newspaper advertising and, what is more, your newspaper allows your competitor to advertise in the very next column in a more conspicuous place. He can't do that on the road, because you'll have every fence and barn, and if you don't take the contract he will, you bet." Their business card proposed "all styles of signs and painted advertisements and original designs in fancy cards and bulletins and banner signs of all kinds and ends is in rhyme, "We strive in each particular to give our fellow man entire Satisfaction. Riley and McClanahan Life on the road was not easy. Riley did not conserve what money he did make. In the winter of 1872-3, Riley spent the winter in Marion. He recalls, "I didn't have enough covers on my bed, only a counterpane. (Biographer's note: coverlet). I laid newspapers in between that and the sheet to keep out the cold. Oh, I was living in an old rat-trap and didn't see where the money for my Saturday's board was coming from. And I was homesick. One day a letter came from my small brother `Hum,' a boy letter about "Nuisance," our dog, who had died. When I got that broken-hearted letter I simply crawled away to my room, threw myself on the bed and cried." This was the winter when "Dot Leedle Boy of Mine," was written. Riley said, "Writing verse was the only fun I had." We know that Riley left Greenfield to join Doc McCrillus and therafter to travel with Jim McClanahan painting at just about the time the temperance movement was strengthening and young men Riley's age were being asked to sign Murphy pledges not to drink alcoholic beverages. Near this time of Riley's period of greatest inebriations after his mother's death, the Indiana Women's Christian Temperance Union was just getting organized. When Mrs. Zerelda Wallace, its first President, and stepmother of General Lew Wallace, author of BEN HUR, took her first temperance petition before the Indiana legislature, she was informed that, since her petition was from women who couldn't vote, it "amounted to no more than the tracks of so many mice." This aroused Mrs. Wallace to become a public speaker throughout the state on temperance and women's vote issues. Other women joined in the fight. Soon women were lining up, two abreast, in great processions after church services to enter the taverns of Hoosier towns to ask saloon keepers to close down and seek the reformation of the drinkers inside. Tavern keepers could do little about these invasions. They could not throw out the ladies who would yell, "Unhand me, Sir!" or remind them that "No one but a coward touches a woman save in kindness." No lady could be removed from the bar door when they chose to sing temperance songs outside. It is said that huge and brutal looking barkeeps quailed to the pure womanhood while their potential patrons left or walked away without entering their usual haunts. The resistance of the saloon keepers of the Hoosier Deutsch - those of Riley's stock - was greater than the others. Sometimes a thick accented German wife of a barkeep fetched her small children and fed them beer in full sight of the temperance women. Many times those of Hoosier Deutsch heritage were subject to derision for special sinfulness and foreign barbarism. It was more common for the Deutsch saloon owners to resist. They drove the women out of their establishments by opening doors and windows in the winter, throwing pepper on the stoves to cause them to sneeze and cry, flooding the floor with filthy water, putting out the fires in their stoves or just plain plugging the stovepipe to smoke them out. Occasionally, drinkers would throw tobacco juicy sawdust from the bar floors at the ladies. If fights did break out, few ladies feared being convicted of disorderly conduct or such charges. A poem by Elizabeth T. Wills of the Wabash, Indiana, Women's Christian Temperance Union describes the temperance activity of the time. It should be remembered that Riley and his friends were what these ladies would call "rummies." The antagonistic but pious mood toward alcoholics in Indiana is expressed in this poem.
THE TEMPERANCE CRUSADE
Away back in the Seventies A long, long time ago, We women went out in the old crusade When the ground was covered with snow. Now what do you mean by the old crusade? We would like to hear you explain Was the fight just for popularity Which we women were hoping to gain? No, we mothers had sat in rum ruined homes And mourned o'er the wreckage the rum fiend had made It was rum, rum with its withering curse, That's what started the Temperance Crusade. Rum had robbed us of husband, had robbed us of sons And of all, which the heart holds most dear So we women went out, in this battle for home Without the least tremor of fear. In Hillsboro, Ohio, the Crusade first broke out And the first soon kindled to flame. it flew to the south, the north, east and west Just like a tornado it came. This fire had been smoldering for years and for years Just waiting and ready to catch. It was fed by wrecked manhood and orphan's sad tears All it lacked was just touching the match. We met in the churches, met three times a day To form resolutions, to talk, sing and pray. Just women in daytime, men kept out of sight But they joined in our mass-meetings held every night. Then while all the church bells were ringing at once and all the whistles were blowing, We started right out with our hymn books in hand To visit saloons - we were going. We caused much excitement as we marched two abreast Through the crowded and awe-stricken street But with heads quite erect and courage unchecked Did we march with the snow on our feet. We marched right in to the open saloon And begged of the men to desist But some grew angry and cursed us And came at us with shaking fist; And some of them told us we'd better go home And men our husband's sox; We appointed committees to sit out in front, To keep the men out of saloons. I imagine we felt a little like men When they finally tree their 'coons; And we couldn't help but sorter wear A half-way satisfied grin To see the men we were keeping out That wanted so much to go in. Then while at this stage in the conflict After first excitement was through, we organized the little band called the W.C.T.U, And the ball has kept rolling and rolling with its purity banner unfurled, Till now our white-ribbon army Is teaching and belting the world. So pin on the white ribbon, sisters, And we will keep plugging away, Till we win in the fight and put rummies to flight Some Glad Day.
I suppose to some extent the young Riley was "put to flight" by the temperance ladies and their talk about such young men as Riley who drank too much. Riley did not consider his alcoholism as some disease or unconscious decision. Riley wanted to indulge in alcohol and become intoxicated as a young man following the death of his mother. He did not want any temperance movement person interfering for the escape he found in drinking alcoholic beverages. This admission is made in his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night" where Jucklet explains this to Crestillomeem, Riley's alcoholism. The "wife" and "love" is alcohol.
He thinks thee even true to him as thou Art fickle, false and subtle! O how blind And lame, and deaf and dumb, and worn and weak, And faint, and sick, and all-commodious His dear love is! In sooth, O wifely one, Thy malleable spouse doth mind me of That pliant hero of the bald old catch "Thy Lovely Husband." - Shall I wreak the thing?
(Sings1 - with much affected gravity and grimace)
O a lovely husband he was known, He loved his wife and her a-lone; She reaped the harvest he had sown; She ate the meat, he picked the bone. With mixed admirers every size, She smiled on each without disguise; This lovely husband closed his eyes Lest he might take her by surprise,
(Aside, exclamatory)
Chorious uproarious!
(Then pantomime as though pulling at bell-rope - singing in pent, explosive utterance)
Trot! Run! Wasn't he a handy hubby?
What Fun She could plot and plan!
Not One Other such a dandy hubby As this lovely man!
1. The 1898 edition of "The Flying Islands" contains a score for this song. Riley set the song to music for this edition.
This part of the poem borders on pathos rather than humor. Nellie Cooley (Dwainie) tried on many occasions to set Riley free from his alcoholism, none with any success during her lifetime. Only after her death did she come to him in the delirious account chronicled in "The Flying Islands of the Night," and succeed in this effort. Riley not only began his life of alcoholism after his mother's death, but he also most earnestly began his writing of poetry to express his feelings. Riley began his nocturnal life. Riley's poems were mostly written at night because he once said, "Then angels listen to the whisper of his pencil as I write." This habit came early and from the days he painted signs. Often too intoxicated to return home, he slept many places. One of them was at the station of the night watchman of the Greenfield Bank. The night watchman was happy for the company because he could sleep at night knowing Riley was awake by a dim lamp with a pencil and tablet in hand. Most of his early life, he recalled hearing a clock strike four. How did Riley consider his life? There can be no more discordant event than the death of a caregiving mother. There is no place to go for reassurance and to avoid anxiety more satisfying than to one's mother. One does not feel unworthy when a mother gives acceptance. Parental love is the great shield of apprehensiveness. The next year saw Riley traveling the State of Indiana again with McClanahan. Riley's friends shared his general love of the drunken life. Nov. 26, 1873, apparently written while Mack (James McClanahan) was drunk. The letter starts out, "Answer soon for God's sake. Don't make fun of me. This is written on the letterhead of Harvin and Booker, Frankfort. "O dam the pin I can't write fast enough. Damd if I ever felt good in my life. Good God I'm off my feet. Would to God that I could see you NOW. You ask me why don't I write. That's damn fine talk ain't it...Oh, my God, but I do feel Hob. Hob hell. That don't express it. Can you read this?...." McClanahan is writing Riley in desperation. The woman he is living with is apparently giving him Hell. McClanahan says he has given people the impression the woman he is living with and he are married but they aren't. There are records from friends in newspaper recollections that are revealing: From Riley's South Bend life comes the recollection of Frank Murphy. Just across from Blowneys was a saloon and Riley was said to dearly love to have a glass of beer there with innumerable friends, Bill Allen, Al Stockford, Frank Murphy. On one occasion, when Riley and Bill Allen, a drinking buddy of Riley's, were painting the outside of the old St. Joseph hotel, the scaffolding they were standing on fell and both of them were hurt, but not seriously. Later, when Riley was famous and was lecturing in South Bend, Bill Allen went to see Riley at his hotel and Riley refused to see him. In Riley's "Pipes o' Pan at Zekesbury," Riley mentioned many of his South Bend friends and in particular "the Wild Irishman," Frank Murphy, a genial, jovial Irishman, loud of speech, warm in friendship and who could improvise poetry and enjoy a glass of whisky or any other concoction accompanied with plenty of hilarity and good fellowship, which was exactly to young Riley's temperamental liking and as a result the two were good friends til death took them. Riley called him Tommy in his sketch and says he sings at one of their convivial gatherings in the Andrews saloon: "But R-R-Riley, he'll not go I guess Lest, he'd get losht in the wil-der-ness, And so in the city he will shtop For to curl his hair in the barbershop." Of the Andrews Saloon where Riley frequently quenched his thirst and was always welcome, he sings, "Of the Andrews brothers they'll be there Wid good sy-gars and wine to spare, They'll treat us here on fine champagne And when we're there, they'll treat us again." Whenever Murphy went to Indianapolis, he would look Riley up and they would have a good time recalling the days when Riley was a sign painter in South Bend. Maj. Blowney did not mind Riley writing verses and gave him a blank book to write them in. It is to this early period of Riley's wandering life following the death of his mother, that Riley refers in his autobiographical poem when he portrays Crestillomeem (his alcoholism) and his minstrelsy play-self (Jucklet) in happy companionship and shared delight.
Semblance of Jucklet (Sings)
Crestillomeem! Crestillomeem! Soul of my slumber! - Dream of my dream! Moonlight may fall not as goldenly fair As falls the gold of thine opulent hair - Nay, nor the starlight as dazzlingly gleam As gleam thine eyes, 'Meema - Crestillomeem! - Star of the skies, 'Meema - Crestillomeem!
Semblance of Crestillomeem (Sings)
O Prince divine! O Prince divine! Tempt thou me not with that sweet voice of thine! Though my proud brow bear the blaze of a crown, Lo, at thy feet must its glory bow down. That from the dust thou mayest lift me to shine Heaven'd in thy heart's rapture, O Prince divine! - Queen of thy love ever, O Prince divine!
Semblance of Jucklet (Sings)
Crestillomeem! Crestillomeem! Our life shall flow as a musical stream1 - Windingly - placidly on it shall wend, Marged with mazhorra-bloom banks without end - Word-birds shall call thee and dreamily scream, "Where dost thou cruise, 'Meema - Crestillomeem? Whither away, 'Meema? -Crestillomeem!
1. Jucklet, Riley's pranking and jocular self, can express himself along quite well in intoxicated state.
Duo
(Vision and voices gradually failing away)
Crestillomeem! Crestillomeem! Soul of my slumber! - Dream of my dream! Star of Love's light, 'Meema - Crestillomeem! Crescent of Night, 'Meema! -
Several incidents from Riley's travels are remembered. Once Riley suspended himself by a rope from a bridge and painted a sign on the bottom of the bridge inverting the letters so the approaching traffic would see the advertising on the surface of the water. He painted many barns on his travels in the years of his early twenties. When he returned home to Greenfield occasionally he did some odd jobs for Greenfield folk. He did cards for War Barnett and went to a Greeley meeting and "ogled some terribly damp Goddesses of Liberty, etc." Riley saw Brett Harte read while in South Bend in the fall 1873 but did not go speak to him although they stood close to each other after the performance. "I wanted to speak to him for he had been a great inspiration to me, but some fear within restrained me." 1874 was another year of restless wandering about Indiana with Jim McClanahan and friends. Riley's family were not supportive. They wished him settled down. They did not like his wanderings around with his carefree drinking friends. A letter Riley sent to his brother John, dated Nov. 16, 1874, states: "...In reply to a question of yours-McClanahan is not with me now, nor hasn't been for months, and in lieu of myself -as per lady-book-statement, -is traveling in the Vinegar Recipe line and making big money. He controls a party of 13 agents who sell recipes while he is employed selling Territory. I have been working for McCrillus, principally, since my return to Anderson, but have surprised the folks occasionally with a sign: I am at work now on an advertising card that will be superior! I won't enter in to a description of it - wait till it's done and I'll show it to you - it will be my masterpiece as I have "mixed my colors with brains." Oh, it's artistic - not letters in gold alone, but the "female form divine" graces the center of the design, while the letters around her twine and glimmer and gleam and shine
Like the limpid, laughing waters Of the Classic Brandywine."
The picture from the poetry and the situation of the departure with the good Doc's patent medicine show is of a young man, Riley, simply on the run from the death of his mother steadily seeking the companionship of Crestillomeem but holding his own in the sign painting and medicine show business. Perhaps his relationship with his married friend, Nellie Cooley back in Greenfield further encouraged both his departures and exacerbated alcohol use. Upon his returns to Greenfield he inevitably sought Nellie's company and this was not a situation Riley's family was very happy about either. Nellie was, after all, a married woman. It was not a good sign that she was the woman he was paying attention to. For now we simply repeat the last stanza of this poem:
A POET'S WOOING (1872)
What can I do to make you glad - As glad as glad can be, Till your clear eyes seem Like the rays that gleam And glint through a dew-decked tree? - Will it please you, dear, that I now begin A grand old air on my violin?" And she spoke again in the following way, - "Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir; I would be so glad you'd play Some grand old march - in character, - And then as you march away I will no longer thus be sad, But oh, so glad - so glad - so glad!"
Was Nellie discouraging Riley's attentions as well as encouraging them driving Riley crazy? Life with Doc McCrillus was a pleasant and diverting life. To gain the flavor of the Doc McCrillus patent medicine enterprise, it may be helpful to consider the product Riley was selling. One of the testimonials to Doc McCrillus's patent medicine has come down to us from two Anderson, Indiana men who otherwise are unknown to history, E. Sipe and Sam Pence, self-styled as "Horse Dealers." They witness as follows: "We speak whereof we have seen and know about Dr. S.B. McCrillus' European Balsam. We believe it to be a valuable medicine in the cure of horse disease -epizootic -as a disinfectant, and also a great relief to the horse when sick by burning it on coals in the stable and letting the horses inhale the Balsam." (Found in loose folders on Riley in the Anderson City Library). This testimonial would be rather "backhand" since Doc McCrillus's miracle cures were intended for humans. As you would look at the darkly ominous bottle of the good doctor's chief product, you would immediately know it was something very special. A trumpeting baby elephant was on the label on whose back was a huge leather satchel as big as the elephant containing the word's "McCrillus' European Balsam." The Balsam's label contained other information in different sized print: "The Acknowledged Excelsior System Renovator. Cures WEAK BACK. It Cures Bronchitis, Palpitation of the Heart, Laryngitis, Sore Throat, Phthisic(sic), Weak Breast, Coughs and Colds, Female Complaints, Liver Complains, Dyspepsia, Chronic Rheumatism, Etc." In much smaller print along the sides of the label are the statements, "This Balsam, composed exclusively of vegetable matter, has attained for itself an almost cosmopolitan celebrity. In its successful treatment of all diseases of a nervous and inflammatory nature, and for a weak state of the system. It heals the lungs, strengthens the stomach, rectifies its disorders and regulates the bowels. It allays inflammation externally and internally. Dissolves the secretions of the urinary glands, and cures grave and WEAKNESS OF THE KIDNEYS." Just dreaming up such a mess of quasi-medical gobbledegook such as this must have taken the good Doc much time. Incidentally, the good Dr. McCrillus's death certificate on file with the Madison Co. Health Department shows his cause of death as "acute pneumonitis" which we tend to call pneumonia. Did the doctor not take his own cure? Lung ailments were supposed to be overcome by his European Balsam. Or could it have been that he wished his own remedy worked a little better as he was slipping away? In any case, the summers in which James Whitcomb Riley left home to join Doc McCrillus and paint and travel were pleasant and fun-filled interludes and adventures Riley and McClanahan were said to have performed many acts together from the show wagon. Riley always took his guitar and banjo with him, and much entertainment was verbalized with recitation of entertaining stories. When Riley was on the road with Doc, he would interject his philosophy of medicine and the virtues of his cures and then sometimes the three would sing as a trio. Eventually, James Whitcomb Riley is said to have become very popular with demands for encores for his recitations and even singing. After these surrealistic summer experiences, James Whitcomb Riley returned with the Doc to Anderson to idle away time. He lived either with Doc or in boarding houses in Anderson or nearby towns where he went to paint signs or houses or with mom McClanahan in Anderson. Everywhere he went, Riley spent time on street corners talking to the people of Anderson or wherever he was and writing seriously, filling the bureau drawers of his board rooms and trunks with papers until they were stuffed. Only when Riley ran out of his "summer" or "sign" money did he return to Greenfield, his boyhood home. 1874 was the year McGeecy, editor of the Danbury, Connecticut, NEWS, accepted Riley's poetry encouraging him greatly. This was also the year Riley worked out the elocution and performance points for "The Bear Story" and "Tradin' Joe." Riley read these in occasional school houses and churches. These early years of young manhood also saw Riley produce much whimsical doggerel verse for advertising including this "advertisement" for his friend the good Doc McCrillus: "Wherever blooms of health are blown, McCrillus' Remedies are known; Wherever happy lives are found You'll find his medicines around, From coughs and colds and lung disease His patients find a sweet release In using his Expectorant That cures where even doctors can't. His Oriental Liniment Is known to fame to such extent That orders for it emanate From every portion of the State, His European Balsam, too, Send blessings down to me and you; And holds its throne from year to year In every household far and near, His purifier for the blood Has earned a name fair and good As ever glistened on the page Of any annals of the age. And he who pants for health ease Should try these Standard Remedies."
There is both prose and poetry written reflecting Riley's wandering life with Crestillomeem. It is mostly poetry of the 1870's, Riley's period of great production in which no topic of his life was "off limits." We have the poet who would one day - after he comes to kenoticism - be known as "The Children's Poet" taking the classic "Little Red Riding Hood," and turning it into the story as told by an alcoholic - maybe Riley's friend "Old Sport."
"LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD"
"Wonst they was a leetle-teeny dirl, an' she was named Red Riding Hood, toz her ma maked her a leetle red cloak `at torned up over her head - an' it was all thist one piece of red cardnal like the dreat long stockin's `at the storekeeper's dot. O! it was the nicest cloak in this town! An' - an' - an' so one day her ma she put it on her. It was Sunday, coz the cloak was too nice to wear thist all the time. An' so her ma she put it on her, an' told her not to dit no dirt on it; an' nen she dot out her little basket `at ole K'is b'inged her, an' filled it full o' whole lots o' good fings t'eat, an' told her to take `em to her dran'ma, an' not spill `em, toz her dran'ma'd spank her ef she did, maybe. An' so little Red Riding Hood she promised to be tareful, an' tossed her heart she wouldn't spill`em for six-five-ten-two hundred bushel dollars. An' nen she kissed her ma dood bye, an' went a skippin off through the dreat big woods to her dran'ma's - no she didn't do a skippin' nedver coz that 'ud spill the dood fings. She thist went a walkin'along like a little lady, she did - as slow an' purty- like she was a marchin' in the Sunday school kassession. An' so she was a goin' along an' along through the dreat big woods - toz her dran'ma lived a way fur off from her ma's house, an' you had to do through the dreat big woods to dit there. An' little Red Riding Hood had mostest fun when she'd do there - a listenin' to the purty burds, an' pullin the purty flowers at drowed around the stumps - an' catchin' butterflies an' drasshoppers, an' stickin' pins through 'em-I thist `said' that! coz she was dood. She'd this catch `em, an' leave their wings on `em thist like they was, an' let 'em do adin, toz she was a "boss girl" - my pa said she was! An' so she was a doin' along an' doin' along, an' purty soon they was a old wicked wolf jumped out; an' he wanted to eat her up, but there was a big man a choppin' wood wite those there, an' you could hear him, an' so th' old wolf was afeared to tackle her this then - feared the man ud kill him, you know; an' so he `tended like he was a dood friends to her, an' he says, "Dood morning, little Red Riding Hood!" this like that. An' nen little Red Riding Hood she says, "dood morning," this as kind - like her ma learnt her - coz she didn't know th' old wolf wanted t'eat her up. Nen th' old wolf says, "Where are you doin' to?" Nen little Red Riding Hood says, "I'm doin' to my dran'ma's -coz my ma said I might." An' nen she told him that th' old wolf skipped out an' dot to her dran'ma's first, an' she didn't know he did. Nen when th' old wolf dot to her dran'ma's he knocked at the door. An' nen th' old wolf he knocked adin, an' little Red Riding Hood's dran'ma she says, "Who's there?" Nen th' old wolf 'tended like he was little Red Riding Hood, you know, an' so he says, "W'y, it's me, dran'ma; I'm little Red Riding Hood, an' I'm tome to see you!" Nen little Red Riding Hood's dran'ma she says, "Thist walk in, nen, an' make yousef at home, toz I'm dot the 'raigy, an' tuvered up in bed, an' I tan't open the door fur you!" An' so the old wolf thist walked in an' shut the door, an' hopped up on th' bed an' et old Miss Ridinghood up 'fore she could take her specs off, he did! Nen th' old wolf put on her nightcap an' tovered up in bed like she was, you know, an' purty soon her tome little Red Riding Hood, an' she knocked at the door. Nen th' old wolf says, "Who's there?" thist like he was her dran'ma, you know, an' she thought he was, an' so she says, "W'y its me, dran'ma; I'm little Red Riding Hood, an' I'm tome to see you." Nen th' old wolf says "Thist walk in an' make yousef at home, toz I dot the 'raigy an' tovered up in bed, an' I tan't open the door for you." An' so little Red Riding Hood she opened the door an' tomed in; an' the old wolf told her to set down her basket an' take off her fings an' tome an' set on the bed wif her. An' little Red Riding Hood she didn't know it was th' old wolf, an' so she set down her basket an' tooked off her fings, an' dot a chair an' thumbed up on the bed wif her an' she thought th' old wolf had more whiskers'n her dran'ma, an' dreat bigger eyes too, an' she was skeered, an' so she says: "Oh, dran'ma, what big eyes you dot!" Nen th' old wolf says: "They're thist big toz I'm so dlad to see you." Nen little Red Riding Hood she says: "O! dran'ma, what a big nose you dot." Nen th' old wolf says: "It's thist big thataway toz I smell the dood fings you bringed in the basket." An' nen little Red Riding Hood she says: "O! dran'ma, what long, sharp teeth you dot." Nen th' old wolf he says: "Yes, an' they're thist thataway t'eat you up wif!" an' nen he made a jump at her, an' she hollered an' the big man that was a choppin' wood he tomed in there wif his axe, an' he split th' old wolf's brains out from ear to ear, an' killed him so quick it made his head swim, an' little Red Riding Hood wasn't hurt at all, an' the big man tooked her home, an' her ma was so dlad she div'd him all the dood fings in the basket an' told him to call adin - an - an- that's all of it." Alcoholism rendered Riley like an "adjustable lunatic." He must have feared the consequences of public intoxication displays greatly after public intoxication arrest. The main character in his story, "An Adjustable Lunatic," explains why. He says, "I don't make a business of insanity, or I wouldn't be running at large here on the streets of the city." He continues at a later point, "...I'm glad to assure you of the fact that I'm as harmless as a baby-butterfly. Nobody knows I'm crazy, nobody ever dreams of such a thing - and why? -Because the faculty is adjustable, don't you see, and self-controlling. I never allow it to interfere with business matters, and only let it on at leisure intervals for the amusement it affords me in the pleasurable break it makes in the monotony of a matter-of-fact existence. I'm off duty to-day - in fact, I've been off duty fir a week; or, to be franker still, I lost my situation ten days ago, and I've been humoring this propensity in the meanwhile..." A poem of the period reads:
BELLS JANGLED (1879)
I lie low-ceiled in a nest of dreams; The lamp gleams dim i' the odorous gloom, And the stars at the casement leak long gleams Of misty light through the haunted room Where I lie low-coiled in dreams.
The night-winds ooze o'er my dusk-drowned face In a dewy flood that ebbs and flows, Washing a surf of dim white lace Under my throat and the dark red rose In the shade of my dusk-drowned face.
There's a silken strand of some strange sound Slipping out of skein of song: Eerily as a call unwound From a fairy-bugle, it slides along In a silken strand of sound.
There's a tinkling drip of faint guitar; There's a gurgling flute, and a blaring horn Billowing bubbles of tune afar O'er the misty heights of the hills of morn, To the drip of a faint guitar.
And I dream that I neither sleep nor wake - Careless am I if I wake or sleep, For my soul floats on the waves that break In crests of song on the shoreless deep Where I neither sleep nor wake.
That there are pieces describing Riley's intoxicated situation is not to say they were not transforming pieces. Such poetry challenge thought patterns. But deep down they touch on Riley's greatest fear. This was the fear that he was the psychotically wounded Edgar Allan Poe in reincarnation. This fear was grounded in the birth of James Whitcomb Riley at precisely the morning in October, 1849, when the tormented Edgar Allan Poe died in Baltimore in delirium tremens. It was as if Riley took up the air of life that Poe expired. Did he also inherit his alcoholism? At some point it seems, Riley, similarly demonically possessed in alcoholism as Poe took his former incarnation's "Scenes from `Politian" and was in the process of completing them when a strange thing happened-the recollection of the recently deceased Nellie Cooley entered the strange world of Riley's demonic delirium while Riley was writing "The Flying Islands of the Night." Nellie Cooley, we remember, was the young married woman and friend whose encouragement had kept Riley from total breakdown after his mother's death until her husband moved her away to Illinois and away from Riley in 1875 when both left Greenfield after a black lynching there. Edgar Allan Poe's melancholy or joyless themes were combined with mastery of verse. Riley devoted many hours to studying Poe's verse and read "The Rationale of Verse," Poe's essay on the subject, thoroughly. The memory of Nellie kept him from Poe's thematics. Riley did not just study Poe's manner, he also wrote Poe-like poems. His "A Dream of Long Ago," was given the metre and cadence of Poe's "The Raven," with a slightly different verse structure. The sounds of Poe were easily mirrored with the liquid and musical sounds of the alphabet. Crestillomeem was a great admirer of Poe. In a letter of March 4, 1883 written to Dr. James Newton Matthews, Riley said: "...In the Poe sonnets, the work is splendid - masterly in parts - only the theme is joyless - and that hurt the success of such an effort, however deserving in all other qualities. It is what hurt Poe, and will always drape his memory with gloomy speculations and unsatisfying contemplations. He was a marvelous intellect perhaps as much estranged from himself as from all of his kind. Anyway, he seems, always, to me, unhappy, and his influence always cheerless. If I ever get to Heaven, I will doubtless love him better there where all `will be unriddled.' All melancholy themes are pets of mine - positively; but I am growing to avoid them as much as possible for I am more and more satisfied of their hurtfulness every new one I indulge." "Poe was hoodooed all his life. I took up the hoodoo where he left off," Riley once said. We know Riley studied Poe because of the famous "Leonainie" incident in Riley's life. Riley wrote the poem in the style of Poe and perpetrated the hoax in concert with a friend who was the editor of the Kokomo Dispatch upon the representation that it was a newly discovered manuscript of Edgar Allan Poe published in the Kokomo DISPATCH on August 12, 1877. How Riley described writing "Leonainie": "I studied Poe's method. He seemed to have a theory, rather misty to be sure, about the use of m's and n's and mellifluous vowels and sonorous words. I remember that I was a long time in evolving the name of `Leonainie,' but at length the verses were finished and ready for trial. A friend, the editor of the Kokomo Dispatch, undertook the launching of the hoax in his paper; he did this with great editorial gusto, while, at the same time, I attacked the authenticity of the poem in the Democrat. That diverted all possible suspicion from me. the hoax succeeded far too well, for what had started as a boyish prank, became a literary discussion nation-wide, and the necessary expose had to be made. I was appalled by the result. The press assailed me furiously, and even my own paper dismissed me because I had given the `discovery' to a rival." How much Riley knew about the orphaned, tragic Edgar Allan Poe is not known. Poe's death in delirium tremens was widely reported. Discovered by a printer named Walker in a Baltimore tavern called Gunner's Hall on an Election Day for members of Congress, Poe was in great distress. Taken to Baltimore's Washington Medical College in stupor, he was admitted at five in the afternoon. He remained in stupor until three o'clock the next morning when he entered a stage of busy delirium, talking constantly and deliriously addressing spectral and imaginary objects on the walls. The next day Poe revived somewhat but was basically incoherent before lapsing into violent delirium resisting the efforts of nurses to keep him in bed. His doctor, a man named Dr. John J. Moran, mentions him raving for nearly a day and calling out an unrecognizable name until three o'clock the next morning when Doctor Moran noted: "quietly moving his head he said `Lord help my poor soul' and expired." Poe died a drunk. Dr. Moran attributed his death to delirium tremens on the basis of Poe's profuse perspiration, trembling and hallucinations. Others have since sought to find less disgraceful causes of death such as "exposure." Poe's great admirer, the French poet Charles Baudelaire, called the death "suicide" which is probably much closer to the truth. Riley studied Poe extensively. He thought of himself as Poe at times. His forgery of Poe's name to the poem, "Leonainie," may not have even seemed like forgery. Riley's "Tale of a Spider" in which a spider takes on the life of a doomed communicant and "An Adjustable Lunatic" of a maniacal disappearing and suicidal stranger seem clearly composed under Poe's gothic influence. It is not clear if Riley wrote poetry while intoxicated as Poe did. One remembers that "The Bells" was written by an Edgar Allan Poe who did not even remember he wrote it the next morning. Riley's "The Flying Islands of the Night" was, we know, written by an alcoholic seeking to understand himself. Some of it bears the same throbbings and excesses of "intoxicatese" writing that Poe's does. One thing seems clear. If Riley had not written his "The Flying Islands of the Night" and gained through it a self-understanding and feeling of great encouragement to himself from the beyond from his dead mother and dead Nellie Cooley one could speculate he might have died as Poe did. The strange death-birth connection between Poe and Riley contributed to Riley's unease about the fate for which he was destined. The poetry and alcoholic life-style of Edgar Allan Poe were definite dynamics in Riley's self-perception. One does not fear being a reincarnation of someone without great tremor. Probably for this reason, Riley avoided admitting he was born when he was. The comparisons of alcoholism by two kindred poets was already too vivid in Riley's mind. There was in fact great talk of Riley being Poe's reincarnation as in an article in the Chicago TRIBUNE of December 16, 1894 under the title: "Plagiarism or Reincarnation?" The many points of similarity of the writing of Riley and Poe brought forth the author of this article, George Harper, to find evidence for the Hindoo theory of transmigration of souls, or reincarnation. When Riley as Crestillomeem wrote, Poe was affixed in his mind. In the meantime, Riley slipped further and further into alcoholism. Riley, the alcoholic, was considered a no-good in Greenfield during much of his early life, but he was not reviled. To understand this requires a brief review of the temperance movement in Indiana of the time. Whiskey was easily availability in the corn growing regions of Indiana where Riley grew up. Whiskey was a corn product after all. Liquor traffic was always a source of revenue to Hancock County from the founding of the county. The first meeting of the county's government, through its board of commissioners, was held April 7, 1828 and the first license to sell liquor was granted by them less than a month later. As the years went along, whisky was sold not just at saloons but also in grocery stores. Every home had supplies. Children drank whisky and it was a popular medicine used for colds or pain reduction. In the 1860's movements to control alcoholism, then an epidemic, began. Citizens began to remonstrate against the granting of licenses to sell whiskey. Reuben Riley and Joseph B. Atkison were usually the two Greenfield lawyers who represented the remonstrators. As Riley entered manhood, the temperance battle against alcohol use reached the level of a crusade, just as James Whitcomb Riley, was firmly established as an alcoholic. A Ladies' Temperance Alliance was organized at Greenfield's Methodist Episcopal church in 1874. The goal was to obtain pledges of Hancock County men not to drink intoxicating liquors. Other meetings were held in area churches and soon the ladies began visiting liquor establishments causing many of them to close or else begin serving sodas. Lists were made of signatories of the Murphy pledge and circulated. Applicants for liquor licenses were hounded into withdrawing them. Prosecutions were sought of intoxicated persons or any proprietor who served liquor to an intoxicated person. As stated elsewhere, Riley himself was prosecuted for intoxication. Candidates for office were screened to ensure they were not subject to intoxication. The local bar was invited to a meeting and the demand was made that none represent alcoholic interests or the intoxicated. Lawyers were urged to sign a pledge not to but the majority of the members refused. Mass meetings were organized and among the local speakers against intoxicants was Reuben Riley, the poet's father. Richman described one of March 7, 1874 at the Greenfield Christian Church. Later in the 1870's Red Ribbon Societies were organized in which persons who had signed the "pledge" wore red ribbons. Another temperance group wore "blue ribbons." A county convention was organized of the Christian Temperance Union in 1879. Temperance picnics and the like were sponsored. A "secret" organization also spread devoted to terrorist tactics for the cause bragging of "cells'in every township. The only saloon in New Palestine was burned to the ground during this period by such a secret "cell." It was in the mood of a county with such temperance activity that James Whitcomb Riley was often found drunk in different places around the city. Reuben Riley, the poet's father, and remonstration attorney, refused to assist his son under any such circumstances. Nor would the "Captain" pay fines or bonds when the poet was arrested and charged with public intoxications during his youth. The Riley family was greatly ashamed of the poet. Stories are told of Riley sneaking into the home, led by the hand up to his bedroom to sleep off a drunk, by his little sister, Mary, fifteen years his junior. The two, Mary, who also suffered from alcoholism later in life, as well as the brother between them, Hum, often relied upon each other in a world hostile to them because of their propensity to liquor overuse. As the early 70's proceeded, the temperance movement gained more and more force. Riley's father, Reuben Riley, became a leader of it further distancing himself from Riley because Riley was, after all, "wedded to Crestillomeem." Greenfield saw a great temperance movement arise in 1874. As a part of this movement, mass meetings of citizens were called. One such meeting was sponsored by the Temperance Alliance, a ladies' organization, held in the Methodist Episcopal Church on Sunday evening, March 8, 1874. The church was filled to overflowing with hundreds of people and many of the lawyers of the town were present. At one point in the meeting, the ladies distributed the usual temperance pledges for the attendees to sign. In addition, the ladies had a special pledge they wished the attorneys to sign. This pledge contained an agreement not to defend any person charged with a violation of the liquor laws. When the majority of the lawyers refused to sign the pledge, the ladies called for them to explain themselves. The first to speak was the lawyer, Ephraim Marsh who stated "All criminals were entitled to a fair and impartial trial, and to be heard in person or by counsel, This being the case, I as a lawyer cannot consent to place myself in a position not to accept employment in any case at bar if I desire to do so." Another lawyer, Charles G. Offutt, responded to the call to sign the pledge saying, "I declined to sign it and I still decline. So far as I know but two members of the bar have signed it. I hold that an attorney has the right to engage in the defense of any man, woman, or child charged with a crime without being liable to just censure from any quarter. The fundamental law of the land declares that in all criminal prosecutions the accused shall have the right to be heard by himself and counsel, and that the presumption of innocence is in his favor. Sir, because a man is charged with a violation of law, be it the "Baxter bill" or any other, it doesn't necessarily follow that he is guilty, not by any means." As Offutt continued his reasons for not signing the pledge, his words reveal the mild attitude against alcoholics such as Riley which then prevailed in Greenfield. "As far as the temperance question question is concerned, I think it is admitted by all candid men that temperance is right and intemperance wrong. It is not necessary that I should stand here and declaim against the evils of intemperance. All men everywhere admit it to be the great foe of mankind. The veriest wretch that ever drank destruction to his own soul will tell you that his course is not to be approved or followed. No man can engage in the use of intoxicating liquor to an excess, and not finally destroy his constitution. It shatters the physical man and lays the mind in ruins, and whatever others may say, I know that no man in this audience would more heartily rejoice over the success of any plan that would stay the fearful tide of intemperance sweeping over the land, than I. And, sir, I think this is the most favorable time for the ladies to accomplish great good. No political party, as my friend, Captain Ogg, has said, is opposing their movements. Good people everywhere are wishing them success, and if they go about their work in the spirit of Christianity, love and kindness their efforts may be crowned with success. It won't do to proscribe men or treat them harshly for their views, but reason with them, treat them kindly, convince them that it is to their interests to be sober and upright, that the good of society demands that they should give up a business which yields only poverty, disgrace and crime, and, my word for it, your success will be great." It is said that this lawyer's speech was roundly applauded at the ladies temperance meeting in this year before the community consented to other mob action, the breaking in of the Hancock County Jail and the lynching of the black taken out from there at the county fairgrounds so soon to occur. Despite the castigation and shame cast on alcoholics such as Riley, they were not to be the subject of violent personal attacks. The bars they frequented were. The sellers of alcoholic products were. The talk was much against them. None were, however, lynched. One wonders where Messers Marsh and Offutt were when the black man, William Kemmer, was lynched the next year with their lofty beliefs in rights to trial, an attorney, a presumption of innocence and a semblance of a right to defense.
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à à In the preface we first met Crestillomeem. This is ?the drunkenness that threatens Riley. It is the Riley under ?the influence of alcohol. It is the scary tremens and ?torporous deliriums of alcoholism. These are, of course, the ?vision of Riley's great autobiographical poem "The Flying àIslands of the Night." Crestillomeem is the bitchy Queen of àRiley's life trying to take it over and more. ? Crestillomeem is one of Riley's "Flying islands." Flying ?islands are Riley's lives in the poem. They are not a ?singular island. Riley, with great insight, knew himself as ?an archipelago afloat in "red eye" whiskey at the time of ?the writing of "The Flying Islands of the Night." All of the ?islands make up Riley's conception of his own life as a man ?in great alienation acting through life as a cast of players. àRiley was a great enough actor to get by with this. He àsimply was not himself. Possibly out of very low esteem from àadolescence, Riley took other identities in his imagination. àRiley took onto himself projections of whole islands. ? Crestillomeem is the product of Riley's alcoholism and ?depression but she is also a uniquely important person in the ?life of James Whitcomb Riley because she impels him through ?dialogue to see her as a consequence to him if he does not ?pursue the only other goal for his life that James Whitcomb ?Riley could imagine more powerful - the lust for fame ?(another figure in Riley's imaginative self-life who Riley ?thinks of as an equally clearly defined "flying island" named ?Krung. We shall meet Krung later on in this book. The happy ?result of it all was, however, to allow Spraivoll, yet àanother character, to sing poetically. à It was about himself as the sinful persona dominated by ?his alcoholic Crestillomeem that his 1878 poem, "The Flying ?Islands of the Night," was written in the turmoil of one of àhis greatest periods of intoxication and tremens. à In the "Flying Islands of the Night," Riley knows ?that Crestillomeem, his alcoholism, is constantly beckoning àhim. She seeks to destroy him and even seek his death. àCrestillomeem demands Riley toe her line and meet her àdemands. She invites him to imprison himself in the tower àof servitude to alcoholism and its fantasies. We read: à "The Queen (Crestillomeem) àImpatiently awaits his Majesty àAnd craves his presence in the Tower of Stars, àThat she may there express full tenderly àHer great solicitude." ? In alcoholics' confessional genre literature the curse ?of alcohol manifest in a person, here Crestillomeem in James ?Whitcomb Riley, always leads to self-destructive behavior. ?As the great temperance mediator Luther Benson states in ?Æéæôååî Ùåạ́ó éî Èǻ́, page 58, to go out on an alcoholic ?spree "is to quench the light of ambition, to crush hope, ?entomb joy, lay waste the powers of the mind, neglect duty, àdesert the family and commit in the end suicide." ? In the poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," Riley is ?able to cast her off. In reality Riley never was able to àfully subdue his alcoholism. ? The Crestillomeem character of Riley's fragmented life ?is "roughly" referenced in verse in James Whitcomb Riley's ?poem "Luther Benson" contemporaneously written with "Flying ?Islands" as the poem's subtitle says, "After reading his ?autobiography." The poem describes alcoholism as the "vulture ?curse, That hovers o'er the universe, With ready talons quick ?to strike In every human heart alike." Benson's ?autobiography, Æéæôååî Ùåạ́ó éî Èǻ́, like Riley's play/poem, ?marks how Benson was wasted in alcohol addiction, reformed, ?and went on to "lecture" extensively throughout Indiana and ?the nation as a temperance speaker. The parallel to the ?movement of the acts of "Flying Islands" is pronounced as is ?the eventual progress of Riley's own life...although Riley's ?"cause" was not temperance but the spread of Midwestern àAmerican Protestant Nineteenth Century "kenotic" themes. ?His dependency makes of his dissolute and alcoholic nature ?the relationship of something wedded to him as a queenly wife ?as well as curse. Possibly "Flying Islands" was originally ?intended as an extensive farcical account of the life of ?Benson, based on Benson's autobiography, in the nature of ?Riley's comical imitation of Benson on the platform, but if ?so Riley's realization that the alcoholic addiction was ?similar to his own probably changed the storyline and the ?play\poem into Riley's own autobiography. Benson does not ?seem to be remembered much these days, but his book Æ‚é‚æ‚ô‚å‚å‚î‚ ‚ ?Ù‚å‚á‚̣‚ó‚ ‚é‚î‚ ‚È‚å‚́‚́‚ ‚describing his alcoholic years was a national ?best-seller in the 1880's. Riley's poem, "Luther Benson" ?could almost be an outline of "The Flying Islands" in its àmovement from addiction to salvation from an angelic agent to àthe resolution against alcoholism. à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Ä‚Å‚̀‚É‚̉‚É‚Ï‚Ơ‚Ó‚ ‚Ô‚̉‚ł͂ł΂ӂ à à A major event in Riley's life must have been his first àencounter with tremens from his alcoholism. This was the ?most disspiriting aspect of play with himself as àCrestillomeem. à He must have felt enraged because intoxication was not àsupposed to have such a down side! As Riley's teenaged years ?dawned alcohol use was only beginning to questioned. When ?Riley was 11, a newspaper article published in the Hancock ?DEMOCRAT of July 3, 1861 stated, "it was at one time ?generally believed that the use of alcoholic liquors was ?positively necessary and beneficial to all men...Physicians ?recommended such beverages and regular daily rations of rum ?were provided in all armies and navies. These notions are ?still entertained by many persons, and very generally there ?is a want of correct information on the subject. It is very ?common for soldiers of all classes to indulge in the use of ?alcoholic beverages...By close observation and many ?experiments, it has been found that the tissues and the blood ?of drunkards, as well as those who continually tipple in beer ?and whisky, but do not get drunk, are generally in a state of ?degeneration. Alcohol passes into the blood and retards the ?elimiantion of waste and injurious matter from the body and àthus tends to produce disease, especially fever..." ? Eventually, Riley came to see his alcohol addiction to ?personify the activity of a person he called Crestillomeem ?and took her vision of himself as his own to see what it ?meant. This was done in "The Flying Islands of the Night." ?Crestillomeem never left Riley but came to become a pretty ?much subdued lady except for many private but also a few ?highly publicized incidents such as one recurrence in ?Louisville, Kentucky in February 1890 which caused the àbreakup of his stand-up comedy partnership with Edgar Nye. à Crestillomeem did not produce poetry. Riley wrote no ?poetry when he was in delirium. Crestillomeem did, however, ?provide the delirious subject matter of a small body of very ?important poetry to a biographer. She gave Riley "An ?Adjustable Lunatic" with its vision of a lover in another ?dimension whose etherial connectedness is an otherwise mad àman's only touch with reality. à FANTASY (1878) à(FROM "AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC") ?(a poem written by a fictional author in a Riley sketch, a ?man who subsequently committed suicide within the story line ?and who described himself as "an adjustable lunatic" by ?profession. The sketch from which this poem derives portrays ?the writer of "Fantasy" as a penniless bachelor, the owner of àa painting of a mysteriously enchanting woman in his room. àThe poem reveals an impossible romantic attachment so ?real and yet so imaginary that it severs the man from his ?senses. As a biographer, I find the story bears relation to àRiley's relationship with his married friend, Nellie Cooley.) à àA Fantasy that came to me à As wild and wantonly designed àAs ever any dream might be à Unraveled from a madman's mind, - àA tangle-work of tissue, wrought à By cunning of the spider-brain, à And woven, in an hour of pain, àTo trap the giddy flies of thought -. à àI stood beneath a summer moon à All swollen to uncanny girth, àAnd hanging, like the sun at noon, à Above the center of the earth; à But with a sad and sallow light, à As it had sickened of the night àAnd fallen in a pallid swoon. àAround me I could hear the rush à Of sullen winds, and feel the whir àOf unseen wings apast me brush à like phantoms round a sepulcher; àAnd, like a carpeting of plush, à A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, à Bespangled o'er with flowers as sweet à To look upon as those that nod à Within the garden-fields of God, à But odorless as those that blow à In ashes in the shades below. à àAnd on my hearing fell a storm à Of gusty music, sadder yet à Than every whimper of regret àThat sobbing utterance could form, à And patched with scraps of sound that seemed à Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, à And pitched to such a piercing key, à It stabbed the ear with agony; à And when at last it lulled and died, à I stood aghast and terrified. àI shuddered and I shut my eyes à And still could see, and feel aware à Some mystic presence waited there; àAnd staring, with a dazed surprise, à I saw a creature so divine à That never subtle thought of mine à May reproduce to inner sight à So fair a vision of delight. à àA syllable of dew that drips àFrom out a lily's laughing lips àCould not be sweeter than the word àI listened to, yet never heard. - àFor, oh, the woman hiding there àWithin the shadows of her hair, àSpake to me in an undertone àSo delicate, my soul alone àBut understood it as a moan àOf some weak melody of wind àA heavenward breeze had left behind. à àA tracery of trees, grotesque à Against the sky, behind her seem àLike shapeless shapes of arabesque à Wrought in an oriental screen; àAnd tall, austere and statuesque à She loomed before it - e'en as though à The spirit-hand of Angelo à Had chiseled her to life complete, à With chips of moonshine round her feet. àAnd I grew jealous of the dusk, à To see it softly touch her face, à As lover-like, with fond embrace àIt folded round her like a husk: àBut when the glitter of her hand à Like wasted glory, beckoned me, à My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim - à My vision failed - I could not see - àI could not stir - I could but stand, à Till, quivering in every limb, à I flung me prone, as though to swim à The tide of grass whose waves of green à Went rolling ocean-wide between à My helpless shipwrecked heart and her à Who claimed me for a worshiper. à àAnd writhing thus in my despair, à I heard a weird, unearthly sound, à That seemed to lift me from the ground à And hold me floating in the air. à I looked, and lo! I saw her bow à Above a harp within her hands; àA crown of blossoms bound her brow, à And on her harp were twisted strands àOf silken starlight, rippling o'er àWith music never heard before àBy mortal ears; and, at the strain, àI felt my Spirit snap its chain àAnd break away, - and I could see àIt as it turned and fled from me àTo greet its mistress, where she smiled àTo see the phantom dancing wild àAnd wizard-like before the spell àHer mystic fingers knew so well. à àWhat is it? Who will rightly guess àIf it be aught but nothingness àThat dribbles from a wayward pen àTo spatter in the eyes of men? àWhat matter! I will call it mine, à And I will take the changeling home àAnd bathe its face with morning-shine, à And comb it with a golden comb à Till every tangled tress of rhyme à Will fairer be than summer-time; àAnd I will nurse it on my knee à And dandle it beyond the clasp à Of hands that grip and hands that grasp àThrough life and all eternity! à à ? Something like this vision became Act II of Riley's ?great delirious, autobiographical play\poem "The Flying ?Islands of the Night." The other subject matter is in such ?poetry as "Quitting California." The poem is not, of course, ?about the State of California at all, but rather about a ?brand name of whiskey. While one is led by the poem to ?believe that the poem's writer is becoming temperate and ?giving up alcohol, the poem playfully concludes that the ?writer is merely changing to another brand of cheap whiskey àand not giving up whiskey at all. à à‚ Ï‚î‚ ‚Ñ‚ơ‚é‚ô‚ô‚é‚î‚ç‚ ‚Ă‚á‚́‚é‚æ‚ï‚̣‚î‚é‚á‚ à àO rare old drink, the oldest, strongest far à Of which the house can boast, àWhose guardian, smiling, betteth at the bar à On who can drink the most - à àHow art thou conquered - tamed in all the pride à Of average beauty still! àHow brought, O painter of the human hide, à To know thy master's will! à àNo more the shallow goblet is baptized à Until it overflows; àNo more thy liquid blushes are capsized, ? And succored by the nose. For now the wild oats thou hast àhelped to till à In pain are harvested, àAnd, as the boss presents his little bill, à The gleaner droops his head. à àYet at thy shrine shall thousands kneel again à Beneath thy mystic spell; àO mother-in-law of great and mighty men, à Thou do'st thy mission well! à àThy newer children shall restore the right à I force you to resign àAnd future years yield up an appetite, à Perchance as wild as mine. à àThough order, justice, social law shall scowl à On all the works reveal, àAnd art and science shake their heads and howl à With unabated zeal, à àThe marble, shaken from its glassy sheath, à Shall twirl and palpitate àFor those of fiery eye and potent breath à Who take their whisky straight. à àThe cornless cob shall drain its warmest blood - à The still its blackest lees, àAnd all transfusive percolations flood à Thy swollen arteries, à àTill "Tremens," as he hides himself away à Within thy depths, shall wink àAs victims pour him down from day to day à At fifteen cents a drink. à ?When Mr. Clickwad is finished his friends congratulate him at ?least on agreeing to quit alcohol. Mr. Clickwad denies this ?intent and admits that he is only quitting the one brand ?indicated. He remains an unrepentent alcoholic which is his ànature. à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚̀‚É‚̉‚É‚Ï‚Ơ‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚̀‚ɂł΂Á‚Ԃɂς΂ à à While the poetry of Crestillomeem is small in volume, àRiley considered it his personal record of the hell of his àlife and treasured it inordinately. One finds his poem ?Flying Islands being published again and again from 1878 to àthe end of his life. None of the printings was popular. àMost contained changes as Riley considered and reconsidered ?its autobiographical cryptic subject matter. The poem came to ?have a strange life of its own because of its beautiful ?lyrics and of course authorship by the famous James Whitcomb àRiley. à Riley simply hid himself in this poem. No one except ?possibly his alcoholic brother, (who died three years after ?"The Flying Islands of the Night's" composition) and friend, àDr. Hays, knew the poem was a delirium. à Why? à Among the reasons why Crestillomeem was not a visible àpresence was Riley's later popularity and commercial ?posture. But another reason was that Crestillomeem lurked àwithin his soul. Riley couldn't account for this himself. ?His vision of life included a simple belief that ultimately ?life was inexplicable. When his father died, Riley had ?engraved on the Riley family marker in the little Greenfield ?cemetery where he was buried, "God is his own interpreter and ?will someday make things clear." Riley's alcoholism like his ?father's death was a part of life that God alone understood. ?Nevertheless there was an expectation that it fit in with àsome greater plan. ? Crestillomeem was Riley in his uneasiness about his ?alcoholism. Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography, ?declared uneasiness was the central human motive. Riley was ?constantly in a state of uncertainty about himself. His ?incentive to survive despite his alcoholism required great ?mental work, emotionality and activity. After a person's ?biological needs are satisfied, time and energy are next ?spent in a narrow space of mind bounded on the right by ?boredom and ordinarily on the left by terror of the bizarre. ?Riley often lived in this region of the bizarre and actually ?knew it as a comfort. He often lived in the nurture of àCrestillomeem. à So who is Crestillomeem? She is the one whose life àis explained in The Flying Islands as an entourage of ?faces. She is the soul breaking apart in Riley's "Poem of àSeven Faces." In tremens deliriums, Riley encounters her àswarming around him. à ? Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ó‚Ô‚Ï‚̉‚Ù‚ ɂ΂ ‚Á‚ ‚Ă‚È‚Ï‚̉‚Ơ‚Ó‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚ӂׂÁ‚̉‚͂ɂ΂ǂ ‚Æ‚Á‚Ă‚Å‚Ó‚ à à First Face à àAnd who hath known her - like as I àHave known her? - since the envying sky àFilched from her cheeks its morning hue, àAnd from her eyes its glory, too, àOf dazzling shine and diamond-dew. à àƒ Second Face à àI knew her - long and long before àHigh AEo±À‚ loosed her palm and thought: à"What awful splendor have I wrought àTo dazzle earth and Heaven, too!" à ?1. AEo is Elizabeth, Riley's mother, who died when he was ?twenty. The E is her initial surrounded by the alpha and ?omega representing the scope of his affection from beginning ?of life to end for her. Riley idolized his mother causing ?deep agony upon her death and Riley's initial need for àconsolation and escape in alcoholism. à à‚ Third Face à àI knew her - long ere Night±À‚ was o'er - àEre, AEo yet conjectured what àTo fashion Day of - ay, before àHe sprinkled stars across the floor àOf dark, and swept that form of mine àE'en as a fleck of blinded shine, àBack to the black were light was not. à ?1. Night is related in the alcoholics confessional genre of ?literature such as "The Flying Islands of the Night" to the ?past. SEE: Benson, Æéæôååî Ùåạ́ó éî Èǻ́, (night as a black, àunlighted past). à àƒ Fourth face à àEre day was dreamt, I saw her face àLift from some starry hiding-place àWhere our old moon was kneeling while àShe lit its features with her smile. à àƒ Fifth Face à àI knew her while these islands³À‚ yet, àWere nestlings - ere they feathered wing, àOr e'en could gape with them or get àApoise the laziest-ambling breeze; àOr cheep, chirp our, or anything! àWhen time crooned rhymes of nurseries àAbove them - nodded, dozed and slept, àAnd knew it not, till, wakening. àThe morning stars agreed to sing àAnd Heaven's first tender dews were wept. à à3. Riley's fractured lives are the "flying" islands, àdisassociated "play" entities, of the poem. à àƒ Sixth Face à àI knew her when the jealous hands àOf Angels set her sculptured form àUpon a pedestal of storm àAnd let her to this land with strands àOf twisted lightnings. à àƒ Seventh Face à à And I heard àHer voice ere she could tone a word àOf any but the Seraph-tongue. - àAnd O sad-sweeter than all sung - àOr word-said things! - to hear her say, àBetween the tears she dashed away: - à"Lo, launched from the offended sight àOf AEo! - anguish infinite àIs ours, O Sisterhood of Sin! àYet is thy service mine by right, àAnd, sweet as I may rule it, thus à Shall Sin's myrrh-savor taste to us - à Sin's empress - let my reign begin!´À‚" à ?4. After his mother's death, Riley acknowledges he fell to ?pieces and launched a life of abandonment to alcoholism àsupported by meager casual employments. à à Ă‚È‚Ï‚̉‚Ơ‚Ó‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚ӂׂÁ‚̉‚͂ɂ΂ǂ ‚Æ‚Á‚Ă‚Å‚Ó‚ ‚ à àWe follow you forever on! àThrough darkest night, and dimmest dawn; àThrough storm and calm - through shower and shine. àHear thou our voices answering thine; à We follow - craving but to be à Thy followers, - We follow thee à We follow, follow, follow thee. à àWe follow ever on and on - àO'er hill and hollow, brake and lawn; àThrough gruesome vale and dread ravine àWhere light of day is never seen. - à We waver not in loyalty, - à Unfaltering we follow thee - à We follow, follow, follow thee! à àWe follow ever on and on! àThe shroud of night around us drawn, àThough wet with mists, is wild-ashine àWith stars to light that path of thine; - à The glowworms, too, befriend us - we à Shall fail not as we follow thee. à We follow, follow, follow thee! à àWe follow ever on and on. - àThe notched reeds we pipe upon àAre pithed with music, keener blown àAnd blither where thou leadest lone - à Glad pangs of its ecstatic glee à Shall reach thee as we follow thee, à We follow, follow, follow thee! à àWe follow ever on and on. - àWe know the ways thy feet have gone, - àThe grass is greener, and the bloom àOf roses richer in perfume - à And the birds of every blooming tree à Sing sweeter as we follow thee, à We follow, follow, follow thee! à àWe follow ever on and on; àFor wheresoever thou hast gone àWe hasten joyous, knowing there àIs sweeter sin than otherwhere - à Leave still its latest cup, that we à May drain it as we follow thee, à We follow, follow, follow thee! à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚Ơ‚̉‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃł̉‚Ó‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚ à ? There were four great encounters Riley had with ?Crestillomeem. Each led to a new era in Riley's life and they ?were closer togtether in years in his early manhood than ?later on. Each proved devestating and led to great life ?changes for the sensitive poet. The first occurred as Riley ?was faced with the death of his mother in 1869 and eventually ?led to his taking to the road with a traveling miracle ?medicine show of Doc McCrillus. After returning to his home àto settle down, a second event occurred which àthoroughly unsettled him. This was a "black lynching" by ?a band of masked Hancock County men who broke into the ?Greenfield jail to drag the presumably innocent man out for àhis date with a rope at the local fairgrounds. Riley again àleft his hometown for a second trip with a traveling medicine ?show, this time the one of Doc Townsend. Again returning to ?Greenfield after a time, he learned of the death of the one ?woman he most loved, Nellie Cooley, and after writing her àobituary and burying her back in Greenfield, he again entered ?into a period of great intoxication and despondency resulting ?in his eventual move to Indianapolis to work for a newspaper ?there. By this time, Riley was brought in contact with àkenotic teachers and was taking to the platform. His great àBenjamin Johnson of Boone poems were written during a period ?of recovery in this period. The fourth great period of his ?intoxication and despondence was when Riley could not take ?the strain of the platform tour and was found drunk in public ?and close to death in Louisville after an engagement. This ?ended Riley's career as it had been. The event did however ?usher in a gentler time when Riley wrote most of his annual ?books and became "The Children"s Poet." We will examine each ?of these periods of Riley's great bouts with Crestillomeem in ?turn before getting into his great poetry written as àSpraivoll of the play/poem "The Flying Islands of the Night."
the Night." ? queen of a ?fantasy horror show who slurs words and lurks behind him ?ready to FJéd
N @DNNNPRINTERàƒ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Æ‚É‚̉‚Ó‚Ô‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃł̉‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚
à‚ Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ ? ? At what point in Riley's life he became an alcoholic we ?do not know. We remember Riley was from a Hoosier Deutsch ?family. The Hoosier Deutsch people were a very lenient people ?in regard to alcohol use. Deutsch-run taverns were in every ?locale where the Deutsch settled and were places of common àsocialand even family gathering. Whiskey was kept in the ?Hoosier Deutsch homes and children were given it for àmedicinal reasons. Riley no doubt had tasted corn whiskey ?or "red eye" on many, many occasions. In adolescence we hear ?of Riley's use with friends. The occasions brought on ?humorous times with friends and were not seriously ?debilitating. One night when John E. Davis, met "Uncle" Billy ?Davis, (not relatted) and Riley, Davis got his nickname ?"Durbin." The three were "whooping" it up on Greenfield ?streets. They had just stopped in at a Deutsch tavern in ?Greenfield, the "Last Chance," but found it closed for the ?night. Riley led the three to another place to get a drink, a ?water pump that Riley sighted. According to Davis, Riley ?grabbed hold of the pump handled, clapped me on the abck and ?said, "I want you to meet Mr. Durbin. Now Mr. Durbin, I ?want the boys to have all they want. It's on the house, ?boys." We drank water and pumped and drank again. And ever ?since, they've called me after a kind of pump manufactured in ?those days known as the Durbin pump." Davis also mentioned ?another circumstance that seems related. As a boy, Durbin ?said, Riley "always had a pocketful of poems even when we ?swam down on the Brandywine. I've seen him turn ?sommersaults, recite a poem, and then jump clean over the àmuddy bank into the swimmin' hole. He knowed all of ?Charles Dickens' works by heart." As a boy, "Uncle" Davis ?said Riley wasn't much of a swimmer but preferred to loiter ?in the shade while the others swam. "We'd go in natural and ?many's the time we'd tie each others clothes into knots and ?throw mud at each other. He used to make up poems down there ?and recite them to us while we swam around. There were some ?dandies all right. There's one of them I'll never forget. I àonly wish it could be printed." Perhaps this suggests that ?Riley took to alcohol with his friends and even took to ?writing poetry - to participate with others when he really ?wasn't competitive or capable of being companionable. ? After Riley quit school at 16, Riley apparently drank ?more often. One folktale still repeated in Greenfield recalls àhim being brought home drunk from the Indiana State Fair in ?Indianapolis after being found passed out there. Apparently ?the experience was not reforming since Riley went to the ?state fair every year to get what he called "cider" on the ?Midway there. As his medical doctor, Dr. Carleton B. ?M'Culloch, remembered it, Riley said he liked to go to the ?state fair to see two brothers who made their cider on a ?press with a secret formula as had their father before them. ?Riley claimed it was so good because it had a secret àproportion of "wormy apples." à The casual attitude toward drinking by the young men of àthe time is revealed by a story contemporary with this period àin Hancock County in which a young man riding home one night ?slightly "bour bonized" looked at the moon with great ?contempt and said, "You needn't be so proud, Madame Moon. àYou are full once a month and I every night." ? In any case, Riley was not unfamiliar with alcohol use àeven before his first great encounter with Crestillomeem. à à‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ă‚Á‚Ơ‚Ó‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Æ‚É‚̉‚Ó‚Ô‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚É‚Ï‚Ä‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚ à‚ É‚Î‚Ô‚Ï‚Ø‚É‚Ă‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ ? ? The death of Riley's mother Elizabeth was publicly ?announced in the Hancock DEMOCRAT of Thursday morning, August à11, 1870 as follows: à‚ Ó‚Ơ‚ĂĂł΂ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ̀ÀÀ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] ? On Tuesday morning last our citizens were much ? astounded to hear that Mrs. Elizabeth Riley, wife ? of Capt. R.A. Riley, of this place, had died very ? suddenly and unexpectedly that morning, about half ? past seven o'clock, of heart disease. Some time ? during the latter part of the night, she felt ? unwell and got up from her bed without awaking any ? of the family. In a short time Capt. Riley was ? aroused by someone falling on the floor. He soon ? discovered that it was his wife who had fallen as ? if in a swoon. The alarm was given and the ? neighbors and physician sent for. No serious ? danger was at the time apprehended, but toward ? daylight she begun to grow worse and died as we ? have stated above. She was buried in the new ? cemetery on yesterday morning. A large number of ? our citizens were present at the funeral services, ? conducted by Rev. J.W. Lacy, and all sympathized ? deeply with the bereaved family. We tender our ? condolence to our friend, Capt. Riley, and his ? bereaved and afflicted children. In the death of ? the one they loved so well, we can truthfully say ? that she was a kind and good woman and that is the ? best epitaph that can be written upon the tomb of a à departed wife and mother. ̀÷ÿ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] ? Brother John wrote in his diary of that day, "What shall àwe do with Jim now that mother is dead?" à Riley's secretary, Marcus Dickey, has recorded Riley's ?own recollections of the event. "The bereavement caused a ?complete change in his life. It sent him into the world to ?make his own living, and in numerous ways it was a forlorn àroad he had to travel. ? A few hoursafter her deaht he walked alone through a ?cornfield to a favorite retreat south of the railroad to an ?old clearing. "I was alone," he said, "till as in a vision ?I saw my mother smiling back upon me from the blue fields ?of love - when lo! she was young again. Suddenly I had the ?assurance that I would meet her somewhere in another world. ?I was gathering the fruit of what had been so happily ?impressed on me in childhood. I had seen that the world is ?a stage. Now I saw that the universe is a stage. Antoher ?curtain had been lifted. My mother was enraptured at the ?sight of new scenery. It was the dream of Heaven with which ?`Johnny Appleseed' had impressed my mother in the àMississinewa cabin." ? The first thing Riley did after his mother died was to ?go to Rushville to sell Bibles with some man unknown in ?history. Reuben Riley was very skeptical about this ?enterprise and did not know the Bible salesman Riley had ?taken off to Rushville with. On December 19, 1870 we find the ?father writing to the son, "I have been patiently waiting for ?a letter from you and have received none. Scarcely an hour ?passes without my thinking of you and wondering how you are ?getting along? how you are doing? how you are managing? I ?have had much more experience in the world than you. It is ?all important that you associate with none but those of good ?character, that you be self-reliant and aim high and suffer ?no stain to attach to your conduct. I would like to counsel ?and advise with you. Please write me fully and confidently, ?and all reasonable assistance in my power I will render..." ? "It turned out," said Riley, "that citizens of Rushville ?had all the Bibles they needed; they had not time to read ?those they had." Soon Riley was back in Greenfield ?apprenticed to Almon Keefer's uncle, John Keefer, a painter ?by trade. Reuben paid for the apprenticeship. Soon Riley was ?armed with a Number 5 paint brush and a busketful of paint ?under the eaves painting houses in Greenfield. Riley worked ?at painting houses for two summers while he learned the more àdelicate art of painting signs. Eventually ?Riley rented a paint shop above a drugstore which he called àthe "Morgue" and slept there much of the time because he did ànot want his family to see how intoxicated he often became. à àƒ Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚¬‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Â‚Å‚Ă‚Á‚Í‚Å‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Æ‚Á‚ӂÂɂ΂Á‚Ԃɂς΂ àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Æ‚Á‚Ă‚Å‚Ó‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Ă‚Á‚̉‚Å‚Ç‚É‚Ö‚Å‚̉‚ à ? The Editor of Century Magazine, Hewitt Hanson Howland, ?claimed Riley's life was dominated by two fears, the fear of ?life and the fear of death. "From my earliest recollection ?of him, he would, on the death of a friend, take on an added ?air of confidence, almost of gaiety. `You can't make me ?believe he isn't around here somewhere,' he would say, ?`probably listening to us now and chuckling over our ?distress.'" I thought of him then as whistling in the dark; ?today we'd call it defensive mechanism. But by whatever name, àRiley always gave the departed the best of the bargain." à Death of his mother turned the boy to denial. à àƒ ×‚̉‚ɂԂɂ΂ǂ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚ׂÁ‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚ ‚ׂÁ‚Ù‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚̉‚ł͂ł͂‚ł̉‚ɂ΂ǂ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ à ? When Riley wrote poetry he was in a way still ?participating in an activity with his mother. Riley told ?Hamlin Garland in an interview that he got his verse-writing ?from his mother's family, the Marines. A characteristic of ?the whole family was their ability to write rhymes, but all ?unambitiously. "They write rhymed letters to each other, and ?joke and jim-crow with the Muses." This family love of poetry ?was the legacy of the poverty stricken mother to her son. She ?had nothing else to give him. à à̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ ‚ׂÁ‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Ä‚̉‚Ơ‚΂˂ł΂ àƒ É‚Ô‚É‚Î‚Å‚̉‚ł΂Ԃ ‚ӂɂǂ΂ ‚Đ‚Á‚ɂ΂Ԃł̉‚ àƒ à Poverty in the Riley home as well as Riley's increasing ?alcoholism combined to drive Riley from his home with his àfather following his mother's death. Riley's brother, Hum, àand sisters remained. The period was one of great privation. ?Reuben Riley was not a good provider at any time following ?his very brief Civil War service. Riley's younger brother àgives evidence of this in a brief plaintive letter to brother ?John who left home to live and earn an income in ?Indianapolis. Riley's brother, Hum at 13, wrote his brother àJohn, "Dear Brother, ?I want you to send me a cap if you pleas (sic) by tomoro ?(sic) evening. I have none but one old one and it is not fit àto wear to the fetival a cheap one will do so it looks well. àYours truly, à /s/ Hum àThe boy hadn't funds to wear the cap that the other boys had. à à‚ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Å‚Ø‚Đ‚̀‚Á‚ɂ΂ӂ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚‚̉‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Æ‚Á‚Í‚É‚̀‚Ù‚ ‚̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ àƒ Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ à ? Another letter from Riley himself to his brother àexplains Riley's poverty. à àJuly 14, 1871 letter to his brother John: àDear Bro.: ? Yesterday morn I failed to write to you - I found "the ?folks" all well - that is, "on their pins," but all pretty ?blue and no wonder. There is no one to help May, who still ?continues to "gaze in vacancy" the greater part of the time. ?I "waked" her for a little time yesterday by reading a sketch ?or two from Dickens. Father is chief-cook-and bottle washer. ?I was going to say but Hum washes the dishes. Father has to ?go to the court house and be fined $10 for contempt of court. ?John, I tell you, our noble House is on the wane - everything ?is going - going - the same old carelessness marks our à"progress." ? ...I am going to work for Harris in a day or two. ?Father, I guess don't want to get, or keep a girl to assist ?May - economy, you know. I've been laughing forced laughs and ?dancing forced jigs till I'm about gone up - they don't ?appear to take - it will take a deeper trick - "simulating" àhappiness, to be a success. ? Augustus and Marie were up last evening and Dora from ?Pendleton - we had a pleasant time in our front parlors - the ?kitchen door open and father with his sleeves rolled up to ?his knees, getting supper for his clamor of offspring who ate ?crackers and water for dinner - maybe I don't talk right- I àcan't say other way -Your affectionate bro. Jim. à ?Elva May Riley, at fourteen, took the mother's place in the ?family. Harris was Riley's school master. In his schoolhouse ?in Lewisville, Riley and Harris spent half the night studying àthe poetry, especially Tennyson, and writing verse. ? The first poems were printed in Greenfield in local ?newspapers about this time. Riley wrote them under the name àEdyrn, taken from Tennyson's Éäù́́ó ïæ ôèå Ëéîç. à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚‚łǂɂ΂ӂ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚‚̀‚ς΂ǂ ‚Ó‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ă‚É‚Ô‚Ơ‚Ä‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Ó‚É‚Ó‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Í‚Á‚̉‚Ù‚ àƒ ? Although Elva May Riley assumed the role of the mother àof the bereaved family, the younger crippled child, Mary, àwas left in great inconsolable sorrow by the death of her àmother. ? Following Elizabeth's death, Riley took to the habit of ?coming to his sister Mary's side at night after she had been ?put to bed, to recite Tennyson and Longfellow. Both came to ?know some of these poems by heart and she remembered her ?brother particularly tried to emulate the musical cadence of ?the "The Lady of Shalott". She recalled him as loving Keats ?best of all, but "he did not repeat those poems to me as a àgirl." à Mary and Riley formed a special bond during this period. àOften Riley would come home to the Riley homestead drunk and àthe litte girl would come down to assist him get to his room. ? Throughout the remainder of his life Riley considered ?his sister, Mary, as a special charge and supported her ?financially through many treveails. Born during the Civil ?War, Sister Mary suffered from spinal meningitis and was 15 àyears younger than Riley. His financial help kept her in àa rather expensive standard of living. She and her daughter, àLesley, lived in Paris, France, for many years dependent upon ?the assistance of the poet who gladly provided whatever ?resources were needed. Riley did this in memory of his mother àas well as out of love for his sister. His sister's àlife was as shattered by Crestillomeem as was his own. à̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Æ‚É‚̉‚Ó‚Ô‚ ‚Đ‚Ơ‚‚̀‚É‚Ó‚È‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚ɂ΂ĂɂÁ‚΂Á‚Đ‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Î‚Å‚×‚Ó‚Đ‚Á‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚Ó‚ à ? A year and half after his mother's death, Riley sent ?poetry over to his brother John, then living in Indianapolis, ?to see if his brother could get them published in ?Indianapolis. John was able to do so at the Saturday MIRROR ?but only after recopying them because Riley's penmanship was àvery bad. Riley sent this poetry to his brother on Feb 9th àand awaited expectantly until the first, "Man's Devotion," ?was published on March 30th. Riley used the pen name Jay àWhit but the newspaper mistakenly printed it as "Jay White." ? Again Riley sent poetry in. Riley drove himself crazy ?after sending "A Ballad" to the Mirror. He wrote his brother ?"This suspense is terrible! - daily I may be seen with ?solemn expression following the mail-bag from the depot, as ?tho' it were some dear-little-fat-corps of a relative who had àperhaps remember me in his will- but alas!... " ? When the poem "A Ballad" was finally published, it was ?edited and Riley was heartsick. Prepositions and articles ?were changed. Riley saw these as insults to the "ballad ?style." "It hurts me more that the poem was my favorite, and àI had built an airy castle for it!" It was in this Spring àthat Riley rented a room at an Inn in Greenfield, the Dunbar àHouse, to practice his violin. àƒ àƒ ̀‚Å‚Á‚ւɂ΂ǂ ‚È‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ àƒ×‚É‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ä‚Ï‚Ă‚ ‚Í‚ă‚Ă‚̉‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ơ‚Ó‚ à ? Eventually, still in grief at his mother's death, Riley ?left Greenfield, his boyhood home, in May 1872, when he was àtwenty-two by joining the traveling medicine show of Dr. ?Samuel Brown McCrillus. As the Twentieth Century ends, we can ?hardly imagine such a wild and strange event as the ?appearance in town of a medicine show. But to the folk of ?Greenfield and the little towns of Indiana in the decade àfollowing the Civil War, the coming of a patent àmedicine wagon offered an occasion for fun and excitement. ? Dr. McCrillus was not just a "doctor" who made his own ?prescription in Anderson - the one principal remedy for ?almost every illness to hear him tell it - McCrillus' ?European Balsam - he was also an entertainer back in the days ?when folk with that duo proclivity would take to the roads àand sell medicine at medicine shows. ? Imagine yourself in the Greenfield of the decade after ?the Civil War. Supper is over and the women are busy with a ?sinkful of dishes and the children are finishing their chores ?for the day. The men are out on the front porches having an ?after-dinner chaw of tobacco. Only the buzz of a persistent àfly breaks the lazy silence of the warm summer evening. ? Suddenly, this halcyon scene is broken by a near- ?deafening blast of a trumpet. The Greenfield folk rush out of àtheir houses to see what is going on. ? Down State Street from the direction of Anderson come a ?pair of matched, plumed horses pulling a gaily decorated ?wagon. It is painted in gaudy reds and blues and is àembellished with curlicues in gold. Is it a circus wagon? ?No. Even so all the kids of the town, cheering and pushing to ?get close, rush toward it and circle it as it heads down to àthe courthouse square. ? Dr. McCrillus has brought his medicine show to àGreenfield once again as he did every year during this era. ? We would all know him. Dr. Samuel Brown McCrillus is one ?of the most notable men in this part of Indiana. He has made ?sure he is well known by hiring an "advance man" to paint his ?advertisements for his patent medicines in Greenfield on àevery available barnside, post and rock. ? Dr. McCrillus sits on the wagon seat, dignified and ?smiling, and he waves his hat to the men and bows and lifts ?his hat in a mannerly way to the ladies along the way. He is ?a great humanitarian who takes the tributes of the crowd in ?stride. After all not everyone has the sicknesses and àailments of folk in their hearts like the good Quaker doctor. ? After encircling the town square, Dr. McCrillus stops his ?bright wagon and climbs down. Soon he is joined by the young ?man with him, Jim McClanahan, who will present an evening ?performance on the tailgate of the wagon in the flickering àlate summer light along the Greenfield downtown Main Street. ? Frequest commercials were interjected into the ?entertainments. Dr. McCrillus would signal for silence and a àhush would encompass the crowd. "Friends and neighbors, " ?he would say, "let's get one thing clear at the beginning. I ?don't want your money. I have come to Greenfield to help ?you." He really meant it. Then he would give his 19th Century ?hard sell, a pitch for "McCrillus European Balsam" and it àworked, probably unlike the medicine itself. ? One observer of this has recorded Dr. McCrillus's ?standard introduction of himself, as follows: "I have been ?engaged in the medicine business ever since I can recollect. ?I made pills by the day when only a boy of ten years. For ?the past thirty-eight years, I have been engaged in putting ?up what is known as Dr. McCrillus' popular standard remedies, ?European Balsam, Tonic Blook Purifier, Oriental Liniment, and ?hoarhoud Expectorant. Sold by druggists. I could offer ?thousands of genuine certificates, but I am willing to leave ?the great public to judge of their merits. I have adopted ?for my special use a trade mark, whereby the public may be ?protected against fraud and imposition. Relief has been ?obtained by thousands of suferors by the use of my meedcines ?and they in turn have recommended them to others. In this ?way, I am making living advertisements for myself and ?medicines. Be sure the name of Dr. S.B. McCrillus, Anderson, àIndiana, is on every bottle, otherwise it is a fraud." (As ?found in the Madison County Historical Gazette of October, à1979.) ? Dr. McCrillus worked all winter making pills and ?preparing his tonic in his laboratory. Then in the summer he ?would pack them all up in a bright wagon driven by his two ?sorral horses and travel all over Central Indiana putting on àthese little shows to cause people to congregate. ? When James Whitcomb Riley left Greenfield at the age of ?twenty-two to join a traveling patent medicine show, he had ?not just hooked up with a simple charlaton. Doc McCrillus ?was a patent medicine manufacturer who believed in his ?products and traveled around Indiana in the summers peddling ?his cures with vim and vigor. The Doc would give wondrous ?programs from his wagon to extol the virtues of his many ?cures. Somehow he also kept open a little medicine shop on ?the south side of Anderson's public square during this era ?according to the Emerson and Williams Anderson City Directory àof 1876-77. ? In a way, Riley was lucky that Doc McCrillus took him àon. Jim Riley tried to talk his way into the good doctor's àtraveling miracle medicine show on the basis that he could àdo a good public relations job. Riley had long painted ?signs - Riley's dad had had him apprenticed to a Greenfield ?signmaker at an early age to keep the boy from being a ?juvenile delinquent - and he told Doc McCrillus he would ?advance to the next towns on the circuit and make signs for ?his show. The problem is that Doc McCrillus already had one ?sign painter, a young man named James McClanahan also from àthe doctor's hometown of Anderson. à The more Riley talked though, the more the doctor felt àfavorably inclined to include the young man in his travels. àLike many others, Doctor McCrillus knew Reuben Riley, Jim's àdad, and knew his father, a lawyer, was a good showman in his àown way. Then he asked Riley to see some of his signs. Riley ?sited him to a bridge where he had painted an eagle and a ?flag. With the boy's father's permission, James Whitcomb àRiley was off on his first adventure away from Greenfield àand home. ? Doc McCrillus's visit to Greenfield was the first of the ?patent medicine man's stops in the summer of 1872. Actually, ?the Doc took his two Jims back to Anderson and to his home at ?3 East Lincoln Street there on its historic brick street that ?still remains after the Greenfield trip to prepare for the ?entertainments for the rest of the summer. Jim Riley and Jim ?McClanahan learned to perform many acts together. Riley had ?brought with him his guitar and banjo along with his natural ?gift of wit and novelty. The program would provide a forum ?for Doc McCrillus to spiel out his philosophic approach to ?his patent medicines, then the three would sing a trio and ?other entertainments would follow. In this summer, Riley ?would become a comedian and give recitations and also sing, ?as well as go on ahead of the medicine show to the oncoming àtowns to paint signs advertising the show to come. à It is a shame that Doctor McCrillus has faded into such ?obscurity as a historical figure. No obituary of him ?survives. We only know that he was born in Dubois County on ?June 27, 1830 and died at the age of 70 in Anderson on Feb. ?12, 1901. His wife was from Southern Indiana too. Her name ?was Helen Coningore and the two married in 1861 in Paoli. The ?doctor's parents were Aaron Bailey and Sarah (nee Brown) ?McCrillus. We know from the standard Dubois County Histories ?of the Nineteenth Century that Dr. Samuel McCrillus was ?educated in a pioneer school - his only education that I ?could uncover-in the front room of a "Professor Cheaver on ?the southeast corner of the public square of Jasper, and was ?elected as the first Auditor of Dubois County before he was ?twenty-one under Indiana's Second Constitution, before ?migrating to Anderson in 1861 for some unknown reason and ?taking to patent medicine manufacture. Medical School ?anywhere is not in his resume. I suppose he had learned as ?Auditor of Dubois County that to be a medical doctor in this ?period of history one only had to register as such with the ?County Auditor where you wished to be an M.D. Among the àplaces his children settled was Wilkinson, in Hancock County. à This was the man who would spirit James Whitcomb Riley àaway from Greenfield and offer him the chance to become àan entertainer and meet many characters. ? None of this may particularly sound like a background ?experience for a young man who would help define what an àAmerican home and its life would involve. But James Whitcomb àRiley was a young man who "itched" to move right then. ? Whether he knew it or not, James Whitcomb Riley was on a ?quest to understand the meaning of homelife as well as to ?understand his Greenfield home where he had lived in his ?youth, a home he had now flown. His quest would cause him to ?write extensively and famously and he would explore every ?element of what others might think were elements of his àdream. Strangely he would never have a home such as he would àformulate as an ideal for his readers and listeners. ? In a newspaper interview about taking on James Whitcomb ?Riley to join his patent medicine show, Doc McCrillus once ?said, "This patent medicine business was not organized then ?like it is today." (I suppose he meant after the passage of ?laws like the Pure Food and Drug Act regulating what could be ?sold as "drugs.") "I did as big a business as any one. All ?of us then had great, fine wagons and would load up with our ?medicines and drive from town to town. We would carry a sign ?painter along and as we jogged from place to place would stop ?and paint signs on fences or barns. I would take part of the àpay for the medicines in paint." ? "We got to Greenfield...(His "sign painter," James àMcClanahan was present at this interview too)... "and when I ?was over at the drug store, Jim McClanahan, who was my ?painter, scraped up an acquaintance with this fellow Riley, àwho was a red-head, sorry-looking young fellow." à "Yes, (McClanahan said,) Doc had gone over to the drug ?store and I had let down the back and was looking over the àsupply of paint when this feller Riley came up and commenced ?to talk to me. He told me he was a painter, too. I sized him ?*up and shot back - 'Yes, I see as how you're a blin' àpainter,' and I pointed out some green paint on his clothes - ?the green that we used to daub the blinds with. That was the ?worst thing you could say to a painter, and Riley blushed and ?said that he could paint more than blinds and houses and he ?pointed out a sign or two. When Doc came back to the wagon I ?told him the young fellow wanted to go with us, that he had ?painted those signs; and that he said he could play the ?guitar and the fiddle - Riley never liked the word fiddle. ?Doc took him on to help me out and to help him in his ?lectures. Riley was a fast painter and his lettering was ?good, and he helped McCrillus entertain the crowds in the àstreet." (From a newspaper interview found in loose papers at àthe Indiana University library at Indianapolis.) à It is easy to say that Riley's career began on Doc ?McCrillus's gaudy "show wagon." The entertainments that Riley ?performed to gather crowds for Doc McCrillus were the start ?of his public career as a showman himself...and entertainer àfrom the stage. ? After his death, a contemporary American author of ?Riley's, Hamlin Garland, would say of him, "...in truth his ?success did not come so much in print as through his own ?reading of his lines from the platform. He had in him ?something of the minstrel. He possessed notable power to ?charm and move an audience, and everywhere he spoke he left a ?throng of friends. To hear him read - or recite - "A Song of ?the Airly Days" was to be moved in a new and unforgettable ?way. His vibrant individual voice, his flexile lips, his ?droll glance, united to make him at once poet and comedian - ?comedian in the sense which makes for tears as well as for ?laughter." (From "Commemorative Tribute to James Whitcomb ?Riley" by Hamlin Garland, read in the 1920 Lecture Series of àthe American Academy of Arts and Letters.) ? Riley's "minstrelcy" or showmanship may have been an ?offshoot of Doc McCrillus's, or at least substantially ?influenced by him. People would come to listen and be ?entertained by the patent medicine man and his young men ?consorts. At most these audiences were a "testing ground" for ?the young James Whitcomb Riley to learn his craft of ?entertaining and amusing audiences. There is a tendency to ?think this shallow and not necessarily significant. That àconclusion would be dead wrong. à There is not just a "give" but rather a "give and take" àin the performing arts. James Whitcomb Riley participated in ?the life of these audiences around the brightly painted ?patent medicine wagon. The crowds became a part of the ?entertainer who would write down his poetry from time to àtime. What the crowds found "right" in Riley's poetry became àRiley's subject matter. Since establishing homes was the main ?thrust of the small town populaces Riley entertained, ideas àof home abound in Riley's poetry. à This book proposes that there was also a Riley component àto the formulation of an American homelife conceptually which àdeserves this book's exploration. ? In any case, Riley's trip with Doc McCrillus was a start ?on a journey which would take him through his life and even ?take his life at the end. It was a tragic quest which was ?buried in humor and hopeful sentiment. It was a journey to ?find love and to try to be loved. Its meaning would boil down ?to a concept of home. Unfortunately, the meaning was one ?which proved a truce by which American homelife could become ?established and normalized and permit the thriving of others, ?but not for himself. A lonely death in a small upper ?apartment of an Indianapolis house would be James Whitcomb àRiley's lot. à James Whitcomb Riley's first journey away from àGreenfield was begun when he joined the patent medicine àshow of Doctor Samuel McCrillus in 1872. ? In the autobiographical edition of his poetry, Riley ?described his employment with Doc McCrillus, the traveling àmiracle medicine man with whom Riley escaped Greenfield: ? "My duty was the manipulation of two blackboards swung ?at the sides of the wagon during our street lecture and ?concert. These boards were alternately embellished with àcolored drawings illustrative of the manifold virtues of the ànostrum vended. Sometimes, I assisted the musical olio with ?dialect recitations and character sketches from the back àsteps of the wagon." ? In describing his getaway from the memories of this ?death with a medicine man selling his cure-all, Riley said "I ?rode out of town with that glittering cavalcade," the poet ?said, "without saying good-bye to anyone, and though my ?patron was not a diplomaed doctor, as I found out, he was a ?man of excellent habits and the whole company was made up of ?good, straight, jolly, chirping vagabonds like myself." Riley ?fitted easily into this roving company as a black board and ?colored chalk artist, illustrating the virtues of the ?medicine vended, supplemented with a repertoire of songs, ?jokes and original recitations. After a wonderful tour, the ?poet returned to Greenfield with pockets as empty as they àwere when he left. ? In May 31, 1872 Riley wrote his brother, "... I have ?been advertising for the Farmer's Grocery for three or four ?days and am feeling pretty sore, physically - but quite the ?contrary mentally for I have now removed a load of about 6$ àfrom my mind and so - ? "Patience and shuffle the cards," - and I'll soon be out àof debt. ? John, I have an offer from a young advertiser, who was ?attracted by my card in the post-office, to travel and do ?Medicine advertising and such, and I believe I will go. I ?can be at home as often as you. I guess: so we won't be ?broken badly. I think it will be the best thing I could do: ?I'll be in the open air all the time, and I do like ?advertising - especially where I have a chance of making 5$ ?and 6$ a day. I send you a photograph of my card. - How do ?you like? - I received a complimentary squib in both our ?worthy papers. The young man i am going with is a good ?business agent and sharp as the proverbial tack. He is not ?much on the letter, but knows how to get work and handle ?"expenses" and all that. He is entirely stranger to me - but ?he is from Anderson, and refers me to dozens of the best men ?the town contains. We will do general advertising: he has ?had experience and knows all about it - I will go as partner ?or not at all. If we succeed it won't be a great while ?before I show advertisers what advertising is like the card I ?send you for instance - I can design them and we can have ?them engraved and furnish cards novel, new and unique for so àmuch a thous - look out! à Yours &c Jim à ?Then on July 17th 1872, he wrote his brother that he was àabout to start on a week's trip to neighboring towns. ? When Riley and McClanahan traveled they entered a town ?to great theatrical display. Riley said, "on entering a ?town, McClanahan went first to the livery stable and with ?unfailing instinct picked out the best horses. It was not ?long before we were in the good graces of the livery-man and ?had as our reward the best team in the barn free of charge ?for the afternoon. Then the two made a dashing appearance ?into town to talk to the leading merchants proposing to ?advertise them on every barn fence and boulder on each of the ?roads leading into town. Riley remembered saying "these ?signs will stand as long as the fence or barn or stone ?remains...Why, you spend that much each year on newspaper ?advertising and, what is more, your newspaper allows your ?competitor to advertise in the very next column in a more ?conspicuous place. He can't do that on the road, because ?you'll have every fence and barn, and if you don't take the àcontract he will, you bet." ? Their business card proposed "all styles of signs and ?painted advertisements and original designs in fancy cards ?and bulletins and banner signs of all kinds and ends is in àrhyme, ? "We strive in each particular to give our fellow man à entire Satisfaction. à Riley and McClanahan à à In the winter of 72-3, Riley spent the winter in Marion. ?"I didn't have enough covers on my bed, only a ?counterpane.(Biographer's note: coverlet). I laid newspapers ?in between that and the sheet to keep out the cold. Oh, I ?was living in an old rat-trap and didn't see where the money ?for my Saturday's board was coming from. And I was homesick. ?One day a letter came from my small brother `Hum,' a boy ?letter about Nuisance," our dog, who had died. When I got ?that broken-hearted letter I simply crawled away to my room, ?threw myself on the bed and cried." This was the winter when ?"Dot Leedle Boy of Mine," was written. Riley said, "Writing àverse was the only fun I had." à à‚ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Đ‚Á‚̉‚Ô‚Ơ‚̉‚Å‚ ‚̉‚Å‚̀‚Á‚Ô‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚̉‚É‚Ó‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ô‚Å‚Í‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚Á‚Î‚Ă‚Å‚ àƒ Í‚Ï‚Ö‚Å‚Í‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚¿‚ àƒ We know that Riley left Greenfield to join Doc McCrillus ?and therafter to travel with Jim McClanahan painting at just ?about the time the temperance movement was strenghthening and ?young men Riley's age were being asked to sign Murphy pledges ?not to drink alcoholic beverages. Near this time of Riley's ?period of greatest inebriations after his mother's death, the ?Indiana Women's Christian Temperance Union was just getting ?organized. When Mrs. Zerelda Wallace, its first President, ?and stepmother of General Lew Wallace, author of "Ben Hur," ?took her first temperance petition before the Indiana ?legislature, she was informed that, since her petition was ?from women who couldn't vote, it "amounted to no more than ?the tracks of so many mice." This aroused Mrs. Wallace to ?become a public speaker throughout the state on temperance ?and women's vote issues. Other women joined in the fight. ?Soon women were lining up, two abreast, in great processions ?after church services to enter the taverns of Hoosier towns ?to ask saloon keepers to close down and seek the reformation ?of the drinkers inside. Tavern keepers could do little about ?these invasions. They could not throw out the ladies who ?would yell, "Unhand me, Sir!" or remind them that "No one but ?a coward touches a woman save in kindness." No lady could be ?removed from the bar door when they chose to sing temperance ?songs outside. It is said that huge and brutal looking ?barkeeps quailed to the pure womanhood while their potential ?patrons left or walked away without entering their usual àhaunts. ? The resistance of the saloon keepers of the Hoosier ?Deutsch - those of Riley's stock - was greater than the àothers. Sometimes a thick accented German wife of a barkeep ?fetched her small children and fed them beer in full sight of àthe temperance women. Many times those of Hoosier Deutsch ?heritage were subject to derision for special sinfulness and àforeign barbarism. It was more common for the Deutsch àsaloon owners to resist. They drove the women out of their ?establishments by opening doors and windows in the winter, ?throwing pepper on the stoves to cause them to sneeze and ?cry, flooding the floor with filthy water, putting out the ?fires in their stoves or just plain plugging the stovepipe to àsmoke them out. Occasionally, drinkers would throw tobacco ?juicy sawdust from the bar floors at the ladies. If fights ?did break out, few ladies feared being convicted of àdisorderly conduct or such charges. ? A poem by Elizabeth T. Wills of the Wabash, Indiana, ?Women's Christian Temperance Union describes the temperance àactivity of the time. It should be remembered that Riley àand his friends were what these ladies would call "rummies." ?The antagonistic but pious mood toward alcoholics in Indiana àis expressed in this poem. à‚ Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ô‚Å‚Í‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚Á‚Î‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚Ă‚̉‚Ơ‚Ó‚Á‚Ä‚Å‚ ̀ÅÙ0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à Away back in the Seventies à A long, long time ago, à We women went out in the old crusade à When the ground was covered with snow. à Now what do you mean by the old crusade? à We would like to hear you explain à Was the fight just for popularity à Which we women were hoping to gain? à No, we mothers had sat in rum ruined homes à And mourned o'er the wreckage the rum fiend had made à It was rum, rum with its withering curse, ? That's what started the Temperance Crusade. Rum had à robbed us of husband, had robbed us of sons à And of all, which the heart holds most dear à So we women went out, in this battle for home à Without the least tremor of fear. à In Hillsboro, Ohio, the Crusade first broke out à And the first soon kindled to flame. à it flew to the south, the north, east and west à Just like a tornado it came. à This fire had been smoldering for years and for years à Just waiting and ready to catch. à It was fed by wrecked manhood and orphan's sad tears à All it lacked was just touching the match. à We met in the churches, met three times a day à To form resolutions, to talk, sing and pray. à Just women in daytime, men kept out of sight à But they joined in our mass-meetings held every night. à Then while all the church bells were ringing at once à and all the whistles were blowing, à We started right out with our hymn books in hand à To visit saloons - we were going. à We caused much excitement as we marched two abreast ? Through the crowded and awe-stricken street But with à heads quite erect and courage unchecked à Did we march with the snow on our feet. à We marched right in to the open saloon à And begged of the men to desist à But some grew angry and cursed us à And came at us with shaking fist; à And some of them told us we'd better go home ? And men our husband's sox; We appointed committees to à sit out in front, à To keep the men out of saloons. à I imagine we felt a little like men à When they finally tree their 'coons; à And we couldn't help but sorter wear à A half-way satisfied grin à To see the men we were keeping out à That wanted so much to go in. à Then while at this stage in the conflict à After first excitement was through, à we organized the little band à called the W.C.T.U, à And the ball has kept rolling and rolling à with its purity banner unfurled, à Till now our white-ribbon army à Is teaching and belting the world. à So pin on the white ribbon, sisters, à And we will keep plugging away, à Till we win in the fight and put rummies to flight à Some Glad Day. à àI suppose to some extent the young Riley was "put to flight" àby the temperance ladies and their talk about such young men àas Riley who drank too much. à ̀ëá‰0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] ?̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚É‚Î‚Ô‚Ï‚Ø‚É‚Ă‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ ‚Á‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Î‚Ó‚Ă‚É‚Ï‚Ơ‚Ó‚ ‚Ă‚È‚Ï‚É‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ù‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂ǂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ à à Riley did not consider his alcoholism as some disease or àunconscious decision. Riley wanted to indulge in alcohol and ?become intoxicated as a young man following the death of his àmother. He did not want any temperance movement person àinterfering for the escape he found in drinking alcoholic àbeverages. ? This admission is made in his autobiographical poem, à"The Flying Islands of the Night" where Jucklet explains this àto Crestillomeem, Riley's alcoholism. à àHe thinks thee even true to him as thou àArt fickle, false and subtle! O how blind àAnd lame, and deaf and dumb, and worn and weak, àAnd faint, and sick, and all-commodious àHis dear love is! In sooth, O wifely one, àThy malleable spouse doth mind me of àThat pliant hero of the bald old catch à"Thy Lovely Husband." - Shall I wreach the thing? à à(Sings±À‚ - with much affected gravity and grimace) à àO a lovely husband he was known, àHe loved his wife and her a-lone; àShe reaped the harvest he had sown; àShe ate the meat, he picked the bone. à With mixed admirers every size, à She smiled on each without disguise; à This lovely husband closed his eyes à Lest he might take her by surprise, à àƒ (Aside, exclamatory) à àƒ Chorious uproarious! à ?(Then pantomime as though pulling at bell-rope - singing in àpent, explosive utterance) à àTrot! àRun! Wasn't he a handy hubby? à àWhat àFun àShe could plot and plan! à àNot One àOther such a dandy hubby àAs this lovely man! à à1. The 1898 edition of "The Flying Islands" contains a score àfor this song. Riley set the song to music for this edition. ?The hubby's (Riley's) hope for public success is dwindled ?into the alcoholic debauchery preferred by Riley in àsubjection to the personality of the Queen. à ? This part of the poem borders on pathos rather than àhumor. Riley was wedded to alcoholism when he might have been ?"more conscious and alive" when Riley's married lover, Nellie àCooley, was alive. ? Nellie Cooley (Dwainie) tried on many occasions to set ?Riley free from his alcoholism, none with any success during ?her lifetime. Only after her death did she come to him in the ?delirious account chronicled in "The Flying Islands of the àNight," and succeed in this effort. à àƒ Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Í‚Ï‚̉‚Å‚ ‚Ô‚̉‚Á‚Ö‚Å‚̀‚ à à Riley not only began his life of alcoholism after his àmother's death, but he also most earnestly began his writing ?of poetry to express his feelings. After his mother's death ?he began his nocturnal life. Riley's poems were mostly ?written at night because he once said, "Then angels listen to ?the whisper of his pencil as I write." This habit came early ?and from the days he painted signs. Often too intoxicated to ?return home, he slept many places. One of them was at the ?station of the night watchman of the Greenfield Bank. The ?night watchman was happy for the company because he could ?sleep at night knowing Riley was awake by a dim lamp with a àpencil and tablet in hand. ? Most of his early life, he recalled hearing a clock àstrike four. à How did Riley consider his life? ? There can be no more discordant event than the death of ?a caregiving mother. There is no place to go for reassurance àand to avoid anxiety more satisfying than to one's mother. ?One does not feel unworthy when a mother gives acceptance. àParental love is the great shield of apprehensiveness. à The next year saw Riley traveling the State of àIndiana again with McClanahan. à Riley's friends shared his general love of the ?drunken life. Nov. 26, 1873, apparently written while Mack ?(James McClanahan) was drunk. The letter starts out, "Answer ?soon for God's sake. Don't make fun of me. This is written ?on the letterhead of Harvin and Booker, Frankfort. "O dam the ?pin I can't write fast enough. Damd if I ever felt good in ?my life. Good God I'm off my feet. Would to God that I could ?see you NOW. You ask me why don't I write. That's damn fine ?talk ain't it...Oh, my God, but I do feel Hob. Hob hell. That ?don't express it. Can you read this?...." McClanahan is àwriting Riley in desperation. The woman he is living with ?is apparently giving him Hell. McClanahan says he has given ?people the impression the woman he is living with and he are àmarried but they aren't. ? There are records from friends in newspaper àrecollections that are revealing: à From Riley's South Bend life comes the recollection ?of Frank Murphy. Just across from Blowneys was a saloon and ?Riley was said to dearly love to have a glass of beer there ?with innumerable friends, Bill Allen, Al Stockford, Frank ?Murphy. On one occasion, when Riley and Bill Allen, a ?drinking buddy of Riley's, were painting the outside of the ?old St. Joseph hotel, the scaffolding they were standing on ?fell and both of them were hurt, but not seriously. Later, ?when Riley was famous and was lecturing in South Bend, Bill ?Allen went to see Riley at his hotel and Riley refused to see ?him. In Riley's "Pipes o' Pan at Zekesbury," Riley mentioned àmany of his South Bend friends and in particular "the Wild ?Irishman," Frank Murphy, a genial, jovial Irishman, loud of ?speech, warm in friendship and who could improvise poetry and ?enjoy a glass of whisky or any other concoction accompanied ?with plenty of hilarity and good fellowship, which was ?exactly to young Riley's temperamental liking and as a result ?the two were good friends til death took them. Riley called ?him Tommy in his sketch and says he sings at one of their àconvivial gatherings in the Andrews saloon: à "But R-R-Riley, he'll not go I guess à Lest, he'd get losht in the wil-der-ness, à And so in the city he will shtop à For to curl his hair in the barbershop." ? Of the Andrews Saloon where Riley frequently quenched àhis thirst and was always welcome, he sings, à "Of the Andrews brothers they'll be there à Wid good sy-gars and wine to spare, à They'll treat us here on fine champagne à And when we're there, they'll treat us again." ?Whenever Murphy went to Indianapolis, he would look Riley up ?and they would have a good time recalling the days when Riley ?was a sign painter in South Bend. Maj. Blowney did not mind ?Riley writing verses and gave him a blank book to write them àin. à ?̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚ׂȂɂ̀‚Å‚ ‚͂ɂ΂ӂԂ̉‚Å‚̀‚ɂڂɂ΂ǂ ‚Á‚Ó‚ ‚Ê‚Ơ‚Ă‚Ë‚̀‚Å‚Ô‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚ à à It is to this early period of Riley's wandering life ?following the death of his mother, that Riley refers in his àautobiographical poem when he portrays Crestilommen (his àalcoholism) and his minstrelcy play self (Jucklet) in àhappy companionship and shared delight. à àƒ Semblance of Jucklet (Sings) à àCrestillomeem! ? Crestillomeem! Soul of my slumber! - Dream of àmy dream! àMoonlight may fall not as goldenly fair àAs falls the gold of thine opulent hair - àNay, nor the starlight as dazzlingly gleam àAs gleam thine eyes, 'Meema - Crestillomeem! - à Star of the skies, 'Meema - ? Crestillomeem! à àƒ Semblance of Crestillomeem (Sings) à àO Prince divine! à O Prince divine! àTempt thou me not with that sweet voice of thine! àThough my proud brow bear the blaze of a crown, àLo, at thy feet must its glory bow down. àThat from the dust thou mayest lift me to shine àHeaven'd in thy heart's rapture, O Prince divine! - à Queen of thy love ever, à O Prince divine! à àƒ Semblance of Jucklet (Sings) à àCrestillomeem! Crestillomeem! àOur life shall flow as a musical stream±À‚ - àWindingly - placidly on it shall wend, àMarged with mazhorra-bloom banks without end - àWord-birds shall call thee and dreamily scream, à"Where dost thou cruise, 'Meema - Crestillomeem? à Whither away, 'Meema? -Crestillomeem! à à1. Jucklet, Riley's pranking and jocular self, àcan get along quite well in intoxicated state. à àƒ Duo à à(Vision and voices gradually failing away) à àCrestillomeem! à Crestillomeem! àSoul of my slumber! - Dream of my dream! àStar of Love's light, 'Meema±À‚ - Crestillomeem! à Crescent of Night, 'Meema! - à à1. "me" backwards and forwards. à àƒ É‚Î‚Ă‚É‚Ä‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ àƒ ? Once Riley suspended himself by a rope from a bridge and ?painted a sign on the bottom of the bridge inverting the ?letters so the approaching traffic would see the advertising ?on the surface of the water. He painted many barns on his àtravels in the years of his early twenties. ? When he returned home to Greenfield occasionally he did ?some odd jobs for Greenfield folk. He did cards for War ?Barnett and went to a Greeley meeting and "ogled some àterribly damp Goddesses of Liberty, etc." ? Riley saw Brett Harte read while in South Bend in the ?fall 1873 but did not go speak to him although they stood ?close to each other after the performance. "I wanted to speak ?to him for he had been a great inspiration to me, but some àfear within restrained me. ? 1874 was another year of restless wandering about àIndiana with Jim McClanahan and friends. Riley's family ?were not supportive. They wished him settled down. They àdid not like his wanderings around with his carefree ?drinking friends. A letter Riley sent to his brother ?John, dated Nov. 16, 1874, states: "...In reply to a ?question of yours-McClanahan is not with me now, nor hasn't ?been for months, and in lieu of myself -as per lady-book- ?statement, -is traveling in the Vinegar Recipe line and ?making big money. He controls a party of 13 agents who sell àrecipes while he is employed selling Territory. ? I have been working for McCrillus, principally, since my ?return to Anderson, but have surprised the folks occasionally ?with a sign: I am at work now on an advertising card that ?will be superior! I won't enter in to a description of it - ?wait till it's done and I'll show it to you - it will be my ?masterpiece as I have "mixed my colors with brains." Oh, it's ?artistic - not letters in gold alone, but the "female form ?divine" graces the center of the design, while the letters àaround her twine and glimmer and gleam and shine à à Like the limpid, laughing waters à Of the Classic Brandywine." à ? The picture from the poetry and the situation of the ?departure with the good Doc's patent medicine show is of a ?young man, Riley, simply on the run from the death of his àmother steadily seeking the companionship of Crestillomeem. à Perhaps his relationship with his married friend, Nellie ?Cooley back in Greenfield further encouraged both his ?departures and exacerbated alcohol use. Upon his returns to ?Greenfield he inevitably sought Nellie's company and this was ?not a situation Riley's family was very happy about either. ?Nellie was, after all, a married woman. It was not a good ?sign that she was the woman he was paying attention to. For ?now we simply repeat the last stanza of a poem called "A àPoet's Wooing," (1872) à"What can I do to make you glad - à As glad as glad can be, à Till your clear eyes seem à Like the rays that gleam à And glint through a dew-decked tree? - à Will it please you, dear, that I now begin à A grand old air on my violin?" à And she spoke again in the following way, - à "Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir; à I would be so glad you'd play à Some grand old march - in character, - à And then as you march away àI will no longer thus be sad, àBut oh, so glad - so glad - so glad!" à ?Was Nellie discouraging Riley's attentions as well as àencouraging them - driving Riley crazy? à Life with Doc McCrillus was a pleasant and diverting ?life. To gain the flavor of the Doc McCrillus patent medicine ?enterprise, it may be helpful to consider the product Riley ?was selling. One of the testimonials to Doc McCrillus's ?patent medicine has come down to us from two men who ?otherwise are unknown to history, E. Sipe and Sam Pence, ?self-styled as "Horse Dealers." They witness as follows: "We ?speak whereof we have seen and know about Dr. S.B. McCrillus' ?European Balsam. We believe it to be a valuable medicine in ?the cure of horse disease -epizootic -as a disinfectant, and ?also a great relief to the horse when sick by burning it on ?coals in the stable and letting the horses inhale the ?Balsam." (Found in loose folders on Riley in the Anderson àCity Library). à This testimonial would be rather "backhand" since Doc àMcCrillus's miracle cures were intended for humans. ? As you would look at the darkly ominous bottle of the ?good doctor's chief product, you would immediately know it ?was something very special. A trumpeting baby elephant was ?on the label on whose back was a huge leather satchel as big ?as the elephant comtaining the word's "McCrillus' European àBalsam." à The Balsam's label contained other information in ?different sized print: "The Acknowledged Excelsior System ?Renovator. Cures WEAK BACK. It Cures Bronchitis, Palpitation ?of the Heart, Laryngitis, Sore Throat, Phthisic(sic), Weak ?Breast, Coughs and Colds, Female Complaints, Liver Complains, ?Dyspepsia, Chronic Rheumatism, Etc." In much smaller print ?along the sides of the label are the statements, "This ?Balsam, composed exclusively of vegetable matter, has àattained for itself an almost cosmopolitan celebrity. In its ?successful treatment of all diseases of a nervous and àinflammatory nature, and for a weak state of the system. It ?heals the lungs, strengthens the stomach, rectifies its ?disorders and regualtes the bowels. It allays inflammation àexternally and internally. Dissolves the secretions of the àurinary glands, and cures grave and WEAKNESS OF THE KIDNEYS." ? Just dreaming up such a mess of quasi-medical ?gobbledegook such as this must have taken the good Doc much ?time. Incidently, the good Dr. McCrillus's death certificate àon file with the Madison Co. Health Department shows ?his cause of death as "acute pneumonitis" which we tend to ?call pneumonia. Did the doctor not take his own cure? Lung ?ailments were supposed to be overcome by his European Balsam. ?Or could it have been that he wished his own remedy worked a àlittle better as he was slipping away? ? In any case, the summers in which James Whitcomb Riley àleft home to join Doc McCrillus and paint and travel were ?pleasant and fun-filled interludes and adventures Riley and ?McClanahan were said to have performed many acts together ?from the show wagon. Riley always took his guitar and banjo ?with him, and much entertainment was verbalized with ?recitation of entertaining stories. When Riley was on the ?road with Doc, he would interject his philsophy of medicine ?and the virtures of his cures and then sometimes the three ?would sing as a trio. Eventually, James Whitcomb Riley is ?said to have become very popular with demands for encores for àhis recitations and even singing. ? After these surrealistic summer experiences, James àWhitcomb Riley returned with the Doc to Anderson to idle away ?time. He lived either with Doc or in apartment houses in ?Anderson or nearby towns where he went to paint signs or ?houses or with mom McClanahan in Anderson. Everywhere he ?went, Riley spent time on street corners talking to the ?people of Anderson or wherever he was and writing seriously, ?filling the bureau drawers of his board rooms and trunks with àpapers until they were stuffed. ? Only when Riley ran out of his "summer" or "sign" money àdid he return to Greenfield, his boyhood home. ? 1874 was the year McGeecy, editor of the Danbury, ?Connecticut, NEWS, accepted Riley's poetry encouraging him ?greatly. This was also the year Riley worked out the ?elocution and performance points for "The Bear Story" and ?"Tradin' Joe." Riley read these in occasional school houses àand churches. ? These early years of young manhood also saw Riley ?produce much whimsical doggerel verse for advertising àincluding this "advertisement" for his friend the good àDoc McCrillus: à "Whereever blooms of health are blown, à McCrillus' Remedies are known; à Wherever happy lives are found à You'll find his medicines around, à From coughs and colds and lung disease à His patients find a sweet release à In using his Expectorant à That cures where even doctors can't. à His Oriental Liniment à Is known to fame to such extent à That orders for it emanate à From every portion of the State, à His European Balsam, too, à Send blessings down to me and you; à And holds its throne from year to year à In every household far and near, à His purifier for the blood à Has earned a name fair and good à As ever glistened on the page à Of any annals of the age. à And he who pants for health ease à Should try these Standard Remedies."
cure of horse disease -epizootic -as a disinfectant, and ?also a great relief to the horse when sick by burning it on ?coals in the stable and letting the horses inhale the ?Balsam FÄb̃ ¨ DNNNPRINTERà‚ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Ä‚Á‚̉‚Ë‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚̉‚Ù‚
à ? There is both prose and poetry written reflecting Riley's ?life in intoxication. It is mostly poetry of the 1870's, ?Riley's period of great production in which no topic of his àlife was "off limits." à We have the poet who would one day - after he comes àto kenoticism - be known as "The Children's Poet" taking the ?classic "Little Red Riding Hood," and turning it into the àstory as told by an alcoholic. à à ¢‚̀‚É‚Ô‚Ô‚̀‚Å‚ ‚̉‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚̉‚ɂĂɂ΂ǂ ‚È‚Ï‚Ï‚Ä‚¢‚ ‚é‚î‚ ‚é‚î‚ô‚ï‚ø‚é‚ă‚á‚ô‚å‚ó‚傺‚ à ? "Wonst they was a leetle-teeny dirl, an' she was named ?Red Riding Hood, toz her ma maked her a leetle red cloak `at ?torned up over her head - an' it was all thist one piece of ?red cardnal like the dreat long stockin's `at the ?storekeeper's dot. O! it was the nicest cloak in this town! ?An' - an' - an' so one day her ma she put it on her. It was ?Sunday, coz the cloak was too nice to wear thist all the ?time. An' so her ma she put it on her, an' told her not to ?dit no dirt on it; an' nen she dot out her little basket `at ?ole K'is b'inged her, an' filled it full o' whole lots o' ?good fings t'eat, an' told her to take `em to her dran'ma, ?an' not spill `em, toz her dran'ma'd spank her ef she did, àmaybe. ? An' so little Red Riding Hood she promised to be àtareful, an' tossed her heart she wouldn't spill`em ?for six-five-ten-two hundred bushel dollars. An' nen she ?kissed her ma dood bye, an' went a skippin off through the ?dreat big woods to her dran'ma's - no she didn't do a ?skippin' nedver coz that 'ud spill the dood fings. She thist àwent a walkin'along like a little lady, she did - as slow ?an' purty- like she was a marchin' in the Sunday school àkassession. ? An' so she was a goin' along an' along through the dreat ?big woods - toz her dran'ma lived a way fur off from her ma's ?house, an' you had to do through the dreat big woods to dit àthere. ? An' little Red Riding Hood had mostest fun when she'd do ?there - a listenin' to the purty burds, an' pullin the purty ?flowers at drowed around the stumps - an' catchin' ?butterflies an' drasshoppers, an' stickin' pins through 'em-I ?thist `said' that! coz she was dood. She'd this catch `em, ?an' leave their wings on `em thist like they was, an' let 'em àdo adin, toz she was a "boss girl" - my pa said she was! ? An' so she was a doin' along an' doin' along, an' purty ?soon they was a old wicked wolf jumped out; an' he wanted to ?eat her up, but there was a big man a choppin' wood wite ?those there, an' you could hear him, an' so th' old wolf was ?afeared to tackle her this then - feared the man ud kill him, ?you know; an' so he `tended like he was a dood friends to ?her, an' he says, "Dood morning, little Red Riding Hood!" ?this like that. An' nen little Red Riding Hood she says, ?"dood morning," this as kind - like her ma learnt her - coz àshe didn't know th' old wolf wanted t'eat her up. à Nen th' old wolf says, "Where are you doin' to?" ? Nen little Red Riding Hood says, "I'm doin' to my ?dran'ma's -coz my ma said I might." An' nen she told him that ?th' old wolf skipped out an' dot to her dran'ma's first, an' àshe didn't know he did. ? Nen when th' old wolf dot to her dran'ma's he knocked at ?the door. An' nen th' old wolf he knocked adin, an' little àRed Riding Hood's dran'ma she says, "Who's there?" ? Nen th' old wolf 'tended like he was little Red Riding ?Hood, you know, an' so he says, "W'y, it's me, dran'ma; I'm àlittle Red Riding Hood, an' I'm tome to see you!" ? Nen little Red Riding Hood's dran'ma she says, "Thist ?walk in, nen, an' make yousef at home, toz I'm dot the ?'raigy, an' tuvered up in bed, an' I tan't open the door fur àyou!" ? An' so the old wolf thist walked in an' shut the door, ?an' hopped up on th' bed an' et old Miss Ridinghood up 'fore ?she could take her specs off, he did! Nen th' old wolf put ?on her nightcap an' tovered up in bed like she was, you know, ?an' purty soon her tome little Red Riding Hood, an' she ?knocked at the door. Nen th' old wolf says, "Who's there?" ?thist like he was her dran'ma, you know, an' she thought he ?was, an' so she says, "W'y its me, dran'ma; I'm little Red àRiding Hood, an' I'm tome to see you." ? Nen th' old wolf says "Thist walk in an' make yousef at ?home, toz I dot the 'raigy an' tovered up in bed, an' I tan't àopen the door for you." ? An' so little Red Riding Hood she opened the door an' àtomed in; an' the old wolf told her to set down her basket àan' take off her fings an' tome an' set on the bed wif her. ? An' little Red Riding Hood she didn't know it was th' ?old wolf, an' so she set down her basket an' tooked off her ?fings, an' dot a chair an' thumbed up on the bed wif her an' ?she thought th' old wolf had more whiskers'n her dran'ma, an' ?dreat bigger eyes too, an' she was skeered, an' so she says: à"Oh, dran'ma, what big eyes you dot!" ? Nen th' old wolf says: "They're thist big toz I'm so àdlad to see you." ? Nen little Red Riding Hood she says: "O! dran'ma, what a àbig nose you dot." ? Nen th' old wolf says: "It's thist big thataway toz I àsmell the dood fings you bringed in the basket." ? An' nen little Red Riding Hood she says: "O! dran'ma, àwhat long, sharp teeth you dot." ? Nen th' old wolf he says: "Yes, an' they're thist ?thataway t'eat you up wif!" an' nen he made a jump at her, ?an' she hollered an' the big man that was a choppin' wood he ?tomed in there wif his axe, an' he split th' old wolf's ?brains out from ear to ear, an' killed him so quick it made ?his head swim, an' little Red Riding Hood wasn't hurt at all, ?an' the big man tooked her home, an' her ma was so dlad she ?div'd him all the dood fings in the basket an' told him to àcall adin - an - an- that's all of it." à Alcoholism rendered Riley (in his own description) àan "adjustable lunatic." Sometimes he was subject to ?such intoxication that he qualified for admission to a àmadhouse of the time of the 1870's. He grew very clever ?apparently at hiding it. He must have feared the consequences ?of public intoxication displays greatly after his many public ?intoxication arrests. The main character in his story, "An ?Adjustable Lunatic," explains why. He says, "I don't make a ?business of insanity, or I wouldn't be running at large here ?on the streets of the city." He continues at a later point, ?"...I'm glad to assure you of the fact that I'm as harmless ?as a baby-butterfly. Nobody knows I'm crazy, nobody ever ?dreams of such a thing - and why? -Because the faculty is ?adjustable, don't you see, and self-controlling. I never ?allow it to interfere with business matters, and only let ?it on at leisure intervals for the amusement it affords me in ?the pleasurable break it makes in the monotony of a ?matter-of-fact existence. I'm off duty to-day - in fact, I've ?been off duty fir a week; or, to be franker still, I lost my ?situation ten days ago, and I've been humoring this àpropensity in the meanwhile..." à àƒ Â‚Å‚̀‚̀‚Ó‚ ‚Ê‚Á‚΂ǂ̀‚Å‚Ä‚ (1879) ̀ÀÀ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à I lie low-ceiled in a nest of dreams; à The lamp gleams dim i' the odorous gloom, à And the stars at the casement leak long gleams à Of misty light through the haunted room à Where I lie low-coiled in dreams. à à The night-winds ooze o'er my dusk-drowned face à In a dewy flood that ebbs and flows, à Washing a surf of dim white lace à Under my throat and the dark red rose à In the shade of my dusk-drowned face. à à There's a silken strand of some strange sound à Slipping out of skein of song: à Eerily as a call unwound à From a fairy-bugle, it slides along à In a silken strand of sound. à à There's a tinkling drip of faint guitar; à There's a gurgling flute, and a blaring horn à Billowing bubbles of tune afar à O'er the misty heights of the hills of morn, à To the drip of a faint guitar. à à And I dream that I neither sleep nor wake - à Careless am I if I wake or sleep, à For my soul floats on the waves that break à In crests of song on the shoreless deep à Where I neither sleep nor wake. à à‚ Á‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚΂ςԂ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚É‚Î‚Ô‚Ï‚Ø‚É‚Ă‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ ‚‚Ơ‚Ô‚ ‚Á‚̀‚ɂł΂Á‚Ԃɂς΂¬‚ ‚È‚Ơ‚Í‚É‚̀‚É‚Ô‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă àƒ Đ‚Ï‚Ö‚Å‚̉‚Ô‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Ă‚Ơ‚̀‚Ô‚Ơ‚̉‚Á‚̀‚ ‚Ô‚̉‚Á‚΂ӂɂԂɂς΂ àƒ ? That there are pieces describing Riley's intoxicated àsituation is not to say they were not transforming pieces. ?Such poetry challenge thought patterns and are as koams of àShinto. They are intended to break open closed thought àfunctions. The intoxicatese is one way in which Riley àfelt he was "hoodooed" by Edgar Allan Poe. à à‚ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Å‚Ä‚Ç‚Á‚̉‚ ‚Á‚̀‚̀‚ł΂ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚ à ? James Whitcomb Riley considered Edgar Allan Poe one of àhis favortie poets, not because of Poe's meancholy or joyless ?themes, but because of Poe's mastery of verse. Riley devoted ?many hours to studying Poe's verse and read "The Rationale of àVerse," Poe's essay on the subject, thoroughly. ? Riley did not just study Poe's manner, he also wrote ?Poe-like poems. His "A Dream of Long Ago," was given the ?metre and cadence of Poe's "The Raven," with a slightly ?different verse structure. The sounds of Poe were easily àmirrored with the liquid and musical sounds of the alphabet. à Crestillomeem was a great admirer of Poe. In a letter of ?March 4, 1883 written to Dr. James Newton Matthews, Riley àsaid: à "...In the Poe sonnets, the work is splendid - masterly ?in parts - only the threme is joyless - and that hurt the ?success of such an effot, however deservign in all other ?qualiti4es. It is what hurt Poe, and will always drape his ?memory with gloomy speculations and unsatisfying àcontemplations. He was a marvelous intellect perhpas as much àestranged from himself as from all of his kind. Anyway, he ?seems, always, to me, unhappy, and his influence always ?cheerless. If I ever get to Heaven, I will doubtless love ?him better there where all `will be unriddled.' All ?melancholy themes are pets of mine - positively; but I am ?growing to avoid them as much as possible for I am more and àmore satisfied of their hurtfulness every new one I indulge." ? "Poe was hoodooed all his life. I took up the hoodoo ?where he left off," Riley once said. We know Riley studied ?Poe because of the famous Leonainie incident in Riley's life. ?Riley wrote the poem in the style of Poe and perpetrated the ?hoax in concert with a friend who was the editor of the ?Kokomo Dispatch upon the representation that it was a newly ?discovered manuscript of Edgar Allen Poe. It was published in àthe Kokomo DISPATCH on August 12, 1877. à à̀‚łς΂Á‚ɂ΂ɂł à àLeonainie - Angels named her; à And they took the light àOf the laughing stars and framed her à In a smile of white; à And they made her hair of gloomy à Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy à Moonshine, and they brought her to me à In the solemn night. - à àIn a solemn night of summer, à When my heart of gloom àBlossomed up to greet the comer à Like a rose in bloom; à All forebodings that distressed me à I forgot as Joy caressed me - à (Lying Joy! that caught and pressed me à In the arms of doom!) à àOnly spake the little lisper à In the Angel-tongue; àYet I, listening, heard her whisper, - à "Songs are only sung à Here below that they may grieve you - à Tales but told you to deceive you, - à So must Leonainie leave you à While her love is young." à àThen God smiled and it was morning. à Matchless and supreme àHeaven's glory seemed adorning à Earth with its esteem; à Every heart but mine seemed gifted à With the voice of prayer, and lifted à Where my Leonainie drifted à From me like a dream. à ? How Riley described writing Leonaine: "I studied Poe's àmethod. He seemed to have a theory, rather misty to be sure, ?about the use of m's and n's and mellifluous vowels and ?sonorous words. I remember that I was a long time in ?evolving the name of `Leonaine,' but at length the verses ?were finished and ready for trial. A friend, the editor of ?the Kokomo Dispatch, undertook the lauching of the hoax in ?his paper; he did this with great editorial gusto, while, at ?the same time, I attacked the authenticity of the poem in the ?Democrat. That diverted all possible suspicion from me. the ?hoax succeeded far too well, for what had started as a boyish ?prank, became a literary discussion nation-wide, and the ?necessary expose had to be made. I was appalled by the ?result. The press assailed me furiously, and even my own ?paper dismissed me because I had given the 'discovery' to a àrival." ? How much Riley knew about the orphaned, tragic Edgar ?Allen Poe is not known. Poe's death in delirium tremens was ?widely reported. Discovered by a printer named Walker in a ?Baltimore tavern called Gunner's Hall on an Election Day for ?members of Congress, Poe was in great distress. Taken to ?Baltimore's Washington Medical College in stupor, he was ?admitted at five in the afternoon. He remained in stupor ?until three o'clock the next morning when he entered a stage ?of busy delirium, talking constantly and deliriously ?addressing spectral and imaginary objects on the walls. The ?next day Poe revived somewhat but was basically incoherent ?before lapsing into violent delirium resisting the efforts of ?nurses to keep him in bed. His doctor, a man named Dr. John ?J. Moran, mentions him raving for nearly a day and calling ?out an unrecognizable name until three o'clock the next ?morning when Doctor Moran noted: "quietly moving his head he ?said `Lord help my poor soul' and expired." Poe died a drunk. ?Dr. Moran attributed his death to delirium tremens on the ?basis of Poe's profuse perspiration, trembling and ?hallucinations. Others have since sought to find less ?disgraceful causes of death such as "exposure." Poe's great ?admirer, the poet Charles Baudelaire, called the death à"suicide" which is probably much closer to the truth. ? Riley studied Poe extensively. He thought of himself as ?Poe at times. His forgery of Poe's name to the poem, ?Leonainie, may not have even seemed like forgery. Riley's ?"Tale of a Spider" in which a spider takes on the life of a ?doomed communicant and "An Adjustable Lunatic" of a maniacal ?disappearing and suicidal stranger seem clearly composed ?under Poe's gothic influence. It is not clear if Riley wrote ?poetry while intoxicated as Poe did. One remembers that "The ?Bells" was written by an Edgar Allen Poe who did not even ?remember he wrote it the next morning. Riley's "The Flying ?Islands of the Night" was, we know, written by an alcoholic àseeking to understand himself. Some of it bears the same ?throbbings and excesses of "intoxicated" writing that Poe's ?does. One thing seems clear. If Riley had not written his ?"The Flying Islands of the Night" and gained through it a ?self-understanding and feeling of great encouragement to ?himself from the beyond from his dead mother and dead Nellie ?Cooley one could speculate he might have died as Poe did. The ?strange death-birth connection between Poe and Riley ?contributed to Riley's unease about the fate for which he was ?destined. The poetry and alcoholic life-style of Edgar Allen àPoe were definite dynamics in Riley's self-perception. ?One does not fear being a reincarnation of someone without ?great tremor. Probably for this reason, Riley avoided ?admitting he was born when he was. The comparisons of ?alcoholism by two kindred poets was already too vivid in àRiley's mind. ? There was in fact great talk of Riley being Poe's àreincarnation as in an article in the Chicago TRIBUNE of ?December 16, 1894 under the title: "Plagiarism or ?Reincanation?" The many points of similarity of the writing àof Riley and Poe brought forth the author of this article, ?George Harper, to find evidence for the Hindoo theory of àtransmigration of souls, or reincarnation. When Riley as àCretillomeem wrote, Poe was affixed in his mind. à à à à à à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ó‚É‚Ç‚È‚Ô‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Ô‚Å‚Í‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚Á‚Í‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚̉‚Á‚̀‚É‚Ú‚Å‚̉‚Ó‚º‚ àƒ Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚Ç‚Í‚Á‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ç‚̉‚łł΂Ƃɂł̀‚Ä‚¬‚ ‚ɂ΂ĂɂÁ‚΂Á‚ à ? In the meantime, Riley slipped further and further into ?alcoholism. Riley, the alcoholic, was considered a no-good in ?Greenfield during much of his early life, but he was not àreviled. à To understand this requires a brief review of the àtemperance movement in Indiana of the time. ? Whiskey was easily availability in the corn growing ?regions of Indiana where Riley grew up. Whiskey was a corn ?product after all. Liquor traffic was alwasy a source of ?revenue to Hancock County from the founding of the county. ?The first meeting of the county's government, through its ?board of commissioners, was held April 7, 1828 and the first ?license to sell liquor was granted by them less than a month ?later. As the years went along, whisky was sold not just at ?saloons but also in grocery stores. Every home had supplies. ?Children drank whisky and it was a popular medicine used for àcolds or pain reduction. à In the 1860's movements to control alcoholism, then an ?epidemic, began. Citizens began to remonstrate against the ?granting of licenses to sell whiskey. Reuben Riley and ?Josaeph B. Atkison were usually the two Greenfield lawsyers àwho represented the remonstrators. à As Riley entered manhood, the temperance battle against ?alcohol use reached the level of a crusdae, just as James àWhitcomb Riley, was firmly establsihed as an alcoholic. ? A Ladies' Temperance Alliance was organized at ?Greenfield's Methodist Episcopal churcch in 1874. The goal àwas to obtain pledges of Hancock County men not to drink ?intoxicating liquors. Other meetings were held in area ?churches and soon the ladies began visiting liqour ?establsihments causing many of them to close or else begin àserving sodas. Lists were made of persons who had signed the àpledge and circulated. Persons applying for liquor licenses àwere hounded into withdrawing them. Prosecutions were ?sought of intoxicated persons or any proprietor who served àliquor to an intoxicated person. As stated elsewhere, Riley àhimself was prosecuted for intoxication. PErsons running for ?office were screened to ensure they were not subject to ?intoxication. The local bar was invited to a meeting and the ?demand was made that none represent alcoholic interests or ?the intoxicated and sign a pledge to that effect but the ?majority of the members refused. Mass meetings were held in ?the movement and among the local speakers against intoxicants ?was Reuben Riley, the poet's father. Richman described ones ?one March 7, 1874 at the Greenfield Christian Church. Later ?in the 1870's Red Ribbon Societies were organized in which ?persons who had signed the "pledge" wore red ribbons. ?Another temperance group wore "blue ribbons." A county ?convention was organized of the Christian Temperance Union in ?1879. Temperance picnics and the like were sponsored. A ?"secret" organization also spread devoted to terrorist àtactics for the cause bragging of "cells'in every township. àThe only saloon in New Palestine was burned to the ground àduring this period by such a secret "cell." à It was in the mood of a county with such temperance àactivity that James Whitcomb Riley was often found drunk in àdifferent places around the city. ? Reuben Riley, the poet's father, and remonstration ?attorney, refused to assist his son under any such ?circumstances. Nor would the "Captain" pay fines or bonds ?when the poet was arrested and charged with public ?intoxications during his youth. The Riley family was greatly ?ashamed of the poet. Stories are told of Riley sneaking into ?the home, led by the hand up to his bedroom to sleep off a ?drunk, by his little sister, Mary, fifteen years his junior. ?The two, Mary, who also suffered from alcoholism later in ?life, as well as the brother between them, Hum, often relied ?upon each other in a world hostile to them because of their àpropensity to liquor overuse. ? As the early 70's proceeded, the temperance movement ?gained more and more force. Riley's father, Reuben Riley, ?became a leader of it further distancing himself from Riley ?because Riley was, after all, "wedded to Crestillomeem." ?Greenfield saw a great temperance movement arise in 1874. As ?a part of this movement, mass meetings of citizens were ?called. One such meeting was sponsored by the Temperance ?Alliance, a ladies' organization, held in the Methodist ?Episcopal Church on Sunday evening, March 8, 1874. The ?church was filled to overflowing with hundreds of people and ?many of the lawyers of the town were present. At one point in ?the meeting, the laides distributed the usual temperance ?pledges for the attendees to sign. In addition, the ladies ?had a special pledge they wished the attorneys to sign. This ?pledge contained an agreement not to defend any person ?charged with a violation of the liquor laws. When the ?majority of the lawyers refused to sign the pledge, the ?ladies called for them to explain themselves. The first to ?speak was the lawyer, Ephraim Marsh who stated "All criminals ?were entittled to a fair and impartial trial, and to be heard ?in person or by counsel, This being the case, I as a lawyer ?cannot conset to place myself in a position not to accept àemployment in any case at bar if I desire to do so." Another ?lawyer, Charles G. Offutt, responded to the call to sign the ?pledge saying, "I declined to sign it and I still decline. ?So far as I know but two memebrs of the bar have sign4ed it. ?I hold that an attorney has the right to engage in the ?defense of any man, woman, or child charged with a crime ?without being liable to just censure from any quarter. The ?fundamental law of the land declares that in all criminal ?prosecutions the accused shall have the right to be heard by ?himself and counsel, and that the presumption of innocense is ?in his favor. Sir, because a man is charged with a violation ?of law, be it the "Baxster bill" or any other, it doesn't ànecessarily follow that he is guilty, not by any means." ? As Offutt continued his reasons for not signing the ?pledge, his words reveal the attitude against alcoholics such àas Riley which then prevailed in Greenfield. ? "As far as the temperance question question is ?concerned, I think it is admitted by all candid men that ?temperance is right and intemperance wrong. It is not ?necessary that I should stand here and declaim against the ?evils of intemperance. All men everywhere admit it to be the ?great foe of mankind. The veriest wretch that ever drank ?destruction to his own soul will tell you that his course is ?not to be approved or followed. No man can engage int he use ?of intoxicating liquor to an excess, and not finally destroy ?his constitution. It shatters the physical man and lays the ?mind in ruins, and whatever others may say, I know that no ?man in this audience would more heartily rejoice over the ?success of any plan that would stay the fearful tide of ?intemperance sweeping over the land, than I. And, sir, I ?think this is themost favorable time for the ladies to ?accomplish great good. No political party, as my friend, ?Captin Ogg, has said, is opposing their movements. Good ?people everywhere are wishing them success, and if they go ?about their work in the spirit of Christianity, love and ?kindness their efforts may be crowned with success. It won't ?do to proscribe men or treat them harshly for their views, ?but reason with them, treat them kindly, convince them that ?it is to their interests to be sober and upright, that the ?good of society demands that they should give up a business ?which yields only pverty, disgrace and crime, and, my word àfor it, your success will be great." ? It is said that this lawyer's speech was roundly ?applauded at the ladies temperance meeting in this year àbefore the community consented to other mob action, the àbreaking in of the Hancock County Jail, and the lynching of àthe black taken out from there at the county fairgrounds. ?Despite the castigation and shame cast on alcoholics such as ?Riley, they were not to be the subject of violent personal àattacks. The bars they frequented were. The sellers of àalcoholic products were. The talk was much against them. àNone were, however, lynched. One wonders where Messers Marsh ?and Offutt were when the black man, William Kemmer, was ?lynched the next year with their lofty beliefs in rights to ?trial, an attorney, a presumption of innocence and a ?semblance of a right to defense.
itcomb àRiley was a young man who "itched" to move right then. ? Whether he knew it or not, James Whitcomb Riley was on a ?quest to understand the meaning of homelife as well as to ?understand his Greenfield home where he had lived in his ?youth, a home he had now flown. His quest would cause him to ?write Ftv![1] °DDNNNPRINTERàƒ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ó‚Å‚Ă‚Ï‚Î‚Ä‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃł̉‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚
à‚ Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚È‚Á‚΂ǂɂ΂ǂ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ë‚Å‚Í‚Í‚Å‚̉‚ à à One does not imagine Riley's first great encounter with ?Crestillomeem in his wanderings about Indiana after his ?mother's death as being more than social drinking with àoccasional more severe lapses. Crestillomeem was simply ?trying to take over his life. She had not succeeded in àkeeping him from marginal employments, pleasant associations àwith friends and moments with women on the run. Riley was àsurviving and maturing as a man. This perhaps did not exclude ?the thought that he might someday return to his hometown of ?Greenfield and live there. Perhaps he might conform to his àfather's wishes and even become a lawyer? à These thoughts were no doubt in his mind as the year à1875 dawned. Riley had returned to his hometown again by this àtime and seemed much more settled and likely to remain when ?another event happened which drove him away from his home àagain. àƒ àƒ Á‚ ‚È‚Á‚΂ǂɂ΂ǂ ‚×‚È‚É‚Ă‚È‚ ‚Ă‚È‚Á‚΂ǂłĂ ‚Á‚ ‚Ù‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂ǂ ‚Í‚Á‚΂§‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ à ? The second was the death of Kemmer which caused an àawareness that social institutions matter hugely. This àrevolution in the thouht of James Whitcomb Riley caused him ?to devote his life to the stage and missionarying for kenotic ?ideas. Racism, in particular, was a hated thing to him as ?was intolerance in any form for the humble people he had ?come to know in his travels with Crestillomeem. Riley wrote àin the poem "To Uncle Remus," à "The Lord who made the day and night, à He made the Black man and the White; à So, in like view, à We hold it true à That He hain't got no favorite." à à Although the life of James Whticmob Riley was tumultuous ?in many respects, the one great event of his life which ?fueled his flight into kenotic poetry was an event never ?mentioned in all of his poetry except his cryptic àautobiographical poem, Flying Islands. Riley simply stayed ?away from controversy in order to secure for himself a àstanding on which to make kenotic points for a public needing ?encouragement to live peacefully and "neighborly" with each àother. à à Jucklet (Aside) àTwigg-brebblets! but her Majesty hath speech àThat doth bejuice all metaphor to drip àAnd spray and mist of sweetness! à àCrestillomeem (Confusedly) à Where was I? àO ay! ... à... - That airy penalty àThe jocund Fates provide our love-lorn wights àIn this glad island: So for thrice three nights àThey spun th4e prince his lien and marked him pay àIt out (despite all warnings of his doom) àIn fast and sleepless search for her - and then àThey tripped his fumbling feet and he fell - UP! - àUp! - as 'tis writ - sheer past Heaven's flinching walls àAnd toppost cornices. - Up - up and on! - àAnd, it is grimly guessed of those who thus àFor such a term bemoan an absent love, àAnd so fall uipwise, they must needs fall on - àAnd on and on - and on - and on - and on! àHa! ha! à àJucklet à Quahh! but the prince's holden breath ?Must ache his throat by this! à ? Jucklet, or James Whitcomb Riley who survives to tell ?his story in minstrelcy, tells us of the metaphoric happening àof a hanging which could not have been otherwise described. ? The "princess" who "strangely went" as the result of ?this hanging was none other than himself, James Whitcomb ?Riley. He left Greenfield, Indiana, his hometown under the ?circumstance of a hanging which symptomized a horror in àAmerican life at the time which James Whictomb Riley took on àwith all of the energy of his fragile life thereafter through àhis writing of kenotic poetry. à The hanging to which we refer was one almost forgotten ?as a matter of history but of the ilk indelibly written in ?the annals of the American people during the Reconstruction ?period following the American Civil War. It was a typical ?example of not just racism but also the impulses of life ?which the poet felt deeply - the potential of persons acting àagainst the more natural tendency of love of others. à à‚ Ë‚Å‚Í‚Í‚Å‚̉‚ ‚È‚Á‚΂ǂɂ΂ǂ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ç‚̉‚łł΂Ƃɂł̀‚Ä‚ ‚̉‚Å‚Đ‚Ï‚̉‚Ô‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ àƒ É‚Î‚Ä‚Á‚΂Á‚Đ‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Ê‚Ï‚Ơ‚̉‚΂Á‚̀‚ à ? The Kemmer hanging was on the front page of the ?Indianapolis JOURNAL of Monday morning, June 28, 1875 under ?the huge headline, "Judge Lynch," A first sub-headline read, ?"Hanging of a Negro Ravisher by an Armed Mob.", with a second ?reading "Swift Punishment Meted Out to an Inhuman Fiend - ?Greenfield in a State of Wild Excitement." The article was ?attributed to information from an unnamed "Special ?Correspondent." Was it Riley? Later, the Journal was pressed ?for who this "correspondent" was but the newspaper never ?revealed the informer's name. The account differs from that àof the Hancock DEMOCRAT and so is quoted. ? This account reads in part, "...While Mr. Vaughn, a àfarmer, was at work in the fields, about a half a mile away, ?a Negro entered the house and deliberately outraged the ?person of the wife, who was at that time lying sick and ?defenseless on her bed, with no companion but her two-year ?old son. The burly brute entering the house, proceeded ?without a moment's hesitation to the commission of the awful ?crime, and escaped from the house just in time to avoid the ?husband, who had been summoned by his little son, who had ran ?toward him and attracted his attention....(Kemmer) was àovertaken in Rush County, and for the time being confined in ?the Rushville jail, but threats of lynching having been ?freely indulged in, he was removed to the a jail in ?Greenfield, the crime having been perpetrated within the ?confines of Hancock County. The people were in a state of ?wild excitement and demanded that an indictment be returned ?against the brute at once, that his trial and punishment ?might not be delayed an instant. But the authorities in ?their wisdom decided to wait till the indignation had ?subsided somewhat and as a consequence measures were taken ?with the utmost secrecy and dispatch to execute summary ?vengeance upon the prisoner. The quiet community was ?thoroughly aroused and a look of deep determination was on ?every face. Everybody knew something was on foot, but none ?could say who were engaged in it. The husband of the ?outraged woman was in a perfect frenzy that nothing could ?appease and every where he met with the spontaneous sympathy ?of good and true citizens who could only be worked up the ?commission of an unlawful act by some such an emergency as ?this, Mrs. Vaughn was lying at the very point of death from ?the effects of her injuries, and it was determined to rid the ?world of a monster ere his victim passed to the other shore. ?Accordingly on Friday night, a band of one hundred and sixty ?disguised men met at an appointed rendezvous between ?Rushville and Greenfield and without a sound marched toward ?the latter place, passing on their way long enough to take a ?vote as to whether their intended victim should be hung, ?burned or cut to pieces. With grim ferocity, forty men ?balloted for the cutting process and thirty-two for the ?burning, but eight-eight votes were cast for the less brutal ?yet equally certain means of transit out of the world. A ?squad of seventy remained on the outskirts to act as a ?reserve in case their services were needed while the ?remainder of the battalion moved silently in the direction of àjail wherein Kemmer was confined. ? A detail of twenty of the vigilants noiselessly effected ?entrance by means of an aperture in one of the windows and ?made their way to the sheriff's quarters, where a demand was ?made upon him for the keys to Kemmer's cell. The plucky ?office refused to deliver them but he was quickly overpowered ?and the keys were taken from him but as the invaders were to ?them they were of little value, and crowbar agency was ?resorted to with eminent success. Kemmer remained in his bed ?quietly until his door was opened when he sprang to his feet ?and with a heavy club, commend a furious battle for his life, ?striking right and left with destruction. The leader, a ?large and powerfully built man, received a terrific blow on ?the head but in a trice his assailant was disarmed, bloodily ?beaten into submission, bound and taken to a wagon and ?hastily carted to the fair-ground, the place designed for his ?execution. In "Floral Hall" a rude gallows was improvised by ?means of a rafter and noose, a very simple yet effective ?contrivance. The wagon containing Kemmer was then backed up ?under the rafter, the noose adjusted about his neck, and the àother end securely fastened to an immovable object. ? The wretch was then given a chance to say something for ?himself, but his sole response to an inquiry from the chief àwas "Men, you are doing wrong." ? "If that's all you have to say," was the angry reply, ?"the quicker you die the better," and at the word the wagon ?was drawn from under the ravisher's feet and he was left to ?die of strangulation, the shock not having been sufficient to ?break his neck. The rope was a new one and, with the heavy ?weight attached, stretched until Kemmer's great feet touched ?the earth but the ground was scooped out by a dozen willing àhands in less time than it takes to tell it. ? In twenty minutes the man was pronounced dead, and ?shortly thereafter the vigilants under orders from the chief, ?took the back track, but not until the score or so of ?citizens standing about had been ordered to go home and make ?no attempt to follow or ascertain their identity. The body ?was allowed to hang till morning, and when it was cut down ?the following verdict written on an envelope was found pinned àto his back: ? "It is the verdict of 160 men from Hancock, Shelby and ?Rush, that his life is inadequate to meet the demands of àjustice. ? The Coroner empanneled a jury Saturday and after hearing ?the evidence of all persons who claimed to have knowledge of ?the affair, returned a verdict in accordance with the facts àas above narrated. ? Kemmer is well known in Indianapolis where he has lived ?for several months and gained an unenviable reputation. ?together with a woman whom he claimed was his sister, he ?occupied a tenement owned by John E. Foundray in the ?northwestern part of the city. On the night previous to the ?day he committed the crime for hwhich he was hung, he stole a ?horse from Mr. Springer, an employee of Daggett & Co., àconfectioners, and left the city. à à‚ Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚È‚Á‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ă‚Ë‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Í‚Ï‚Ă‚̉‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Ö‚Å‚̉‚ӂɂς΂ Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚‚̀‚Á‚Ă‚Ë‚ ‚̀‚Ù‚Î‚Ă‚È‚É‚Î‚Ç‚ ‚ɂ΂ àƒ Ç‚̉‚łł΂Ƃɂł̀‚Ä‚ à ? The Hancock Democrat. William Mitchell, Editor, àGreenfield, Ind. July 1, 1875. ?"The Forcible Hanging of the Negro Man, Kemmer for the Rape àof Mrs. Vaughn," ? "In the Democrat of last week, we published an account ?of the ravishing of Mrs. Vaughn, wife of Wm. N. Vaughn, of ?Blue River township, by a negro man named William Kemmer, and ?his subsequent arrest in Rush county, and legal transfer to ?this county. It is now our duty to record the summary death ?at the hands of a large number of outraged but unknown ?citizens of Rush, Shelby and Hancock on Saturday morning ?last, and we will endeavor to discharge that duty without ?unnecessary varnish or sensational literature, keeping as ?near the facts of the summary proceeding as possible, àconsidering the secrecy of the transaction. ? At about 12:30 A.M. on Saturday morning, June 26, 1875, ?a party of armed and masked men, numbering about 125, quietly ?and orderly entered our town from the East and without ?unnecessary preliminaries surrounded the new jail building. ?An entrance from the front and south doors was soon and ?easily effected by probably twenty-five of the party. Once ?in the building, the next step was to get the keys of the ?jail house. Search was made for the room in which Mr. ?Thomas, the Sheriff and jailor, was sleeping. This was soon ?found by the answer of Mr. Thomas to the demand for ?admission, as his voice was probably well known. To this ?demand Mr. Thomas positively and persistently refused. ?Seeing that he could not be roused to depart from a sworn ?duty, the necessary means were soon brought to bear to open ?the door by force. This was easily done, as it was a pine ?door, and the splinters flew in every direction in the room. ?Mr. Thomas was soon face to face with an armed, masked, and ?of course, unknown lot of men, who resolutely and ?determinedly demanded the keys of the jail and to whose ?demand Thomas as resolutely refused to surrender the keys. ?He was informed that they did not desire to injure him or the ?building, and that they did not want to be injured ?themselves; but that they would have the keys or they would ?go through the walls of the jail They wanted the ?incarcerated negro, had come for him and would have him at ?all hazards. Thomas still refused and stood in silence ?before his armed and powerful opponents. Seeing that he would ?not surrender, he was caught and forced back against the wall ?where he was soon relieved of the coveted keys. Once in their ?possession, the object of the mission seemed half ?accomplished; but they did not know they had the right keys, ?and if so, they were uncertain how to use them. Thomas was ?then asked if they were the right keys, but he said not a ?word, but stood silent and mute as a marble statue. The next ?move was to get him to go down and open the doors leading to ?the object of their midnight mission; but this was stoutly ?refused. Then he was taken up by four of the most stalwart ?men in the room and carried head first down the front stairs. ?Thomas now began to feel his oats, and said it was useless to ?try to force him to do that which a plain violation of his ?official duty, and he emphasized it by saying that he would ?be d-d if he would. Satisfied that they were losing time on ?Thomas, they sent him back to his room, saying that they ?would endeavor to open the fail themselves. There are two ?separate locks to the doors one of which opens out and other ?in. A little practice soon resulted in the opening of these ?doors. They were now in the main part of the jail, but there ?was another bolt to throw before the prisoner could be ?reached, and this they did not at first understand, for they ?forced by main strength and crowbars the upper fastening of ?the cell door. When this bolt was broken off, the lower bolt ?not being damaged, it looks as if some one had pulled the ?lever below that operates the bolt above. While the men were ?working at the door, our information is, but we have no idea ?that it is mere guess work, that the negro lay still on his ?bed on the lower bunk. When the cell door was thrown back, ?the same authority says, and equally creditable, that the ?negro sprang forward and leveled two of his assailants. It ?is probably that by this time he was in the hall aiming for ?the door on the west of the cells, which leads to the lower ?floor of the jail. At this point it is very probable the ?negro was knocked senseless by some of the men in which ?condition he was securely bound, taken below and placed in a ?spring wagon standing at the south door of the jail. It is ?not true that the negro had a bar of iron in his cell. The ?bar of iron alluded to and found in the negro's cell the next ?morning, was evidently taken there by one of the masked me, ?as, after the negro was locked up for the night, it was ?standing outside the jail part of the building. The negro ?was a very powerful and physically courageous man, and with ?such an implement for defense, he would have bloody work for ?at least some of the men. The statement of its presence in ?the cell is merely sensation and coined in the brain of some ?reporter to lengthen out his piece to regular city limits. àBut we must return to our narrative. ? In possession of the subject of their search, and seeing ?him securely tied and lying in the bottom of the wagon and ?surrounded by a few of their trusty friends, the masked men ?gave vent to their feelings by repeated shouts of apparent ?joy. The leader of their party then gave the word to move on ?as they had entered the town in regular order and in true ?military style. The order was speedily and quietly executed ?and the march of death was commenced for this victim of a ?hellish and unbridled lust. Around the jail building the ?solemn procession moved toward Main street and approaching ?which street the negro began to mourn and make piteous ?appeals to his Master above whose laws he had so cruelly and ?wantonly violated. Turning into Main street, the procession ?moved silently toward the east, followed by a rear guard to ?keep off all intruders. Reaching the toll-house, the ?procession turned to the south when the Fair Grounds was soon ?reached, into which the procession moved with unerring àprecision toward the south end of the old Floral Hall, as if ?it had been previously selected for the expiation of the ?criminal's evil and outrageous deed of crime. The ?preparation for the last act of the tragedy was soon ?completed, by the fastening of a rope to the joists of the àhall. A neat and judicious hangman's knot was soon place at àthe other end, and the wagon in which the doomed man lay was àbacked under. Standing between the certainties of earth and ?the uncertainties of the future, with the dark waters of ?death in full view to the eyes of him who was soon to pass ?over, the guilty culprit was asked if he had anything to say, ?and his reply was..." Men, you are doing a great wrong!" ?which he repeated several times. He was asked if he had ?nothing more to say: if not the end was near. Saying nothing ?more, the wagon was driven from under, and William Kemmer, ?the negro ravisher, danced an air jig suspended between ?heaven and earth. Thus ended the career of an evil and ?corrupt scoundrel, whose vicious tastes and unbridled lust ?brought him a just and ignominious death. After hanging ?until he was dead and beyond the reach of the pains and pangs ?of this world, a placard, written upon the glued side of an ?envelope was pinned upon his breast by some one who fully ?understood the use and force of his mother tongue, from which àwe made the following copy: ?"- It is the verdict of one hundred and sixty men from ?Hancock, Shelby and Rush that his life is inadequate to the àdemands of justice." ? Though we are not apologists for mob law,; yet, from our ?knowledge of the terrible crime committed by this demon in ?human form upon the person of a good but weak and frail ?woman, the wife a most excellent citizen, well and favorably ?known in this community, we say amen to the above verdict. ?Though the taking of the life of the miserable miscreant is a ?violation of our written law, we feel, and so ought every ?citizen who puts a correct estimate upon the sacredness and ?inviolability of our household idols, that his death, under ?all the surrounding circumstances, was but a poor return for ?the great wrong he had done, and that the motive that ?prompted the men, who did the work was the legitimate out- ?cropping of the highest promptings of the human heart. No ?crime is so great and harrowing o the mind of man as the ?raping of the innocent, the pure and the weak, and no ?punishment known to our laws, is commensurate with the ?demands of the justice that invariably wells up in the ?breasts of all right thinking people. The protection of the ?weak from the encroachments of the strong, and the virtuous ?and pure from the lecherous hand of the depraved of our human ?race, is the mission of all good citizens, whether by the àmodern jurisprudence or that practiced in Mosaic times, ?when "an eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth" was the rule ?of action. The delays and uncertainties of our laws, coupled ?with numerous technicalities of construction and decision ?through which the guilty so often escape just and condign ?(sic) punishment for crimes against society, must stand àresponsible for that great leveler of all our laws - àthe tornado of public indignation, commonly called Mob Law. ?It is to be hoped that never again in the history of our ?county will there be even a seeming necessity for the àexercise of this dangerous practice. à When life was pronounced extinct, some one in the masked ?crowd rose and announced in slow and measured tones, in àsubstance as follows: à "The act just committed was done in no spirit of bravado ?or malice, but to vindicate, in a small degree, an outrage ?upon an innocent and unprotected woman, and to give ?protection in the future to your wives, as well as mine; that ?if any one, be he officer or citizen, divulge the secrets of ?this night he shall suffer (pointing to the suspended negro) àin the same way." à With this benediction, the crowd was dispersed from the àFair Ground and the inanimate form of William Kemmer was left àsuspended in mid air, in the darkness and gloom of the night, ?to be gazed at in the morrow's sun by an indiscriminate ?multitude, young and old, in not one of whom could be ?discovered a single sign of pity or remorse. So perished ?William Kemmer for a crime that ought to be unknown in our àland of liberty, law and intelligence. ? In conclusion, we desire to say to our friends in the àcountry, that the crowd of masked me who hung Kemmer was, so àfar as we are enabled to judge by conversation with those who ?saw them, sober and orderly in their action, and that they ?were certain, beyond any doubt, that the negro man was the àidentical person who committed the outrage upon Mrs. Vaughn. à Coroner's Inquest over the Dead Body of William Kemmer. ?On Saturday morning, January 26, 1875, Harrison I. Cooper, àCoroner of Hancock County, hearing that the dead àbody of a negro man was suspended in the old Floral Hall àon the Fair Ground, east of Greenfield, repaired to the ?scene with a dray to remove the body to town. He found the àbody suspended by the neck with a small cotton cord doubled ?and looking quite natural. The mouth and eyes were closed, ?and, beyond a slight hemorrhage at the nose, the man looked àas if nothing unusual had happened. The cord around the neck ?was sunk beneath the skin, but so far as could be seen the ?skin was not broken. Two small holes in the scalp on the àback of the head were visible, but they evidently did not do ?much harm, beyond a stun at the time of being made, as the ?skull was not broken. The Coroner cut him down, placed him ?on the dray and moved him to town, leaving the noose still àaround his neck, and with which he was buried. He was placed ?in a coffin at the undertaking establishment of Wills and ?Pratt, where he remained during the day, being visited by ?thousands of citizens and strangers. Some difficulty was ?experienced in getting a place to deposit his remains, his ?father, at Carthage, having refused to a special messenger àfrom the Coroner to have anything to do with them. Not being ?a citizen of Greefield, he could not be interred in the New ?Cemetery without the payment of the required fee, two ?dollars. There was no one to advance the money, and Mr. àCooper had to look elsewhere for a place to deposit the body ?of Kemmer. About dark the box was placed in a wagon, and the ?Coroner, and the grave-digger, Buffalo Bill, it was driven to ?the county poor farm, where the remains of William Kemmer, ?the negro ravisher, were deposited about 11 p.m. in their àlast resting place, "unwept, unhonored, and unsung." à àƒ Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ù‚Å‚Á‚̉‚ ‚±‚¸‚·‚µ‚ ׂȂł΂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚ׂÁ‚Ó‚ ‚²‚µ‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚²‚¶‚ ‚ς΂ ‚Ï‚Ă‚Ô‚Ï‚Â‚Å‚̉‚ ‚·‚Ô‚È‚ à à The brief events prior to this hanging permit us to àsee how crucial the event was in the life of the poet. ?In early 75, we find James Whitcomb Riley, at 25, finally ?settling down to become the small-town Hoosier lawyer that ?his father wished him to be. In the year 1875, Riley's father ?insisted that he undertake legal studies. Riley said, "My ?father wanted me to study law and I honestly tried, but I ?forgot it faster than I read it." While his father was away ?in Court, Riley wrote poetry such as "If I Knew What Poet's ?Know" "An Old Sweetheart of Mine" and "Squire Hawkins' àStory." à January of this year finds him writing casually for àa local Greenfield newspaper, the Greenfield NEWS, and àpainting signs for local commercial businesses. The next àmonth this newspaper was sold to a buyer who changed its àname to the Republican. March found James Whitcomb Riley ?consenting to join his father in law practice. The ostensible ?reason was that the renamed newspaper, The REPUBLICAN, folded ?due to mismanagement. Riley was out even this scant local àpress to write for. ? As the opportunity of writing ended, Riley succombed to ?his father's pleas to join him in his law practice. In the ?evenings he undertook trips to "lecture" in nearby towns, but ?not so much. This was commonly done in those days by ?"reading" the law. Now, as he entered the first days of ?maturity, James Whitcomb Riley, finally took the steps to ?enter a professinal life as a lawyer. Not only this, but he ?also began to conform his life to small town norms in other ?ways. In March, he became temporary secy of Methodist church ?sunday school and did chalk illustrations while reading law ?in his father's law office. He was seeing a young teacher, ?Clara Bottsford, at the time. One might have expected each ?step thereafter to head directly into the life of a lawyer àwith family and eventual community standing. à The "jester" in in James Whitcomb Riley was not àsubdued entirely. James Whitcomb Riley was blessed with ?a social capactity to make friends. He thoroughly enjoyed ?and pursued companionships with others of his age. During ?this Spring, Riley, with one of his friends, Oliver Moore, àput on small entertainments with Riley billing himself ?as a "Delineator and Caricaturist" with Oliver Moore at towns àincluding Anderson. ? Nor did Riley confine himself entirely to the law during ?the days of this momentous Spring of his 25th year. We are ?aware that he painted a sign for the A.J. Banks Building in ?downtown Greenfield in this April and also one of his poems, ?"A Destiny" was published in Hearth and Home, a Connecticut ?newspaper which took the work of new and promising authors. àNevertheless, a life of conformity loomed. ?Reuben had been able to ensconce his "jester" son to a desk àin his law office. à One can now see James Whitcomb Riley on his way into àhis father's legal profession. Reuben was the trainer of many ?young lawyers. The list of those entered on the roll of the àHancock County Bar Association on the Motion of Reuben Riley ?is very extensive. Reuben taught young men the law. Law ?schools were not established in Indiana at this time. àBarristers became lawyers by "reading" with older lawyers ?such as Reuben Riley. Now James Whitcomb Riley had finally àbegun the process. à It is said that James Whticomb Riley was not given in to ?his father's apprenticeship into the law without a great ?struggle. Ofyten, when James Whitcomb Riely was expected to àbe reading Blackstone, his book was laid down while his pen àwas busy at poetry. One of the poems written in his father's ?law office during this period of apprenticeship was the àfamous "An Old Sweetheart of Mine" which would one day àbecome the most commonly known poem in America. à The days of apprenticeship continued on through late àwinter, Spring, and on into the summer until one of the ?most telling details of the history of the poet's hometown àoccurred, the hanging of James Kemmer. à After the hanging of James Kemmer, James Whitcomb àRiley "strangely went" from town. à Only his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands àof the Night" explains why. à This hanging required him to leave. à So began another period of wandering which continued àfor the next two years. à In late 1877, Riley, fired from his job on the Anderson ?DEMOCRAT for perpetrating a hoax poem claimed to be written ?by Edgar Allan Poe called `Leonainie,' took up travel with a ?temperance lecturer who was coincidentally also a committed àalcoholic with numerous public intoxication arrests named àLuther Benson. Benson lectured on the evils of alcohol to ?great temperance audiences. Riley went with Benson on tour àof Northern Indiana after Riley's `Leolainie' hoax was ?exposed. On their way home from the tour, Benson and Riley ?stopped at Kokomo where the Editor fo the Kokomo DISPATCH, ?Oscar Henderson noted, "Luther Benson and J.W. Riley - ?`Leolainie' - honored The DISPATCH with a pleasant call ?yesterday. They were jsut returning from a lecturing tour in ?Northern Indiana. Riley promises a poem for these columns at àno distant day." ? The trip with Benson inspired Riley: Why not lecture as ?Benson did? Soon Riley arranged a platoform "reading" with ?the friendly assistance of B.N. Parker, editor of the New àCastle MERCURY, who had known Riley for some time. ? About the time that "Luther Benson" was reported to have ?fallen again in the press, Riley performed successfully at ?New Castle. Riley thought to "read" at Kokomo too. His ?career as a reader was begun. In Riley's biographical ? edition of his poems, he tells of his boyhood "in a ?dreamy way" where he "did a little of a number of things ?fairly well - sung, played the guitar and violin, acted, ?painted signs and wrote poetry,"all of which was "too ?visionary" for his father who settled him down to reading the ?law. Then comes the confession, "But finding that political ?economy and Blackstone did not rhyme and the study of law was ?unbearable, I slipped out of the office one summer afternoon ?when all outdoors called imperiously, shook the last dusty àpremise from my head and was away."
y." ? d was away." ? bullets struck into the Negro man's ?flesh and he made his escape into Rush County. Adam White was ?unable to get assistance there from the Carthage town ?authorities until he could get to Greenfield to have a ?warrant sworn out since the alleged crime had been committed àin Hancock County. à But what was the likelihood of a conviction for rape? ?The news account o F0ó
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àƒ Á‚΂ ‚Å‚Ó‚Ă‚Á‚Đ‚Å‚ ‚ɂ΂Ԃς ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Ä‚É‚Ó‚Ă‚̉‚Å‚Đ‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚ ‚łւł΂Ԃ à ? In mid-June, 1874, Riley decided to try a program of ?readings and instrumental music outside Greenfield with his ?friend, John Moore. They chose Kokomo as a location. John ?borrowed the Prince Albert coat needed for wardrobe from the ?store of his father. The first night's show was totally ?disastrous and such a crushing failure financially that the ?two were unable to pay for their overnight lodging. The bill ?was paid for by painting the next day. This truncated tour ?is mentioned in the Hancock DEMOCRAT. Riley was friendly with àits editor who reported in its June 24th issue, "Every place àthey have visited they met with great success." ? Upon returning home, Riley found Greenfield in a great àstate of excitement. It was the time when Kemmer was hung àand the man's body, with noose around the neck, was displayed àfor viewing before all the county. ? There is an angst about living in what one considers an àunjust society. One loses the feeling of security that life ?is properly regarded. One challenges all standards. There is ?no place for encouragement when there is suspicion about the ?social ideals which motivate one's friends and acquaintances. ?One wants to "run" from such a society to avoid the distress ?of life under hostile social norms. To stay means social ?rejection, loss of status, and counterattack for having àcountervailing views about the justice of the place. ? Riley - as a sensitive person with humanistic ideas - ?sought escape after hanging of Kemmer. Distress comes when ?standards are not just too difficult to attain, but also when ?they seem wrong. Vulnerbility to distress comes about due to ?shame about a feeling impotence to cope with a problem and ?inability to share the approval of an actionof others. One ?does not "run" to become righteous. One runs to avoid a life ?of shame. Shame comes about when one violates the standards ?of the family and society. It was shameful for Riley to see ?wrong when Kemmer was lynched. The citizens of the town àthought the action rightful. One escapes to avoid shame. à à ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚ׂ̉‚ɂԂɂ΂ǂ ‚‚łƂς̉‚Å‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚È‚Á‚΂ǂɂ΂ǂ ‚ à ? 1875 was the year of "A Dreamer" which appeared in ?Hearth and Home Magazine. Ik Marvel, its Editor, not only ?accepted it but sent Riley a check of the first money he ?received for a poem. Riley did not remember with it was six ?or eight dollars. In a letter dated April foolest, 1875, àRiley wrote: à ?Dear Bro. ...I have had and still have plenty to do in ? signwork -I've got old Greenfield spangled off like a àcircus clown... ? I am improved to some extent in a moral particular. I ?am a confirmed Sunday-school goer - Yes! did Secretary ?business for two Sundays, and blackboard lesson - You just ?ought to see me clothe a blackboard in artistic raiment and ?yaller chalk - Last Sunday's was as good as a magic-lantern àshow to the children. The trustees talk of an admission fee. ? Well, here's the "best of the wine"! I yesterday ?received a letter, with check enclosed, paying for poem àpublished in Hearth & Home of April 10. ? I want you to secure for me a few extras as they cannot àbe had here. Write to me and "told me all about it." Jim ? After this fact, he says, "I thought my fortune made. ?Almost immediately I sent off another contribution, whereupon ?to my dismay, came this reply `The management has decided to ?discontinue the publication and hopes that you will find a ?market for your worthy work elsewhere." Many months without àmagazine publication followed. à àƒ Å‚Ó‚Ă‚Á‚Ђɂ΂ǂ ‚Ç‚̉‚łł΂Ƃɂł̀‚Ä‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚ à ? During the "dark half" of 1875 after his reporting of àthe Kemmer black lynching and his separation from àhis married lover, Riley wrote relatively little poetry. àNellie's departure from Greenfield as well as his own àwere horribly wreching events. Crestillomeem became his ?comforter. He escaped with Crestillomeem and Doc Townsned, a ?"patent medicine vendor," who came to Greenfield with his ?"Wizard Oil Co. wagon," and Riley left. àƒ àƒ Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Â‚Ó‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Æ‚Á‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ô‚É‚Í‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚΂łłĂ à à One of the strangest absences in the cast of characters àin Riley's autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the àNight," is his father. AEo, Riley's mother, occupies a great ?role in the poem. She is the sainted force of great àinspiration to Riley in the poem. The father, Reuben Riley, àis "zero." à Riley's father is, as always, a great enigma not just to àRiley but to the world at large. Riley knows him as taking a àswig of whiskey before he heads to court to try a case as a ?lawyer and yet he is the great orator of the town who ?addresses temperance audiences with calls for bans of ?whiskey. In George Richman's Èéóôị̈ù ïæ Èáîăïăë Ăïơîôù¬ ?Éîäéáîá we learn Reuben Riley spoke at the Greenfield ?Christian Church on March 7, 1874 at a mass meeting on ?temperance urging the town's ladies to visit the town's many ?saloons to try to convince their patrons to go back home to àtheir families. à Reuben Riley was the lawyer for the temperance movement ?in Greenfield, Indiana. He was a great booster of the Songs ?of Temperance. In temperance fights of the 1859 and following ?David VanLaningham, another member of the Hancock County Bar, ?represented the the liquor interests, and Reuben A. Riley is ?almost always appearing as the attorney for the ?remonstrators. How strange it is that the majority of Reuben àRiley's children were alcoholics. à Liquor was always a sore point between father and son. ?The father took great part in public airing of the issue àwhile the son merely drank. à Then again we know that Reuben Riley was a strong Mason. àHe went through the chairs of the Greenfield lodge early in ?his career. Some have suggested that the group of masked men ?who stormed the county jail and drug out the black man Kemmer ?accused of raping the white woman as coming from that order ?in some capacity. If Reuben Riley participated in this ?event, or even simply stood by, what could his son have ?thought of the man who taught him as a child and above all to ?honor Abraham Lincoln's legacy. Reuben Riley, the great ?idealist, the orator who roamed the State of Indiana in 1860 ?speaking for Lincoln's election, who went to Chicago to the ?Republican convention of 1860 that nominated Lincoln, serving ?as Indiana's Lincoln Elector in the Electoral College in àDecember, 1860...could this figure have turned into some ?kind of hypocritical or irrelevant person to Riley? àApparently so. ? Whatever...however...hypocricy or not...Riley did not ?include him as a cast figure - or an influence on his life - àin his great autobiographical poem. à àƒ Á‚ ‚Ó‚Ô‚Ơ‚Ä‚É‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Á‚Ö‚Ï‚É‚Ä‚Á‚Î‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚̉‚Á‚Ă‚É‚Ó‚Ô‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ô‚É‚Ă‚Ó‚ à ? Even when Riley later became famous, Krung eschewed ?politics. Was this too a rejection of what his father had àbecome at this point in his life? His father had been the ?great Lincolnesque lawyer of the town. Now, however, we find ?in the Hancock County History of George Richman that Reuben ?Riley is present at a meeting on Dec. 23, 1876 called to ?express feelings that Samuel J. Tilden and Thomas A. ?Hendricks should be declared elected President and Vice ?President of the United States instead of Rutherford Hayes ?and William A. Wheeler, the "Lincoln" ticket attempting to ?continue the resettlement of the South into Lincoln's view ?of toleration with all races and religions. A resolution of ?the meeting calling the election fruaduent and tainted by ?violence and manipulation was even noted as being drafted by àReuben Riley. ? Thomas Hendricks, the Vice Presidential candidate who ?Reuben Riley now was aiding, was perhaps the greatest ?opponent of the policies of Abraham Lincoln in the nation. ?His invective in speeches was often decidedly racist against ?blacks. Now we find Reuben Riley declaring he should be Vice ?President. Reuben Riley was a confusing person to figure at àthis point in his life. ? Throughout his life, Riley had great suspicion about the ?political process. Remembering the lynching incident from his ?young manhood, Riley was suspicious of aroused people. ?Settled conditions did less to threaten the vulnerable of his ?Hoosier people. Also he stayed away from politics because it ?was a realm which had captured his father's love and taken àthe attention of his father away from him and perhaps had àled his own father into great confusion. ? Racism in Indiana was not an isolated incident ?especially during times of political contest. Greenfield's ?black community were Republican and at the time the county ?voted basically Democrat. It was a rare election in which ?Greenfield's blacks were not harassed in some way. In the ?1872 camppaign, a political speaker of the Democrat parties, ?Thomas A. Hendricks, came to Greenfield to speak for Greeley ?and evoked racism according to George Knox, Greenfield's ?black barber as stated in his memoirs, saying "he could stand ?everything but one thing and that was the "nigger." Shortly ?after the black lynching in Greenfield in 1875, in the 1876 ?presidential campaign, clubs were organized, Grant and ?Lincoln clubs by the Republicans and Tilden and Hendricks ?clubs by the Democrats. On the Monday before the election in ?November, the Democrat Club held a county rally numbering by ?George Knox's estimate about 25,000 and the club members ?gathered in Greenfield shouting things like "Hurrah for ?Tilden and Hendricks!" and occasionally "God damn the ?Republicans and nigger lovers." Wagons were decorated with ?slogans like, "Clean the Radicals out," "Clean the black ?Republicans out," "White husbands or none." George Knox ?remembered a group coming into his barbershop and one jumping ?up on his stove and Knox asked him to get off and was told, ?"Don't give me any of your black sass." Some took razors and ?cut Knox's leather straps and another kicked his dye stand ?over. Knox stated, "I had gone through the army, passed ?through exciting times, had experienced the quick terror of ?the midnight whisper, "the enemy is upon us" (during the ?Civil War in Northern service), but even on the battle field ?of Mission Ridge, that bloody spot, where men were being ?killed in platoons all around me, heads and legs torn off, ?cannon and minnie balls flying as thick as hail, at no time ?did I suffer in feelings, as on that awful day." (Slave and àFreedman, page 105) à George Knox was James Whitcomb Riley's great friend and ?employer of his youth. To have his father side with the ?Thomas Hendricks in this election must have been devestating àfor the young poet. ? The exodus of the blacks from the broken South continued ?on. On one occasion in January 1880, a carload of blacks ?stopped in Greenfield. Knox remembered a colored man coming àto him at his barbership with an envelope in his hand ?saying he had "twenty-seven head." When Knox asked of what, ?he explained there were twenty-seven of his people at the ?depot. The letter was an invoice for railroad passage àaddressed to a "John Jones." By the time Knox got there ?a crowd of spectators, some of them armed farmers, had ?gathered threatening the group of homeless blacks of every ?age wearing scraps of clothing. The townsmen were worked up ?that blacks were going to take over the county. Knox kept ?them at the depot that night and a young white store-keeper ?of Greenfield, Oliver Moore, donated food to feed them. His àstore was burned down. Quarters were later fround for them in àan empty building until they could be settled. à Riley wrote his "Plantation Hymn" to celebrate the faith ?of the black community of Greenfield in the welter of racism ?against them. "Hear dat rum'lin in de sky!; Hol' fas', ?brudders, till you git dah!, O, dat's de good Lord walkin' ?by, Hol' fas, brudders, till you git dah!" Riley's sympathies ?were with his friend, George Knox, and the home-seeking àblacks of his era. ? Knox recalled a local newspaper editorializing against ?him for helping these folk accusing him of bringing into the ?county the poor lazy "niggers" for the purpose of taxing the ?white people to take care of them and that they (the whites) àshould withdraw their patronage from his barbershop. à à PLANTATION HYMN à àHear dat rum'lin in de sky! à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! àO, dat's de good Lord walkin' by, à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! à àƒ Chorus à Mahster! Jesus! à You done come down to please us, à And dahs de good Lord sees us, à As he goes walkin' by! à àSee dat lightnin' lick his tongue? à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! à`Spec he taste de song 'ut de angels sung - à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! à àDe big black clouds is bust in two, à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! àAnd dahs de'postles peekin' frue, à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! à àKnow dem angels ev'ry one, à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! àKase dey's got wings and we'se got none, à Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah! à àƒ Á‚ ‚̉‚Å‚Ă‚Ï‚Ö‚Å‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚ׂÁ‚Ù‚ ‚Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚łł΂Ƃɂł̀‚Ä‚ à àTo: John Skinner from Lima, Ohio October 7, 1875. ?Dear John: After my long waiting your letter came at ?last....."I tho't this place without an equal in regard to ?its "increase in crime", but I must knock under for the ?present to old Greenfield. A saloon keeper was shot here ?last week and no particular stir made about it, nor the man ?missed...Day before yesterday we were furnished an entire ?`change of program' by our funny man - the one you know. ?They had a warrant for him and he run (sic) like a little man ?-the whole town ran after him. They wore him out at last and ?bro't him up a-standin'". He had seduced a girl here - a ?Miss Vananda - and not having compromise money enough, or a ?hankering after prison wall - he did what he ought to have ?been man enough to do without compulsion - married her. She àis fifteen and he eighteen and both in the family way. ? By the way there is a slashin' lot of girls here, and ?they do hold a man off too "purty". I have only made the ?acquaintance of two or three, and they're the very ones I ?didn't care to know, but I will make it Hot for 'em shortly: ?I'm handling "wires" now that'll fetch 'em. "Confound my ?time" "I stand in" with the best men of the town, and am ?rapidly growing in public favor - I'll be out in book form ?yet. I wish you were here to room with me at the bobbiest ?little boarding house in the world - everything is perfect ?even to the old girl, "the hostess." She wears a crutch, but ?I don't know how many of her legs are off. She capers under ?the jocund patronymic of "Aunt Jane" - everybody calls her àthat, so if she Aunt Jane who is she? Speaking of Boarding ?Houses - how's the Test House? I would like to strike old 13 ?to-night with its exchanged bed - I need something of that ?kind now, but I shall not excite your sensitive nature with ?visions of "sweet faces, rounded arms and bosoms prest to ?little harps of gold" not waken in the drowsy channels of ?your inmost soul, the fire of "Kisses sweet as those by àhopeless fancy feigned à On lips that are for others". ?To Mrs. Test give my especial regards, and thank her for ?remembering me so kindly. Tell Minnie I could be happy once ?again could I hear her one plaintive melody. I think of you ?often, and of the rare old times we had, and I still nurse a ?hope that we may have a grand Rehearsal of them again. Say ?to Angie that she haunts me (a casual romantic interest)..." àYours truly, Jim ?Give my love to George and Nell - not forgetting Jesse and àNett. à Apparently Riley left Greenfield under "sudden need" àabout a month after the Kemmer hanging. Riley was never àfar from newspaper reporting. Earlier in the year that Kemmer àwas hung Riley had edited and contributed to the Greenfield àCommercial and News. After those newspapers folded, Riley ?did occasional assignments for what had been the rival ànewspaper, the "Hancock Democrat." Minnie Belle Mitchell, ?wife of its later editor, recalled, Riley spending hours in ?the office of the "Hancock Democrat" where William Mitchell, ?the kindly old editor, sensing Riley's genius, would share ?with him a corner to write. The editor gave him assignments ?such as reporting current events or social events or writing ?advertisements for the local columns. Sometimes these would àend up rhymed. ? One can imagine that Riley may have contributed or àwritten the "Hancock Democrat" article detailing the events àof the lynching of Kemmer. If he witnessed the events, he ?might have lived precariously. The perpetrators would have àknown his name. When other detailed versions of the incident àbegan being leaked to other newspapers, Riley might well have àfelt the heat of suspicion directed at him. à àƒ ̀‚Å‚Á‚ւɂ΂ǂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ë‚Å‚Í‚Í‚Å‚̉‚ ‚̀‚Ù‚Î‚Ă‚È‚É‚Î‚Ç‚ ‚É‚Î‚Ă‚É‚Ä‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚ ‚‚łȂɂ΂Ă à ? Another letter to John Skinner - from Union City, Sept à14, 1876. ? At first he admits "dying of loneliness" striking ?Fortville after he joined the group at Greenfield. He must àhave had to leave very quickly and desperately. Then things àchanged for the better. à "I am having first rate times considering the boys I ?am with - they, you know, are hardly my kind, but they are ?pleasant and agreeable...We sing along the road when we tire ?of talking, and when we tire of that and the scenery, we lay ?ourselves along the seats and "dream the happy hours away", ?as blissfully as the time-honored "baby in the sugar trough." ?"I made myself thoroughly solid with "Doxy" (a playful ?patronymic I have given the proprietor) by introducing a ?blackboard system of advertising, which promises to be the ?best card out. I have two boards about 3 ft. by four, which ?- during the street concert - I fasten on the sides of the ?wagon and letter and illustrate during the performance and ?throughout the lecture. There are dozens in the crowd that ?stay to watch the work going on that otherwise would drift ?from the fold during the dryer portion of the Doctor's ?harangue. Last night at Winchester I made a decided ?sensation by making a rebus of the well-known lines from àShakespeare: - à "Why let pain your pleasure spoil, à For want of Townsend's Magic Oil?" ?with a life sized bust of the author, and at another time, a ?bottle of Townsend's Cholera Balm on legs, and a very bland ?smile in its cork, making the "Can't come it" gesture at the ?skeleton, Death, who drops his scythe and hour-glass and ?turns to flee. Oh: I'm stared at like the fat woman on the àside-show banner..." ? Riley talks about his departure from Greenfield being à"serious enough." à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ó‚Ơ‚ĂĂł΂ ‚Ä‚Å‚Đ‚Á‚̉‚Ô‚Ơ‚̉‚Å‚ ‚Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚łł΂Ƃɂł̀‚Ä‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Á‚΂ ‚Å‚Ä‚É‚Ô‚Ï‚̉‚É‚Á‚̀‚ à à After the lynching incident, the poet's small hometown ?went into a period of great anguish and self-scrutiny. Should ?the law condone the lynching? Obviously it had to since all ?of the county had either participated in it or done nothing ?about it. The attention of the State was focused on what the ?lynch mob had done. Self-righteously believing it had done ?the "right thing, the town drew its collective energy into ?internally defending its action. Any criticism within the ?town was dealt with. Anyone who claimed the town should not ?have lynched an "untried" man was suspicious. The town ?closed ranks against all dissenters. No one from the town ?was supposed to even talk to outsiders. We find an Editorial ?in the Hancock Democrat on July 15th condemning the fact that àsomeone has "broken" the code of silence about the conspiracy ?to hang Kemmer and talked to the Indianapolis newspapers. ?This Editorial demands the "Indianapolis Journal" to ?"surrender" the name of the Greenfied "traitor" who provided ?their information. The goal is to ensure that "all ?respectable people might not be contaminated by the presence àand society of this moral leper." ? Shortly after this Editorial we find Riley making a ?desparate departure from Greenfield on a medicine wagon àsimilar to his departure escapade with Doc McCrillus after àhis mother's death. à à à‚Ó‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚ ‚ł΂ɂǂ͂Á‚Ô‚É‚Ă‚ ‚̀‚ɂ΂łӂ ‚ɂ΂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚Ơ‚Ԃς‚ɂςǂ̉‚Á‚Đ‚È‚É‚Ă‚Á‚̀‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Í‚ ‚Á‚‚ςƠ‚Ô‚ ‚Á‚ àƒ È‚Á‚΂ǂɂ΂ǂ à Not only did Riley leave after the lynching of Kemmer, àbut also Riley's married friend, Nellie Cooley, soon left àGreenfield. ? Riley's poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," went ?through many editions and changes over Riley's life but in àthe 1892 book of it appear Riley's addition: à à(Initial lines by Crestillomeem, Riley's alcoholic self:) àƒ "Crestillomeem (Confusedly) à à Where was I? àO ay! - The princess went - she strangely went! - àE'en as I deemed her lover-princeling would àAs strangely go, were she not soon restored. - àAs so he did: - That airy penalty±À‚ àThe jocund Fates provide our love-lorn wights àIn this glad island: So for thrice three nights àThey spun the prince his lien and marked him pay àit out (despite all warnings of his doom) àIn fast and sleepless search for her - and then àThey tripped his fumbling feet²À‚ and he fell - UP!³À‚ - àUp! - as 'tis writ - sheer past Heaven's flincing walls àAnd topmost cornices. - Up - up and on! - àAnd, it is grimly guessed of those who thus àFor such a term bemoan an absent love, àAnd so fall upwise, they must needs fall on - àAnd on and on - and on - and on - and on! àHa! ha! àƒ Jucklet à à Quahh! but the prince's holden breath àMust ache his throat by this!..." à à 1. We do not know why Nellie Cooley left Greenfield. ?Was it because her husband and she decided to leave ?Greenfield as did Riley over the hanging of William Kemmer, ?or because her husband wished to remove her from ?Riley? A combination of many things? Life simply gives àus few easy answers to why people do what they do. ?2. Hanging by the neck. In this instance the mob that hung ?Kemmer after pulling him out of the Hancock County jail, àdrove the wagon out from under the black man. He fell "up" àto heaven. à3. Riley viewed death as "dropping upward." SEE: "Death," àcomposed contemporaneoulsy with "Flying Islands": "My breath àbursts into dust - I can not cry - I whirl - I reel and veer àup overhead, And drop flat-faced against - against - the sky à- Soh, bless me! I am dead!" à à‚ È‚Á‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ă‚Ë‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃق§‚Ó‚ ‚ς΂̀‚Ù‚ ‚̀‚Ù‚Î‚Ă‚È‚É‚Î‚Ç‚ à à As I drove by the site of the county fairgrounds of the ?1870's in this year as the 29th century closes, I could ?hardly imagine that I was looking at the place where masked ?men had lynched a black man for allegedly raping a white ?woman. But it was true. What is now a cornfield on ?Morristown Pike just south of the lane leading back to the ?Greenfield Country Club was once the Hancock County ?Fairgrounds, a scene of proud livestock shows and country ?entertainment. The deed from Samuel Milroy to the "Hancock ?Agricultural Society" was given March 9, 1863 and is recorded ?in Deed Record V, page 165 in the Office of the Recorder of ?Hancock County, IN. The eight acre tract served as the àcounty fairgrounds during the 1860's and 1870's. ? On this site a "Floral Pavilion" had been built by the àsociety for the ladies to display their floral bouquets, ?gardening produce and canning at the fair. Unfortunately àthis pavilion had burned in 1871 and was a ruins - but still àstanding - shortly after midnight June 26, 1875. On that date ?and at that time, the "old" Floral Pavilion achieved its most ?notorious use. It was around a joist of this building in ?ruins that the mob of masked men threw a cotton rope to hang ?the Negro man named William Kemmer. The rope was fashioned àinto a noose at its end tightly coiled around the black man's àthroat. ? The scene must have been eerie indeed as the men ?approached the fairgrounds that night. The hanging party came ?to the place surrounding a spring wagon drawn by a gray horse ?in which the Negro man who had been plucked out of the ?Hancock County Jail lay. According to observers the only ?light came from torches and oil street lamps "confiscated" by ?the mob as it rode through town in disciplined order. The ànight was pitch black. ? It seems impossible that the scene with bound man being ?fitted for hanging and piteously begging for his life in the ?midst of close to two hundred masked men is now merely a ?field filled with corn stubble since the crops have been ?harvested. The young Negro man of 23 was said to have been ?very muscular and powerful and when the mob broke into the ?Hancock County Jail to pull him out of his cell, it is said ?he first cringed in a lower bunk and then he put up quite a ?fight injuring several of the masked men until he had been ?struck in the head with an iron bar, knocking him cold. It ?was in this condition -except that he was bound hand and foot ?- that he had been carried out of the jail to the waiting ?spring wagon. Only when the wagon, surrounded by the masked ?horsemen, reached Main Street and headed east, had he come ?back to his senses and pleaded in a loud voice for mercy. The ?cornfield seems so peaceful now compared to the illegal àactivity that went on after midnight that night. à The riders did not turn south until they reached the ?toll house at what is now the corner of Apple and Main àStreets. We remember that Main Street, or the National ?Road, or U.S. 40, was a toll road during this era and the àtolls were paid at this toll house. Down the Morristown ?Pike went the deadly parade of night horsemen. A rear guard àof horsemen kept the watch out for any who might try to stop àthem coming from Greenfield. ? At the Floral Pavilion, the masked men set to their ?task. A rope was placed around the young black man's neck and ?he was stood up in the wagon under the joist over which the ?rope had been hoist. He was asked what he had to say. His ?words before being strung up were, "Men, you are doing a ?great wrong," which he repeated as the wagon was driven out ?from under him. A newspaper account from Greenfield's È‚á‚î‚ă‚ï‚ă‚ë‚ ‚ ?Ä‚å‚í‚ï‚ă‚̣‚á‚ô‚ newspaper reports that the man did an "air jig." A àmedical doctor in the crowd pronoucned William Kemmer ?dead and someone pinned a note to his chest reading, "It is ?the verdict of 160 men from Hancock, Shelby and Rush that his ?life is inadequate to the demands of justice." One of the ?leaders of the mob announced to all those present, "Comrades ?and spectators: The scene just enacted was done in no spirit ?of bravado or revenge, but to vindicate in some degree an ?outrage upon an innocent, unprotected woman, and to give ?protection and security in the future to your wives, as well ?as mine. Now, if any one, be he officer or citizen, divulge ?the secrets of this night, he shall surely suffer (pointing ?to the hanging man) in the same way." The crowd is said to àhave then dispersed into the black night. ? What were the circumstances that caused the county to àbecome the locale of a mob lynching? Did the Sheriff of the ?County merely permit his prisoner to be hauled from the ?Hancock County Jail to be lynched? Was there really much ?proof that William Kemmer had even raped the alleged victim, ?the invalid Mrs. Vaughn? Why was this lynching, rarely ?remembered in these days of the late 20th century, such a key àpoint in the history of Hancock County? ? June was scorching in the year 1875. It was so hot the ?city was berated for not sending the sprinkler wagon around ?to keep the dust down on Greenfield's unpaved streets. Not ?much was happening and Judge Mellett of the Hancock Circuit ?Court was away at Madison County holding court. The greatest ?treat for the men of the time was to have a five cent cigar ?at Greenfield's best barber shop, an establishment of the ?famous black barber, George Knox, who rented space in ?Gooding's Tavern across the street from the courthouse of the àtime, not the current one. ? Then came the news of the alleged rape of the white ?woman. Soon all of Hancock County and the communities near ?Morristown knew about the incident on the victim's farm in ?Blue River Township. This led to the midnight lynching of ?the twenty-three year old Negro man, William Kemmer, at the ?Old Hancock County Fairgrounds on Morristown Pike after a ?band of one hundred fifty or so masked horsemen surrounded ?the Hancock County Jail, overpowered the Hancock County ?Sheriff and plucked the incarcerated Negro man out of his ?cell knocking him temporarily unconscious with an iron bar àripped out of the cell's structure in the process. ? The original report of the event appears in the È‚á‚î‚ă‚ï‚ă‚ë‚ ?Ä‚å‚í‚ï‚ă‚̣‚á‚ô‚ newspaper of June 24, 1875. Under the heading ?"Horrible Crime," the account reads, "On Tuesday last, Blue- ?river township in this county was the scene of a terrible ?outrage on a lady, the wife who is in very feeble health. On ?the day mentioned, between 9 and 10 am, William Kemmer, a ?mulatto man, resident of Carthage, entered the victim's ?house and finding no one present, except his wife, who was ?lying on her bed and (sic) attempted to ravish her. The ?screams of the wife soon brought her husband to her rescue. ?The negro mounted his horse and started off at a rapid rate." ?The account continues with the husband and two farm hands ?mounting their horses to chase the young man with the ?husband shooting wildly in the fugitive's direction with his ?revolver. None of the bullets struck into the Negro man's ?flesh and he made his escape into Rush County. The husband ?was unable to get assistance there from the Carthage town ?authorities until he could get to Greenfield to have a ?warrant sworn out since the alleged crime had been committed àin Hancock County. à But what was the likelihood of a conviction for rape? ?The news account only suggests an attempt and further ?indicated that the wife was "in a very frail condition and ?she may not be able to appear against 'the demon'." ?Apparently there might not be any testimony that a rape had ?occurred if the man were to be given a trial. The news ?account continues with the journalist's regrets that the ?shots of the husband had not struck and killed William Kemmer ?during the chase to capture him. By the time the warrant was ?sworn out the rape apparently was deemed a completed act. The ?affidavit for the warrant (by the husband) says that the ?young Negro, William Kemmer, "forcibly and against her will, ?feloniously, did ravish and carnally know her (the wife)..." ?(The affidavit was made an exhibit in the official County ?Inquest of the lynching which essentially "whitewashed" the àwhole affair.) ? Exactly what happened perhaps died with the deaths of ?the witnesses buried at Park Cemetery in Greenfield. The ?husband died Feb. 1908 and the wife, Dec. 26th, the day after ?Christmas, 1923 at the age of 80. She had been born in 1844. ?When the alleged rape or attempted rape had been committed, àthe wife would have been thirty-one. à Against this scanty evidence of guilt, there is the àtestimony of William Kemmer who was asked what he had to say ?while a noose was around his throat and before the wagon on ?which he had been stood was pulled out, saying, ""Men, you ?are doing a great wrong," which he repeated as the spring ?wagon on which he was standing was pulled away and he was ?left to hang, his feet dangling just inches from the solid àground on Morristown Pike below. à What had happened? Had the young Negro man raped the àwhite woman, attempted to, or merely appeared at the home ?for some innocent reason which the wife had misinterpreted? ?No one will ever know since no trial was held in which the ?facts could come out. Would law and order mean nothing in ?this county as far as race would be a factor ever after? What ?is clear is that Hancock County was deeply affected by the ?young man's lynching in many ways some of which whisper to us àthrough the years. ? On U.S. 40 outside of Greenfield to the East on the ?north side, in a field across the road from what was the old ?County Home, or "Infirmary" between 400 and 500 East, there ?appears a strangely inappropriate stand of tall trees in the ?middle of a field. These trees represent a graveyard without àmarkers of any kind. It was once the place where the county ?poor were taken to be buried into anonymity. William Kemmer, ?the lynched Negro, is buried here at some unknown place in ?this solitary and isolated site. He was buried with the ànoose with which he had been lynched still around his neck. ? Whatever anonymity the young twenty-three year old Negro ?man, William Kemmer, may have had as a living person was not ?his to have following his lynching on Morristown Pike at the àOld County Fairgrounds. à We have recounted how the young black man was pulled out ?of his jail cell in the Hancock County Jail on a Friday night ?in 1875 after midnight by a mob of at least one hundred fifty ?masked horsemen who overpowered the Hancock County Sheriff ?and took from him the keys to the Negro man's cell and àlynched him before trial for the alleged rape of the wife. à Events did not end here. ? A newspaper account says that the lynched Negro's dead ?body was left dangling in the air from a noose suspended from ?a joist on the Floral Hall at the Greenfield fairgrounds "to ?be gazed at in the morrow's sun by an indiscriminate ?multitude in not one of whom could be discovered a single àsign of pity or remorse." à Events did not end here either. ? The Coroner of Hancock County of the time, Harrison ?Cooper, eventually drove a dray out to the Fairgrounds and àcut the body down later that Saturday. His report indicates àhe found the young man's eyes and mouth closed and aside from ?hemorrhaging around the neck where the noose was tight, he ?looked like nothing had happened at all. Leaving the noose ?where it was, Cooper took him to Greenfield undertakers of àthe time, Wills and Pratt, where the dead man was placed in a ?coffin. The news account says the body was displayed there àduring the remainder of the day, "being visited by thousands ?of citizens and strangers." This strange "viewing" or wake ?may have been the largest gathering of county residents of àthe Nineteenth Century in Hancock County. ? The young man's family in Carthage's black community of ?the time were apparently unwilling to come and claim the body ?and about 11 P.M. the coffin containing the remains of the ?lynched man were driven out to the pauper cemetery under ?escort by the Coroner and the grave digger known to history àonly as "Buffalo Bill" (probably one of Greenfield's blacks) ?where he was buried. His interment was without benefit of ?clergy. No Greenfield Protestant minister or Catholic priest ?dared accompany the body. Nor did the preacher of ?Greenfield's own flegling African Methodist Church appear to àgive benediction at the gravesite. ? The newspaper account of the incident concludes,"The ?protection of the weak from the encroachments of the strong, ?and the virtuous and pure from the lecherous hands of the ?depraved of our human race, is the mission of all good àcitizens." ? History indicates an inquest was conducted about the àevent. This simply was an investigation into the cause of the ?Negro man's death. It was not a grand jury proceeding to ?determine if any crimes had been committed by the "masked ?horsemen" who broke into the Hancock County Jail and did ?their own form of justice. The reason was apparently that no ?one would stand up to identify a single one of the "masked ?horsemen." (We shall explore who these "masked horsemen" àmight have been later in this series.) ? The Sheriff of the time, who I shall not name, until the ?year before a farmer from Brandywine Township, testified that ?he had tried to stop them from taking Kemmer from the jail. ?After their arrival, he said at the inquest, "they came to ?the door and asked admittance, that if I did not let them, ?they would break the door down. I told them I would not let ?them in under any circumstances. I then heard a voice from ?outside saying, "Boys, get down and fetch up our tools." The ?group got in and eventually allegedly took the keys ?physically from the Sheriff, but without his assistance ?according to his statement. No shots were fired. No injury ?occurred to the Sheriff. The term of Sheriff was a two year ?one and history records the Sheriff was re-elected as a ?Democrat the next year. History further records that the ?alleged rape victim's husband, himself ran for Sheriff after ?the Sheriff's two terms in the election following but was àdefeated in the Democrat primary. ? One hot autumn afternoon, as he was poring over a ?lawbook there swung into town to the jubilee of bugles a ?covered wagon painted in gay colors. Across the body of the ?wagon was an ultramarine blue sign in golden letters, "Dr. ?Townsend's Magic Oil Company. Dr. Townsend was at the town ?square bowing and introducing himself on a little back ?platform, stetson hat lifted, frock coat flapping and hair àand beard trimmed to make him appear like a double to General àU.S. Grant. Behind him were three young men wearing linen ?dusters each playing two musical instruments playing martial àmusic interspersed with loud organ recitals of hymns from an ?organ within the wagon. That night a "free concert" was ?promised "at early-candlelite." Riley talked his way into àthis crew and left Greenfield with "the glittering cavalcade" àwithout saying goodbye to anybody. à à Riley wrote in doggerel, à "Why let pain your pleasure spoil à For want of Townsend's Magic Oil?" à àƒ ̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ ‚ς΂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚̉‚Ï‚Á‚Ä‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚ׂɂڂÁ‚̉‚Ä‚ ‚Ï‚É‚̀‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Í‚Đ‚Á‚΂ق à ? The Wizard Oil Co. left Greenfield for Fortville and ?places beyond with Riley on board and several young men. The ?boys laughed at his stores and enjoyed his drawing, calling ?him "Little Man." He taught them new songs and did blackboard àillustrations for Doc Townsend who he called "Doxy." ?The Wizard Oil co. boys arrived in town about noon announcing ?their presence with great showers of music. Then the boys ?would distribute handbills and Doc Townsend would lecture on ?his medicines afternoon and evening. In the evenings, by ?torchlights, Riley would entertain too. He did original ?recitations, impersonations, and readings of poetry. When ?there was a weeklong county fair, the Wizard boys would stay ?in town the whole week and participate in the parades and ?fair entertainments. The boys being exciting and mysterious ?vagabonds had many girls chasing them. Riley was often ?intoxicated. The times were never dull. By October the group ?reached Lima, Ohio, where Townsend resided and kept his ?laboratory. The group made Lima the center for the last ?flings around Ohio before winter set in. Riley made many ?friendships and was invited often to read his poems. While ?Townsend spent the days making his medicines, Riley was àliving in the Townsend home and preparing new advertising. ?Riley kept no regular schedule. He is remembered by the child ?of Doc Townsend as studyiny Buckles' Èéóôị̈ù ïæ Ăéöé́éúáôéïî ?and deToqueville's Äåíïặáăù éî Áíạ̊éăá during this period. ?A few weeks before Christmas, Riley decided to return back àhome to Greenfield. ? Because he was addicted to alcohol he could not live in ?his father's home. Instead Riley took a room in the Dunbar àHouse. à ? ɂ΂Ẩ‚Å‚Á‚Ó‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚Ó‚É‚Î‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚È‚Å‚ ‚ׂÁ‚Ó‚ ‚Ó‚Å‚Đ‚Á‚̉‚Á‚Ô‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ?Eventually, Riley's alcoholism grew so bad he was arrested ?for public intoxication shortly after returning from a trip ?with a temperance lecturer in which Riley was said to have àspoken against liquor as a reformed alcoholic. ? There is a very large leather covered volume which is ?labeled Mayor's Docket, City of Greenfield which is ?instructive for our purposes. The particular docket to which ?I refer carries cases filed within the City of Greenfield ?between June 1878 to May 1881. In those days, the mayors of ?the towns acted as judges for many minor offenses committed àwithin the borders of the towns. ? On its page 165 appears the caption, "Mayor's Court. àDec. 27th, 1877. City of Greenfield vs. James W. Riley. àAffidavit for Intoxication." ? This is one occasion, and probably only one of many, in ?which James Whitcomb Riley was arrested for public ?drunkenness. Most such dusty record books have long been ?destroyed as city and town mayor's court or justice of the ?peace court administrations have changed hands, records have àlost, etc. ? This particular record reads, "Comes now Isaac Davis and ?files before me the following affidavit in the above entitled ?cause in these words, towit: (Here insert afft.) Wherefore a ?warrant was issued by me for the arrest of Said Defendant in ?these words, towit: (Here insert Warrant) - Which was ?delivered to Thos. J. Orr, City Marshall to be Executed. And ?now comes said City Marshall and returns said Warrant. ?Endorsed as follows, towit: Come to hand Dec. 27th, 1877 at ?10 o'clock A.M. I have this day arrested the within named ?defendant as commanded and have him now before the Court. à/s/ àT.J. Orr, City Marshall. ? Wherefore comes said Defendant and waives an arraignment ?on said affidavit and Enters a plea of Guilty as charged. ?Herein. And the Court being fully advised in the premises àassesses his fine at the Sum of Two Dollars. ? It is Wherefore Considered and adjudged by the Court ?that The City of Greenfield recover of and from the Said ?defendant the fine of Two Dollars assessed as aforesaid, and ?that said defendant pay the costs of the proceedings taxed at ?___dollars and ____ cents and stand committed until said fine ?and costs are paid or replevied. /s/ Thos. H. Branham, àMayor." ? Interestingly the fine has never yet to this day been ?paid. Bail for the payment of the fine was signed by Israel ?P. Poulson so James Whitcomb Riley was released from the City ?Marshall's confinement after his guilty plea. But where ?other records and receipts attached to such docket entries ?which reflect payment, none appears for Riley. Evidently he ?was broke, never could pay the $2 and simply was never re- ?arrested. There is a note where the Mayor himself ended up ?paying the City Marshall his portion of the fine of 70 cents ?for arresting Riley on the public intoxication charge. That àis all the entries reflect. à It seems to have profoundly influenced in Riley a great àemotion which he did not try to treat poetically before. This àgreat emotion was a sense of "death." Later this became àevidenced in personal suicide plans as revealed only in his àgreat autobiographical poem, "Flying Islands of the Night." à Shortly after the Kemmer incident, Riley composed his àlittle remembered poem, "Death." à à "Lo, I am dying! And to feel the King à Of Terrors fasten on me, steeps all sense à Of life, and love, and loss, and everything. à In such deep calms of restful indolence, à His keenest fangs of pain are sweeet to me à As fused kisses of mad lovers' lips à When, flung shut-eyed in spasmed ecstasy, à They feel the world spin past them in eclipse, à And so thank God with ever-tightening lids! à But what I see, the soul of me forbids à All utterance of; and what I hear and feel à The rattle in my throat could ill reveal à Though it were musci to your ears as to à Mine own. - Press closer - closer - I have grown à So great, your puny arms about me thrown à Seem powerless to hold me here with you; - à I slip away - I waver - and - I fall - à Christ! What a plunge! Where am I dropping? All à My breath bursts into dust - I can not cry - à I whirl - I reel and veer up overhead, à And drop flat-faced against - the sky - à Soh, bless me! I am dead!" à This seems to be a projection of how William Kemmer àmust have felt. àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Á‚̉‚Ë‚ ‚Ó‚É‚Ä‚Å‚ à à Crestillomeem helped Riley deal with not only his own ?"dark side" of depression but also with his realization of ?America's "dark side." To say Riley was alienated personally ?is simply not enough of an explanation to assess the life of ?James Whitcomb Riley. Riley was a reflection of his time. ?America was as shattered as Riley's self was. Emerging from ?a horrible Civil War where men were killed, the country ?attempted to justify the conflict on the basis of noble ?ideals, specifically those pronounced by Abraham Lincoln. The ?only problem was that these principles were given little àweight in the daily lives in small town or à"majority" America. In fact, the opposite side seemed to àhave the upper hand. In Riley's hometown, when a black man àwas accused of rape on the barest suspicion, the inhabitants ?broke into the county jail, took the keys from the Sheriff ?and beat him until hanging him at the county fairgrounds àwithout trial. This is not equal justice under law. ? Crestillomeem was Riley's irrational alcoholic sometime àself. She permitted him to escape such realizations but not àforever. The life Riley encountered was enough to drive ?Riley to Crestillomeem's arms. She is Mr. Clickwad, the ?strangest of the members of the Buzz Club in Riley's famous ?series of that name published in the Indianapolis Saturday ?HERALD. It is he (Mr. Clickwad) who delivers "The Flying ?Islands of the Night" as a discourse while intoxicated. As ?related in the Buzz Club, Number IV, Mr. Clickwad arrives to ?deliver it thirty minutes late. He has not been cognizant of ?the members as he careened around ignoring greetings. The ?other members of the club hold him at arms length, and Mr. ?Hunchley comments, "I'd almost reached the conclusion you ?were sick or something-and, by Jove, you are pale, and your ?hand's as cold as a frog's -why my dear sir, you are sick - ?your eyes ain't right- and your -your." He is merely dead ?drunk, Mr. Hunchley. He is Riley pre-kenotic and at the àgreatest depth of Riley's frustration and despair. ? Crestillomeem is not merely Riley in as grotesque a ?state as one might depict drunk but also the Riley with "an ?attitude." She shares it in not only "The Flying Islands of àthe Night," but also in other poetry such as "The Frog." à à Who am I but the Frog - the Frog! à My realm is the dark bayou, à And my throne is the muddy and moss-grown log à That the poison-vine clings to - à And the blacknakes slide in the slimy tide à Where the ghost of the moon looks blue. à What am I but a King - a King! - ̀ÀÀ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à For the royal robes I wear - à A scepter, too, and signet-ring, à As vassals and serfs declare: à And a voice, god wot±À‚, that is equaled not à In the wide world anywhere! à à I can talk to the Night - the Night! - à Under her big black wing. à She tells me the tale of the world outright, à And the secret of everything; à For she knows you all, from the time you crawl à To the doom that death will bring. à à Then Storm swoops down, and he blows - and blows, - à While I drum on his swollen cheek, à And croak in his angered eye that glows à With the lurid lightning's streak; à While the rushes drown in the watery frown à That his bursting passions leak. à à And I can see through the sky - the sky - à As clear as piece of glass; à And I can tell you the how and why à Of the things that come to pass - à And whether the dead are there instead, à Or under the graveyard grass. à à To your Sovereign lord all hail - all hail! - à To your Prince on his throne so grim! à Let the moon swing low, and the high stars trail à Their heads in the dust to him; à And the wide world sing: Long live the King, à And grace to his royal whim! à1. "god wot" is a Middle English archaic expression meaning à"some god only knows." ̀̉ë‹0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] ? Was Crestillomeem a positve or negative influence in ?Riley's life. In the overall scheme of things, Crestillomeem àfragmented Riley's life into at least salvageable chunks. ?He required her place of escape. Amphine loved too strongly, ?men, women, and children, to be an exposed personality for ?long. The Hoosier Deutsch idealism of Krung was not allowed àto exist by the society of the time. Crestillomeem was an àisland where Riley could flee from refuge from the black àlynching undertaken by his friens. à à‚ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Á‚̉‚Ë‚ ‚Ó‚É‚Ä‚Å‚ ‚ׂÁ‚Ó‚ ‚̉‚Å‚Á‚̀‚̀‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚Í‚Å‚̉‚É‚Ă‚Á‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Á‚̉‚Ë‚ ‚Ó‚É‚Ä‚Å‚ à ? Lincoln saw the end of slavery but he did not live to ?participate in its repercussions. He did not live to see the ?black lynching which Riley saw after the Civil War. He did ?not see the carload of invoiced blacks sent north "by the ?head" to see the cruel reactions of allegedly Christian ?communities. A government does not solve the problem of ?insensitivity. Justice is after all blind not just to avoid ?prejudice but often to prejudice and hatreds. It came to be ?Riley's mission, as a completion of that of his heroic ideal, ?Lincoln, to deal with such things on the basis of daily àsensitizing poetry. à àƒ Ä‚Å‚̀‚É‚̉‚É‚Ơ‚Í‚ Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Å‚Á‚̉‚̀‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ àƒ à Delirium is an essential feature of alcohol withdrawal. à"The Flying Islands of the Night" seems a delirium account. àWhen did Riley sink into such a state after his long bouts of ?alcoholism after the death of his mother and now to escape ?Greenfield again after the Kemmer lynching with another àmedicine man, this time Doc Townsend? Probably not. ?The accounts seem to indicate he continued his life with ?Crestillomeem even more intimately. Delirium comes about when ?alcohol consumption is reduced. Riley did not reduce his ?drinking after the lynching incident. He raised it to a more àserious level. à à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ë‚Å‚Í‚Í‚Å‚̉‚ ‚È‚Á‚΂ǂɂ΂ǂ¿‚ à à As the former Editor of the Greenfield News, only àrecently defunct, Riley most likely followed the progress àof the community exictement about Kemmer. Additionally, ?Riley gravitated to the Hancock Democrat, the rival newspaper ?as a writer and eventually was a bylined contributor. While ?it cannot be known except through initimations in his ?autobiographical poem, "Flying Islands" chances are Riley was ?a witness to much of the illegal doings of the lynch mob. àThere is even some likelihood that Riley ?wrote the account of the incident not only for the Hancock ?Democrat in an edited version but also the more truthful àversion of the bungling mobsters for the Indianapolis Journal àwhere he later gained such prominence as a named poet. ? Whether Riley was at the Kemmer hanging or not he most àcertainly was subject to its spectacle afterwards. àPeople were in long lines to see the black man with the noose ?still around his neck put up for display both at the àFairgrounds and at the mortuary the next day. ? At one time I wondered whether Riley wrote or ?participated in the writing up of the accounts of the ?incident. I now think probably not despite his long ?connection with the Hancock Democrat newspaper from àadolescence as a "porinter's devil" there. I do not ?find Riley as writing for the Hancock Democrat at least ?formally until September 7th, 1876. Of course he wrote for àmany newspapers anonymously and I do not think we should àtotally dismiss the idea that Riley even possibly ?was the author of the unacknowledged article detailing the àevents of the hanging in the Hancock Democrat. à The pendency of his own death looms. Possibly he was ?afraid he would be found out or suspected as the source of àthe Kemmer information to the Journal. Riley felt he had to àleave Greenfield for his own safety shortly after the Kemmer àincident. ? Riley told his secretary, Marcus Dickey, about his ?flight from Greenfield after the time when Kemmer was hung ?and he felt great depression. The conversation is repeated in ?Riley's comments in his Youth of James Whitcomb Riley as àfollows: à "It is my opinion," said Riley, referring to those days, ?"that the ways for our feet are found - not made. We strut àabout like peacocks and boast of our achievements and fame; à Is it by man's wisdom that the hawk soareth, à And stretcheth her wings toward the south? ?There I was in Greenfield, blue as the zenith over my head, àno money, no way to leave town except walk, and right out on ?the National road the dust was flying and the fates àfashioning my way of escape. Down that road came the Wizard àOil Company, a band of musicians and comedians in a graveling ?chariot, drawn by horses that cantered and ran as if they àwere ballasted with quicksilver. The manager of the company ?had discharged a man at Knightstown. I took the vacant ?place, mounted to a seat beside the manager and bowled away àto Fortville." ? Dickey explains that the company of the Wizard Oil Co. ?hailed from Lima Ohio and had visited Greenfield annually àsince 1870. Apparently, they were competitors to the other ?medicine show of Dr. McCrillus of Anderson whose show Riley ?joined previously. The Townsend "Medicine Show" was popular ?enough that the Greenfield Adelphian band had written an ?original band piece entitled "The Wizard Oil Man," in honor ?of his custom of holding seranades, playing at socials and at ?church entertainments as well as selling "cures" at his ?"lectures." Riley recalled that the Townsend group usually àappeared the week of the Fair but without any assurance they ?would do so. With pun intended, Riley remarked to his àsecretary, "All was hanging on what the wind said." à Riley said when he left he was sick in body and sick at ?heart. Before leaving he said a farewell to John Skinner, àsaying, "Quit the town. Stay here and they'll swing you to a àtree in the Fair Ground." à Riley did not feel safe until he was out of town. With àrelief turning itself into euphoria, Riley described himself àas joining "the jolly party of chirping vagabonds." The ?party of traveling minstrels welcomed Riley as one whose ?heart was as free as their own.Friendships were made àimmediately. One of the travelers recalls, "(Riley) waded ?boot-top deep into our affections. We laughed at his àstories; everybody humored him, everybody bet on him." ? Riley was back into the escapism he knew after his àmother died when he joined the Doc McCrillus medicine show àtraveling from town to town selling "The Standard Remedy." àHe imagained himself thousands of miles away from the Hancock ?County Fairgrounds where he had witnessed friends and ?neighbors lynch a black man out of racist hatred. At this àpoint in his life, Riley must have felt like the last child àof Abraham Lincoln and the American Civil War. à àƒ ̀‚ɂ΂łӂ à‚ Ï‚Î‚ ‚È‚Å‚Á‚̉‚ɂ΂ǂ ‚Á‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚×‚ ‚‚Á‚ׂ̀‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Á‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Å‚Đ‚ ‚Æ‚É‚Ô‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Ê‚Å‚Ă‚Ô‚É‚Ï‚Î‚¬‚ ‚ς΂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ àƒ Å‚Ö‚Å‚Î‚É‚Î‚Ç‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ê‚Ơ‚̀‚Ù‚ ‚³‚¬‚ ‚Á‚®‚Ä‚®‚ ‚±‚¸‚·‚¹‚ àƒ àƒ Portentous sound! mysteriously vast à And awful in the grandeur of refrain à That lifts the listener's hair as it swells past, à And pour in turbid currents down the lane. à à The small boy at the woodpile, in a dream, à Slow trails the meat-rind±À‚ o'er the listless saw; à The chickens roosting o'er him on the beam à Uplift their drowsy heads with cootered²À‚ awe. à à The "gung-oigh!" of the pump is strangely stilled; à The smoke-house door bangs once emphatic'ly à Then bangs no more, but leaves the silence filled à With one lorn plaint's despotic minstrelsy. à à Yet I would join thy sorrowing madrigal, à Most melancholy cow, and sing of thee à Full-hearted through my tears, for, after all, à 'Tis very kine³À‚ in you to sing for me. à ?1. meat-rind, a humorous description of the appearance of a àbeef cow. Rind is skin in reference to an animal. ?2. The image is of chickens swaying their heads into an arch ?as do the coots, birds which stiffly arch their necks prior àto a dive into waters to fish. ?3. "Kine" is an old plural form of the "cow," a substitute ?for the word "cattle." Riley employs paronomasia. His play on ?the word for "kine" is humorously intended to suggest "kind" ?as in the expression "How kind (thoughtful, pleasant) of àyou." à Who is the boy? à No flight of fancy is needed to recognize the boy at the ?woodpile as Abraham Lincoln. The poem simply describes how ?Abraham Lincoln might have felt in contemplation of the 4th àof July in the year 1879. ? Riley clearly indicates the place where his poem is àcomposed. It is the "morgue," the name he gave to his àsecond floor paintshop in downtown Greenfield, Indiana. àThe place of the poem is thus Greenfield in racial turmoil. ?Greenfield was not a happy place for Riley during the years ?immediately following the hanging of the black man Kemmer at ?the County Fairgrounds. The Sheriff who had offered so little ?resistance to the break-in of his jail for the forcible ?removal of Kemmer for the lynching was different in 1879. The ?Sheriff at the time of the lynching, William Thomas, a ?prosperous Democrat farmer of Brandywine Township born in ?1840, was elected just the year prior to the lynching, and ?was re-elected the year later. He did not seek re-election in ?1878, but supported his deputy, William H. Thompson, a ?Democrat who was elected that year. Greenfield's mood was àentirely prejudicial to the emancipation hopes of those who àkept faith with Lincoln's vision of a free American nation. ? Blacks were treated in Greenfield, as elsewhere, ?literally as "cattle." We read from an account by George àKnox, Greenfield's famous black barber of Riley's epoch ?of an incident of the kind to which Riley may refer in 1879 ?while the country was still reeling under the impact of the ?American Civil War. Reconstruction of the South was a ?primary need in those days since the economy there had been ?based upon the intolerable system of slavery. But what of the àblacks from the South? Many migrated north. In this year ?the four o'clock train arrived in Greenfield with a car load ?of blacks. Knox said, "I shall not forget as long as I live, ?the sensation the news made in the city (Greenfield) and the ?querulous and anxious and frequently condemnatory looks that ?were leveled at me from all sides." Knox was approached by a ?"colored man" (Knox's words) coming with an envelope to the ?barbershop having been directed there somehow. He handed Knox ?the envelope and said he had "twenty seven head." The letter ?was addressed to someone named Jones that Knox did not know. ?When Knox asked him what he meant by "twenty seven head," the ?man indicated he meant a wide assortment of ages of black àfolk. ? Knox recalled that when he got to the depot a large and ?angry crowd were gathering. "The excitement was reaching àfever heat." The black folk were in desperate circumstances. àSome were barely clothed. All were homeless and hungry. ? Knox took charge of them and kept them in the depot the ?first night. He also talked to a white Christian storekeeper ?of the town who provided food for the destitute homeseekers. ?None of this went over very well with Greenfield and this ?store keeper's store was burned shortly afterwards. ?Eventually a big empty building was found in Greenfield for ?the immigrants to stay until they could find homes. Knox ?recalled a local newspaper editorializing against him for ?helping these folk accusing him of bringing into the county ?the poor lazy "niggers" for the purpose of taxing the white ?people to take care of them and that they (the whites) should àwithdraw their patronage from his barbershop. ? What can be done about the dejected singing of the àcattle, as the blacks were treated in Riley's hometown? ?Who would listen to the bawl of one of the kine? Who could ?speak up for the lynched Kemmer? Lincoln could not. He was ?dead and "in a dream." Those of tender and disposing ?sensibilities realized the bawl was a song of the nation. ?The shame of it comes from the juxtaposition of the ?"portentious sound"..."awful" on the day before Fourth of àJuly holiday, the day when America celebrated its national àindependence, values and worth. à Crestillomeem for all of her hellishness cried for àKemmer and these "kine."
? ? ? Greenfield with a car load ?of blacks. Knox said, "I shall not forget as long as I live, ?the sensation the news made in the city (Greenfield) and the ?querulous and anxious and frequently condemnato F"ºĐ
6[1] DNNNPRINTERàƒ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ô‚È‚É‚̉‚Ä‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃł̉‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚
à‚ Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Ï‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ à à Riley's third great encounter with Crestillomeem was àhis most serious and resulted in delirious experiences. àThe great expression of the encounter was the writing of ?Riley's autobiographical piece, "The Flying Islands of the ?Night." The immediate event causing this flight into tremens ?and its effects was the death of Nellie Cooley, the only ?woman who Riley fully loved. Whereas earlier encounters had àbeen episodic and at generally increasing levels, Riley's ?alcoholism following Nellie's death was so pronounced that àRiley was physically unable to work and deemed himself ?"ill" which generally meant suffering such serious depression ?and alcoholism that he could not leave his bed. Doctors ?became his friends after the death of Nellie. Such companions ?included Dr. Hayes, Dr. Smith, Dr. M'Cullough. Riley's fears ?about his health and drinking were so substantial that he ?sought out the companions of those who could treat him in his àillness and "failing" as it was generously called. à àƒ Á‚ ‚Ô‚È‚É‚̉‚Ä‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Å‚Đ‚É‚Ó‚Ï‚Ä‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ à à When Nellie Cooley died, Riley truly lost his only ?hope for a life lived in a marital relationship with a woman ?he loved in innocence and truth. Only to Riley and her family ?was Nellie's death so devestating when she died at the young ?age of 32. So strange it is that there is no record of her ?death in Belleville, Illinois, the county seat where she ?died. Nor is there any record of her burial in Greenfield àwhere her body was brought for final rest on July à29, 1878. à The young poet's reaction to this bereavement, his grief ?and sense of loss, is expressed in her obituary which Riley àwrote and had published in the Hancock DEMOCRAT. à àƒ Í‚Å‚Í‚Ï‚̉‚É‚Á‚̀‚ ‚‚ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚Í‚®‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Ï‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ à ?Died, at Belleville, Illinois, July 27, 1878, Nellie M. ?Cooley, wife of George B. Cooley. Interred at Greenfield, her ?old home, July 29, 1878. Her life was like a dreamy summer ?day, made up of bright things only. Warm depths of azure ?skies, where merry birds, afloat on waves of sunshine, poured ?out their sweetest songs, and so baptized the world with ?sweetest melody: where morning walked the dewy paths that led ?through Nature's fairest haunts, and laid her shining hand on ?all things loveable; where meadowlands lay basking in the sun ?and clover-blossoms shook their fragrance out on every ?passing breeze and flavored all the air with sweetness and ?delight; where the laughing brook leaped from its shady ?hiding-place, low-nestled in among the cool grasses growing ?in the dusky woods, and, while the lilies leaned their ?wondering face o'er the brink, and the weeping willows ?trained their slender hands within the wave, went loitering àalong its winding way, and babbling limpid music as it went. à Her life was like a dreamy sunny day; and, as always was ?her wish, on such a day she laid aside the weary task of ?life, and out across "the all-golden afternoon" she walked on ?and on into her Father's open arms, and where fell upon her àbrow the sister kiss of Heaven's happiest angel. ? The fairest gifts of womanhood were hers - a child's ?pure faith, a maiden's hope, a woman's charity. Her heart ?was soundless in its depths of love; her soul was boundless ?in its breadth of nobleness; she wore the bond of Friendship ?loyally, and ever held a gracious hand of welcome to ?distress. Her home was Joy's abiding place, and Patience, ?Peace and Love walked ever at her side, as now they walk, ?appareled in the raiment of the Lord's approving smile, and àwaiting with her loved ones lingering here. à à Riley also appended a poem to his Hancock DEMOCRAT àobituary for Nellie. à àƒ Á‚ ‚Ä‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Í‚ ‚Ơ‚΂Ƃɂ΂ɂӂȂłĂ à àOnly a dream unfinished; only a form at rest àWith weary hands clasped lightly over a peaceful breast. à ?And the lonesome light of summer through the open door-way àfalls, ?But it makes no laugh in the parlor - no voice in the vacant àhalls. à àIt throws no spell of music over the slumbrous air; àIt meets no step on the carpet - no form in the easy chair. à àIt finds no queenly presence blessing the solitude àWith the gracious benediction of royal womanhood. à àIt finds no willowy figure tilting the cage that swings àWith the little pale canary that forgets the song he sings. à àNo face at the open window to welcome the fragrant breeze; àNo touch at the old piano to waken the sleeping keys. à àThe idle book lies open, and the folded leaf is pressed àOver the half-told story while death relates the rest. à àOnly a dream unfinished; only a form at rest, àWith weary hands clasped tightly over a peaceful breast. à ?The light steals into the corner where the darkest shadows àare, ?And sweeps with its golden fingers the strings of the mute àguitar. à àAnd over the drooping mosses it clambers the rustic stand, àAnd over the ivy's tresses it trails a trembling hand. à ?But it brings no smile from the darkness - it calls no face àfrom the gloom - ?No song flows out of the silence that aches in the empty àroom. à ?And we look in vain for the dawning in the depths of our àdespair, ?Where the weary voice goes wailing through the empty aisles àof prayer. à ?And the hands reach out through the darkness for the touches àwe have known ?When the icy palms lay warmly in the pressure of our own. à àWhen the folded eyes were gleaming with a glory God designed àTo light a way to Heaven by the smiles they left behind. à àOnly a dream unfinished; only a form at rest àWith weary hands clasped lightly over a peaceful breast." à àƒ È‚Ï‚Î‚Ï‚̉‚ ‚È‚Á‚Ä‚ ‚Ë‚Å‚Đ‚Ô‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ à à Why did Riley allow Nellie go with her husband to àIllinois if he truly loved her? à Honor. à To a Nineteenth Century Protestant American, honor àrequired giving respect to a married person as such. Honor àrequired one to regard married people as inviably matched. àIn private Riley might love Nellie dearly, but his sense àof honor did not permit him to break up their marriage. ?In addition, Riley seems to have loved Nellie's husband àalmost as much as Nellie but in a fraternal way. à After Nellie's death, honor seemed to Riley much less ?of an excuse for not having Nellie in his life. His ?dedication quotation to a later edition of "The Flying ?Islands of the Night" berates honor as "A thynege of ?wychencref, an idle dreme..." This comes from Thomas ?Chatterton's "AElla," lines 536-7. In that poem, a ?frustrated "other man" utters these lines while ?contemplationg taking the betrothed woman of a friend. Riley ?was equally frustrated by honor which kept Nellie from his àarms. ? This death of his beloved shortly before the writing of ?"The Flying Islands of the Night" is represented in "Wraith±À‚- ?Song of Spraivoll" at the commencement of Act III of "The ?Flying Islands of the Night." A "wraith" has a 1500's sense ?of an immaterial spectral appearance of a living being, ?portending the person's death. Here, Riley the poet, is ?close to death from alcoholism depressed over the death of ?his beloved Nellie Cooley. Spraivoll, the poet's poetic ?self, bemoans his despair at the situation of Riley having àlost Nellie to the hand of death. à à I will not hear the dying word à Of any friend, nor stroke the wing à Of any little wounded bird. à ...Love is the deadest thing! à à I wist not if I see the smile à Of prince or wight, in court or lane. - à I only know that afterwhile à He will not smile again. à à The summer blossom, at my feet, à Swims backward, drowning in the grass. - à I will not stay to name it sweet - à Sink out! and let me pass! à à I have no mind to feel the touch à Of gentle hands on brow and hair. - à The lack of this once pained me much, à And so I have a care. à à Dead weeds, and husky-rustling leaves à That beat the dead boughs where ye cling, à And old dead nests beneath the eaves - à Love is the deadest thing! à à Ah! once I fared not all alone; à And once - no matter, rain or snow! - à The stars of summer ever shone - à Because I loved him so! à à With always tremblings in his hands, à And always blushes unaware, à And always ripples down the strands à Of his long yellow hair. à à I needs must weep a little space, à Remembering his laughing eyes à And curving lip, and lifted face à Of rapture and surprise. à à O joy is dead in every part, à And life and hope; and so I sing: à In all the graveyard of my heart à Love is the deadest thing! à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ó‚ ‚͂ɂ΂΂ɂł ‚‚ł̀‚̀‚Å‚ ‚Í‚É‚Ô‚Ă‚È‚Å‚̀‚̀‚ ‚̉‚ł͂ł͂‚ł̉‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚É‚Ô‚ à ? James W. Riley was in his early teens when the Millikan ?family came from the east and settled in Greenfield. Mrs. ?Millikan, a widow with three sons and two daughters, brought ?with her Greenfield's first piano. Because young Riley ?possessed another gift, a talent for music, he was at once ?attracted to the family, especially to the younger daughter, ?Nellie, who not only played the piano, but also that àsentimental instrument, the guitar. ? Bud was intrenched into the Millikan family. He and ? the youngest son, Jesse, established an intimate friendship à which grew with each year until the latter's death. à But the lad's friendship for Nellie was different. She ?was a gay, vivacious, fun-loving girl and young woman. Her ?music delighted him. She shared in the boys' games, helped ?young Riley with his studies and laughed sympathetically at àhis wild antics and mimicry. She was the personification of ?a satisfying friend and enough older than him to exercise a àsister's prerogative of advising, criticizing and rebuking àhim when the need arose. ? The intimacy and freedom of the Millikan home ?established in those early days remained unchanged on through ?Nellie's courtship and marriage to George Cooley, who shared ?in the family's affectionate regard for the sixteen year-old àlad. ? All through the years of the young poet's diligent ?writing and struggle for recognition, Nellie remained his ?staunch friend and critic. Her standards were high. She not ?only encouraged and praised his poetic efforts but she chided ?him at times when a passing weakness turned his faltering ?steps away from his coveted goal. She, with a mother's ?intuition, sustained him with her impelling faith in his àultimate success and started him again upon the upward grade. ? The happy times with the Millikans did not end, however, àwith Nellie's marriage. She and her husband with young Bud ?and Jesse attended the dancing club which was an integral àpart of all social gatherings and they were always the life ?of the crowd. Bud and Nellie also led in charade parties ?which finally developed into parlor dramatics. Later young ?Riley, with a group of friends, organized a dramatic club àknown as "The Adelphians." It was in this organization ?that he found his greatest pleasure - he was a born actor. ?The years he had spent in character study and mimicry stood ?him well in hand and the Cooleys and other intimates formed àan enviable cast. à In 1875, Mrs. Millikan's family and the Cooleys moved to àIllinois. There were later two small children in the Cooley àfamily. The frequent letters that were exchanged, especially àNellie's bright, encouraging ones, cheered the young poet in ?a way, yet his loneliness was great. An intimacy extending ?over many years could not be broken without a pull at heart ?strings. Finally after three years absence, the faithful ?friend whose love and interest was much like that of a ?mother, passed away at Belleville, Illinois, on July 27, à1876. She was brought back to Greenfield for burial. à à̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚̀‚Á‚Đ‚Ó‚Å‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Å‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚ ‚ɂ΂Ԃς ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚̀‚̀‚ςׂɂ΂ǂ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ à ? Riley's response to Nellie's death was to confirm ?himself as an alcoholic and lapse into even more continuous àintoxications with attnedant occasional deliriums. ? Riley's call for Crestillomeem (his alcoholism) to take ?over his life is found in his autobiographical poem, "The àFlying Islands of the Night," where Riley admits: à à He said: "Crestillomeem - àO that she knew this thick distress of mine! - àHer counsel would anoint me and her voice àWould flow in limpid wisdom o'er my woes àAnd, like a love-balm, lave my secret grief àAnd lull my sleepless heart! " (Aside) And so went on, àStruggling all maudlin in the wrangled web àThat well-nigh hath cocooned him! à à When Riley received word of the death of Nellie Cooley, àhe reacted with great distress. That they were parted he had ?come to accept. That he was consigned never to live with àNellie was never accepted. Her death sealed that fact. ?It literally "cocooned" him. He took to the night only as a àplace where he might function away from people. à In another part of the poem, Crestillomeem, Riley's àalcoholism acknowledges that only for his poetry can àRiley choose to live and avoid suicide. à à...the Queen, doth rule the King in all àSave this affectionate perversity àOf favor for the son whom he would raise àTo his own place. - And but for this the King àLong since had tasted death and kissed his fate àAs one might kiss a bride! à àIf his debauched nature can put an end to the àpoetic self, then the triumph of debauchery will be complete àand Riley must succomb to utter despair and suicide. à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Æ‚Á‚Ă‚Å‚Ó‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚̀‚Ï‚Ó‚Ó‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚ĂׂÁ‚ɂ΂ɂł à ? With the death of Nellie Cooley, Riley faced a bleak ?future. There would never be the affection or essential signs ?of love, the expectatition of sexual embraces and kisses or ?physical affections. This lack generated great anxiety. The ?goal of happiness becomes unattainable. If one is of a great àloving nature, the expression of it becomes frustrated. ?The anger must be released. When the death is of one's great ?soul-partner there is no one with whom to express the depth àof the separation. Nellie was this soul-partner of Riley. à à‚ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚ς΂ł̀‚Ù‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Ó‚Đ‚Ï‚Î‚Ä‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚ ‚̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚̀‚̀‚ςׂɂ΂ǂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Đ‚Á‚̉‚Ô‚Ơ‚̉‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ àƒ Î‚Å‚̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚̉‚ ‚É‚̀‚̀‚ɂ΂ςɂӂ à ? The testimony of Cornelia Loder (later Wood) describes ?the home of Reuben Riley. She lodged at the home of the ?Rileys when she was hired to teach in the Greenfield grade ?schools under Superintendent John Binford in the summer of ?1876. She recalled the Greenfield Academy building which ?Reuben turned into a residence as a tall, old, dignified, ?block-shaped, frame structure with a flat roof and a cupola ?belfrey. The home stood in a grove of trees. It was very ?imposing with pillar ornaments on the front giving it the ?impression of height and great dignity. The family called it ?the "Old Castle," or the "Castle in the Grove." James ?Whitcomb Riley went to school there to Lee O. Harris in àearlier years. à Riley was already recognized as a literary entertainer. ?Miss Loder recalled "making my home with them one week before ?school began in order to attend the teacher's institute. The ?teachers had requested James Whitcomb to give his Bear story ?at the institute, and Elva (the sister) said to me `I wish ?Jim wouldn't do that. It sound so silly." I had never heard ?it before and could see why everybody wanted to hear him tell ?it." She also commented hearing that Riley never told the àstory twice the same way. ? Riley recited some other poems which were not original ?during this period in his platform career. One was "The Lily ?Bud" by Anna Poe. Riley touched simple Christian emotions in ?his platform work from the earliest stage of his career and àconcentrated all of his creative effort on such evocations. ?The story line of "The Lily Bud" has two brothers who live on ?adjoining farms not speaking to each other for a long time. ?A little baby came into one of the homes. The other brother ?happens to be working near that home one day and cannot ?resist the desire to see the baby and steps through the back ?door up to the cradle. The brother/father sees him and steps ?to his side and peace is made between them. The story is a àsimple referrant to the Matthean recollection whereby àJesus teaches it is not just murder but also anger toward ?a brother that must be resolved if one is to fulfill a life ?consonent with the law of Christian love. Mary Riley, the ? poet's sister, once recollected the hours of labor that àRiley devoted to getting his performance ?of poetry right while residing with the family at the àGreenfield Academy residence. ? She recalled, "It was his custom to shut himself up in ?his room at night, and work till 3 or 4 o'clock in the ?morning, reading aloud to himself, over and over, the ?recalcitrant lines of whatever poem he was at the time àengaged in writing. ? Even then, his voice had that strange arresting quality ?that so greatly moved audiences in his later years, when he ?read his poems from the lecture platform. However, if his ?voice occasionally woke me from sleep, it was to me merely ?the comforting tones of the voice I loved - the voice of a ?brother whose tender care of me had replaced the loss of our ?sweet mother. I immediately went back to sleep undistrubed àby its sound. ? The rest of the family was less enraptured, though, and ?I can remember my other brothers rising in righteous wrath, ?and tiptoeing to his door to protest in angry whispers. Jim ?would apologize, and, for awhile his voice would remain as ?low and droning as a bumble bee. But he'd forget again ?shortly and resum,e his absorbed and dramatic intonations in ?a normal voice, and then I'd hear our father (Reuben Riley) ?go to his door and remonstrate. The strongest expletive ?father ever used was `By Goerge," but the mildness of the ?expression was contradicted by the stern tone, and I quaked ?for Jim as I heard father say: `By George, I want an end to àthis!'" à As a consequence of his "night activities," Riley often ?slept over at other places or at his paint shop, when he had àthat facility which he called "the morgue." ? Riley was obviously despondent, missed having the àcompanionship of Nellie Cooley, and returned to his alternate àcompanion, Crestillomeem. à àƒ Đ‚Ơ‚‚̀‚É‚Ă‚ ‚Ó‚È‚Á‚Í‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚É‚Î‚Ô‚Ï‚Ø‚É‚Ă‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Á‚̉‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚ àƒ ¢‚̉‚Ơ‚Í‚Ï‚̉‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Æ‚̀‚Ơ‚Ô‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚¢‚ ‚¨‚æ‚̣‚ï‚í‚ ‚¢‚Ô‚è‚å‚ ‚Æ‚́‚ù‚é‚î‚ç‚ ‚É‚ó‚́‚á‚î‚ä‚ó‚ ‚ï‚æ‚ ‚ô‚è‚å‚ ‚΂é‚ç‚è‚ô‚¢‚©‚ à àBut dost thou know that rumors flutter now àAmong the subjects of thy sorceries? - àThe art being banned±À‚, thou knowest; or, unhoused àIs unleashed pitilessly by the grim, àFacetious body of the dridular²À‚ àUpon the one who fain had loosed the curse àOn others. - An my counsel be worth aught, àThen have a care thy spells do not revert àUpon thyself, nor yet mine own poor hulk àO' fearsomeness! à ?1. Intoxication is a crime in Indiana as James Whitcomb Riley àcame to know from being convicted of it in Hoosier ?town courts many times as a youth, usually released on bonds ?posted by friends. A record of his conviction in the Mayor's àCourt of Greenfield in late 1877 survives. ?2. Dridular is a prohibitionist agitator. Probably this àreference is to Luther Benson, a temperance lecturer, and ?friend who took Riley's confessions about his alcoholism for àmany years. Riley traveled with him briefly in late 1877 ?into Northern Indiana. Benson loaned money to Riley as he ?often did to alcoholics such as Riley to aid them and their ?families in trouble cause by alcoholic use. Such a "dridular" ?promotes "dry" (prohibitionist) as opposed to wet (legal ?alcohol sales). The word is suggestive of a "dry dealer" in ?intoxicatese or one opposed to alcohol dealing. Riley would ?know about such prohibition agitation. He spoke about the ?evils of intoxication as a "reformed drunk" in his own life ?on the Benson tour of 1877 shortly before returning to àGreenfield. A Benson testimonial was often used to promote ?Riley on his earlier lecture tours reading: "I want to say to àyou tonight that his humor gnaws at the very vitals of your ?being and his pathos is like grinding sausage with bones in àit." Benson had recurring falls into alcoholism and suffered ?one in the poet's hometown of Greenfield, Indiana with a ?subsequent arrest for public intoxication on January 18, à1879. à ?Ԃׂς ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Í‚Ó‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚̀‚̀‚ςׂɂ΂ǂ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Ï‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ɂ΂ ‚ àĂ‚Ï‚Î‚Ô‚Å‚Í‚Đ‚̀‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ó‚Ơ‚É‚Ă‚É‚Ä‚Å‚ Á‚΂Ă ‚Ä‚̉‚Ơ‚΂˂ł΂΂łӂӂ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚̉‚Ç‚Å‚Ô‚ à à ̀ÀÀ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] àƒ ̀‚ɂ΂łӂ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚Á‚΂ ‚ς΂ӂłԂԂ̀‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Ù‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂ǂ ‚Í‚Á‚΂ ‚¨‚±‚¸‚·‚¹‚©‚ à à "O what is Life at last," says you, à `ASt woman-floks and man-folks too, à Cain't oncomplainin', worry through? à à "An' waht is Love, `at no one yit à `At's monkeyed with it kin forgit, à Er gits fat on remembern hit? à à "An' what is Death?" - W'y, looky hyur - à Ef Life an' Love don't suit you, sir, à Hit's jes' the thing yer lookin' fer! à à-------------------------------- àIn 1879. Riley, considering himself as Jucklet of his play, ?composed "A Toast of Jucklet's," in similar Chattertonian ?bawd to his writing in "The Flying Islands," "To the Wine-God àMerlus" à àHo! ho! thou jolly god, with kinded lips àAnd laughter-streaming eytes, thou liftest up àThe hgeart of me like any wassail-cup, àAnd from its teeming brim, in foaming drips, àThou blowest all my cares. I cry to thee àBetween the sips: - Drink long and lustily; àDrink thou m ripest joys, my richest mirth, àMy maddest staves of wanton minstrelsy; àDrink every song I've tinkered here on earth àWith any patch of music; drink! and be àThou drainier of my soul, and to the lees àDrink all myu lover-thrills and ecsatasies; àAnd with a final gulp - ho! ho! - drink me, àAnd roll me o'er thy tongue eternally. à ? Actually, in the poem itself, Crestillomeem is the Riley ?"self" who enchants Riley into alcoholism and delirium àtremens. ("At present doth the King (Riley) lie in a sleep ?Drug-wrought and deep as death - the after-phase of an ?unconscious state...") The poem is in the ostensible form of ?a "play," because this most fanciful of Riley's poems is a ?"play" on his life. It is written as a takeoff of a 15th ?century play such as Thomas Chatterton, the fantastic forger- ?boy would have written and passed off as play of the non- ?existent monk Rowley. It probably owes its form more to the ?gloom Poe fitted into his "Secenes from Politian." But ?Riley's "play" is not dreamish humorous or despairing however ?clever and entertaining or dishonest as a forgery on life it ?might be or as it may appear or be. "The Flying Islands of ?the Night" is boldly delirious-appropriate to Riley's hellish àperception of his existence without ordinary love. ? Riley intimately knows this cast member, Crestillomeem, ?a pushy, slutty lady-this mannish cross-dressing queen of a ?fantasy horror show who slurs words and lurks behind him ?ready to take over his life at every juncture. She is the ?foil of a W.C.T.U. crusader of Riley's late Nineteenth ?Century era, a type of personality who has haunted Riley and ?hunted him out for persecution as a youth to ridicule him and ?call him a "no-good" in his adolescence, to drive him under ?and sign a pledge not to drink. The fact is Riley's ?"Crestillomeem" is on the other side of the issue of ?alcoholism but just as determined a lady as any temperance ?"bitch." "Crestillomeem" wants Riley drunk and delirious. ?She doesn't want him writing poetry. She likes him suicidal. ?She is the reincarnation of the poison that Thomas Chatterton ?took when his forgeries became known. Cretillomeem wants ?Riley dead if not drunk and insists he sign a "pledge" to ?stay drunk just as her "purer" W.C.T.U. counterparts want àRiley to sign a pledge to abstain from alcohol! Will Riley àsign on to alcoholism's "Murphy" pledge? His autobiographical àpoem, "The Flying Islands of the Night" tells us. à She wants him to die as did Tommy Chatterton, the poet ?whose life was such a fascination to Riley - the boy who ?ditched an apprenticeship in the law, wrote forgeries, but àthen committed suicide horribly through taking arsenic rather ?than face life after exposure of his forgered poems. àFollowing the condemnations of Riley for forging "Leonainie," ?Riley must have considered the same course of suicidal àaction. à ?Riley was afflicted with terrible suicidal depression as well ?as alcoholism. This is not beyond expectation. Creative ?writers are much more often afflicted by disabling ?personality traits as well as alcoholism, and writers are ?more than twice as likely to have affective disorders as ?other high achievers according to recent psychiatric study. ?SEE: "Verbal Creativty, Depression and Alcoholism," Brit.J.of àPsych.(1966),168. à à‚ Riley and his brother Hum shared the life of great anguish àover the loss of the mother, Elizabeth, who died too àearly and under such compelling poverty. Both sank into àalcoholism. Both tried to help the other out of its morass. ?Brother Hum did not live long enough after this letter was àwritten, a matter of months, to do well for his brother. Nor ?did Riley succeed in healing his brother of his great àsorrows. à àƒÁ‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Ä‚Å‚Ó‚Đ‚Á‚É‚̉‚ ‚Á‚‚ςƠ‚Ô‚ ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚Ă‚Á‚Ơ‚Ó‚Å‚ ‚‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ë‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Ö‚Å‚̉‚Ó‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ àƒ ̀‚ς΂ǂƂł̀‚̀‚ςׂ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Đ‚̉‚É‚Ï‚̉‚ ‚Đ‚Ï‚Å‚Ô‚É‚Ă‚ ‚ɂ΂Ƃ̀‚Ơ‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Å‚Ó‚ à à Riley's Declaration of Independence from prior American àpoetry, particularly that of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, was ?announced in a drunken letter to the editor carried in the ?Kokomo TRIBUNE of April 5, 1979.. The letter was signed by àRiley's nom de plume John Walker, like the booze brand. à ?The letter to the newspaper was entitled, "USE AND ABUSE OF àTHE POETIC THEME" and reads: ? "Poetry," said Johnson, "is the next best thing to ?prose." And in my belief had Johnson lived on until the ?present day and age, that utterance would now read, "Poetry àis the next best thing to nothing." ? The poetry of to-day is altogether too lush - too ?"sobby," I may say; too much sap, and not enough timber, you ?understand. It's just as refreshing, perhaps, to those who ?never use it as it ever was; but to those who liked myself ?have the smouldering embers of poetic fire forever gasping ?the fuel treue genius alone can supply, the poetry of to-day ?only servbes to smother and depress the flickering flames ?that otherwise would leap up roaringly, and illuminate the àwhole heartlike a torch-light procession. ? Poets who will persist in writing the poetry of to-day ?ought to be bucked and gagged, and rolled up like a ball of ?stale pop-corn and thrown out o fthe car-window of modern ?advancem,ent. And yuet how many unfettered hands do we daily àsee lifted in this most unhaly practice. ? Nor is the Press of our land wholly guiltless of lending ?furtherance to this most crying wrong; for it not only ?passively submits to these constantly recurring atrocities of ?rhyme, but - indirectly it may be - it aids and abets the ?evil by publishing and reproducing the very "poems" which ?otherwise would drop at once into the famishing oblivion ?which pants for them in vain. Where is the boasted justice ?of our broad Republic? Where is the Red-eyed Law we boast àof? And "where, may I ask, is the Grand Jury of our land?" ? This train of thought has been most painfully inflicted ?on my mind by a recent "poem," still going the rounds of the ?press, entitled "The Chamber Over the Gate," and openly àclaimed by its author, Henry W. Longfellow. ? Now, personally, I have nothing but the kindliest ?feeling toward Mr. Longfellow, but, in justice to the demands ?of the strictly literary element of Howard county, and Kokomo ?in particular, I must affirm that the really "suggestive and ?inviting theme he has selected, has not only met with neglect ?at his hands, but ;positive abuse. Yet like the thousands ?like it that are daily flaunted in our faces by the public ?press, it is copied, reproduced, and duplicated till the path ?of progress is lieterally strewn and choked with the rank àdead leaves of poetical ruin and literary woe. ? I cannot comment at length upon a subject so glutted ?with disasster and so bleared and bloated with the highwires ?of distress, but I will add, byd way of admonition to Mr. L. ?that an author, and poet in particualr, cannot be too ?caustious in his encroachments on the public weal. There ?are, I am frank to admit, certain points in "The Chamber over ?the Gate" that would warrant me in advising Mr. L. to ?continue, for a time at least, in the exercise of his ?poetical inclinations, but even this advice I must withold, ?unless, indeed, the audacious asp[9irant will curb his ?admbition, and adopt in future for each succeeding effort of ?his pen, a fresh nom de plume. This, in a measure, would ?advance anythign of worth he mgiht chance to produce, while ?it would shield him as well from the pain and humiliation he ?must necessarily feel in reading such critizes as the one my àduty now cllas on me to lay before the world. ? And now that I have gone so far in pointing out this ?glaring discrepancy, and directing at least one wandering ?upon his pilgrimmage to the Great Perhaps, it becomes my ?further duty to illustrate, both to the unfortunate poet, and ?to my many admirers, the real principle involved in the ?poetical management of the theme he has so ruthlessly àdistorted and abused. ? I subjoin a hastily arranged though mainly perfect copy àof the poem as it shoul.d be treated by a master hand. à àƒ THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE ̀ÔÎ…0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] àƒ -----Is it too fine for thee à To drop onto, and see, à In the chamber over the gate à That old man hesitate - à Watching and waiting there à To swoop down unaware? à O Absalom, my son! Is it so long ago à That in the street below à Thou hunst there on the gate à While the clock banged on from eight à Till thy footseeps died away à Into the dawning of the day? à O Absolam, my son! à à There is no near or far. à There is neither here nor thar. à There is neither soon nor late à In that chamber over the gate à Nor any long ago à To that wail of human woe, à O Absalom, my son! à à In dreams of the van shed past à The voice comes like a blast à Over the window-sill à Thou hears it howling still. à And in nightmares yet to be à Will its echoes tackle thee à O Absolam, my son! à à He goes forth from the door à Who shall return no more: à With him the flower- pot goes à And the boot a spector throws à From the chamber over the gate à Where the old man lies in wait à O Absalom, my son! à à That tis a common grief à Bringeth but slight relief; à Her's is the bitterest loss- à For the old man is the boss - à And forever the cry must be: à Would I had fled with thee ̀Äâ‡0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à O Absalom, my son! à à Here is something very new in the life of James ?Whitcomb Riley. Yes, he wanted to be a poet. He had always àwanted to be a poet. Yet his life had driven him into àdespair, confused depression and alcoholism. à To find his voice it was necessary for him to transform àpoetry itself. This meant first and foremost to break away ?from the mainstream "Longfellow-type romantic" poetry which àhe had previously most admired. ? Riley needed to write alcoholic poetry before he could àwrite kenotic poetry. ? He wrote poetry as "Old Sport" wrote doggerel for àawhile. This was Riley's John Walker poetry. "Who is Old àSport?" "Old Sport" was where Riley was coming from. à We look briefly at where Riley was coming from. ? Let us first consider the "elevated" poetry of America's ?poet laureate prior to Riley's advent. "The Chamber Over the ?Gate" was a poem of the elderly Longfellow written October ?30, 1878. Longfellow wrote it to accompany a letter of ?condolence written to a Protestant "Bishop" of Mississippi, ?Rev. Duncan C. Green, whose son had died in Greenville, àMississippi serving victims of an outbreak of yellow fever. ? We compare Longfellows and Riley's "John Walker" re- àarrangement: à à àƒ THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE ̀Ơư‡0ˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ1ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ7ˆˆˆˆ] àLONGFELLOW'S RILEY'S à àIs it too fine for thee Is it too fine for thee àTo drop onto, and see To drop onto, and see àIn the chamber over the gate In the chamber over the gate àThat old man hesitate - That old man hesitate - àWatching and waiting there Watching and waiting there àTo swoop down unaware? To swoop down unaware à O Absalom, my son! O Absalom, my son! à àIs it so long ago Is it so long ago àThat cry of humn woe That in the street below àFrom the walled city came, Thou hungst there on the gate àCalling on his dear name While the clock banged on from eight àThat it has died away Till thy footseeps died away àIn the distance of to-day? Into the dawning of the day? à O Absalom, my son! O Absolam, my son! à àThere is no far or near, There is no near or far. àThere is netiehr there nor here, There is neither here nor thar. àThere is neither soon nor late, There is neither soon nor late àIn that Chamber over the Gate, In that chamber over the gate àNor any long ago Nor any long ago àTo that cry of human woe, To that wail of human woe, à O Absalom, my son! O Absalom, my son! à àFrom the ages that are past In dreams of the van shed past àThe voice sounds like a blast The voice comes like a blast àOver seas that wreck and drown, Over the window-sill àOver tumult of traffic and town; Thou hears it howling still. àAnd from ages yet to be And in nightmares yet to be àCome the echoes back to me, Will its echoes tackle thee à O Absalom, my son! O Absolam, my son! à àSomewhere at every hour He goes forth from the door àThe watchman on the tower Who shall return no more: àLooks forth, and sees the fleet With him the flower-pot goes àApproach of the hurrying feet And the boot a spector throws àOf messengers, that bear From the chamber over the gate àThe tidings of despair, Where the old man lies in wait à O Absalom, my son! O Absalom, my son! à àHe goes froth from the door, That tis a common grief àWho shall return no more. Bringeth but slight relief; àWith him our joy departs; Her's is the bitterest loss- àThe light goes out in our hearts; For the old man is the boss - àIn the Chamber over the Gate And forever the cry must be: àWe sit disconsolate. Would I had fled with thee à O Absalom, my son! O Absalom, my son! à àThat 't is a common grief àBringeth but slight relief; àOurs is the bitterest loss, àOurs is the heaviest cross; àAnbd forever the cry will be à"Would God I had died for thee, à O Absalom, my son! à à Riley turns the situational subject matter over to a humble ?life situation. John Walker deos not know a noble father who grieves ?for a deserving son. John Walker knows a boy who is thrown out of his ?home by an uncaring father. He knwos this boy to be thrown out of his ?house with a flower pot and boot thrown out after him to make sure he ?goes on his way and knows he can't come home. This, according to Riley, ?would be a much more likely scenario for the writing of a poem about a à"chamber over the gate." à In his late twenties, Riley is abandoning Longfellow as a trusted ?guide to American life and throwing his support to the weltershung of àhis fellow alcoholic "Old Sport." à John C. Walker, the pseudonymn which Riley used here, was ?"Old Sport" according to his friend and biographer, Minnie Belle àMitchell. The John Walker poems were done in imitation of an ?alcoholic "corduroy" poet whose real name was William Stafford. She ?says of him, "The boys about town called Bill Stafford "Old Sport." ?When sober he sold a patent sieve from door to door, but when he was ?dringking, Old Sport made verses which were the merest doggerel. He ?would sing thme to the tune of a weird old Irish song. While thus ?engaged he would sit bent over on a box outside a store with arms ?crossed tight, legs dangling and head down, making these rhymes and ?singing them dolefully. Sometimes his rhymes were of a local nature, ?again they would soar into the realm of imagination and become weird àand mournful. Olf Sprot was, indeed, a favortie character for Mr. Riley ?to imitate when in a jolly crowd. The poet would make up his own ?doggerel and sing it to the same Irish tune and every little while ?would say under his breath in Old Sport's same cracked voice, "God - àwhat a doleful tune!" The following is an example of Old Sport's artful àrhyming - à "I will not be a farmer à Nor longer till the sod, à I will not hitch another team à Nor hop another clod." ?Mitchell believes this very doggerel inspired Riley's first John C. àWalker poem as published in the Kokomo TRIBUNE called "Tom àJohnson's Quit." àƒ ×‚È‚Ù‚ ‚ʂςȂ΂§‚Ó‚ ‚ӂς΂¬‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Đ‚̉‚Ï‚Đ‚Ï‚Ó‚Á‚̀‚ à à Riley's Bible reading was well known. I find the references àto John, the apostle of humility, and Riley's assumption of the name àJohnson so often more than coincidence. ? We do not find this character in Riley's poetry to even have a ?first name in Riley's use of the appelation in "Use and Abuse of the àPoetic Theme." à In Riley's contemporaneous "Buzz Club," we find another use of the àname Johnson. It is a boy who everyone seems to condemn, but who finds àpeace in being John's son despite the humility the condition has had on àhis life. à Here is Mr. Plempton's poem, "Johnson's Boy:" à à The world is turned agin me, à And people says they guess à That nothin' else is in me à But pure maliciousness. à I git the blame for doin' à What other chaps destroy; à And I' jist agoin' to ruin à Because I'm "Johnson's Boy" à à That ain't my name - I'd ruther à They'd call me Pete or Pat. - à But they've forgot the other - à And so have I, for that! à I reckon it's as handy, à When "nibsy" breaks his toy, à Or some one steals his candy. à To say 'twas Johnson's Boy." à à You can't gif any worter à At a pump, and find the spout à So durn chuck full o' morter à That you have to bore it out; à You tackle any scholar à In wisdom's wise emply, à And I'll bet you half a dollar à He'll say its "Johnson's Boy." à à Folks don't know how I suffer à In my uncomplainin' way! à They say I'm gittin' "tougher" à And "tougher" every day. à Last Sunday night, when Flinder à Was shoutin' out for joy à And some one shook the winder à He prayed for "Johnson's Boy." à à I'm tired o' bein' follered à By farmers every day à And then o' bein' "collared" à For coaxin' hounds away. à Hounds allers "plays me double" - à Its a trick they all enjoy à To git me into trouble à Because I'm "Johnson's Boy." à à I'm tired o' havin' fellers à Tie strings across the floor, à And havin' bloody "smellers" à A layin' at my door; à And people intimatin' à It's a life that I destroy à If a feller drownds a skatin' à When he's out with "Johnson's Boy." à à But if I git to heaven, à I hope the Lord'll see à Some feller has been perfect, à And lay it on to me; à I'll swell the song sonorous à As I clap my wings for joy, à And sail off on the chorus - à "Hurray for Johnson's Boy." à ? How strange it is that the self-professed victim here, the boy, is ?always associated with dire events? Can we believe him when he says he ?is always the victim of circumstances? How strangely necessary it is ?that he continue to profess his innocence. Is it credible that he is ?charged with causing tragic happenings on so many occasions just ?because he is Johnson's boy? Did he kill the boy he was skating with? ?We certainly do wonder. Riley employs antistrophe in repeating ?Johnson's Boy at the end of each stanza so that the whole weight of the àhorribles seems to rest upon the boy's shoulders in reality. à The point seems to be the redemption that nevertheless comes later àbecause the boy has hope for redemption as John's son. à Life is not, even for the Riley of Crestillomeem, without the hope ?of redemption to a son of John. Riley uses this name Johnson so ?frequently it must have had special significance to him. We remember àthat eventually it will be his poems under this name that betoken àhis finest kenotic poetry, these being the poems of Benjamin Johnson of ?Boone. Then again when his life is depicted on the Broadway stage in àNew York, Riley suggests his character be called "Jim Johnson." ?"Ways is devius.." to the creative Riley as he says in his poem to àWilliam Leachman. à Then we find the groping with alcoholism a major subject in ?James Whitcomb Riley's poetry. Can we see here a step into redemption àthrough kenoticism? à à‚ Ô‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚ʂςȂ΂ӂς΂§‚Ó‚ ‚Ñ‚Ơ‚É‚Ô‚ ‚¨‚±‚¸‚·‚¹‚©‚ à àA passel o' the boys last night - à An' me amongst 'em - kind o' got àTo talkin' Temper'nce left an' right, à An' workin' up "blue-ribbon, " hot; àAn' while we was a-countin' jes' à How many hed gone into hit àAn' signed the pledge, some feller says, - à "Tom Johnson's quit!" àWe laughed, of course - 'cause Tom, you know, à Has spiled more whisky, boy an' man, àAnd seed more trouble, high an' low, à Than any chap but Tom could stand: àAnd so, says I, "He's too nigh dead à Fer Temper'nce to benefit!" àThe feller sighed ag'in, and said - à "Tom Johnson's quit!" à àWe all liked Tom, an' that was why à We sort o' simmered down ag'in, àAnd ast the feller ser'ously à Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in: àHe shuck his head - tuck off his hat - à Helt up his hand an' opened hit, àAn' says, says he, "I'll swear to that - à Tom Johnson's quit!" à àWell, we was stumpt, an' tickled, too, - à Because we knowed ef Tom hed signed àThere wa'n't no man 'at wore the "blue" à 'At was more honester inclined: àAn' then and there we kind o' riz - à The hull dern gang of us 'at bit - àAn' thr'owed our hats and let 'er whiz, - à "Tom Johnson's quit!" à àI've heerd 'em holler when the balls à Was buzzin' 'round us wus'n bees, àAn' when the old flag on the walls à Was flappin' o'er the enemy's, àI've heerd a-many a wild "hooray" à 'At made my heart git up an' git - àBut Lord! - to hear 'em shout that way! - à "Tom Johnson's quit!" à àBut when we saw the chap 'at fetched à The news wa'n't jinin' in the cheer, àBut stood there solemn-like, an' reched à An' kind o' wiped away a tear, àWe someway sort o' stilled ag'in, à And listened - I kin hear him yit, àHis voice a-wobblin' with his chin, - à "Tom Johnson's quit!" à à"I hain't a-givin' you no game - à I wisht I was!...An hour ago, àThis operator - what's his name - à The one 'at works at night, you know? - àWent out to flag that Ten Express, à And sees a man in front of hit àTh'ow up his hands an' stagger - yes, - à "Tom Johnson's quit!" à à Riley places the character of Old Sport through the mental ?gymnastics of abstinence of alcohol. In the same Mayor's Court docket ?book where one finds Along with James Whitcomb Riley's arrest for ?Public Intoxication in Dec. 1878, one finds many, many arrests of ?William Stafford for the same thing. Those dates of arrest are followed ?up by incarcerations for public intoxication because "Old Sport" had to ?"lay out his fines." (One got credit for fines on a per diem basis of ?incarceration if one didn't have the money to pay the fine.) It seems ?clear that Riley from the late 1870's and at least until his turn into ?kenoticism delves into the life of shamed alcoholics like himself to ?not only explore what intoxication and the life causing it but also how ?a poetry of such a man might be written. Riley's poetry changes ?subject matter and also technique with flights into ellipse, ?intoxicatese orthography and diction, and imaginative dissembling such àas one finds in "The Flying Islands of the Night." ? I do find that Riley always seemed to come to identify with those àwho, like himself, suffered public shame by public intoxication arrests ?to include friends like Clint Hamilton, Luther Benson, Almon Kiefer and ?even Riley's friend John Mitchell, whose wife was Minnie Belle ?Mitchell, the author and biographer of Riley whose intimacy with the ?facts of his life are so very helpful. In fact it almost seems to be a ?necessity that one be an alcoholic for Riley to dedicate a book of his àpoetry to the person. It is a very rare volume of Riley's poetry that àis not dedicated to an alcoholic. à Riley realized there is nothing about God's love which bars any ?alcoholic or anyone else from being a child of the gentle and beloved àJohn.
er hand. à àƒ THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE ̀Üû„0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] àƒ -----Is it too fine for thee à To drop onto, and see, à In the chamber over the gate à That old man hesitate - à Watching and waiting there à To swoop down unaware? à O Absalom, my son! Is it so long a FU\¹ ¹A
à à‚Á‚ ‚Ó‚È‚Ï‚̉‚Ô‚ ‚Á‚Ă‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚¢‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Đ‚Å‚Ă‚Ô‚Æ‚Ơ‚̀‚̀‚Ù‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Ă‚̀‚ɂ΂łĂ¢‚ ‚Đ‚Á‚Đ‚Å‚̉‚Ó‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚ àƒ Â‚Ơ‚Ú‚Ú‚ ‚Ă‚̀‚Ơ‚‚ ‚Ó‚Å‚̉‚É‚Å‚Ó‚ à à The finest of the "alcoholic" Riley's works were his ?Buzz Club papers. They were a taunt at the temperance ?majority from the start. The meetings always conclude with ?resort to alcohol somewhere as if the members were not under ?the influence during the meetings themselves. The Buzz Club ?consisted of something like an alcoholic's support group in ?which each of the three members would try to better himself ?by producing something of literary merit. The results were ?semi-comical but oddly beautiful pieces of writing and poetry ?and stand-up comedy or drama in varying degrees of ?intoxicatese, of which "The Flying Islands of the Night," has àproven to be the most durable. ? The pieces were published in the Indianapolis Saturday ?Herald as follows: Respectfully Declined Papers of the Buzz ?Club No. I, May 11, 1878; Respectfully Declined Papers of the ?Buzz Club No. II, June 15, 1878; Respectfully Declined Papers ?of the Buzz Club No. III, July 6, 1878; Respectfully Declined ?Papers of the Buzz Club No. IV, August 24, 1878; Respectfully àDeclined Papers of the Buzz Club No. V, September 28, 1878; ?and Respectfully Declined Papers of the Buzz Club No. VI, àNovember 16, 1878. ? The first of the series opens with an explanation that ?the club, originally of twenty five members, is now down to ?three and one of the members, Mr. Clickwad, moves that the ?club be disbanded and "I shall insist upon either a second or ?a duel...As Sancho Panza says...in God's name let us abandon ?the enterprise while we have enough members left to vote. If ?it runs this way there'll be no one but the janitor here next ?meeting..." Such anacoluthon gives us to know the members of ?this club are simple drunks. We are not given to expect much ?but grammaticial inconsequence and intoxicated inconsistency ?in expression by the group. Occasionally, we are not àentirely disappointed. ? Crestillomeem is at work. She is the poet who writes in ?the sing-song intoxicatese of dissyllabic iambs. The ?gentlemen of the Buzz Club are at an unrepentent antithetical àAlcoholics Anonymous meeting drunk. ? Mr. Clickwad delivers the first poem we encounter in the àseries: àƒ Á‚ ‚Ä‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Í‚ à I dreamed I was a spider à A big, fat, hungry spider; à A lusty, rusty spider à With a dozen paisied limbs à With a dozen limbs that dangled à Where three wretched flies were tangled à And their buzzing wings were strangled à In the middle of their hymns. à à And I mocked them like a demon; à A demoniacal demon à Who delights to be a demon à For the sake of sin alone. à And with fondly false embraces à Did I weave my mystic laces à Round their horror stricken faces à Till I muffled every groan. à à And I smiled to see them weeping, à For to see an insect weeping, à Sadly, sorrowfully weeping, à Fattens every spider's mirth; à And to note a fly's heart quaking, à And with anguish ever aching à Till you see it slowly breaking à Is the sweetest thing on earth. à à I experienced a pleasure, à Such a highly flavored pleasure, à Such intoxicating pleasure, à That I drank of it like wine à And my mortal soul engages à That no spider on the pages à Of the history of ages à Felt a rapture more divine. à à I careened around and capered - à Madly, mystically capered - à For three days and nights I capered à Round my web in wild delight; à Till with fierce ambition burning, à And an inward thirst and yearning à I hastened my returning à With a fiendish appetite. à à And I found my victims dying, à "Ha," they whispered, "we are dying!" à Faintly whispered, "we are dying! à And our earthly course is run." à And the scene was so impressing à That I breathed a special blessing, à As I killed them with caressing à And devoured them one by one." à ? Riley continues, "There was a wild, unearthly light in ?Mr. Clickwad's eyes as he closed the poem and glared àdefiantly upon his hearers." ? We have heard a mock delirium tremens vision in lyric ?trimeter. The next member, Mr. Plempton, continues with his ?own as a stand-up narrative. He "dreams" he is in a deserted ?banquet hall all alone. A feast was on the table and he was ?very hungry. There were chickens roasted, fried and broiled, ?dumplings and peach cobblers, pies etc. Whenever he tried to ?eat anything it became alive. He harpooned a fat apple ?dumpling and it squealed like a pig when he stuck it. He then ?took a chicken leg and all the chickens on the feast table ?got up and fluttered away. Even the chicken from whom he had ?wrenched the leg got up and hopped away on its remaining leg ?while the other chickens screamed at him, "He's got the ?chicken leg." He defiantly tried to eat it, but it was as ?steel and the fowl laughed at him, "He can't eat it. He can't ?eat it." Mr. Plempton says he then swallowed it metallic ?though it was after which the chicken on one leg hopped over ?to him and told him he had "swallowed a navy revolver, loaded ?with mugs to the sluzzle." Any movement and it would go off. ?The jelly then asked him if he had "any little earthly ?matters to clear up." Trembling, all Mr. Plempton could do ?was pray, "Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me;\Bless thy little ?lamb tonight" - to which the Jelly replied, "Oh, what a ?little lamb!" and later while Mr. Plempton was praying Jesus ?to keep him safe, the jely shrieks, "Time's up, Make ready! ?Take aim! Fire!" The shot that got Mr. Plempton also wounded ?the jelly, who murmured, "A random shot, but we can at least àdie together." ? The final member delivers a more metered piece, again in ?fantasy, ".../Dreamer, say, will you dream of love\That lives ?in a land of sweet perfume,\ Where stars drip down from the àskies above\In molten spatters of bud and bloom..." To cries ?of "Splendid," the meeting adjourns with them all going out àfor a bottle of burgundy at Mr. Hunchley's. So ends our first àacquaintanceship with the antithetical Buzz Club. à In the second Buzz Club meeting, we learn what degenerate ?reprobates the members are. The subject upon which each is to ?produce a literary piece is childhood. The example of Mr. ?Clickwad will suffice. He leads off with an incident in ?which he was tricked by a child who he is trying to entice to ?sit on his lap. While visiting in Terre Haute Clickwad is ?taken into a drawing room to await the coming of a friend he ?wishes to meet when a sweet-faced little girl peeps in. ?Clickwad asks her name and she says, "I'm mama's yitty ?angel.""Ah!" I exclaimed rapturously, "and you are a little ?angel, to be sure!" And then telling her of my passionate ?love for little angels, "I patted my knee with a most ?seductive air." The little girl takes a nickel to come closer ?but won't sit on his lap for that because another gentleman ?"divs me one-five-two mucher'n that." Eventually she will sit ?on his lap for all of his money and plays with his ?possessions, sticking her doll down his vest. Eventually ?while trying to open his watch, she strikes herself on the ?head and rushes off to return with mother yelling this man ?tried to kill her. When he got up to defend his honor, the àlegs of the doll protruded from his vest. ? There is only "The Flying Islands of the Night," offered àby Mr. Clickwad, in the fourth episode. ? In the fifth episode, where imitations were to be ?undertaken, two lengthy pieces are presented: "An Idyl of the ?King" is told by Mr. Plempton on the order of Tennyson. (The ?title is Old Hec's Idolatry as found in Riley's Complete àWorks, Biographical Edition.) Then Mr. Hunchley reads his ?offering in prose, "Twiggs and Tudens" in imitation of àDickens. à The sixth episode contains Mr. Bryce's imitation of àan old man reciting "Farmer Whipple - Bachelor" followed by ?Mr. Clickwad's offering. Clickwad tells the group at this ?last meeting, that he intends to quit drinking after the àevening and its drunken party afterward. à Riley's intoxication becomes childlike and fantastic ànot just in "The Flying Islands of the Night" from the àBuzz Club series but also in such poems as the following: à à‚ Á‚ ‚ׂ̉‚Á‚΂ǂĂɂ̀‚̀‚ɂς΂ ̀ÁÀ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ] à à Dexery-Tethery! down in the dike, à Under the ooze and the slime, à Nestles the wraith of a reticent Gryke, à Blubbering bubbles of rhyme; à Though the reeds touch him and tickle his teeth - à Though the the Graigroll and the Cheest à Pluck at the leaves of his laureate-wreath, à Nothing affects him the least. à à He sinks to the dregs in the dead o' the night, à And he shuffles the shadows about à As he gathers the stars in a nest of delight à And sets there and hatches them out: à The Zhederrill peers from his wtery mine à In scorn with the Will-o'-the-wisp, à As he twinkles his eyes in a whisper of shine à That ends in a lumnionous lisp. à à The Morning is born like a baby of gold, à And it lies in a spasm of pink, à And rallies the Cheest for the horrible cold à He has dragged to the willowy brink, à The Gryke blots his tears with a scrap of his grief, à And growls at the wary Graigroll à As he twunkers a tune on a Tiljicum leaf à And hums like a telegraph pole. ̀öÉ‚0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ] à ? The poet of wanderings in the American life of Indiana ?and Ohio over the last seven years since his mother's death, ?with the experiences of its ways, began recording his ?personal views driving him into alcoholism into a figurative ?speech appropriate to his condition. And yet the world- for ?a time- did not care to see what he was doing to be able to ?drive him into conformity and banality. While the influence ?of Charles Dickens was very pronounced not just in Riley's ?point of view but also in his life plan, the English poet, ?William Blake, and of course Riley's preinacarnation self, ?"Edgar Allen Poe," seem to me to be the most important àwriters to Riley's career as Crestillomeem. ? I am not taking Riley's writing career step-by-step. ?Nevertheless, chronologically, Riley was aware of "inspired ?spiritualism" in poeltry from an early age. I attribute ?Riley's study of William Blake for encouragement as the great ?freeing verse. Blake's poetry best adapted to a poetry of ?tremens-inspired visions such as "The Flying Islands of the ?Night," to spiritually inspired poetry such as Riley's ?greatest poetry, his kenotic poetry, and finally to his ?imaginative poetry of the variety commonly called Riley's àchildren's poetry. à àƒ Ä‚Å‚̀‚É‚̉‚É‚Ơ‚Í‚ Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚Á‚Ô‚Å‚ ‚²‚°‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ àƒ ? As we have noted, delirium is an essential feature of ?alcohol withdrawal. "The Flying Islands of the Night" seems a àdelirium account. While Riley sank into great alcoholism ?after the death of his mother and to escape Greenfield again ?after the Kemmer lynching with another medicine man, this àtime Doc Townsend, he does not appear to have grown delirious àfrom these experiences. We find evidence of delirium tremens ?only after the death of Nellie. Delirium tremens often comes àvery quickly as within a week after withdrawals. ?It consists of marked autonomic hyperactivity, with ?tachycardia and sweating. This is "delirium tremens," or ?"tremens," as referred to in the Buzz Club papers. The ?associated feature of tremens are vivid hallucinations. àDelusions and agitated behavior accompany these deliriums. ?A more modern diagnostic description is organic alcohol ?hallucinosis which is described in the American Psychiatry ?Associations "DSM III-R" as "The essential feature of this ?disorder" in which vivid and persistent hallucinations ?develop shortly (usually within 48 hours) after cessation of ?or reduction in alcohol ingestion by a person who apparently ?has Alcohol Dependence. The hallucinations may be auditory ?or visual. The auditory hallucinations are usually voices ?and, less commonly, unformed sounds such as hissing or ?buzzing. In the majority of cases, the content of the ?hallucinations is unpleasant and disturbing...The voices may ?address the person directly, but more often they discuss him ?or her in the third person." In discussing delirium, the note ?is made that "The duration of an episode of Delirium is ?usually brief, about one week; it is rare for Delirium to ?persist for more than a month." Recovery is usually complete ?although a more stable organic mental disorder may result. ?Diagnostic Criterion are reduced ability to maintain ?attention to external stimuli, disorganized thinking, ?rambling, irrelevant, or incoherent speech, and the ?occasional perceptual disturbance, illusion, ?misinterpretation, hallucination, disorientation to time, àplace, or person, and episodic memory impairment. ? Crestillomeem is the Riley suffering from alcoholism, ?its delusions, and tremens upon withdrawal. She is the ?ranting bitch that schemes at his success or composure as a ?poet. She also is a person with remarkable powers of ?assessment who seems to see Riley the most clearly of all of àhis fragmented selves. She is not the "essential Riley." àShe is however his nightmare of himself. à àƒ Â‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ë‚Ơ‚Đ‚Ó‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Á‚΂ق ‚΂ł̀‚̀‚É‚Å‚ ‚̉‚Å‚Đ‚̀‚Á‚Ă‚Å‚Í‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚ ‚Ä‚Ơ‚Å‚ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ à ? On August 14, 1879, Riley wrote his friend, Elizabeth ?Kahle, "I am now furnishing four papers with contirbutions, ?besides writing a parntership book, and perfecting an ?original programme for readings the coming season. So you ?will see I am indeed overwhelmed, and I must throw in, too, ?by way of good measure, the fact that I'm in rather ill àhealth." He meant he was mostly drunk these days. ? Riley admitted this poem ("I loved her, why I never ?knew-\Perhaps, because her face was fair;\Perhaps, because ?her eyes were blue,\ And wore a weary air.") was about his ?vision of his own love of "dissipation" in a letter he wrote ?to Elizabeth Kahle of July 6, 1880. She knows it as "Delilah" ?because Riley had not yet fitted it into "The Flying Islands ?of the Night," his autobiographical poem. About it he says, ?"I must not let you think that I ever have loved seriously ?visions only; one part of my life has been seriously scarred ?with dissipation -as I think I have often intimated to you, ?because I would never willfully attempt the denial of any ?fact, however unpleasant the acknowledgement of it would be." ? Riley's last letter from Elizabeth Kahle of June 26, ?1884, sent to Riley just before she married and became Mrs. ?Brunn, was a nasty one in which Elizabeth, Riley's ?correspondent and lover by mail only, "volunteered some ?advice as to his one failing." Thereafter, Riley tried to ?keep up a correspondence but was not given her address. ? Meredith Nicholson recalled that Riley took pains to ?escape from any company where he found himself the centre of ?attraction. He resented being "shown off" (to use his àphrase) like "a white mouse with pink eyes." How could such a àbashful person hope to live a life of great public fame? àHe required the company of Crestillomeem. àRiley never knew what to do with himself when alone ?or unoccupied on the road during his lyceum years. He often àdrank out of loneliness. à àƒ Á‚΂ςԂȂł̉‚ ‚Đ‚Á‚Ô‚È‚ ‚Æ‚Ï‚̉‚ ‚ς΂ł ‚ɂ΂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Î‚Ä‚É‚Ô‚É‚Ï‚Î‚ à à There is a small stone to mark a grave at Park Cemetery, ?Greenfield, Indiana, Riley's hometown, only large enough for ?four letters, A-N-N-A. It is near a much larger family àstone, Chittenden. The A-N-N-A lies not so far from the àRiley family memorials at the same cemetery. ? Here lie the remains of a woman known to generations of ?kids who have borrowed children's books from the Greenfield ?Public Library in Riley's hometown. My recollection is that ?the children's corner of the former "Carnegie" Greenfield ?library in use in Greenfield during the majority of the ?Twentieth Century bore a plaque which dedicated the area to ?her. Some of its children's books were purchased out of a ?fund bequeathed by her. In December, 1996, the Greenfield ?Library Board voted to terminate this fund established in ?1926 and use the remaining principal to purchase shelving. No ?longer will Anna be the benefactress of children's books but àit was a seventy year ride of benefiting the children of Anna àChittenden's hometown. à Anna and James Whitcomb Riley knew each other well. ?Both were in the Greenfield Literary Club founded in ?Greenfield in 1879. They were the only two unmarried members ?of one of the divisions of the club. They must have spent ?pleasant afternoons together discussing literature with the ?other few intimate members of that division. There is another àconnection however. Both sufferred horribly from alcoholism. ? Anna Chittenden was a school teacher for some time but ?the sad fact is that Anna Chittenden lived a life of torment ?beyond description which causes me to consider hers to be one àof the saddest stories I have ever heard. Her life history àrepresents what might have become of James Whitcomb Riley. ?Eventually neither Riley nor Anna Chittenden could handle àtheir own property or make decisions for themselves. ? A little woman of 5'2" and frail appearing at just over ?100 pounds, with hazel eyes, light brown hair, and a light ?complexion, Anna began life in 1856, before the Civil War, on ?the sour note of having no father to raise her. Her father, ?Giles, died in 1855 of a stroke before she was born. Her ?mother, Margaret Chittenden, survived until 1895 and lived ?out her life on the corner of North and School Streets in ?Greenfield. Anna's mother died of an "abscess of the brain." ?Anna had no brothers or sisters either. One died of ?paralysis and three others died within a couple of years of ?birth. Anna was the last child born and lived a long life. ?Eventually she would die at 70 of tuberculosis with her body ?described as "emaciated" at the inquest. She had suffered ?from pulmonary tuberculosis for the last fourteen years of àher life. à During her youth, Anna Chittenden appeared to have every ?chance for success. Aside from having "scrofula" as a child, ?she did fine in school and graduated from the Greenfield ?schools at the age of eighteen. She decided on entering the ?teaching profession and got a little more education to àqualify her for that. ? Soon she was teaching in various parts of the state and ?did so for the next ten years. The only school in Hancock ?County where she taught that I could find was Fortville where àshe taught school in 1882 under M. Caraway, Principal àalong with two other teachers, A.E. Cummins and Alice Cory. ?Nevertheless, by all accounts, Anna Chittenden was a fine ?teacher and considered one of the best teachers in every ?community where she taught. It is said she was frequently ?able to discipline pupils "when other teachers failed àentirely". ? Then came 1890 and her school board of that year did not ?renew her contract. At 34 and unmarried, she apparently flew ?off the deep end and attempted suicide. Alcohoolism lurked ?into her life. She couldn't get it out of her mind that she ?was fired because the other teachers conspired against her. ?For the next five years, her family boarded her in a private ?sanitarium in Oxford, Ohio. Upon her return home to ?Greenfield in 1895, she was more than her sick mother could ?handle. According to Commitment Proceedings begun in the ?Hancock Circuit Court, her uncle, a Greenfield, Indiana, ?medical doctor by the name of Warren R. King described her as ?"filthy, violent, abusive, thinks her best friends are her ?enemies, writing letters that have no intelegent(sic) ?construction, while she is well educated and when in good ?health refinement about her person and clothing." Thus began ?her first commitment to Central State Hospital for the ?Insane. She was released after ten months in Dec. 1895 and ?termed "much improved." Her mother had died in the interim ?and she was the recipient of her mother's estate of about à$5,000. ? For ten years, Anna Chittenden survived outside the ?state's mental hospital mainly by her wits. However, ?according to John P. Black, M.D. who signed a Proceeding to ?Re-Commit her, "she wanders about the streets and exposes ?herself." Apparently her alcohol problem intensified although ?was called only a borderline alcoholic. Anna, at 49, had ?reduced her standard of living to the point that she was ?found living in a hut without heat in winter according to ?Central State records, paying someone $2.00 a week for rent. ?Her uncle, Dr. King, by this time her legal guardian, again ?headed for Hancock Circuit Court to have her committed to ?Central State. This second admission would be from Jan. 27, ?1905 until June 30, 1908. It got her out of the hut and into ?a warm place for the next three years. The Court papers call ?her "violent and abusive at times. Unable to adopt herself to àenvironment." Once again she was released. ? A little over a year later would spell the end of Anna ?Chittenden's life outside of the institution for the insane. ?On Nov. 25, 1910, the Judge of the Circuit Court again ?committed her - this one the third such commitment- and ?Anna's life would never again see freedom. It was said Anna ?Chittenden had again been found "restlessly wandering" around ?Greenfield and this time she was committed to Central State àHospital where she remained until she died. ? Usually, I find her described in hospital records as ?having chronic melancholia which to us means depression. But ?sometimes there is a statement such as "well systematized ?delusions of persecution. She believed that parties were ?plotting against her to deprive her of property...Has had ?numerous hallucinations. Has heard people plotting against àher..." ? There is much more, but the fact is that a will of hers ?was found at the Fortville Bank executed just before her ?first commitment leaving her property to her mother then ?aunts and if none of them were around to the public library ?in Greenfield. With all dead, the library got her estate ?after a will contest was lost by Anna's more distant ?relatives. And that is why for all the years since 1926, ?terminating only in 1996, that the kids of Greenfield have ?benefited with children's books from the life of a woman who ?suffered such agony that few could bear. And the lesson is ?further that something like this might very well have àhappened to James Whitcomb Riley due to his alcoholism.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ll have àhappened to James Whitcomb Riley. ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? to the "Hancock ?Agricultural Society" was given March 9, 1863 and is recorded ?in Deed Record V, page 165 in the Office of the Recorder of ?Hancock County, IN. The eight acre tract served as the àcounty fairgrounds during the 1860's and 1870's. ? On this site a "Floral Pavilion" had been built by the àsociety for the l F́“Ô[1] Ô[1]1DNNNPRINTERàƒ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ƃɂ΂Á‚̀‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Å‚Î‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚΂Ԃł̉‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚
à‚ Ơ‚Đ‚Ï‚Î‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ë‚Ơ‚Đ‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚΂قł ? à The writing of "The Flying Islands of the Night" àresulted in a truce in the life of James Whitcomb Riley. ?Perhaps he no longer had Nellie as a font of encouragement àand strength, but he did feel her presence with him. ? Riley wrote to Mrs. Emma Cox, Nellie's daughter, on àApril 10, 1885: ̀ÀÀ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à Dear Friend: - ? It is Sunday, but to write you as I do is like a ? prayer, - Your beautiful tribute in the HERALD touched ? me deeply, recalling so tenderly your absent mother's ? kindliness when she was here; her brave, glad nature; ? the noble generous gentlewoman that she was; the truest ? friend on earth, or now in Heaven - God bless us always à with the sweetness of her memory! ? I can say no more now - only, my dear friend, I am ? very proud of your friendship, and of your talents - in ? music - composition - every way, and God bless us every à one!' à Gratefully and always, as ever, your friend. à J.W. Riley ̀åÇ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à One generally thinks of Riley as being in control of ?his alcoholism from the time of the writing of "The Flying ?Islands of the Night." There were many instances of illness ànoted about Riley. One suspects these incidents reflect àdepressions and intoxications. The overall picture does ànot reflect the disabling situation of severe alcoholism. àThere is one time of great public occurrence however when àCrestillomeem clearly got the upper hand. ? This was the very public incident when Riley's ?alcoholism caused the breakup of his Lyceum Circuit àpartnership with his friend, Bill Nye. à àƒ Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ë‚Ơ‚Đ‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚΂قł à ?The Louisville Courier Journal published the following àarticle after the Louisville incident of Feb., 1890. à àƒ THE POET'S SIDE OF IT à‚Mr. James Whitcomb Riley's Brother-in-Law Talks of the Split àƒ with Nye. à‚ The Hooiser Bard Had Been in Bad Health for Months and a àƒ Little Liquor Was Too Much à ? Mr. James Whitcomb Riley still keeps his room at the ?Galt House, but sees no one save his brother-in-law, Mr. ?Henry Eitel, of Indianapolis, who come(sic) down yesterday ?for the purpose of taking the poet home as soon as he is able ?to travel. Mr. Riley is much prostrated, and is in a bad ?state of mind over the recent unfortunate breaking up of his ?joint tour, in which matter he considers that he has to some ?extent been badly treated, being saddled with the entire àresponsibility of the affair. à Mr. Either, in the course of a conversation with a ?Courier Journal reported last night, said that Mr. Riley's ?condition was not so much the result of his drinking as of ?mental worry over it. "Mr. Riley," said Mr. Eitel, "is a man ?of nervous temperament and very high-strung or he couldn't ?be a poet if he wasn't and has been in rather bad health for ?some time. His throat has troubled him a good deal, and, ?being a careless eater, his stomach is frequently out of ?order. As a consequesce, (sic) he has been much worn out ?with constant travel and has at times felt the necessity of ?taking something to brace him up. His condition has been àsuch that it took but little to affect him. He couldn't ?stand much liqor. The main trouble seems to be that he did ?not like to be watched, and was much exasperated at Mr. ?Walker's way of handling him, giving out orders at hotels ?that he was to have no whisky, following him around and all ?that, and finally kicked over the traces. He and Mr. Walker ?had some pretty hot words about it, and no doubt both of them ?said things they were sorry for. He had several àdisagreements before reaching here." à "Mr. Walker was very strict, was he?" ? "Yes, very - inclined to be arbitrary, in fact. Of ?course, he was looking after his own interests, but I can't ?blame him for that. I think he handled Riley too severely. ?He had a contract with him for five years, and was ?continually shaking it over Riley's head. That exasperated ?him also, and so things went on until the breach here. Mr. ?Riley had been out four months and had missed but one ?engagement, at Madison, Wis. I think both Nye and Riley ?needed rest. It was intended that they should have a day off ?every week, but Major Pond either booked the time full or àkept them on long trips, so that they got no rest at all. ? "They should have taken Riley to his room when they saw ?his condition, instead of leaving him to sleep in a public ?place, but I suppose they were in a heat and did not think. ?Mr. Riley doesn't like to have the idea go out that all the àtrouble was because of his fondness for drink." à "Mr. Nye has gone, has he not?" ? "Yes, he left for New York to-night. He went up and ?told Riley good-bye, and they parted good friends. Both ?regret the affair very much. I will take Riley home to-morrow ?afternoon, if he is able to travel, as I suppose he will be. ?His nerves are all unstrung, and he needs rest. No, he has ?formed no new plans as yet. He has several books to revise, ?and there are several publishers who want him to write, so ?that he will probably rest and resume his literary work, ?which has been much interrupted. He now feels much hurt at ?the false position in which he has been placed, as if he were ?to blame for the whole affair, especially because he had ?missed but one date up the time he reached here - a period of ?four months. I will take him home at 2 o'clock to-morrow àafternoon, if possible." à Delirium tremens can be a nightmarish thing. à àƒ Â‚É‚̀‚̀‚ ‚΂قł§‚Ó‚ ‚Ö‚Å‚̉‚ӂɂς΂ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ë‚Ơ‚Đ‚ à ? Bill Nye, a Lyceum Circuit stage partner, told how ?Riley's habit of drinking too much was handled while they ?were on tour. At their hotel, the manager was warned that ?nothing "but clean shirts and farinaceous food" was to be ?sent up to "No. 182." This was Riley's room. The poet, ?however, found that his room communicated with the next one, ?No. 180. Also he discovered the man in that room had left ?for the evening. Nye comments, Riley stepped in and "at odd ?times used the bell of No. 180 with great skill, thereby ?irritating his manager so much that he returned to New York ?on the following day." Crestillomeem was a very dangerous ?"play-partner" to Riley but he often simply couldn't avoid àthe temptation to join her games. à àƒ Æ‚̉‚ɂł΂Ăӂ ‚˂΂ςׂ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚̉‚Å‚̀‚Á‚Ђӂɂ΂ǂ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Î‚Ä‚É‚Ô‚É‚Ï‚Î‚ à à The report of Riley's Louisville public episode with àCrestillomeem was spread throughout the nation because by à1890 Riley was a very famous American. à Among those friends of Riley's who shared concern for ?his health was Henry Woodfin Grady, Henry Woodfin Grady, ?1850-1889, a sometime lecturer as was Riley and writer for ?the Atlanta Constitution newspaper. Grady who was only a ?year younger than Riley wrote him in the very year of Grady's ?death requesting Riley to visit. "I see from the papers that àyou have been sick from overwork and prostration," he says àin his invitation. ? Many people encourage Riley in his battle with àCrestillomeem. à à‚ Á‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Đ‚É‚Ă‚Ô‚Ơ‚̉‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Á‚ ‚Ä‚̉‚Ơ‚΂˂ àƒ à There was always this feeling of ambiguity within Riley. ?He knew he was an alcoholic but he also knew he was fighting ?it mightily and accomplishing much good. Riley feared his àalcoholism. à In one of his prose pieces, "Jamesy," Riley describes àwhat an old drunk of the Nineteenth Century would have lived ?like. Keep in the back of your mind that Riley might have àbeen thinking of himself if he didn't control his alcoholism. ?In "Jamesy," Riley confronts a bootblack, a boy who shines àshoes, and asks him about his father. ? "Won't work," said the boy, bitterly, "He won't work -he ?won't do nothin' - on'y `budge!' And I have to steer him in ?every night, cos the cops won't pull him any more - they ?won't let him in the station-house mor'n they'd let him in a ?parlor, cos he's a plum goner, and liable to `croak' any àminute." à "Liable to what?" said I ? "Liable to jist keel over - wink out, you know - cos he ?has fits, kindo jim jams, I guess. Had a fearful old matinee ?with him last night! You see he comes all sorts o' games on ?me, and I have to put up for him - cos he's got to have ?whisky, and if we can on'y keep him about so full he's a ?regular lamb, but he don't stand no monkeyin' when he wants ?whisky, now you bet! Sis can handle him better'n me, but ?she's been a losin' her grip on him lately - you see Sis ?ain't stout any moren, and been kindo sicklike so long she ?humors him, you know, mor'n she ort. And he couldn't git on ?his pins at all yesterday mornin', and Sis sent for me, and I ?took him a pint, and that set him a runnin' so that when I ?left he made Sis give up a quarter he saw me slip her, and it ?jist happened I run into him that evening and got him in, or ?he'd a froze to death. I guess he must a kindo had 'em last ?night, cos he was the wildest man you ever see - saw ?grasshoppers with paper collars on, an' old sows with ?feather-duster tails, the durndest programme you ever heard ?of! And he got so bad onct he was a goin' to belt Sis, and ?did try it, and - and I had to chug him one or he'd a done ?it. And then he cried, and Sis cried, and I cri..., I ... àDern him! You can bet your life I didn't cry." à You simply can't say that Riley was unaware of what àalcoholism could lead to. He knew this and feared its àgreat excesses. à The reason may well have been Riley's great desire to ?accomplish something with his life. He was very ambitious and ?desired fame. What is even more interesting is that he took a ?route to fame that derived from his alcoholism. Knowing his àvulnerability, he wrote about a life in which sensitivities, ?feelings for others, friendships, homelife, and a love àderived from a living God were redeeming. à While Riley suffered from alcoholism, his poetry saved àhim from becoming the bum in "Jamesy." à ?ӂς͂łȂςׂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Đ‚Ơ‚‚̀‚É‚Ă‚ ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚É‚Î‚Ă‚É‚Ä‚Å‚Î‚Ô‚ ‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ô‚É‚Í‚Å‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚ à‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ë‚Ơ‚Đ‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚΂قł ‚Ä‚É‚Ä‚ ‚΂ςԂ ‚Á‚Æ‚Æ‚Å‚Ă‚Ô‚ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Đ‚Ơ‚‚̀‚É‚Ă‚ ‚É‚Í‚Á‚Ç‚Å‚ à à The amazing thing is that Riley's breakup with Nye àdid not, apparently, affect Riley's great popularity among àhis fellow Hoosiers. ? Later this same year, when Georgia's Richard Malcolm ?Johnston appeared in Indianapolis on Nov. 6, 1890 to lecture ?on his "Tales of the South," Riley was asked to introduce ?him, after which the Georgian stated, "I really feel grateful ?at being introduced by Mr. Riley, said the author of the ?"Dukesborough Tales"... There has long been a common tie ?between us, each having the same affection for the people of ?his early childhood, and each having endeavored in his way to ?save from oblivion their peculiarities - one through prose ?and the other through the more exalted medium of poetry. ?There are three poets who have sung of those in humble life. ?Two of them we know though they have passed away and were of ?foreign lands. One of a foreign language. Beranger sung as ?sweetly as any linnet of the people of his native France, and ?the other is Robert Burns. The third is a neighbor to you, ?and you are familiar not only with his work but with his ?presence. I can say of him, as was said of the great ?Beranger, not a speck will ever be put upon the heart or ?honor or good sense or genius of James Whitcomb Riley." à{applause.} à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚Ó‚ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚É‚Ó‚Ç‚̉‚Á‚Ă‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚̀‚Ï‚Ơ‚É‚Ó‚Ö‚É‚̀‚̀‚Å‚ ‚Æ‚Á‚Ä‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Æ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚ ‚Í‚Å‚Í‚Ï‚̉‚Ù‚ à à Who was this Riley as Crestillomeem struck again? àWhat did he look like? What was his reputation? à We have the record of Hamlin Garland, a writer and ?some say the literary arbiter of the 1890's who published an ?interview he had with Riley from a visit recorded in a àMcClure's Magazine. ? Riley is described at age 40 as "a short man, with ?square shoulders and a large head. He has a very dignified ?manner -- at times. His face is smoothly shaven, and though ?he is not bald, the light color of his hair makes him seem ?so. His eyes are gray and round, and generally solemn, and ?sometimes stern. His face is the face of a great actor -- in ?rest, grim and inscrutable; in action, full of the most ?elusive expressions, capable of humor and pathos. Like most ?humorists, he is sad in repose. His language, when he ?chooses to have it so, is wonderfully concise and penetrating ?and beautiful. He drops often into dialect, but always with ?a look on his face which shows he is aware of what he is ?doing. In other words, he is master of both forms of speech. ?His mouth is his wonderful feature: wide, flexible, clean- ?cut. His lips are capable of the grimmest and the merriest ?lines. When he reads they pout like a child's, or draw down ?into a straight, grim line like a New England deacon's, or ?close at one side, and uncover his white and even teeth at ?the other, in the sly smile of "Benjamin F. Johnson," the ?humble humorist and philosopher. In his own proper person he ?is full of quaint and beautiful philosophy. He is wise ?rather than learned -- wise with the quality that is in ?proverbs, almost always touched with humor. His eyes are ?near-sighted and his nose prominent. His head is of the ?"tack hammer" variety, as he calls it. The public insists ?that there is an element of resemblance between Mr. Riley, àEugene Field and Bill Nye. à àƒ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ç‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚ł΂ł͂ق à ? Strangely to Riley's great autobiographical poem, "The àFlying Islands," one does not find his mother to be listed ?in the cast of characters. The original poem proposes that it ?is enough for Riley to have the spirit of Nellie in the àbeyond to sustain him. à However, as the breakup with Nye occurred and Riley found àhis capacity to endure long periods of platform engagements ?more difficult, Riley evoked his mother's memory more and àmore for strength. à Finally we find that Riley's mother, Elizabeth, is added ?to the 1891 book version of "The Flying Islands of the àNight," as a source of sustaining resolve against alcoholism. àElizabeth becomes AEo of the revised and expanded poem which àcomes to reflect new cryptic information about Riley's life ?as his autobiography needs revision due to new developments àin his life. ? AEo seems to be an archtypical figure for Riley. We find àthe type in a short story by Riley, ÅÚ, (standing for Ezra). ?Here the mother, a Methodist as Elizabeth was, looks after ?her child who has received a knot the size of an Easter egg ?administered by an alcoholic father in his intoxication and ?despite the mother's frailty by taking a ballbat to the bar ?in Greenfield where he has been imbibing the "budge," the ?common name for corn whiskey. Finding her son who has gone ?to the bar to try to bring his father home knocked out, she ?acts. The boy notes, "When I come to, things was lively, I ?tell you. My mother is a little woman - don't weigh over ?ninety pounds -but if you'd a seen her yesterdayt, you'd 'a' ?thought she weighed a ton. Ever been into Dutchy's? Know ?what a nice spread of glassware he has behind his bar? Know ?that mirror that he smears with soap pictures, birds an' ?things? All gone. They tried to hold mother, half a dozen of ?'em did, but they couldn't do it. The old man had sneaked ?off somewhere-first time she'd ever folloered him - an' he ?felt ornery. She told Dutchy that she'd begged him time 'n ?again not to sell liquor to father, an' then she went for the àglassware. .." AEo overcomes liquor all right. She takes àon Crestillomeem for the life of her son. à ?̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Đ‚̉‚Á‚Ù‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚̉‚Å‚Ă‚Ï‚̀‚̀‚Å‚Ă‚Ô‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ô‚È‚Å‚̉‚ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚Á‚Ö‚Ï‚É‚Ä‚ ‚É‚Î‚Ô‚Ï‚Ø‚É‚Ă‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ à àAEo! AEo! AEo!±À‚ àThou dost all things know - àWaving all claims of mine to dare to pray àSave that I needs must: - Lo àWhat may I pray for? Yea, àI have not any way, àAn Thou gainsayest me a tolerance so. - àI dare not pray àForgiveness - too great àMy vast o'ertoppling weight àOf sinning; nor can I àPray my àPooer soul unscouraged to go. - àFrame Thou my prayer, AEo! à à1. Riley had a strong belief that his mother, Elizabeth, àwas not dead but still with him. The death of Riley's mother ?brought on terrific loneliness and sorrow. He surrounds the ?initial of her name with the Greek letters alpha and omega to ?stand for her timeless presence with him. He once had a ?vision which he recounted to his secretary, Marcus Dickey, as ?found in Youth of James Whitcomb Riley, saying: "I was àalone," said he, "till as in a vision I saw my mother ?smiling back upon me fromt he blue fields of love - when lo! àshe was young again. Suddenly I had the assurance that ?I would meet her somewhere in another world." After the ?breakup with Nye and Riley's advancing age, he needs his àmother as well as Nellie (Dwainie) for weapons against àCrestillomeem. à àWhat may I pray for? Dare àI shape a prayer, àIn sooth, àFor any canceled joy àOf my mad youth, àor any bliss my sin's stress di destroy? àWhat may I pray for - Wht? - àThat the wild clusters of forget-me-not àAnd mignonette àAnd violet àBe out of childhood brought, àAnd in mine hard heart set àA-blooming now as then? - àWith all their petals yet àBediamonded with dews - àTheir sweet, sweet scent let loose àFull sumptuously again! à àWhat mya I prya AEo! àFor the poor hutched cot àWhere death sate squat àMidst my first memories? - Lo! àMy mother's face - (they, whispering, told me so) - àThat face! so picnedly àIt blanched up, as they lifted me - àIts frozen eyelids would àNot part, nor could àBe ever wetted open with warm tears. à...Who hears àThe prayers for all dead-mother-sakes, AEo! à àLeastwise one mercy: - May àI not have leave to pray àAll self to pass away - àforgetful of all needs mine own - àNeglectful of all creeds; - alone, àStand fronting Thy high throne and say: àTo Thee àO Infinite, I pray àShield Thou mine enemy! à à Riley's enemy throughout his life was Crestillomeem. à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚É‚Î‚Ô‚Ï‚Ø‚É‚Ă‚Á‚Ԃɂς΂ ‚łւł΂ ‚ɂ΂ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚Á‚Ó‚Ô‚ ‚Ù‚Å‚Á‚̉‚Ó‚ à ? Three anecdotes will close this section on Crestillomeem ?in the life of Riley. The first two were written in the ?memoirs of Walter Dennis Myers, James Whitcomb Riley's àattorney in his later years. à àƒ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Ï‚̀‚Ä‚ ‚ӂׂłłԂȂłÁ‚̉‚Ô‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚͂ɂ΂ł¬‚ ‚Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚ àÁ‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚È‚Å‚ ‚Í‚Ï‚Ö‚Å‚Ä‚ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚̀‚Ï‚Ă‚Ë‚Å‚̉‚‚ɂł ‚Ó‚Ô‚̉‚Å‚Å‚Ô‚ ‚Ô‚Ï‚ ‚̀‚É‚Ö‚Å‚ ‚ׂɂԂȂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚È‚Ï‚̀‚ӂԂłɂ΂ӂ à ? "The poet came to visit his friends, Major and Mrs. ?Holstein, for a week end on Lockerbie Street and stayed for ?the rest of his life. After Major Holstein died, his widow ?took care of Mr. Riley like a child. She understood him and àknew how to manage him without irritation as no one else did. ? Their house was "L"-shaped. "Uncle Jim's" room in the ?"L" had a portch overlooking an old-fashioned sloping cellar ?door which opened upward and, when not closed, was held open àby a chain fitted into a hook in a rainspout extending ?from the roof and anchored by a tile connection into the àsewer. ? "Uncle Jim" loved an occasional nip of bourbon, which ?Maggie Hostein well knew. This, he obtained in a tavern a ?few blocks awy, run by a good Irish friend. One day he came ?home on unsteady feet. Maggie deduced that he had had too àmany nips. she took him to his room and locked him in. ? He craved just another nip or two. The only way to get ?out was by way of the porch above the cellar door and its ?sturdy rainspout. Down the rainspout he slid without trouble ?until the hook for the door cahin entrapped him by piercing ?the seat of his trousers. This development had not entered ?his calculations. He wriggled, scooted, twisted and squirmed ?until the seat was torn out of his pants. A freed man at ?last, he limped around to the front door and rang the ?doorbell. When Maggie appeared, he bowed as low as his ?crippled chivalry would allow and breathed softely, "I thank àyou, Mrs. Holstein, for the use of your rear exist." ? At the first glance, Maggie exploded, "Rear exit, ?indeed! Look at your rear...rags and tatters. You come in àhere and put on another pair of pants." ? "That's kind and thoughtful of you, my dear Maggie, but àI'm on my way to an old sweetheart of mine. You see..." ? "I don't see," interrupted Maggie, "and you're on your ?way back to your room and a change of pants; and the room is ?going to be locked, good and tight, inside and porch side. ?As for that old sweetheart of yours, she's in her bottle down ?at Paddy O'Neil's and she's going to stay there. Why haven't ?you as much sense as Paddy? He dishes it out over the bar àall day, yet never touches a drop." ? "He's shy, Maggie. He's shy. That's why. And he's like ?you ... no romance in his soul. I caught him reading that ?Straus store ad: `Today is the day they give babies away with ?a half a pound of tea." He thinks that's poetry. It's enough ?to make Shakespeare break down and write another romantic àtragedy and entitle it `The Wiles of Women." What's àthe world coming to?" ? "Come on," commanded Maggie. "March! You're on the way àback to your room." ? "Uncle Jim" bowed low, nearly toppled over and mumbled, ?"As you wish. Thanks for the use of your front entrance. You ?are right, as always ... a torn seat in your pants is not the àway to a woman's heart." ? He tried what he thought was song, "Flow Gently, Sweet àAfton." ? "Oh, Jim, shut up! That's not romance. Too much like àthe baa of an old bachelor billie goat," said Maggie. ? "Right you are again," agreed Uncle Jim. Let's go and ?get a bachelor baby with a half pound of tea. Babies don't àbaa like billie goats. Only kids do that." ? The poet stagered upstairs and into his room. Thereupon, àMaggie locked the doors. à à‚ Ă‚̉‚Å‚Ó‚Ô‚É‚̀‚̀‚Ï‚Í‚Å‚Å‚Í‚ ‚̀‚Á‚΂Ăӂ ‚̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ă‚Ï‚Ơ‚̉‚Ô‚ Á‚Æ‚Ô‚Å‚̉‚ ‚È‚Å‚ ‚ӂɂǂ΂łĂ ‚Á‚ ‚ àƒ Đ‚̉‚Ï‚Í‚É‚Ó‚Ó‚Ï‚̉‚Ù‚ ‚΂ςԂł ‚ׂȂɂ̀‚Å‚ ‚Ä‚̉‚Ơ‚΂˂ àƒ ? "How I hate the god-dam, red-eyed law!" snorted James ?Whitcomb Riley as he plopped down into a big chair in the ?Columbia Club upon his return from the courtroom. He had been ?joined as a co-defendant on a promissory note filed as a ?claim against the estate of an old-time friend by one who ?also pretended to be the friend of both the deceased and Mr. ?Riley. "And my father was a lawyer," he continued, "who ?called it the god-dam, red-eyed law, too, a good many times. ?Maybe that was why he took a nip or so of red-eye whenever he àwent to try a case." à Mr. Riley was addressing me. I was his lawyer. ? "Do you think the Judge'll get mad and send me to jail ?for contempt for cussing on the witness stand? You see, he ?pulled his hand down over his walrus mustache and I couldn't ?make out whether he was laughing at me or taking a cud of ?tobacco out of his mouth. This much I'm sure of, that ?roomful of ginks was laughing at me and the Judge never àpounded his gavel. ? "You see, I was mad. Sometimes I get mad pretty easy, ?and when I do, I fly off the handle and let loose and cuss. ?I always aim to be gentle and respectful of the dignity of ?the law. But when I fly off the handle and let loose and ?cuss. I always aim to be gentle and respectful of the ?dignity of the law. But when I fly off the handle, hell! I ?can't help but cuss, dignity or no dignity. Yet, I'd hate to ?be sent to jail and blowed up in the newspapers after I quit ?white-washing chicken coops and pale fences and ?kind...a...well, made a pretty good go of it. Not many ?people get their stuff put out in books that people seem to àlike to read. ? But dammit to hell! Being sorry won't cure the chicken ?pox or the measles or a fellow with a stomach for Sunday àSchool. ? "The Judge never seemed like a Sunday School stomacher àat the Club. I've heard him cuss, too." à He paused reflectively. ? "The trouble is, I cussed in what Pappy used to call à open court." ? Mr. Riley's cussing in open court stemmed from a ?happening of many years before. It was then the next to the ?last day before hanging for murder was abolished and àelectrocution was substituted. ? It had been the custom for Mr. Riley to meet with three ?friends at the Columbia Club weekly. One of the friends was ?a society doctor who turned into a promoter. After saving ?the lives of many socialites, he founded the Columbia Club ?and the city's two best hotels. He became a millionaire. ?Another was a ne'er-do-well whose sole claim to fame was that ?he married the only daughter of the richest man in town. ?Then, she died young. Her father went broke and he became a ?scheming hanger-on who lived by his wits. The last of the ?four was the Sheriff, a born politician, one of whose legal àduties it was to execute criminals adjudged to be hanged. ? The Sheriff pulled out his watch and jumped to his feet. ?"Sorry, boys. Gotta go. Must hand a murderer this afternoon ?after he's monkeyed around in the courts six years. This'll ?be the last hangin' in the state. Hereafter, it'll be àelectrocution in the Pen at Michigan City," he explained. ? "You mean to say you're going to hang somebody and take ?his life," queried Mr. Riley, adding, "I thought you were a àfriend of mine." ? "I'm the Sheriff. It's my job, ain't it?" replied the àSheriff. ? "Joe, I don't want anybody as my friend who has the àblood of another man on his hands," shouted Mr. Riley. ? "Listen, Jim. You don't understand," replied the ?Sheriff. "I don't do the hanging, personally that is. There ?are three ropes on the gallows. Only one drops the trap. ?There are three deputy sheriffs. They draw lots for seats. ?Each picks up a sharp knife beside him. when I say, `Cut," ?they cut. Nobody ever knows which rope dropped the trap. àSee? I couldn't possibly do it." ? Mr. Riley argued that giving the order was the same ?thing as cutting the rope. Verbal controversy was àendangering the fate of an old friendship. ? The Doctor broke in after gulping the last of several ànips of what Mr. Riley called red-eye. à "Jim, you're drunk," he drawled. ? "Shut up! You're the only one polluted here," snapped àMr. Riley. à "Nuts," negated the Doctor. ? "Let's prove who's polluted," challenged Mr. Riley. ?"Next door is the Marion Trust Company. We'll get a blank àpromissory note with two straight lines. We'll sign. He who àsigns the straightest is the least drunk." ? The doctor agreed. Notes were obtained and signed. Mr. ?Riley's inimitable signature was neat, clear and on the line. ?The Doctor's name was scrawled all over the bottom of the ?note. Beyond doubt, according to the terms of the test, Mr. àRiley was the least intoxicated. ? After one glance, the Doctor crumpled up the note, stuck àit in his coat pocket and without another word left the room. à The Sheriff went to the hanging. ? The years sped by. The Doctor died. Liquor had taken ?toll of his brilliant mind. In his will, the ne'er-do-well àwas named as executor of his estate. ? But there was no estate. The Doctor died insolvent, ?leaving a widow and two little sons, penniless. I was ?attorney for the estate, partly because the old lawyer ?(Editor's note, John W. Kern, lawyer and one-time Mayor of ?Indianapolis) with whom I started practice could not afford ?to waste time on matters bringing in no fees, partly because ?Mr. Riley's brother-in-law was a client of the office, and àMr. Riley's nephew was my college friend. à Diligent search disclosed no property until the executor ?reported that he had found a paid-up life insurance policy ?for twenty-five thousand dollars, payable to the estate, in ?the inside pocket of one of the Doctor's coats in an old ?suitcase. He reported nothing more and resigned as executor. ?At the same time, the executor must have found the note ?signed by Mr. Riley and the unfortunate Doctor. For, two ?months later this executor, who had resigned, filed the note ?with his name as payee and five thousand dollars payable, ?inserted by typewriter, as a claim. Mr. Riley was joined as àa defendant. ? The executor said that he had hesitated to file the ?claim against the estate of an old friend, but that the money ?was justly due and he was in dire need and the surviving ?family would have twenty thousand dollars less established àclaims anyhow. ? At once, I interview Mr. Riley and his brother-in-law, ?Mr. Eitel, and was given the story of the execution of the ànote. ? The claim was set down for trial. The attorney for the ?executor who had resigned, able but extremely gruff and ?unpleasant, put the note in evidence, attempted to prove the ?signatures by Mr. Riley and rested. On cross-examination, I ?used Mr. Riley to establish the circumstances surrounding ?execution. The former executor's attorney re-examined, and àthis is a part of the record: ? Q. "Mr. Riley, I hand you claimant's Exhibit 1, the ̀ÇƠ?0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆ>ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] à instrument in suit, and ask you ..." à A. "Wait a minute. You hand me what?" à Claimant's attorney: "The instrument in suit." ? Witness Riley. "I always thought an instrument was ? a monkey wrench, a screw driver, a butcher knife, or ? something like that and not an old, crumpled-up piece of à paper." ? Q. "A fellow who makes his living out of writing ? ought to know what a paper instrument is. Now I hand you ? this instrument, claimant's Exhibit 1, ask you to ? examine it and state whether or not at the time you ? signed it you did not know that it had something to do à with a business transaction." ? A (In a gentle tone of voice) "Sure it's my ? signature, put there as I swore to just a little while à ago. I signed no note to pay money." ? Q. "When you signed, you knew it had something to ? do with a business transaction, didn't you? Now, don't à fiddle-faddle about it." ? A. "Mr. Lawyer, I don't know anything about ? business. My brother-in-law, Henry Eitel, sitting right ? there behind you, he's a banker and he tends to all my ? business. And I never would have signed this thing you ? call an instrument if we hadn't been hoisting a few." à Mr. Riley's voice was low and gentle." ? Q. "I move to strike out the answer as not ? responsive to the question. I asked the witness nothing à about hoisting a few." à The Court: "Motion sustained. It may be stricken." ? Q. "Very well. Reporter, read the question to the ? witness. Now, Mr. Witness, answer that properly. You ? should understand English. You make your living writing à it." ? (Mr. Riley's face flushed. He was getting angry. à Imitating the lawyer, he answered:) ? A. "Read the answer to the previous question, but ? add I never would have signed the thing you call an à instrument if we hadn't been drinking red-eye." à Q. "Red eye? What do you mean, red-eye?" à A. "Whisky to you. Maybe bootleg." ? The reporter read the previous question and Mr. à Riley's answer. à The attorney: "I move to strike out the answer." à The Court: "Sustained." à The attorney: "You're just trying to be perverse." ? The witness, interrupting: "Perverse! That's the à kind of verse I never write." ? Q. "Your Honor, direct the witness to answer my ? questions and quit elaborating. Now...now, reporter, ? read the question again, and you...you poet-taster, you, à answer it properly." ? A. "Reporter, read my answer again and add that I ? never would have signed this thing he handed me if Doc à and I hadn't been drinking red-eye." ? The answer was stricken out once more. The Judge ? explained that the law sometimes requires what seems ? trivial to the laity. Clearly, Mr. Riley was boiling à with restrained rage. à Q. "Riley, for the last time, now I ask, when you ? signed Exhibit 1, the instrument in suit: you knew it ? had something to do with a business transaction, now ? didn't you? Answer that yes or no. Don't try to be a à stubborn jackass." ? A. "No. Now you listen to me: For the last time, ? I'm telling you I don't know a god-dam thing about ? business, and I'm god-dam proud of it. My brother-in- ? law, Henry Eitel, there behind you, he's a banker and a ? god-dam good one. He tends to all the god-dam business ? I have. Besides, I never would have signed this god-dam ? thing you keep on calling an instrument if Doc and I à hadn't been drinking red-eye to beat hell." ̀ÓÖ‡0ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ[ˆˆˆˆňˆˆˆˆ2ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ3ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ4ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ5ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ6ˆˆˆˆTˆˆˆˆ] ? The attorney spread his drooping hands side-wise and àgroaned in despair, "What's the use?" ? The Judge said, "That means no more questions, I ?presume. I'll take the matter under advisement and àultimately decide against the claimant." à "Court's adjourned." ? The Judge strode to hischambers, breathing a sigh of ?relief. Mr. Riley took me with him back to the Club, ? worrying lest the Judge send him to jail for "cussing in àopen court." ? The Judge didn't send Mr. Riley to jail. Neither did he àdecide in favor of the claimant. ? When advised about the decision, Mr. Riley soliloquized, ?"There's sense in the go-dam red-eyed law after all, like my àPappy so often used to say." à à‚ ̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚ ‚Ç‚Å‚Ô‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚̉‚Ơ‚΂˂ ‚Á‚Ô‚ ‚Á‚ ‚È‚Ï‚Ô‚Å‚̀‚ ‚Đ‚Á‚̉‚Ô‚Ù‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Æ‚̀‚Ï‚̉‚É‚Ä‚Á‚ ‚ɂ΂ ‚Ô‚È‚Å‚ ‚̀‚Á‚Ó‚Ô‚ àƒ Í‚Ï‚Î‚Ô‚È‚Ó‚ ‚Ï‚Æ‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚̀‚É‚Æ‚Å‚ à ? Crestillomeem was with Riley from adolescence to his ?grave. The final anecdote I will close with is from Dr. ?Carleton B. McCulloch, who was Riley's physician for the last àyears of his life. ? About a year before Riley died, Dr. McCulloch took ?Riley to Miami, Florida. Riley was partially paralyzed by ?this time, and awas accompanied by a nburse, a housekeeper, a ?sister and two nieces, all women of prudish virtue. Carl G. ?Fisher, an Indianapolis promoter who built Miami Beach, and ?James Allison met Riley and asked him to come to their hotel ?for a party they were giving. The five women all were ?standing around saying "No." "You know Mr. Riley's failing," ?they suggested. But eventually, the men promised they would àkeep Riley absolutely abstemious. à However, when they got Riley to their rooms, they handed àhim about six cocktails in quick succession, and by the time ?of the fish course, he was disgracefully stiff. He was in ?even worse condition by the time they got him back to his ?hotel room, dumped him in bed, and rapped odn the nurse's àdoor and fled. ? The next afternoon they went over to see how Jim was ?doing. He was sitting at one end of the hotel's veranda ?staring out to sea. The five female companions, with about ?fifteen other women in a crowd, started buzzing at each other ?when the two approach. Allison and Fisher asked Riley how he ?was feeling but all Riley could do was grunt and look dead ?ahead. The conversation didn't go well. After fifteen ?minutes, Allison and Fisher ran out of small talk, and in a ?moment of silence, Riley said, "You see all those women over ?there?" he asked. Allison and Fisher allowed they did. "They àthink I'm sorry," the old man said. à à̉‚É‚̀‚Å‚Ù‚§‚Ó‚ ‚Ä‚Å‚Đ‚̉‚łӂӂɂς΂ ‚Á‚΂Ă ‚Á‚̀‚Ă‚Ï‚È‚Ï‚̀‚É‚Ó‚Í‚ ‚Á‚Ó‚ ‚Á‚Æ‚Æ‚Å‚Ă‚Ô‚É‚Î‚Ç‚ ‚È‚É‚Ó‚ ‚Ă‚̉‚Å‚Á‚Ô‚É‚Ö‚É‚Ô‚Ù‚ à ? There is a great body of psychiatric information which àhas begun to appear on subject of the creativity of writers. àThe general conclusion is that creative writers as well as ?visual artists have a much higher prevalence of pathological ?personality traits and alcoholism. In particular, depressive ?disorders, but no other psychiatric condition, affect writers ?almost twice as often as men with other high creative ?achievements. (The British psychiatric study upon which I ?base this considered only male writers.) 48% of such writers àhad passed through major depressive episodes. ? That Riley was among those creative people suffering ?horrible depression and alcoholism is not novel. What is ?novel is that Riley's strategy for dealing with these ?behavioral influences, as revealed in his autobiographical ?poem, worked in such a salutary manner. One gets the feeling ?that Riley's life was an approved one.
? ? ed, "I really
Something like these thoughts must have been in the discussions of Myron Reed and Riley about the time he sat down to pen his Benjamin Johnson of Boone poems, wherein Riley emptied himself of himself, and lived the thought of the humble farmer whose spiritual capacity was that of priest and in his own deep yearnings, understandings and gropings for the infinite, the conclusion that in the lowly origin of man, here is what humanity is, spirit, intelligence, reason, good will, affection, morally in correspondence with the same faculties of his God without capacity to injure his soul, do violence to the souls of others, just as God was in the flesh. While Darwinism became misconstrued as the seed of racism, industrialism's disregard for employees' welfare, laissez fairism, greed justification, bullyism and imperialism, the doctrine was, after all an intellectually complete theory. The actual working out of such Nineteenth Century ideas was the product of a faddish social philosopher and British founder of modern sociology, Herbert Spencer. His SYNTHETIC PHILOSOPHY, essays and his popular writings, such as THE STUDY OF SOCIOLOGY, published in 1872-73 in serial form in the POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY and distributed throughout the United States provided great support for social Darwinist ideas. Spencer's ideas were taught in the great universities such as at Yale by Spencer's greatest American protege, William Graham Sumner. His ideas were great points of reference regarding "the normal course of social evolution." Humanity was absolutely incapable of controlling its own destiny. Evolution was deemed universal and a process whereby homogeneity was reduced to heterogeneity just as the earth was formed in its diversity of material and energy from a nebular mass. Spencer's ideas formed the basic matrix of ideas of the period in which Riley wrote. His ideas challenged and replaced the idea that the earth was only a few thousand years old created by a God during a single week in which the entire universe was formed and human beings were its culminating success. In Spencer's view, as society moved toward heterogeneity, progress was achieved by the method of survival of the fitest. Injustices were not avoidable whereby resources were gobbled up by the wealthy, profits of enterprises were amassed by the wealthy industrialists, and women and children were denied rights. Spencer opposed any social aid such as poor laws, state-supported education, regulation of housing or the professions, sanitary or health laws, or governmental involvement in the economic life of the nation. These were some of the Spencerian tenants popular in the nation as Riley began to contemplate the aims of his own writing career in the 1870's and, with the weapons of temperance Christianity, his alcoholism. In the interest of social survival, Spencer contended classes of superior citizens should be encouraged in favor of the inferior and no laws should intervene. Spencer's ideas gained great currency especially with the rich and powerful in the United States. Until Riley's popularization of kenoticism, there was no opposite force. Spencer's ideas found God favoring the rich and the efforts of those trying to get rich. Western culture had never before found any basis for such ideas and the cultural life of the United States was shaken to its core. We read of the assertion of the railroad magnate Chauncey Depew commenting that the guests at the most exclusive social engagements in New York represent the survival of the fitest of the thousands who came to America in search of fame, fortune and power and that it was their "superior ability, foresight, and adaptability" that caused them to rise to the top in the competitive arena of New York business. American society was considered a stage of heterogeneity in which natural order principles had selected a wealthy class for survival. Absolute freedom for individual enterprise was the framework whereby society must progress. Economic and social brutality was acceptable because it was grounded in the self- adjusting doctrine of biological selection. Reform at a governmental level was wrong because nature selected the proper social environment for evolutionary progress. Herbert Spencer's ideas were the most prominent in sociological circles during the years of Riley's work and carried the weight of authority. Riley's poetry and lectures can be seen in fundamental opposition to the idea of America based on "tooth and claw" society. The Hoosier Deutsch child who never grew up spoke a poetic voice softly and innocently stating otherwise. Here was all the answer to Darwinism that was necessary. The Pauline insistence that God became Incarnated in the man, Jesus of Nazareth, did not subject God to the forces of Darwinism, but rather were the product of a mind which valued humility and service to others. McLeod Campbell, a theologian who was deposed from a Presbyterian ministry in Scotland in the 1830's for a kenotic Christology, published a mature statement of his thought, THE NATURE OF THE ATONEMENT (1856) which became a standard text in American Protestant Seminaries. Beautifully written, it is still reckoned to be a kenotic theological classic and a harbinger of modern thinking on the subject. Although kenotic theology was generally condemned by the established church, which continued to hold out that Jesus of Nazareth was a figure in glory and Godlike stature, kenotic thought grew. Its advocates included many of the newly German trained theologians in the Union Theological Seminary in New York City where young ministry candidates learned from their German professors of kenotic theologies in the 1870's and 1880's. There is a long list of ministering friends and counselors who constitute a very special group of people who seem to be Spraivoll's support group. Perhaps they started out with Riley own grandmother, Margaret Riley. During the adolescent years and later until his alcoholism became so rampant, they seem to be few in number. Possibly the most important step into Spraivoll's kenotic poetry came from fellow alcoholic, Luther Benson. Then they seem to descend upon Riley with great kenotic influence. Among the first was Reverend George C. Harding, owner and editor of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD, one of Indiana's most distinguished editors. He published many of Riley's poems and "The Flying Islands of the Night" and took a great interest in Riley's literary bent. Myron Reed was perhaps the most important. Riley met him when delivering a Decoration Day poem at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis and Reed became an important friend to Spraivoll until his death. It was men of God who took over Riley's life and cast it within the anchoring song of the Philippian's "Christ Hymn." Friends felt Myron Reed was one of the most unusual of Riley's friends. Although two very different types of men, they united into a friendship very close. They were often seen together. They went abroad together into the Burns county in Scotland. Riley wrote "Our Kind of a Man" upon Reed's departure from Indianapolis for a pulpit in Denver, Colorado as a tribute.
OUR KIND OF MAN (1884)
The kind of man for you and me! He faces the world unflinchingly, And smites, as long as the wrong resists, With a knuckled faith and force like fists; He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most is the need of love; His voice is clear to the deaf man's ears, And his face sublime through the blind man's tears; The light shines out where the clouds were dim, And the widow's prayer goes up for him; The latch is clicked at the hovel door And the sick man sees the sun once more, And out o'er the barren fields he sees Springing blossoms and waving trees, Feeling as only the dying may, That God's own servant has come that way, Smoothing the path as it still winds on Through the golden gate where his love have gone.
II
The kind of a man for me and you! However little of worth we do He credits full, and abides in trust That time will teach us how more is just. He walks abroad, and he meets all kinds Of querulous and uneasy minds, And, sympathizing, he shares the pain Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain; And, knowing this, as we grasp his hand, We are surely coming to understand! He looks on sin with pitying eyes - E'en as the Lord, since Paradise, - Else, should we read, Though our sins should glow As scarlet, they shall be white as snow? - And, feeling still, with a grief half glad, That the bad are as good as the good are bad, He strikes straight out for the Right - and he Is the kind of a man for you and me!
Riley once said, "He was eternally seeing and reading the book of life as it was opened before him. He had a rare gift of discernment." Myron Reed was described by Meredith Nicholson in OLD FAMILIAR FACES as "a tall, dark Indian-like man quietly holding his horse in Circle Park." Reed had been a Captain in the Cavalry in the Civil War. An acquaintance of both Riley and Reed recounts an evening of the two on January 25th in the early 1880's. Both were on a program of the Indianapolis Caledonian Society designed to commemorate the birthday of Robert Burns. An address by Myron Reed and a poem by Riley were the main entertainment while songs, instrumental music, recitations, dances in Scottish costume were additions. During one point in the program, young ladies came forward to sing "Bonny Doon." After the program, Reed, Riley and the acquaintance (whose memoir is signed only as Senex Contrib.), left, with Riley steering the way. The talk was of Burns, his sympathy with all suffering, his hatred of oppression, the events of his life, etc. The account continues,: "At the corner of Washington and Pennsylvania streets there was in those days a popular cafe where, among other things, they served oysters in all styles. Riley proposed that we go down - it was in a basement - and continue the talk over a hot oyster stew; the snow, the cold and the wind seconded the motion, so we went down. The writer had met Reed in company on several occasions; he now saw and heard him at close range in a time of relaxation and found the high opinion he had formed of his qualities of mind were quite equaled by those of his heart. He says, "The oppressed and downtrodden could always find an advocate in him; distress and suffering challenged a sympathetic hearing and help from him, nor was he straitened in his exhibition of these, for, like Goldsmith's village preacher who - Please with his guests the good man learned to glow And quite forget their vices in their woe. his broad charity took in humanity in all its aspects and suffering and distress in all living things... when Riley told some droll stories, accentuated and set off by his impersonations and Reed had laughed heartily at them, one of them reminded him of a comrade in the civil war, whose freakish behavior was an unfailing source of amusement to him, although it did not affect all his comrades thus. Reed stated, "On the march, he pushed his cap up on the back of his head, stretched his long neck, lengthened his step, and did everything he could to evince an eagerness to get forward; at night when we went into camp, he would call out, `Captain, how many miles did we march today?' Then in a gruff tone he would answer himself, `Fifteen.' `Fifteen?' `Why that's no march: we must do better than that! The big show can't start til I get there, and we'll never get there at this rate!' He assumed the part of a veteran of all the wars his country had waged, and some foreign ones; and that his campaigns had converted his body into steel and leather, punctured by many scars received in battle. In that character, he would pull himself rigidly erect, his blouse tightly about him and cap down, till the bill touched his nose, nearly obscuring his rolling eyes, and speak gruff tones. Once, overhearing a comrade complaining of the long toilsome march they had had that day and how his feet were almost blistered, he turned upon him, saying, `Son, did you think that this was a school picnic with fans? Why this is just the a.b.c. You would have had reason to cuss had you been with us on our march through the wilderness to Quebec, or when we marched with Doniphon from St. Jo across the Santa Fe after cleaning up the Mexicans and adding two more territories to the Union; cut loose and marched 600 miles into old Mexico joining old `Rough and Ready' at Buena Vista. Talk about the march of the Ten Thousand, it was just a walk before breakfast compared with ours.'... Another time, when one found fault with the rations, `Vet,' as we called him, looked at the complainer in indignant astonishment. `Say, son, when you drew your rations? Sowbelly and hard-tack are the grub for soldiers.' After a year or two of this diet you can eat whetstones with relish. When your teeth wear out you can smash your hard-tack with a rock before eating it.' Here he gave a demonstration, smashing his hard-tack and devouring it with the meat, with assumed gusto..." Eventually, Reed stopped and looking thoughtful for a moment, said, "God alone knows. `Vet' may have been a reincarnation of some old warrior who was wandering about seeking visibility and companionship." "Riley and I saw Reed home at about 11." As Reed was dying and just before his death on January 30, 1899, he repeated the word, "Riley," over and over.
A POETRY OF FRONTIER SONG AND DOGGEREL WOVEN AND WARPED IN CADENCED MYSTERY.
Let us now turn to the subject of where Spraivoll's poetry came from. Riley's poetry was founded on frontier song and doggerel cadenced in the scoring and intervals of music. Like music, Riley's poetry carried affective energy. This was intentional. Music empowered Riley's poetry. Since this is so, we need to enquire - what is the root of music? Since the teachings of Plato and Aristotle, music has been considered a primary actor of human behavior. A listener becomes involved with music involuntarily. Plato's theory of "ethos" proposed that music was behavioral expression. It evoked response toward the good or the bad. Music and poetry of its genesis pass judgment. Frontiersmen may not have known of a theoretical basis for their "likes," but they did strongly seek after the thematics of musical expression. The affective agent of music has never been fully identified. Plotinus, a Neo-Platonist, argued that music influenced the soul. Music bears spirituality and touches such values, a concept which was adopted into church music theory. During one "dark" period in a time of ignorance, the church examined music to probe whether its enchantment might be a matter of sorcery. Riley was dealing with a very powerful medium. He used it forcefully. Thousands of Americans in his time could recite his poetry. Front pages of every American newspaper carried it. The Nineteenth Century in America heard much singing and the songs taught much. Riley sang his share. In the Hoosier lyric tradition, poems were similar to songs and not necessarily written with musical annotation. An example is a Baptist hymnal published in Riley's hometown of Greenfield, Indiana in 1887 by D.H. Goble. It is a hymnal without music. The little book contains 321 poems for use as hymns. Many Middle West Christians of the Nineteenth Century objected to musical scoring since the Bible contained none even in its Psalms. Other frontier Protestant church congregations banned choirs or refused to hire paid ministers or those with seminary training. Song on the frontiers of Nineteenth Century America might invoke strict biblical and religious discipline as a way of life and Godly emotion. Much poetry in Hoosier newspapers was basically "hymn without music." Protestant frontiersmen believed in carrying Godly music in their hearts, and poetic expression of it on their lips. Meter, as Riley used in his poetry, was learned in the churches by all congregants. Unscored hymns carried notations such as sm (short meter) etc. behind the name of the poem to be sung. Another example of meter is found in numerical metrical designation. For example, "Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah" was listed in the Goble hymn book as being for "8's", "7's", and "4's." This meant that the poem could be sung to three different tunes depending upon the one begun by the initiator. Poetry, hymns and song were composed in a very strong oral tradition at the time of the writing of James Whitcomb Riley's poetry. The medium of song was poetry. Music carried Riley's spirit. He once told fellow author Meredith Nicholson, "To throw your legs over the tail of a band wagon and thump away - there's nothing like it!" He played a bass drum in a band. Music carried him through the sadness of his adolescence. Riley was noted for playing the violin and guitar in particular. Music was the rhythm of Riley's expression just as surely as music was the wellspring he tapped to speak a common language in the same way the hymns of all peoples do. At 18 James Whitcomb Riley started taking up fiddling and banjo. He sang tenor. One day Riley bought an old violin, on the bottom saying Paolo Albani, Botzen, 1650. Working on farm in late teenage years. Riley loved to play it while his father demanded he help with hoeing instead of going with friends. When given the choice, Riley chopped a few weeds, then flung his hoe into the next lot, jumped over a fence and took off to town with curses. He came back an hour later to apologize. He simply was not going to give up music. Music was how Riley expressed himself and told his love to his married friend, Nellie Cooley. Jim and Nellie were always together. They were a team. When a local merchant, John Ward Walker, bought a piano for his new imposing home built in 1871 near a huge wooded hill known as "Walker's Hill" on State Street in Greenfield, Jim and Nellie came to entertain with it according to a newspaper account of the event. Jim Riley played his violin and Nellie played the new piano at the first social event of many which were held at the Walker home. This residence became an entertainment location for many groups particularly for local Greenfield Methodist Episcopal Church functions. When Nellie came to play the piano, Jim Riley accompanied her with his violin with the secret of their attachment heavy in their hearts. Their love grew on the wings of music. Riley turned the musical rhythms of his life with Nellie into his writings. What is frontier song and doggerel? Examples may help. Doggerel is "occasional" poetry. It is poetry that makes no pretence of dignity and strikes for common emotion. Some call it "burlesque" or "bastard" verse. Its poetic feet are irregular and the unlearned often compose it. An example from an epitaph for a deceased horse follows:
JOHNNY KONGAPOD
Here lies Johnny Kongapod Have mercy on him Gracious God As he would on you if he were God And you were Johnny Kongapod.
While there is much subtlety in the writing of James Whitcomb Riley, it should not be supposed that his verse derived from anything other than frontier American song and doggerel. In this, his poetry was not so different than other poetry of the time. Poetry was a much different medium in Riley's day on the American frontier than in modern times. A vestige of the type poetry Riley wrote survives as lyric of popular music. This is not to say that Riley did not study the poetry of others within English and American traditions and use his wits to craft poetry of great complexity of thought. Nevertheless, to the end of his life, Riley wrote as he had learned from frontier song and doggerel and simply could not imagine poetry outside the context of this framework. His poetry was set to music with ease. Among Riley's poetry set to music or recorded are approximately one hundred fifty titles. Some of the poems have attracted multiple composers as did "A Life Lesson," "The Prayer Perfect" and "Little Orphant Annie" which appear to be the most often reduced to musical scores. Riley's poems set to music include "America" (also known as "The Messiah of Nations" with music by John Phillip Sousa -other composers will not hereafter be listed), Baby Bye, Babyhood, The Bee-Bag, Billy and His Drum, Billy Goodin, The Boy Patriot, The Brook song, Childhood, A Christmas Glee, Christine's Song, Coffee Like His Mother Used to Make, Cradle Song, The Daring Prince, The Days Gone By, The Dead Lover, The Dead Wife, Dearth, the Diners in the Kitchen, Don't Cry, A Dream of Autumn, Dwainie- A Sprite Song, Ever a Song Somewhere, Extremes, The First Bluebird, Fool Younguns, The Funny Little Fellow, The Gobble-Uns'll Git You Ef You Don't Watch Out!, Good-By Er Howdy-Do, Granny's Come to Our House, Griggsby's Station, Heigh-Ho! Babyhood, Her Beautiful Eyes, Her Beautiful Hands, A Humble Singer, I Want to Be a Soldier, I Will Walk With You, My Lad, If I Knew What Poet's Know, An Impetuous Resolve, In the Orchard Where the Children Used to Play, It, The Jolly Miller, The Kingdom of a Child, Last Night and This, A Leave-Taking, Leonainie, A Life-Lesson, Light of Love, Little Girly-Girl, Little Orphant Annie, The Little Red Apple Tree, The Little Red Ribbon, The Little Tiny Kickshaw, Lockerbie Street, The Lost Lover, Lullaby, Make Me a Song, The Man in the Moon, Max and Jim, Maymie's Story of Red-Riding-Hood, Ms. Hammond's Parable, A Mother Song, My Fiddle, My Mary, O Heart of Mine, O, I Will Walk with You, My Lad, An Old Sweetheart of Mine, The Old Trundle Bed, Our Own - A Chant, Out to Old Aunt Mary's, Pansies, Parental Christmas Presents, A Pet of Uncle Sidney's. The Pixy People, The Prayer Perfect, A Primrose, The Raggedy Man, The Ribbon, The Ring and the Rose, A Riley-Album, Say Farewell and Let Me Go, A Scrawl, A Sea Song from the Shore, She "Displains" It, The Silver Lining, Some Scattering Remarks of Bub's, A Song, A Song and a Smile, A Song of the Road, There Is Ever A Song Somewhere, There, Little Girl, Don't Cry, The Tree Toad, Uncle Sidney, Uncle Sidney Says, Uncle Sidney's Logic, A Very Youthful Affair, The Weather, When Evening shadows Fall, When Our Baby Died, When She Comes How Again, when the Frost Is On the Punkin, Where Shall We Land, Wind of the Sea, and the Winky-Tooden Song. This listing of titles was made in the early 1940's. No listing of more current titles is available that I am aware of. The listings do not include Riley in collections of music. Nor does it include the Riley phonograph albums made toward the end of Riley's life when such items became technologically possible. Since Riley believe poetry to be connected to music he hated the free verse of Walt Whitman, a contemporary poet for whom Riley had nothing but contempt. When asked, Riley condemned him saying he walked around with his shirt unbuttoned. Riley's frontier American mentality could not recognize Whitman's poetry as having musical genesis. Whitman's poetry simply could not be sung within the metered stanzas of pioneer Hoosier song and Riley did not conceive Whitman's work to be poetry. The American poetry of Riley exists within a tradition that goes back to the time of Homer whose Iliad and Oddysey were sung by traveling folk artists. Song, in folk traditions, seems to often be the basis of poetic expression over the history of humanity. It is not without meaning that Riley chose to call the poetic Riley in "The Flying Islands of the Night," the "tune- fool." Frontier songs were the basis of Riley's meter. Riley understood the thirst-quenching water of poetry to come from this well. Riley recognized his musical and poetic nature to be combined as his self who wrote poetry in his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." We find the following dialogue therein:
WHO IS SPRAIVOLL UNLESS CADENCED MYSTERY?
Jucklet The voice of Spraivoll, an mine ears be whet And honed o' late honeyed memories Behaunting the deserted purlieus1 of The court. 1. A purlieu refers to land on the border of a forest where a serf in medieval times had the right to hunt without permission of a sovereign's forest laws or their punishment for unauthorized hunting. Figuratively, it is a place where one can range or a safe place to haunt or wander. Crestillomeem
And who is Spraivoll, and what song Is that besung so blinding exquisite Of cadenced mystery?
What did writing within such a definition of poetry mean? Riley's was a poetry he described as "cadenced mystery." The form caused Riley's poems to immediately prove pleasurable to hear and familiar to grasp. They also thus had a form which could bear Godly encouragement in a desperate time-the kenotic themes which I feel gave Riley's works particular value. Frontier songs did this as one finds in doggerels. It should not be supposed there is no discipline in doggerel poetry. Doggerel can be honed as any other more formal form of poetry. Although Riley achieved great national fame as a poet and his poetry was known, in part, by thousands of people, his public poetry never strove to escape the doggerel metrical theories of frontier song. I have to qualify this by saying that the "personal Riley" was quite capable of using other verse as when Riley chose the Chatterton pentameter for his autobiographical poem, "Flying Islands of the Night." Riley not only composed his poetry from song rhythms but he also disciplined himself through doggerel poetry, One finds this particularly in his advertising poetry. Here are examples from his Anderson "Democrat" days:
ADVERTISING DOGGEREL The farmer sat in his easy chair Smoking his pipe of clay, While his hale old wife with a sprightly air Was clearing her throat to say, "Read aloud," to the child that sat On his grandfather's knee with the Democrat.
Or:
The Anderson Democrat is a Good Little Paper and you Ought To Be Kind To It It Ain't the Best Paper In The "State." No, it Is Simply Good.
Frontier Hoosier songs of the first half of the Nineteenth Century were not so different from others sung on the American frontier north and south or anywhere West of the Appalachians. Among the favorites were "Skip to My Lou," "Old Sister Phoebe," and this one entitled "Thus the Farmer Sows His Seed:" THUS THE FARMER SOWS HIS SEED
Come, my love, and go with me, And I will take good care of thee. I am too young, I am not fit, I cannot leave my mamma yit.
You're old enough, you are just right I asked your mamma last Saturday night.
Frontier songs often were accompanied by dances. This one could be sung while dancing a Virginia reel:
WEEVILY WHEAT
O Charley, he's a fine young man, O Charley, he's a dandy, He loves to hug and kiss the girls And feed 'em on good candy.
The higher up the cherry tree, The riper grow the cherries, The more you hug and kiss the girls, The sooner they will marry.
My pretty little pink, I suppose you think I care but little about you. But I'll let you know before you go, I cannot do without you.
It's left hand round your weevily wheat. It's both hands round your weevily wheat. Come down this way with your weevily wheat It's swing, oh, swing, your weevily wheat.
A patriotic song sung at nearly every Fourth of July celebration in the frontier places was as follows:
HAIL COLUMBIA
Hail! Columbia, happy land! Hail! ye heroes, heav'n born band, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, Who fought, and bled in freedom's cause.
And when the storm of war is gone, Enjoy the peace your valor won; Let independence be your boast, Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize, May its altar reach the skies.
In the decade in which Riley was born, poetry provided a form of common expression and was certainly not solely the province of poets. As an example, there is the poetry of the martyred President, Abraham Lincoln, written on the American frontier prior to the American Civil War. THE BEAR HUNT
A wild bear chase didst never see? Then hast thou lived in vain - Thy richest bump of glorious glee Lies desert in thy brain.
When first my father settled here, 'Twas then the frontier line; The panther's scream filled night with fear And bears preyed on the swine.
But woe for bruin's short-lived fun When rose the squealing cry; Now man and horse, with dog and gun For vengeance at him fly.
A sound of danger strikes his ear; He gives the breeze a snuff; Away he bounds, with little fear, And seeks the tangled rough.
Or press his foes, and reach the ground Where's left his half-munched meal; the dogs, in circles, scent around And find his fresh made trail
With instant cry, away they dash, And men as fast pursue; O'er logs, they leap, through water splash And shout the brisk halloo.
Now to elude the eager pack Bear shuns the open ground, Through matted vines he shapes his track, And runs it, round and round.
The tall, fleet cur, with deep-mouthed voice Now speeds him, as the wind; While half-grown pup, and short-legged fice Are yelping far behind.
And fresh recruits are dropping in To join the merry corps; With yelp and yell, a mingled din - The woods are in a roar -
And round, and round the chase now goes, The world's alive with fun; Nick Carter's horse his rider throws, And Mose Hills drops his gun.
Now, sorely pressed, bear glances back, And lolls his tired tongue, When as, to force him from his track An ambush on him sprung.
Across the glade he sweeps for flight, And fully is in view - The dogs, new fired by the sight Their cry and speed renew.
The foremost ones now reach his rear; He turns, they dash away, And circling now the wrathful bear They have him full at bay.
At top of speed the horsemen come, All screaming in a row - `Whoop!' `Take him, Tiger!' `Seize him, Drum!' Bang - bang! the rifles go!
And furious now, the dogs he tears And crushes in his ire - Wheels right and left, and upward rears, With eyes of burning fire.
But laden death is at his heart - Vain all the strength he plies, And, spouting blood from every part, He reels, and sinks, and dies!
And now a dinsome clamor rose, - `But who should have his skin?' Who first draws blood, each hunter knows This prize must always win.
But, who did this, and how to trace What's true from what's a lie, - Like lawyers in a murder case They stoutly argufy.
Aforesaid fire, of blustering mood, Behind, and quite forgot, Just now emerging from the wood Arrives upon the spot,
With grinning teeth, and up-turned hair Brim full of spunk and wrath, He growls, and seized on dead bear And shakes for life and death -
And swells, as if his skin would tear, And growls, and shakes again, And swears. as plain as dog can swear That he has won the skin!
Conceited whelp! we laugh at thee, No mind that not a few Of pompous, two-legged dogs there be Conceited quite as you. The earliest poetry of Riley is close to being as doggerel as Abraham Lincoln's "The Bear Hunt" and has the same phrasings and metric cadences as frontier songs generally.
RILEY'S "THE SAME OLD STORY" (1870, age 20)
The same old story told again - The maiden droops her head, The ripening glow of her crimson cheek Is answering in her stead. The pleading tone of a trembling voice Is telling her the way He loved her when his heart was young In Youth's sunshiny day; The trembling tongue, the longing tone, Imploringly ask why They cannot be as happy now As in the days gone by. And two more hearts, tumultuous With overflowing joy, Are dancing to the music Which the dear, provoking boy Is twanging on his bowstring, As, fluttering his wings, He send his love-charged arrows While merrily, he sings: "Ho! ho!, you dainty maiden, It surely can not be You are thinking you are master Of your heart, when it is me." And another gleaming arrows Does the little god's behest, And the dainty little maiden Falls upon her lover's breast. "The same old story told again," And listened o'er and o'er, Will still be new, and pleasing, too Till "Time shall be no more."
Poetics had an important role to play in the Hoosier frontier with its rhymes and songs. Song was a feature of every aspect of frontier life. Nothing was beyond its scope. The Hoosier regiments to the Mexican War in the mid-1840's sang as they went into battle. This was in the decade of the 1840's in which Riley was born. A refrain to one of the Hoosier regimental battle songs with many verses was:
A MEXICAN WAR "HOOSIER" REGIMENTAL BATTLE SONG
Fire! Fire! how they tumble- Shout, shout for the State, Whose young bosom sent thee To war with the great!
To understand the subject matter of frontier poetry of song and doggerel, it is necessary to look at the ground where such poetry grew. Hamlin Garland, a fellow writer and admirer of Riley, came to Greenfield to visit him in 1892. Here is his account of the Hoosier Poet's birth town as he saw it then.
A VISIT TO RILEY IN HIS NATIVE TOWN
"In 1892 I visited Riley at his native town of Greenfield, Indiana, and the town and country gave moving evidence of the wonder-working power of the poet. To my eyes it was the most unpromising field for art, especially for the art of verse. The landscape had no hills, no lakes, no streams of any movement or beauty. Ragged fence-rows, flat and dusty roads, fields of wheat alternating with clumps of trees - these were the features of a country which to me was utterly commonplace..." (As found in a 1920 lecture read at the American Academy of Arts and Letters, entitled "Commemorative Tribute to James Whitcomb Riley.") It seems curious that Hamlin Garland, whose formative years were spent on a family farm in Iowa, and whose best writings are about the economic troubles of Midwestern farmers, the drudgery of their existence, and the depredations practiced against them by moneylenders, would find Riley's Midwestern hometown of Greenfield such a drag. Garland's point was that the genius of a person creates poetry and literature from out of the stuff of life no matter how backwoods or ordinary it may seem to others. Again speaking of Riley, Garland continued, "...from this dusty, drab, unpromising environment Riley had been able to draw the honey of woodland poesy, a sweet in which a native fragrance as of basswood and buckwheat bloom mingled with hints of an English meadow and the tang of a Canada thistle." What Hamlin Garland saw echoed in the works of James Whitcomb Riley was what Riley conveyed as one of the themes of what a home is. It is something plainly and unabashedly common. Since it is common, it bears with it characteristic proportionality and democratic distribution to all classes, races and peoples. Every American is thought to deserve a home. It is something the most common of attributes to which each person has entitlement. In every ethical community, the most common family should be conceived as having a home according to James Whitcomb Riley. There is no social division which precludes this. Riley's poetry was of this teaching. It did not need to more specifically say so. As Garland said, "He taught us once again the fundamental truth which we were long in learning here in America, that there is a poetry of common things, as well as of epic deeds. His immense success with the common, no- literary public is to be counted for him and not against him. either consciously or unconsciously his verses were wrought for the family. He never forced the erotic note. surrounded by Americans, he wrote for Americans. To me his restraint is a fine and true distinction. His verse sprang from a certain era of western development. It is a humble crop gathered from the corners of rail fences, from the vines which clamber upon the porches of small villages, and from the weedy side-walks of quiet towns far away from the great markets of the world..." Riley's poetry is a poetry of home and the home of even the most common family. On a more personal note, what impression did Riley give to Hamlin Garland in 1892? "In person Riley was as markedly individual as his verse. He was short, square-shouldered, and very blond, with a head which he was accustomed to speak of as "of the tack-hammer variety." His smoothly shaven face was large and extremely expressive, the face of a great actor. Though grim in repose it lighted up with the merriest smiles as he read or as he uttered some quaint jest. His diction when he wished it to be so was admirably clear and precise, but he loved to drop into the speech and drawl of his Hoosier characters, and to me this was a never-failing delight. I have never met a man save Mark Twain who had the same amazing flow of quaint conceits. He spoke "copy" all the time." Such was the way Riley struck a man who was not just a fellow writer but one of the foremost "realists" along with Stephen Crane in American fiction. It would also be good to describe the Hoosier character out of which Riley's poetry flowered. The unfortunate side of Riley's poetry is brought out by this kind of analysis. Riley's characterizations are so good, his capacity to personify and breath life into an archetypical persona, that the characterizations really overshadow everything else. The benefit to Riley was that he could write over and over again and create a massive volume of poetry easily because he understood character types so very well. The problem is reaching the "meat" or substance. What is the theme of all this voluminous spewing out of character interaction? The big picture reveals it as the individual poems do not. Riley is the poet who has given us to know about American life, what to expect of it, how to be fulfilled in it, and disappointed, but how to make it through life in it. This is particularly pronounced where Riley speaks with his kenotic poetic voice. Riley's prayer was to master a kenotic poetic style. In my day in this, the late Twentieth Century, I recall Riley dismissed occasionally by literary friends and fellow authors as a "sentimentalist" because Riley wrote of humble characters, their lives and their settings in rural America where I live. Riley's poetry entered into the "heart" of such characters. He had them fighting for life and survival- feeling life's disappointments, having a pioneer wife die, being crippled or maimed or dead - in their humble non- notable non-adaptive existences but being transformed into heroic proportion by the fact of their very humility and vulnerability of their lives. This expresses the "splagxnon" of Riley, his inmost guts and feeling, a matter of hugely different aspect than sentimentalism. The critics who see only "sentimentalism" in Riley's poetry miss the stem upholding the leaves. They simply do not take into account, nor understand, the late Nineteenth Century in America. Many of the very characters I have mentioned-before Riley wrote of them-were the type of American most would have dismissed as persons to be selected out or disregarded in their miserable lives because they were simply on the downside of evolutionary trends. Charles Darwin's speciation theory is the dominant scientific idea of Riley's era. Its proposals moulded thought after the American Civil War. Together with the impact of industrial development and laissez faire government, the framework of Post Civil War American culture lacked even the slightest aspect of humanism when James Whitcomb Riley's poetry began appearing on the front pages of American newspapers and his stories began to make their rounds in lyceum circuits. The poetry of James Whitcomb Riley and he, himself, became his epoch's great radical phenomena. The poem, "To My Friend, William Leachman," and the other poems in Riley's first volume, THE OLD SWIMMIN' HOLE" AND `LEVEN MORE POEMS, hit America like a bombshell. All of America began to look at their neighbors differently. Maybe people shouldn't simply be seen as ape-descendants. The advent of Incarnation Theology, though not popularly named as such, was at hand. Folk drew the line at the Philippian's Christ Hymn against the Robert Ingersoll's who attacked the Bible. If there is vulnerability in life, as Riley's own alcoholism rendered him vulnerable, nevertheless the situation was within the encounter of God with humanity. No special claim to wealth or wisdom or status gave access to this God. Prayer was enough. God's standard of caring for humanity derived from an ethic confirmed on a cross of persecution where God too became weakened, fearful, filled with anxiety, and died.
RILEY'S PRIMARY AUDIENCE
Q: WHO ARE THE HOOSIER PEOPLE? A: A FRONTIER HOME-SEEKING GOD-FEARING TRIBE OF HUMBLE WANDERERS.
Then we need to address the poetic audience of Riley. What is a Hoosier? The term "Hoosier" descriptive of Riley's people of the frontier and his poetry came from a poem of great currency in the first half of the Nineteenth Century which described the people of Indiana. Poetry was very much a part of the daily lives on the American frontier. James Whitcomb Riley had his own theory where the word "Hoosier" came from. He stated, "The stories commonly told about the origin of the word Hoosier are all nonsense. The real origin is found in the pugnacious habits of the early settlers. They were very vicious fighters and not only gouged and scratched, but frequently bit off noses and ears. This was so ordinary an affair that a settler coming in to a bar on a morning after a fight, and seeing an ear on the floor, would merely push it aside with his foot and carelessly ask, "Who's ear?" Hoosiers were the earliest frontiersmen who settled in the Ohio Valley north of the Ohio River in the early Nineteenth Century. They are the people of a poem by John Finley of Richmond, Indiana. In one of its first recorded usages in the 1833 Indianapolis JOURNAL, John Finley described folk living in backwoods Indiana cabins in a poem.
THE HOOSIER NEST
Blest Indiana! In whose soil Men seek the sure rewards of toil, And honest poverty and worth Find here the best retreat on earth, While hosts of Preachers, Doctors, Lawyers, All independent as wood-sawyers, With men of every hue and fashion, Flock to the rising Hoosier nation. Men who can legislate or plow, Wage politics or milk a cow - So plastic are their various parts, Within the circle of their arts, With equal tack the Hoosier loons, Hunt offices or hunt raccoons. ... Suppose in riding somewhere West A stranger found a Hoosier's nest In other words, a buckeye cabin Just big enough to hold Queen Mab in, Its situation low but airy Was on the borders of a prairie, And fearing he might be benighted He hailed the house and then alighted. The Hoosier met him at the door Their salutations soon were o'er; He took the stranger's horse aside And to a sturdy sapling tied. Then, having stripped the saddle off, He fed him in a sugar trough. The stranger stooped to enter in, The entrance closing with a pin, And manifested strong desire To seat him by the log heap fire, Where half a dozen Hoosieroons With mush and mil, tincups and spoons White heads, bare feet and dirty faces Seemed much inclined to keep their places, But Madam, anxious to display Her rough and undisputed sway, Her offspring to the ladder led And cuffed the youngsters up to bed Invited shortly to partake Of venison, milk and Johnny-cake The stranger made a hearty meal And glances round the room would steal One side was lined with skins of varmints The other spread with divers garments, Dried pumpkins overhead were strung Where venison hams in plenty hung Two rifles placed above the door, Three dogs lay stretched upon the floor, In short the domicile was rife
Then we should examine an example of the poet considered the first great master of Hoosier poetry, Sarah Boulton. Riley himself acknowledged her reputation in a poem "Song of a Life-Time" and knew her well. In the poem he speaks of her quality of "melodiousness" and "mien" by which he meant Hoosier expression of character and manner. One of her well known poems follows: PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE
Voyager upon life's sea, to yourself be true, And where'er your lot may be, paddle your own canoe! Never, though the winds may rave, falter, nor look back; But upon the darkest wave leave a shining track.
Nobly dare the wildest storm, stem the rudest gale, Brave of heart and strong of arm, you will never fail. When the world is cold and dark, keep an aim in view; And toward the beacon mark paddle your own canoe.
Every wave that bears you on to the silent shore, From its sunny source has gone to return no more, Then let not an hour's delay cheat you of your due; But, while it is called to-day, paddle your own canoe.
Would you wrest the wreath of fame from the hand of fate; Would you write a deathless name with the good and great; Would you bless your fellow-men, heart and soul imbue With the holy task, and then paddle your own canoe.
Would you crush the tyrant wrong, in the world's fee fight, With spirit brave and strong, battle for the right; And to break the chains that bind many to the few - To enfranchise mind enslaved - paddle your own canoe.
Nothing great is light won, nothing won is lost; Every good deed, nobly done, will repay the cost. Leave to heaven, in humble trust, all you will to do; But, if you'd succeed, you must paddle your own canoe. Riley's heritage was tied up part and parcel in frontier songs and poems. His later writing can be seen as deriving from this wellspring. As did almost everyone else in Indiana, Riley's mother and father both wrote poetry of the frontier song variety. In a short article entitled a "Retrospective View of the Hancock County Bar," George Richman, a Hancock County historian writing in 1916, recalls Reuben A. Riley, as a "(legal) practitioner for almost a century...Mr. Riley was not only an able, conscientious lawyer, but he took a general interest in public affairs. Some of his poems and speeches that still remain in print show him to have been gifted along several lines." A poem of Reuben's survives:
THE CRUCIFICTION (Sic) `Tis evening, at the supper now, The Savior breaks the scared bread, And pours the wine; with solemn vow Proclaims Himself the Church's Head.
`Tis night, on Olive's somber brow The stars are hid that twinkled there; Alone the suffering Savior bows, With none His agony to share.
`Tis midnight, and the trial past, The Savior to the Jews betrayed, A pris'ner in their hands at last To smite, imprison, and degrade.
`Tis morning, and among the great, Their spite, and jealous anger burns: They mock Him with a robe of state, And crown Him with a crown of thorns.
`Tis noonday, and the Christ condemned To bleed and perish on the tree; Yet angels do their Lord attend - Sinner, He died for you and me!
While on the cross the Savior hung, The pall of night at noonday spread, The quaking earth with anguish wrung, The bursting tombs gave up their dead.
The veil was rent, the lightnings fell. From out the darkness hear the cry Of Him who conquered Death and Hell. "Eloi Lama Sabachthani."
The tomb receives His mangled corpse - They set the seals, and Roman guard; With taunting jeer, and muttered curse, The tomb is sealed, and watched, and barred.
Yet at the promised morning's dawn The seals were loosed, the guardsmen fell: He `rose, triumphant marching on, In chains led captive Death and Hell.
The trembling earth, the bursting tomb, And songs of saints and seraphim Proclaim the risen Lord has come; The world shall bow and worship Him.
As He ascends from earth above To Heaven, our promised home, In trusting faith we live, and love, Our risen Lord again will come.
The poem is an artful account of the crucifixion united initially by anaphora, the droning and heavy repetition of the "`Tis" constructs. The poem bears a familiar meter to much of the son's poetry and is thematically consistent. It also sounds close to the hymn, "`Tis Midnight and On Olive's Brow." Frontier poetry never got far away from the thoughts of hymns. Reuben's poetry was of the newspaper variety as was the early poetry of James Whitcomb Riley. We do not know much of it because the early newspapers the father wrote for were not so well preserved as those bearing the son's poetry. We can trace the appearance of James Whitcomb Riley's writings back through time to the first newspaper pieces Riley published. Riley was first a newspaper poet as was his father. The custom of printing poetry on the front pages of newspapers ended probably in the 1880's in Indiana but not before Riley had mastered the form and found great success in it. The "Jay Whit" poetry - an early pseudonymn of Riley's- in the Indianapolis Saturday MIRROR is the first. There were four poems in this group. The first of them was mistakenly published as a poem of "Jay White" instead of "Jay Whit" as Riley intended. The others were correctly attributed to "Jay Whit." They included "Man's Devotion," March 30, 1872, "A Mockery," April 13, 1872; "Flames and Ashes," April 20th, 1872; and "Johnny" May 25th, 1872. Riley also sent the MIRROR "A Ballad/With a Serious Conclusion" which was published anonymously on May 11th, 1872. His greatest pre-kenotic poetry and prose was published in the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD as early as June 1875. His first contribution was under the old pen name, "Jay Whit," and was entitled "Red Riding-Hood." Occasional poems were sent to the Saturday HERALD in late 1877 and then began Riley's major work, the Respectfully Declined Papers of the Buzz Club (Numbers 1 through 6). No. 1 was published, May 11, 1878; No. 2 was published June 15, 1878; No. 3 was published July 6, 1878; No. 4 was published August 24, 1878; No. 5 was published September 28, 1878; and the final installment, No. 6, was published November 16th, 1878. Riley wrote about the "Flying Islands," which was his long autobiographical and narrative "astronomical play/poem" in the September 14th Issue. Riley then contributed occasional poetry to the Herald during 1879 and one poem in 1880. A series of "Robert Burns" inspired poetry appeared in this paper from Riley in 1885. The No. 4 of the Respectfully Declined Papers has proven to be the most important of Riley's submissions to the HERALD. In this issue was Riley's original composition of "Flying Islands of the Night." The poetry submitted to the HERALD is Riley at his most rebelliousness. Where did this come from? In my epoch, psychologist's play with such questions as the relationship of age within a child's birth order to receptivity to original ideas. They conclude those born later than other siblings tend to be ideologically rebellious rather than accept dominant theoretical positions. Since I have often posed social Darwinism as Riley's foil, it is interesting to enquire where both Riley and Darwin were in birth order. Riley and Darwin were later-borns. Darwin's evolutionary theory required opposition to the strong and pervading nineteenth-century belief in the biblical story of creation. Riley's kenotic poetry required opposition to the scientific biological truth that evolutionary theory rendered impossible or unlikely a human God. RILEY FAMILY POETRY Long before Riley became famous, his family wrote poetry which confirms that poetry was a common form of expression within Riley's family. Cornelia Loder who lived with the Riley's while teaching in the Greenfield schools in 1877 kept an autograph album. She sought entries from the Rileys and their guests. Here are little poems written by the Riley family from that album. Reuben Riley wrote, If, through life's eventful race, Our duties be well done, He'll still vouchsafe His grace, And Angels guard us home. June 11th, 1877 Ms. Loder recalls "Cap" Riley, as he was sometimes called, was a lawyer with considerable oratorical skills from a platform but not much of a money-maker. Her opinion was that he was too upright a man to engage in more lucrative activities of legal practitioners. She says that the home was not at all poverty ridden. The Rileys had not only a respectable home but all of the common advantages available to a respectable small-town family. In appearance, Reuben Riley bore a remarkable likeness to John Wilkes Booth. He told Ms. Loder that after the assassination of President Lincoln he once had barely escaped arrest because of this resemblance. Ms. Loder also remembered the stepmother as being patient and kind. Her role of foster mother was difficult but she filled it "efficiently and the children usually were respectful of her." Her Quaker "thee" and "thou" and various other old fashioned ways of speech and manner contrasted strangely with the joyous humanity of the first Mrs. Riley. When she lived at the home, the children still grieved keenly for Elizabeth Riley. As her entry in the autograph album, the stepmother, Martha Lukens Riley wrote: To Cornelia This little emblem of respect I gave my valued friend to thee Treat not its motto with neglect it is dear girl remember me. But say if Heaven should early doom For all is just by His decree, My bosom to the silent tomb, Wilt thou drop one tear for me June 7th, 1877 Thy True friend, Mattie C. Riley. Cornelia Loder depicts the Riley children in the household as an active, happy group, mingling freely in the normal social life of the town. The youngest Riley son, wrote his name "Hum Riley" in the album with many decorative elaborations. Riley had begun teaching his younger brother such flourishes as he was passing on his sign painting art to him. Elva's entry in the 1877 album read, In the dimly outlined vista of the future when alone In a mood of retrospection, you let your memory road, You must not forget Old Greenfield, and the Castle in the grove. You Will not forget the "romance," you must not forget the love (Editor's note, the reference here is to a boyfriend of Cornelia's) Of the many friends you left there, but keep in memories store One bud of recollection if you can keep no more. The Will in the fourth line was a play on a young man's name. Elva signed herself as "La fille du chateau." Mary, at twelve, wrote: I'm small I know, but then I may Make some noise in this world of ours. My compliments to you I give As plentifully as this day's showers Come down from out the weeping skies. Mary was the last survivor of the Riley family and lived until 1936. From this album one definitely concludes the entire Riley family was used to rhyme and each could express himself or herself in it. Riley made no contribution in this album because it was circulated in the Spring of 1877 when Riley had gone to Anderson to work for the newspaper, the Anderson Democrat. LONGFELLOW AND OTHER POETS WHO INFLUENCED RILEY We have often commented on Riley's early love of Longfellow to whom Riley composed several poems. In one of his letters, Riley says of Longfellow, "The poetry of Longfellow is artless and subdued and very tender, yet deep as the love, the hope of any human heart, is deep." Only after his thirties, does Riley find his own confident vision of the spirit of his age. Longfellow then seems less relevant to American poetry to Riley. Riley looked to Longfellow in his twenties for encouragement. The incident is one recorded in every biography of Riley and is substantially as follows: In the fall of 1876, Riley sent a small sheaf of his poems to Longfellow asking for criticism and suggestions. The were "Destiny," "If I Knew What Poets Know" and "The Iron Horse." Longfellow's reply, dated at Cambridge on November 30, arrived in Greenfield on December 5. Riley was delighted, we know, from a firsthand report by the boarder Cornelia Loder: "He came into the hall waving a letter to Elva, his sister, and saying, `Some day you will be proud to be called the sister of the Hoosier Poet.'" Longfellow had taken the pains to criticize one of the poems, "Destiny", pointing out Riley's inexact use of the word, "prone." The word means "face downward", Longfellow explained, and Riley should have used "supine." But more important still, Longfellow had written that Riley's work showed "true poetic faculty and insight." From this contact by letter in 1876, many have come to call Riley the student of Longfellow and his early years "Riley's Longfellow Period." This biographer believes Riley's poetry grows out of frontier song and doggerel and takes its schema and inspiration more directly from the influence of Dickens. Great study of many poets, Longfellow among them, no doubt influenced Riley. Nevertheless we must examine Riley's relationship with Longfellow carefully because Riley's love of Longfellow was very intensive from Riley's earliest days. We have further information from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Dana, the grandson who has written about his grandfather and Riley: RILEY AND LONGFELLOW CONNECTIONS "When Longfellow went abroad in 1868-1869, Riley, as a 19-year-old youth, followed the poet's travelings in the Greenfield COMMERCIAL. When the Norwegian violinist, Ole Bull, came to America, Longfellow described how "erect the rapt musician stood." And when Ole Bull played at the Academy of Music in Indianapolis on April 16, 1872, Riley in turn cried: "Why, it was music the way he stood!" When an editor paid Longfellow $3,000 in 1874 for "The Hanging of the Crane," some jealous would-be writer said the poem was "flapdoodle." But Riley defended Longfellow, quoting the lines in which he had described the azure eyes of children: "Limpid as planets that emerge Above the ocean's rounded verge, Soft shining through the summer night!" From Longfellow's "Morituri Salutamus" of the next year, 1875, Riley is said to have gleaned the key for his own life: "Study yourself; and most of all note well Wherein kind nature meant you to excel." In his popular lectures, Riley gladly paid a fine tribute to Longfellow: "The happiest forms of poetic expression are cast in simplest phraseology and seeming artlessness...Longfellow has furnished many notable examples, first among which I would class the poem, "The Day is Done." It is like resting to read it. It is like bending with uncovered head beneath the silent benediction of the stars." In much the mood of Longfellow's "The Day is Done," Riley wrote his own poem, "In the Dark," especially when we include the three final stanzas of the original version. It was this poem, the original manuscript version of "In the Dark," together with "A Destiny" (later called "The Dreamer") which he had published in HEARTH AND HOME for April 10, 1875, and one or two other manuscript and printed poems that Riley decided to send to Longfellow in order to get his opinion of them. This was a crisis in his life and he turned to Longfellow as the one person whose help he most needed. If only Longfellow would give a word of approval he would decided to devote the rest of his life to literature. Accordingly with some trepidation, on Nov. 27, 1876, James Whitcomb Riley, then 27 years old, sent to Longfellow, then nearly 70, a letter in which he said: "I find the courage to address you as I would a friend since by your works you have proven yourself a friend to the world: I would not, however, intrude upon you now, did I not feel that you alone could assist me." Almost immediately upon receiving the letter "there was really no (10 days suspense") Longfellow wrote to Riley on Nov. 30, 1876, saying of the poems which he had sent him: "I have read them with great pleasure, and think they show the true poetic faculty and insight." As soon as this letter reached the post office at Greenfield and Riley found it there and opened it, he was, as he said "in a perfect hurricane of delight." He walked not through the streets of Greenfield but through some enchanted city, where the pavements were of air; where all the rough sounds of a stirring town were softened into gentle music; where everything was happy; where there was no distance and no time." Two years later, on Sept. 2, 1878, Riley wrote to Longfellow expressing to him "my warmest thanks" for the great good your influence and kindness have done me." This time he enclosed a long poetical drama, "The Flying Islands of the Night," and a number of other poems. Again, Longfellow replied promptly, on Sept. 5, 1878: "I have received the poems you were kind enough to send me, and have read the lyric pieces with much pleasure...Among these poems the one that pleased me as much as any, if not more than any, was "The Iron Horse!" It was interesting that the poem Longfellow selected for particular praise is one in which the poet of the Middle West exalted above any "Arab steed" the locomotives and their trains which were making Indianapolis one of the great railroad centers of the country. Once more Longfellow's encouragement helped Riley, and who may deny that the faith the younger poet had in him, unlike the earlier harsh criticisms of Poe, gave Longfellow in turn a new lease on life so that much of his best and apparently effortless verse was written during the few remaining years. A few years afterwards, on Dec. 31, 1881, less than three months before Longfellow's death, the Indiana poet came to make a personal visit on the New England poet at the Craigie House in Cambridge. That evening, New Year's Eve, Riley wrote: "Just think o' me a-shakin' hands with Longfellow -which I did this very afternoon. I was advised not to go -that he was ill, and was not permitted by his physicians to see anyone, but I went, in the old spirit of desperation that is a good thing to have sometimes. I shan't try to tell you anything of his home - the house he lives in - but I knew it when in sight, and hurried on and up to it and rang the bell. (There's an old-fashioned brass knocker, highly polished, still set in the middle of the door.) The bell is at the side, and hard to find. The plain-looking woman that answered it said that Mr. Longfellow was not permitted to see anyone. And I asked her at least to present my card, on which I had written that Jas. W. Riley, of Indiana, wanted to offer his respects, if entirely agreeable, &c. There was some little delay- but, in the language of the tree toad, "I fetched him! O, I fetch him!" - And he seemed actually delighted, and pranced around and showed off his study and the famous Washington Room & all. Lord! What a lovable old man he is! He very highly commended some views I expressed regarding the higher worth of dialect, and clapped his hands over the "Old-fashioned Roses" which I repeated in illustration of the real purity and sweetness which might be found in the Hoosier idiom. I can't begin to tell you the great interest he expressed - and encouraging me again and again. I told him he was the first real poet who offered me encouragement of any kind - and in reply he said he was glad he did, and now could most heartily offer the same again, and more of it." The Next Day, New Year's Day, 1882, in writing to his first publisher about his visit on the previous afternoon to Longfellow, he added: "He was very, very gracious, and complimented me beyond all hope of expression. Can't tell you anything now, wait till I return, with the laurel on me brow." Five days later he wrote to another friend: "Have grappled hands with Longfellow, and he admitted me despite physician's orders, and likes me and says it." Eleven weeks later came Longfellow's death. This was a great blow to Riley. The next month he wrote for the Indianapolis JOURNAL of April 29, 1882, an article called "An Hour With Longfellow," in which he gave a further account of his conversation with him: "His talk, although varied, was mainly of our native poets and their work. He knew them all - even the humblest. And it was a surprise to us to find him well acquainted with even the local characteristics and dialects of the West. His theme gradually deepened into graver and more serious channels and he spoke of the higher mission of poetry - its kinship with all the purer emotions and aspirations of the human heart - and I remember as, with growing fervor, his fascinating topic swept him on he broke abruptly, saying: "But the idea grows too fragile for the touch of analysis - the thought loses all palpable embodiment and is veiled and almost lost in the midst of its own spiritual loveliness." In January, 1883, some nine months after Longfellow's death, Riley was able to come again to Cambridge and visited the grave of Longfellow on top of Indian Ridge in Mount Auburn Cemetery. Like the author of "The Children's Hour," Riley himself was to enter into the "Child World" and it was appropriate that on this occasion he brought with him a group of children bearing roses to lay on Longfellow's tomb. Of this event he wrote a poem, which has heretofore only been published in part, but which is here printed apparently for the first time in its entirety:
THE POET AND THE CHILDREN AT THE GRAVE OF LONGFELLOW Because that he loved the children, If for nothing else, we would say This is a grand old poet Who is sleeping here today.
Awake, he loved their voices, And wove them into his rhyme; And the music of their laughter Was with him all the time.
Kindly, and warm and tender, He nestled each childish palm So close in his own that his touch was a prayer, And his speech a blessed psalm.
Though he knew the tongues of nations And their meanings all were dear, The prattle and lisp of a little child Was the sweetest for him to hear.
He has turned from the marvelous pages, Of many an alien tone - Haply come down from Olivet, Or out through the gates of Rome, -
Set sail o'er the seas between him And each little beckoning hand That fluttered about the meadows And groves of his native land -
Fluttered and flashed on his vision, As, in the glimmering light Of the orchard lands of his childhood, The blossoms of pink and white
And there have been smiles of rapture Lighting his face as he came, Hailing the children hailing him, And calling each by name.
And there have been sobs in his bosom, As out of the shores he stepped, And many a little welcomer Has wondered why he wept.
"That was because, O Children" - In fancy his voice comes slow And solemn and sweet through the roses You have heaped o'er the below, -
"That was because, O Children, Ye might not always be The same that the Saviour's arms were wound About in Galilee."
So because that he loved the children, If for nothing else, we would say This is a grand old poet Who is sleeping here today. ... At the time of Riley's visit, Longfellow had said to him, "We are all of one common family." Both poets were strong believers in democracy. For both there was no rich nor poor, nor high nor low, in poetry. In a sonnet called "Possibilities," Longfellow had raised the question: "Where are the poets?" and had said: "Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught, In schools, some graduate of the field or street, Who shall become a master of the art."
Such lines appealed to the young poet, who had not had the advantage - or was it a disadvantage? - of university training, and to none more than James Whitcomb Riley. He, in turn, loved to point to Longfellow as an example of "the art to conceal art." To a friend who was struggling to compose poetry, Riley wrote: "One of the finest attributes of poetry-making is to conceal all effort. It can be done. Read any master to find that out. Longfellow above them all. He writes with the most painstaking care and slowness, and yet his verse all seems as though it made itself. There's the art of it." Again he wrote: "Study Longfellow, and be artless and subdued and very tender - yet deep as the love - the hope of any human heart is deep." Ten years after Longfellow's death, Riley published in 1892 his sonnet called "Longfellow," beginning: "The winds have talked with him confidingly; The trees have whispered to him; and the night Hath held him gently as a mother might, And taught him all sad tones of melody." In 1907, the centennial of Longfellow's birth was celebrated...At that time Riley wrote a sonnet called, "Longfellow; 1807 - February 27 - 1907." This began: "O gentlest kinsman of humanity! Thy love hath touched all hearts, even as thy song Hath touched all chords of music that belong To the quavering heaven-strung harp of harmony."
From this time onward until his death in the house on Lockerbie Street in Indianapolis on July 22, 1916, James Whitcomb Riley himself had come to hold as a poet something of the position in the hearts of the common people of America that Longfellow held before him." One of Riley's legacies from Longfellow is his range of stanza patterns including couplets, triplets, simple quatrains and ballad meters, the varied patterns of the ode and the elegy, sonnets, and blank verse. Longfellow was a marvellous poetic craftsman. However, Longfellow's poetry echoes artistic sensibility rather than Riley's musical ethos. We find this difference stated in Longfellow's own writings. In "The Singers," Longfellow gave poetry a threefold purpose: to charm, to strengthen and to teach. He wrote in "Michael Angelo: "Art is the gift of God, and must be used \Unto His glory. That in art is highest\ Which aims at this." Longfellow and Riley shared a fast brotherhood of moral concern. Like Longfellow, Riley was beholden to the past; but while the past inspired Longfellow to piety and a desire to preserve out of it what was lovely and good, Riley used the past as a field where innocence exists and hope in a redeeming God of humility survives. By way of national reputation, I would say that Riley and Longfellow each become identified with the Nineteenth Century as no other poets did, first Longfellow, then Riley. Riley apprenticed to Lee O. Harris in poetics. One finds Harris as a primary influence. Riley wrote a poem to him entitled, "Master and First Song-Friend - Lee O. Harris." Before we dismiss Lee O. Harris as merely Riley's teacher, we should be made aware that Harris made himself into a great disseminator of knowledge generally throughout the country. In the 1880's and until his death, he was the editor of "Home and School Visitor." Greenfield was its place of publication. The magazine was begun in Jan. 1881 and published for many years by D.H. Goble or by the later D.H. Goble Publishing Co. for distribution to township schools - mostly "one room" -dotting the countryside neighborhoods of Indiana and many other Western states. The growth of the "Visitor" under Harris's editorial supervision was phenomenal. By May, 1886, its edition states, "We cannot give a better idea of (the "Visitor's") growth than by stating that for the three years past the number used in schools was 5,000, 10,500 and 18,000 respectively." Greenfield's little publication came to be used by schools all over the Midwestern United States. One of its editions claims its use "in every state and territory and in many foreign countries." That same edition claimed a publication of 22,000 per month so it must have become very widely dispersed. "Home and School Visitor" was originally published by a Hancock County School Superintendent whose name was Aaron Pope and Captain Lee O. Harris, Riley's teacher who was by now the Greenfield Principal of Schools. Aaron Pope was a tragic but brilliant man who died at the age of thirty-seven. Professor Pope (as he was called) had been a teacher in several township schools and also at the McCordsville graded school before becoming Hancock County School Superintendent. He died of a heart attack in June, 1882 shortly after the publication started and the enterprise was sold to D.H. Goble, then a Greenfield implement dealer who undertook its publication using the good offices of Lee O. Harris as Editor. The first format of "Home and School Visitor" was like a newspaper with advertising. It then took the form of a magazine. The first issue contains the news that electric lights had been introduced on Wall Street in New York. There are many poems, some for memorizing, many stories, with those for the lower one room school grades in larger print, "natural history" or what we would call science, stories about historic figures, "how to" articles explaining how common products were produced, current events, and other subject matter. Will H. Glasscock, an early historian of Greenfield, wrote a book called YOUNG FOLK OF INDIANA in which he included Lee O. Harris under the caption "History, Story and Song." In describing Harris's youth, Glasscock wrote: "His ear was ever close to Nature's heart and he heard and felt its beatings in harmony with the promptings of his own life and soul." Among Harris's writings is a novel about a hobo called, THE MAN WHO TRAMPS, and a volume of poetry entitled INTERLUDES. Few remember that Riley himself did the artwork for Harris's novel. A letter from Riley to Harris at the James Whitcomb Riley Museum in Greenfield, Indiana confirms this revelation. It might be well to examine one of Harris's own compositions to note Harris's poetic style. His poem, "Song of the Rain," was on the front page of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD of January 26, 1878.
SONG OF THE RAIN
Where folded about by the shadows, My spirit is nursing its pain, I sit all alone in the darkness, And list to the song of the rain.
And often I hear in its music The patter of feet that are still; And then I forget for a moment, The mound on yon desolate hill.
And, thrilled with the bliss of her presence, My heart leaps to welcome its guest; I open my arms to receive her, And clasp only grief to my breast.
I wrap myself up in the shadows That woe o'er my spirit has spread, And moan all alone in the darkness And weep with the rain for my dead.
But now, as I hear at my window The touch of those fingers so light, That weave in the warp of the silence The woof of their music to-night,
So sweet is the sound and so restful The charm which its melody brings, That sorrow has folded her pinions To listen while memory sings.
And all that my heart has been dreaming The rain in its music repeats, While thoughts that like bees have been roaming Come bearing their burden of sweets.
New hope, like a carrier pigeon, Though weary and torn by the blast, Escaping the snare of the fowler, Flies home with her message at last.
Now faith paints the bow of her promise On tear-drops that sorrow has shed, And love is beguiled from her mourning, And turns from the grave of her dead.
And thus, as I list to the fingers That harp on my window to-night, I look through the gloom and the darkness With faith in the dawning of light.
In point of comparison of teacher (Harris) to student (Riley), I juxtapose Riley's "The Rain," published in the same newspaper, the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD in the next year on July 12, 1879: THE RAIN
The rain sounds like a laugh to me - A low laugh poured out Rapidly. My very soul smiles as I listen to The low, mysterious laughter of the rain, Poured musically over heart and brain Till weary care, soaked with it through and through, Sinks; and, with wings wet with it as with dew, My spirit flutters up, with every stain Washed from its plumage, and as white again As when the old laugh of the rain was new. Then laugh on, happy rain; laugh louder yet; Laugh out in torrent-bursts of watery mirth; Unlock thy lips of purple cloud and let Thy liquid merriment baptize the earth, And wash the sad face of the world, and set The universe to music dripping-wet.
Just as the Harris poem was really not about the rain, but about the death of a young woman, so is the Riley poem really not about rain either. Riley does not however take an unrelated tack about the fact of rain. He looks to its own essence. Rain falls to permit growth and creation to be sustained. This seems to Riley a thing like laughter: a spontaneous and life-affirming activity, favorable to life itself. The rain is, in this sense, "happy rain." Since rain has this role of revival, let it also be thought of as "baptizer," Riley suggests. The drift of Riley's mind is toward the essential and ultimate. A world of meaninglessness, anxiety, depression, fate, and death finds simple rain as challenger. The humble rain changes the drift of life to the direction of survival and comfort. While the thought is really rather humorous in any kind of overall scheme of things, nevertheless, how about a universe set to music "dripping wet?" Riley suggests. This catachresis takes the function of rain far beyond any simple possibility one might imagine and so serves to take the poem into the realm of its true subject: the rejuvenation of the world through simple acceptance of humble life situation, a kenotic idea. We have here not just an echo of literary figure of speech as in such usages as "to take arms against a sea of troubles." Instead we have a poem of a simple subject, rendered essential, thematic and finally, and this is most important, a point of salvation. The difference between the poetry of the teacher (Harris) and student (Riley) is dramatic. Many other early poets influenced Riley. Riley wrote poems of acknowledgment to Robert Herrick, John Greenleaf Whittier and also Alfred Lord Tennyson. Riley's first poem, "A Backward Look," that we still have was published in 1870 under the nom de plume "Edyrn," the name of a very minor knight in "Geriant and Enid" in Tennyson's IDYLS OF THE KING. This first poem was published in the newspaper, the Greenfield COMMERCIAL, at an unknown date and one of its original stanzas read:
They got me to climb for the bluebird's nest By telling me they'd give me half the eggs, And I got to the limb by tuggin' my best And fell to the ground and broke one of my legs.
As most of Riley's poems, great revisions occurred as the poems were printed, republished and reprinted. Dickens is noticeable although not as a poet. In fact, Riley doesn't try to hide this influence at all. One of his great poems of the "Poetical Gymnastics" series is simply titled, "God Bless Us Every One" in the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD published July 26, 1879. We know its origin as a saying of the crippled child, "Tiny Tim" in Charles Dickens' A CHRISTMAS CAROL,
GOD BLESS US EVERY ONE (1879)
God bless us every one!!! prayed Tiny Tim - Crippled and dwarfed of body, yet so tall Of soul we tiptoe earth to look on him High towering over all.
He loved the loveless world, nor dreamed, indeed, That it, at best, could give to him the while But pitying glances, when his only need Was but a cheery smile.
And thus he prayed, "God bless us every one," - Condensing all the creeds within the span Of his child-heart; and so, despising none, Was nearer saint than man.
I like to fancy God in Paradise, Lifting a finger o'er the rhythmic swing Of chiming harp and song, with eager eyes Turned earthward, listening. -
The anthem stilled -the angels leaning there Above the golden walls - the morning sun Of Christmas bursting flower-like with the prayer, - "God bless us every one."
Riley chose to open his 1895 volume of SKETCHES IN PROSE AND OCCASIONAL VERSES with "God Bless Us Every One." He really saw himself in "Tiny Tim." His alcoholism was as disabling as Tiny Tim's. To Riley, God listens when one says in a seemingly loveless world, "God Bless us Every One!" I note that Riley often closed his dedicatory addresses and public functionary appearances with this benediction. Riley acknowledged his appreciation of many poets by poetry. For John Keats, Riley wrote "A Ditty of No Tone." calling Keats' poetry "sun-washed" (natural, evocative of nature) and "luxurious in rhyme." Something which captures fragrance of wild flowers, drone bee "flight", shower and sunshine. In one of his letters Riley states "Keats knew of the nectar of his language." Riley's love of Robert Burns is referenced elsewhere. A poem to Burns is "As We Read." Riley says Burns was a poet who "outheld his hands lovingly to his people in dreams of sweet pathos and "sweet" themes." Riley eulogized Ralph Waldo Emerson as one who "drew" to the principles he acclaimed and held a "simple faith" in the direction of the voyage of life. Riley was born on Edgar Allan Poe's date of death and he always felt a special presence of Poe. In fact, Poe, indirectly brought him initial fame. William Lyon Phelps, Yale's English Professor who knew Riley intimately commented, "His immense admiration for Poe's genius was tempered by his regret over Poe's pessimism." William Cullen Bryant inspired a Riley poem. Riley said his poetry was like music in "clearest utterings," a poetry of "pride, purity and strength." Other poets who were Riley's friends and to whom he wrote poetry include Carmen: "To Bliss;" Madison Cawein: "A Southern Singer;" Rudyard Kipling; Joel Chandler Harris; Benjamin Parker; Robert Lewis Stevenson and Lew Wallace. Clara Louise Bottsford, Riley's one-time fiance, wrote in the romantic mode. Her poem "Lancelot" for example appeared in the Indianapolis Saturday Herald of December 11, 1880 on the front page, as had Riley's "Poetical Gymnastics" column in the prior year. The lengthy poem describes Lancelot's feelings on his way into Guinevere's presence for a tryst. Lancelot feels "gloom" as he enters his "Queen of Passion's" room to do her bidding and "meet my doom!" He asks himself Am I The mighty Lancelot - to die The meanest of the table round? - I, Knight of Arthur's, fettered, bound, The willing slave of even his queen - Not his....nor any one's I ween, But mine!...God's pity I am tired.
In an August 1880 - to an aspiring writer - Riley explained how he wrote to market his writing. He urged writing for "today" and a general readership who are neither profound nor classical scholars. "...and not only avoid phrases, words or reference "of the old time order of literature," but "avoid, too, the very acquaintance of it - because we are apt to absorb more or less of the peculiar ideas, methods, etc. of those authors we read..." Then, also, "when I am forced to say a commonplace thing it is my effort, at least, to say it as it never has been said before - if such a thing can be done without an apparent strain." Writing it he tries to imagine himself competent to do so and then lays it aside for a day or so to resurrect it in another mood and to tear it shreds if needs be. In reviewing another poet's work he could be devestatingly blunt. As to the following poetry stanza, he offered comment. "Fair home, where needs no solar ray To smile away the night; Where shines an everlasting day, - The risen Lamb the light." "The first line with "solar ray" in it! My God! what has "solar ray" to do with poetry! The second line pure poetry in idea, phrasing, everything; and the next two commonplace -the last one absolutely awful! Kill Mr. Buck for me, please. Gather the revered gentleman to his fathers. - Crucify him! - for it's an absolute shame that a man who could write poetry, only carpenters at it, and builds a poem, as he would a pig- pen out of unwieldy planks and clap-boards. Kill the gentleman I tell you! tramp on him as you would a bald "woolly worm!" Riley was a poet among many, many such artisans in Post Civil War Indiana. A very partial list of published Hoosier poets of the Nineteenth Century is compiled here to prove the point that many, many persons wrote poetry in Indiana during the Nineteenth Century: Albert Carlton Andrews, Marie L. Andrews, Albion Fellows Bacon, Mrs. Albion Fellows Bacon, R.G. Ball, Granville M. Ballard, M.E. Banta, Margaret Holmes Bates, Bessie Johnson Bellman, Horace P. Biddle, G. Henry Bogart, Sarah T. Bolton, Allan Simpson Bottsford, Ethel Bowman, Minnie T. Boyce, Louisa Vickroy Boyd, Robert H. Brewington, Albert Fletcher Bridges, Mattie Dyer Britts, M. Sears Brooks, Alice Williams Brotherton, Jerome C. Burnett, Clarence A. Buskirk, Kate M. Caplinger, Emma N. Carleton, Mary Howard Catherwood, Emily Thornton Cahrles, M. Louisa Chitwood, Noah J. Clodfelter, Jethro C. Culmer, Will Cumback, George W. Cutter, Hannah E. Davis, Ida May Davis, Richard Lew Dawson, Charles Dennis, William T. Dennis, John B. Dillin, May W. Donnan, Amanda L.R. Dufour, Julia L. Dumont, John Gibson Dunn, Sidney Dyer, Elijah Evan Edwards, Alfred Ellison, Henry W. Ellsworth, Orpheus Everts, John Finley, Mary Hockett Flanner, Elizabeth E. Foulke, William W. Foulke, Willis Wilfred Fowler, Strickland W. Gillilan, Jerome Bonaparte Girard, Samuel B. Gookins, Jonathan W. Gordon, Frank W. Harned, Lee O. Harris, William Wallace Harney, Irene Boynton Hawley, John Hay, Enos B. Heiney, Charles L.Holstein, Edwin S. Hopkins, Benjamin Davenport House, Horace F. Hubbard, Ben R. Hyman, Narcissa Lewis Jenkinson, Robert Underwood Johnson, Annie Fellows Johnston, Dulcina M. Jordan, David Starr Jordan, Isaac H. Julian, Esther Nelson Karn, Isaac Kinley, Jesse G. Kinley, Josie V.H. Koons, Mary-Hannah Krout, Harvey Porter Layton, Francis Locke, Richard K. Lyon, Zella McCoy, William W.H. McCurdy, Silas B. McManus, Arthur W. Macy, James B. Martindale, James Newton Matthews, Josephine W. Mellette, Freeman E. Miller, Joaquin Miller, Hattie Athon Morrison, Mary E. Nealy, William P. Needham, Rebecca S. Nichols, Meredith Nicholson, John C. Ochiltree, Richard Owen, Daniel L. Paine, Benjamin S. Parker, Edwin E. Parker, Oran K. Parker, Gavin Payne, William W. Pfrimmer, John James Piatt, Robert E. Pretlow, Herman Rave, Maude M. Redman, Joseph S. Reed, Peter Fishe Reed, Alonzo Rice, Renos H. Richards, John Clark Ridpath, Cornelia Laws St.John, Olive Sanxay, Henry J. Shellman, John W. Shockley, A.E. Sinks, Hubbard M. Smith, Evaleen Stein, Solomon P. Stoddard, George Stout, Juliet V. Strauss, Martina Swafford, Henry W. Taylor, Howard S. Taylor, John N. Taylor, Minetta T. Taylor, Tucker Woodson Taylor, E.S.L. Thompson, Maurice Thompson, Laura M. Thurston, Oliah P. Toph, Newton A. Trueblood, William B. Vickers, Lew Wallace, Susan E. Wallace, W. DeWitt Wallace, Luther Dana Watterman, L. May Wheeler, Louisa Wickersham, Elizabeth Conwell Wilson, Forsythe Wilson, and Bruce H. Woolford. Riley liked to call his poetry "poem-songs." Once Riley was asked for a contribution for a school newspaper in his hometown. Riley responded with a letter: Miss Helen Downing: Dear Friend and Fellow Citizen, - It is just impossible for me to write a suitable article for "The High School BUDGET," in the time you give me, being now a child no more. ... As to the old song-rhymes of mine you desire to print - Yes, put `em in "The BUDGET" if they're worthy... That is how Riley described his poems...as song-rhymes. By far, the great majority of Riley's works, even his poems, are not preserved. That so many are seems close to a miracle and is a mark of Riley's poetic draw as well as the closeness of poetry at that time to the life of the American people. Almost from the first of his newspaper career, Riley wrote many newspaper articles and editorials which did not carry his name. One of the particular fields to which his writing was entrusted was editorials. A letter to Lee O. Harris of December 25, 1895 mentions that an editorial he wrote appeared in that day's Journal which made his soul "blush to the roots of its hair." Here is a poem clearly written with music in mind. Minnie Belle Mitchell recalls that Riley's poem "The Old Times Were the Best," was actually written in his early youth when Riley was in the company of young people, include herself, practicing for one of the many entertainments Riley did. Angie Williams, later Angie Downing, was playing the piano when Riley left for a time and when he returned he had with him the poem "The Old Times Were the Best." Later he gave a copy to Angie to put to music. A POETRY ECHOING NATURE WITH HER OWN VOICE I close with a dissenting opinion from the poet Donald Culross Peattie who felt Riley's poetry was not so much musical and doggerel as "natural." He finds that Riley's better poetry "tries to echo Nature with her own voice." Riley is a poet who speaks for American Nature. "His fame as a versifier has helped to rob him of the title he ought to have, "the poet of wisest Nature." "Poets themselves may resent the suggestion that Riley is more than a versifier. Yet what is poetry if it is not the essence of things, the thought-distilled, mood-condensed sweet sap of the tree of life? When a scientist has boiled down Nature to a quintessential, he hands you what he quite inaccurately calls a law. But when a poet does that, he stocks your memory with an unforgettable line that gets more about the subject into less space than prove can ever do. The man who said he was "knee-deep in June" is a Nature poet of the first rank." Peattie continues, "Poems like "There little girl, don't cry", however sincere and popular, have down the reputation of Riley no lasting good. The truth is that like Burns he wrote in two different languages, and was two different men in them. The dialect poems are, on the whole, the good poems as Burns' were. Humor keep them off the rocks of sentimentality. And why should humor, which has long been accepted in the drama as a sparkling vessel for truth and art, reduce a poet to the rank of a minor? For no reason except that about poetry we are in a state of deadly earnestness, or in the doldrums of a decaying gentility... In the matter of dialect, it is immaterial whether Riley employed the speech that all Hoosiers used, or the colloquial language of Indiana today. There are few Scotchmen who speak the idiom of Burns. It is only essential that the dialect should be the best medium for the subject that could have been chosen. And to my ear, at least, not only does Riley write the way the western child and farmer still often speak, but in setting style to subject his sense of pitch is nearly absolute. He vies with the grand masters of regional American literature, the Mark Twain of HUCKLEBERRY FINN, the Lowell of the BIGELOW PAPERS, and the Harris of UNCLE REMUS. To one who was born in the Middle West, and has tried to write about its Nature, ...Riley's descriptions of birds on a hot summer day is still unsurpassed for that distillation of essence in the local speech which is poetry "come native with the warmth." "Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second class, Yit you'll hear 'em, more or less; Sapsucks, gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, In them baseball clothes o' his, Sportin' round the orchard jes' Like he owned the premises!" That expresses my opinion of pee-wees, too. Sapsuck is precisely what my Illinois neighbors call the bird I have to set down in my naturalist's records as Sphyrapicus varius. And if any poet can do a better delineation of that cheap dandy of a bird, the bluejay, by all means let him seize his pen." (Mr. Peattie's references are primarily to Riley's "Deer Creek" poetry. I must add that the place where such imagery arose, the Deer Creek of Indiana's White County lends itself to poetry as do few places of the country. To get the sense of it, your biographer walked this area in great satisfaction. Taking the "boardwalk" in Delphi's "Riley Park" along Deer Creek will raise the most depressed spirit into a sense of timeless peace.)
SPECIAL KENOTIC POEMS
James Whitcomb Riley's reputation as a poet rests most securely upon his early Benjamin Johnson of Boone poetry. They are his best and represent a high point of American poetry. They are written after his "Declaration of Independence" from his earlier mentor Henry Wadsworth Longfellow as contained in Riley's "USE AND ABUSE OF THE POETIC THEME" published in the Kokomo TRIBUNE of April 5, 1879. The are uniquely American in subject matter and heartland spirit and meter arising as they do from frontier song and doggerel. They are also deeply representative of the American experience of Civil War, Reconstruction and cultural dialogue between the Darwinism of Riley's age, to include its social Darwinism "offshoot," and the kenotic theological tide striking into America from Germany in the Nineteenth Century. We simply cannot fail to include in a biography of James Whitcomb Riley the poetry which contains his finest work and point out its kenotic content. As an example, Riley, wrote of the farmer who had experienced so much rain he couldn't plant his corn in the year 1882. This was "Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer." It was Riley in his kenotic years. James Whitcomb Riley took upon himself such subjects literally close to home to the Hoosier people. Yes, the world does have a source of encouragement when a farmer couldn't get his corn in. Poems began appearing from the hand of a "Benj. F. Johnson of Boone" growing out of Riley's understanding of life following his worse bouts with Crestillomeem. Who was the poet Benjamin F. Johnson of Boone? It was James Whitcomb Riley, we remember, in his most thoughtful 30's and still at an early stage of his career. He used the name for a series of poems in 1882 which ran in the Indianapolis JOURNAL. Although the poems were written early in Riley's published career, they contain ones now famous. The first one of them was "The Old Swimmmin'-Hole." Another later one was "When the Frost Is on the Punkin." There were twelve in all. The Benj. F. Johnson series of poems permitted Riley to portray the thoughts and philosophy of a plain old dust- bitten and clod-hopping Hoosier farmer who wrote with inspiration as flush as bitters with tanzy in it1.
1. Bitters gave Western heartland pioneers a "bite" to the taste of their food and tanzy was a plant with a very strong aroma used as a garnish like parsley.
THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER (1882)
The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees; And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as the fly.
The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; And the hoss-fly is a-whettin-up his forelegs fer biz, And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is.
You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow - Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how; So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing - But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, Seems to kindo-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite!
They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still; It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet!
Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? Is the chipmuck's health a-failin? - does he walk, er does he run? Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done? Is they anything the matter with the rooster's1 lungs er voice? Ort a mortul be complanin' when dumb animals rejoice?
Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot; The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you.
1. Nothing was so sure to a Hoosier, as the rooster's cry as the sun arose in the morning. Brahma chickens were the popular breed of the Nineteenth Century because they were meaty and survived long Hoosier winters with minimal attention.
This poem centers on a special mind which acknowledges God's descent from ultimate being into flesh. This mind bears the peace of God and withstands discouragement and depression. Riley cultivated this mind not only to overcome his own discouragement and depression but also to write a poetry of that "mind." It is a state of content at being in the form of humanity subject to degradation. Crestillomeem had drug him down into this degradation and the mind of Christ set him free. To the kenotic, Christ halted the influx of His own life with God, not to dissolve the mutual indwelling of God with God's child, but rather to participate in life as a human. The state of mind further acknowledges that Christ changed equality with God into a state of dependence and need. God would know that this farmer of Riley's poem needed his crops so everything would turn out just fine. "With Providence fer guide, Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied," the farmer thinks. The Incarnation was God becoming flesh to know what was necessary. "Thoughts for a Discouraged Farmer," was a favorite poem of James Whitcomb Riley through the coming years. In 1909, the same year Riley suffered a stroke that left his right hand "cold," he was asked to be the guest of honor at a reunion group's meeting in Indianapolis. It was the first meeting of the "Hancock County Society" and Riley was asked to recite one of his poems. The one he chose to recite was "Thoughts for a Discouraged Farmer." Audiences had loved this poem for over a quarter of a century. Considered one of Riley's best poetics was:
THE BROOK-SONG (1882)
Little Brook! Little brook! You have such a happy look - Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and curve and crook- And your ripples, one and one, Reach each other's hands and run Like laughing little children in the sun!
Little brook, sing to me: Sing about a bumblebee That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled mumblingly, Because he wet the film Of his wings, and had to swim, While the water-bugs raced round and laughed at him!
Little brook - sing a song Of a leaf that sailed along Down the golden-braided center of your current swift and strong, And a dragon-fly that lit On the tilting rim of it, And rode away and wasn't scared a bit.
And sing - how oft in glee Came a truant boy like me, Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, Till the gurgle and refrain Of your music in his brain Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain.
Little brook -laugh and leap! Do not let the dreamer weep; Sing him all the songs of summer till He sink in softest sleep; And then sing soft and low Through his dreams of long ago - Sing back to him the rest he used to know!
The poet Riley proposed a kenotic view of nature which differed markedly from the "tooth and claw" picture of it posed by the social Darwinists of his time. Nature was not an environmental selector of those who might survive to reproduce and increase a species differentiating genetic pool. Nature was simply the situation as was humanity itself- situs of humanity's habitation. From the beginning of history, humanity has long to understand the dim cave in which the human shadow is cast and have searched for signs of it in nature. The kenotics proposed that nature was a place, however temporary, for rest rather than struggle for survival. Natural setting, the environment, was intended to nurture, feed and house a humanity in the quest of a life of service. It is intentional human nature, as happened with Christ, that one hunger, thirst, sleep, and feel weariness, and the function of nature out of the bounty of God's love to provide relief. Just as heaven is a place of rest, so is the earth. As the kenotic Lutheran theologian Chemnitz proposed, the natural situation of humanity in nature is merely a mix of "visibility, tangibility, and existence in loco" and in a natural setting with the same essential chemistry which through accidence became the body of Christ. The substance of nature was the same matter which became the natural humanity which Christ received from the Virgin Mary, having hands, feet, sides, flesh, bones in which body Christ chose to ascend into heaven and will return in jugment as he was seen to ascend in the kenotic view. Another poem, almost as illustrative of Riley's kenoticism of this period, is Riley's "A Hymn of Faith."
A HYMB OF FAITH (1882)
O, THOU that doth all things devise And fashon fer the best, He'p us who sees with mortul eyes To overlook the rest.
They's times, of course, we grope in doubt, And in afflictions sore; So knock the louder, Lord, without, And we'll unlock the door.
Make us to feel, when times looks bad And tears in pitty melts, Thou wast the only he'p we had When they was nothin' else.
Death comes alike to ev'ry man That ever was borned on earth; Then let us do the best we can To live fer all life's wurth.
Ef storms and tempusts dred to see Makes black the heavens ore, They done the same in Galilee Two thousand years before.
But after all, the golden sun Poured out its floods on them That watched and waited fer the One Then borned in Bethlyham.
Also, the star of holy writ Made noonday of the night, Whilse other stars that looked at it Was envious with delight.
The sages then in wurship bowed, From ev'ry clime so fare; O, sinner, think of that glad crowd That congergated thare!
They was content to fall in ranks With One that knowed the way From good old Jurden's stormy banks Clean up to Jedgmunt Day.
No matter, then, how all is mixed In our near-sighted eyes, All things is fer the best, and fixed Out straight in Paradise.
Then take things as God sends 'em here, And, ef we live er die, Be more and more contenteder, Without a'astin' why,
O, Thou that doth all things devise And fashon fer the best, He'p us who sees with mortul eyes To overlook the rest.
Nineteenth Century kenotic ideas saw the possibility of personal participation in Godly life no matter what he or she faced. The example was the life image of Christ, a genuinely human personality. This Christ was Jesus, the man, born in "Bethlyham." Nevertheless though Jesus was a human being, God was also in Him so there was relief for the kenotic "Ef storms and tempusts dred to see\Makes black the heavens ore." Conditions faced by humanity were within a scheme of salvation of a Christ in a peculiar loving relation to God. There was no need to fear a life for love was the motive of the Incarnation and love was the sole measure of its depth. Riley's point in "A HYMB OF FAITH" is to adopt God's free relation to the world and accept the world's situation because God did and yet see through the world to adopt its essential attributes centering on a love perspective. The vulnerable human relates to the human incarnate God spiritually but confidently through instinctive faith. Belief comes because it is impelled by the human condition to seek clear fulfillment withheld from mortal life. We have no confident assurance through ourselves but we have it through the relationship of God when on earth to God. We have no authority by ourselves to evaluate as among ourselves, except as we have the capacity from God, who qualifies us in a new agreement, not written down, but instinctively. From Riley's "We Must Believe," "We must believe: For still all unappeased our hunger goes, From life's first waking, to its last repose" It was the "foolishness" done of God in becoming Incarnate that gives the ultimate knowing about God from a Nineteenth Century kenotic point of view. This "foolishness" avoided a robbery by Christ of God's love but made it available to a degraded humanity.
MY PHILOSOFY (1882)
I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be, Much posted on philosofy; But thare is times, when all alone, I work out idees of my own. And of these same there is a few I'd like to jest refer to you - Pervidin' that you don't object To listen clos't and rickollect.
I allus argy that a man Who does about the best he can Is plenty good enugh to suit This lower mundane institute - No matter ef his daily walk Is subject fer his neghbor's talk, And critic-minds of ev'ry whim Jest all git up and go fer him!
I knowed a feller onc't that had The yeller-janders mighty bad, - And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet Would stop and give him some receet Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say He kindo' thought they'd go away Without no medicin', and boast That he'd git well without one doste.
He kep' a-yellerin' on - and they Perdictin' that he'd die some day Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed The feller did, and lost his head, and wundered in his mind a spell - Then rallied, and, at last, got well, But ev'ry friend that said he'd die Went back on him eternally!
It's natchurl enugh, I guess, When some gits more and some gits less, Fer them-uns on the slimmest side To claim it ain't fare divide; And I've knowed some to lay and wait, And git up soon, and set up late, To ketch some feller they could hate Fer goin' at a faster gait.
The signs is bad when folks commence A-findin' fault with Providence, And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake At ev'ry prancin' step they take. No man is grate tel he can see How less than little he would be Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare He hung his sign out anywhare.
My doctern is to lay aside Contensions, and be satisfied: Jest do your best, and praise er blame That follers that, counts jest the same. I've allus noticed grate success Is mixed with troubles, more er less, And it's the man who does the best That gits more kicks than all the rest.
Doing "one's best" as Riley terms is taking of the infinite into the finite realm as the Incarnate Christ did and a person can. A kenotic view upon how humanity can manifest as God in the flesh uttered from the mouth of a humble farmer. The kenotic assumed that human nature could spiritually correspond to the human nature of the Incarnate Son of God. As the kenotic late Nineteenth Century Methodist theologian R.J. Cooke stated, There could be "essential likeness and kinship between God and man. Whatever physical science may have to say as to the lowly origin of man, here is what he is. God does not have to force himself into human nature, and when in it find himself unable to manifest himself in it through lack of revealing capacity in the human, nor is the human unable to bear the weight, the presence, of deity. But because man is spirit, because he has intelligence, and reason, and will, and affection, because he is a moral being, Infinite spirit, Infinite Wisdom and Infinite Love can adjust himself to the spirit of man - laying every power and quality of God alongside of every corresponding faculty in the human soul without violence to the soul - and thus manifest himself as God in the flesh. The astounding revelation dawns on us for the first time that the human may embody the eternal." (From THE INCARNATION AND RECENT CRITICISM. Peripherally it should be noted how reactive to Darwinism kenotic thought and movement really was, that is the idea that even a lowly and humble person was exalted because God chose humble humanity form. Riley's poetry was, of course, its chief literary expression and his Benjamin Johnson poetry, the best of his kenotic poetry.) As a further idea, kenotics hoped for Christian unity. The Nineteenth Century kenotic movement was intended as a union movement between Lutheran and Reformed elements in Germany. It eschewed contention. The idea swept into America and found fertile ground for Protestant churches of every denomination combating the pessimism, scepticism, and doubt about a united Christianity and its benefit as characterized by the immensely popular oratory of such as Robert Ingersoll, a popular orator.
MY FIDDLE (1882)
My fiddle? - Well, I kindo' keep her handy, don't you know! Though I ain't so much inclined to tromp the strings and switch the bow As I was before the timber of my elbows got so dry, And my fingers was more limber-like and caperish and spry; Yit I can plonk and plunk and plink, And tune her up and play, And jest lean back and laugh and wink At ev'ry rainy day!
My playin' 's only middlin' - tunes I picked up when a boy - The kindo'-sorto fiddlin' that the folks call "cordaroy"1; "The Old Fat Gal," and "Rye-straw," and "My Sailyor's on the Sea," Is the old cowtillions I "saw" when the ch'ice is left to me; And so I plunk and plonk and plink, And rosum-up my bow And play the tunes that makes you think The devil's in your toe! I was allus a- romancin', do-less boy, to tell the truth, A-fiddlin' and a-dancin', and a-wastin' of my youth, And a-actin' and a-cuttin'-up all sorts o' silly pranks That wasn't worth a button of anybody's thanks! But they tell me, when I used to plink And plonk and plunk and play, My music seemed to have the kink O' drivin' cares away!
That's how this here old fiddle's won my hart's indurin' love! From the strings acrost her middle, to the schreechin' keys above - From her "apern," over "bridge," and to the ribbon round her throat, She's a wooin', cooin' pigeon, singin' "Love me" ev'ry note! And so I pat her neck, and plink Her strings with lovin' hands, - And, lis'nin' clos't, I sometimes think She kindo' understands!
1. "Cordaroy" means "makeshift" or "stopgap" in Hoosier idiom. As best I can trace it, the term visualizes Hoosier country roads which in summer were covered with dust so thick that James Whitcomb Riley once described them "as thick as butter on country bread" and passable, but which in the Fall and Winter time might be half way up to the horse-drawn wagon axles in mud. A Hoosier pioneer-style improvement was to "firm up" these roads at their worst spots with "corduroy" logs.
A kenotic poem of satisfaction in dependence upon the assumption of the servile state of humanity. Hey, you can even enjoy fiddling because you can accept the human state because Christ did. Christ took on the form of a human and accepted its life in humiliation. His end in becoming a person was so that He might wear that form of existence which is at the greatest possible distance from and the greatest contrast to the life of God. There is the possibility of joy in this fact coming from its participation with the life of the earthly God. The theme is particularly and generally a Nineteenth century one as well. We note that James Russell Lowell asserts that reverence for life is the very primal essence and life of poetry. "From reverence the spirit climbs on to love, and thence beholds all things." Nevertheless the source of the satisfaction is that it is sanctified because it is human to enjoy pickin' and grinnin' which is otherwise an irrelevant activity than as a human being does it.
THE CLOVER (1882)
Some sings of the lilly, and daisy, and rose, And the pansies and pinks that the Summer-time throws In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiny days; But what is the lilly and all of the rest Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew?
I never set eyes on a clover-field now, Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again; And I wunder away in a barefooted dream, Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above.
And so I love clover - it seems like a part Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart; And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now; And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, To go out in the clover and tell it good-by, And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume.
Another poem extolling something common and humble. In a kenotic frame of reference, the clover symbolizes humble life such as Jesus gave up His nature as God to manifest. Freedom is a sub-theme of the poem. Being humble and thus acceptable to Godly reckoning brings freedom to enjoy life. Benjamin Johnson, an old Hoosier farmer, tends to deal with this world as a place of blessing. He is finding his life laden with the happiness from simple things. He can accept poverty because he can smell his clover. To a social Darwinist of Riley's epoch Benjamin Johnson is thus inexplicable. That he is in poverty is understandable because his values are not oriented within the struggle for existence. Poverty would cease if persons acted prudently, industriously and wisely and brought their children up to exercise those same virtues. Morals and social values are the result of historical and institutional foundations rather than either intuitive or Christian in character. Much of morality is simply restatement of property rights. The social Darwinist, Yale's William Graham Sumner in his FOLKWAYS espouses these views. Riley is not picturing a person who seems to be struggling with existence very much as long as he can smell the clover and he finds life virtuous and redeeming among the clover blossoms which are a gift from a God who sets the bounds of Benjamin Johnson's morality on the basis of service to others.
NOTHIN' TO SAY (1883)
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, giner'ly has their way! Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected to me - Yit here I am and here you air! and yer mother - where is she?
You look lots like yer mother: purty much same in size; And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes: Like her, too, about livin' here, because she couldn't stay; It'll 'most seem like you was dead like her! - but I haint' got nothin' to say!
She left you her little Bible - writ yer name acrost the page - And left her ear-bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age; I've alluz kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away - Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
You don't rickollect her, I reckon? No: you wasn't a year old then! And now yer - how old air you? W'y, child, not "twenty"! When? And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that day? I wisht yer mother was livin'! - but I haint't got nothin' to say!
Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found! There's a straw ketched on to yer dress There - I'll bresh it off - turn around. (Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away.) Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
This is not a theological exposition of the Incarnation but rather a poem of affirmation of life itself. The ongoing evolutionary drift of the generations is not something to be regreted. It is acceptable without objection and there is "nothin'" more to say about it. The drama of life is lived within the context of the total world submissiveness to God in which God's own child is the absolute agent for total submission. God's life with people continues on through time. This poem was the most prominent American poem of the year 1887. It was first published in the Indianapolis JOURNAL on July 31, 1887 and then printed to a more national audience in the CENTURY MAGAZINE issue of August, 1887. Riley recited it at a Chickering Hall poetry reading in New York City on November 29, 1887 before other poets and a great audience when his fellow poet James Russell Lowell called upon Riley to give further readings of his poetry. It introduced dialect as an appropriate speech to express the humble kenotic message. This poem and many others were published in Riley's book AFTERWHILES, one of his most enduring volumes of poetry with great holiday sales at Christmas time throughout the country.
THE BEAUTIFUL CITY (1883)
The Beautiful City! Forever Its rapturous praises resound; We fain would behold it- but never A glimpse of its glory is found: We slacken our lips at the tender White breasts of our mothers to hear Of its marvelous beauty and splendor; - We see - but the gleam of a tear!
Yet never the story may tire us - First graven in symbols of stone - Rewritten on scrolls of papyrus And parchment, and scattered and blown By the winds of the tongues of all nations, Like a litter of leaves wildly whirled Down the rack of a hundred translations, From the earliest lisp of the world.
We compass the earth and the ocean, From the Orient's uttermost light, To where the last ripple in motion Lips hem of the skirt of the night, - But the Beautiful City evades us - No spire of it glints in the sun - No glad-bannered battlement shades us When all our long journey is done.
Where lies it? We question and listen; We lean from the mountain, or mast, And see but dull earth, or the glisten Of seas inconceivably vast: The dust of the one blurs our vision, The glare of the other our brain, Nor city nor island Elysian In all of the land or the main!
We kneel in dim fanes where the thunders Of organs tumultuous roll, And the longing heart listens and wonders, And the eyes look aloft from the soul: But the chanson grows fainter and fainter, Swoons wholly away and is dead; And our eyes only reach where the painter Has dabbled a saint overhead.
The Beautiful City! O mortal, Fare hopefully on in thy quest, Pass down through the green grassy portal That leads to the Valley of Rest; There first passed the One who, in pity Of all the great yearning, awaits To point out the Beautiful City, And loosen the trump at the gates.
A poem of Nineteenth Century kenotic hope. The Beautiful City is the dialoguing Neo-Platonic Jerusalem to "come down" referenced in the book of Revelation. Regarding this along with other poems, Riley once told a reporter that he "did not make them. God made them," adding, "all that I do is to fit the words to them. I am a sort of a mental camera, that catches the stories. I develop the plate - and there you are. And just here I must protest against the opinion of our dear Longfellow who claims that it is sheer laziness in a poet to refrain from writing because he is not in the mood. As I see it, he who attempts to write when not in the mood prostitutes his powers." The kenotic content of the poem is its reminder of the promise of a second coming in a world ruling time by the incarnate Christ. The event will render all the world's ruling principles and authority and power null and void. The poem prescribes a regimen of hope, never to give up that the world will continue until contrariness to God is eventually and inevitably stepped underfoot by the appearance of the incarnate Christ who will "loosen the trump (proclaim entry with trumpets) at the gates." The poem became one of the most popular of Riley's epoch. I think it must be seen in relationship to the dominant vision of the age.
AWAY (1884)
I can not say, and I will not say That he is dead. - He is just away!
With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land,
And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there.
And you - O you, who the wildest yearn For the old-time step and the glad return, -
Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here;
And loyal still, as he gave the blows Of his warrior-strength to his country's foes. -
Mild and gentle, as he was brave, - When the sweetest love of his life he gave
To simple things: - Where the violets grew Blue as the eyes they were likened to,
The touches of his hands have strayed As reverently as his lips have prayed:
When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred Was dear to him as the mocking-bird;
And he pitied as much as a man in pain A writhing honey-bee wet with rain. -
Think of him still as the same, I say: He is not dead - he is just away!
The kenotic content of this poem is very similar to the thought of "On the Death of Little Mahala Ashcraft." I cannot help but include it in this series however since it was so important from a popular standpoint in the Nineteenth Century. Probably every Protestant minister in America used it at one point or another in counseling, sermon or burial service. Abut the writing of this poem, Riley said, "I was confined to my bed. I was ill and weak and all alone. My eyes were inflamed, and so I just rolled over and wept with the weather." The occasion of the poem was the death of General Wm. H. H. Terrell, who was an aide to Indiana's embattled Civil War Governor Oliver Morton. Riley remembered the General gave "the sweetest love of his life to simple things." While walking in a garden after a shower, Riley once saw the General stoop to pity "a honey-bee wet with rain." The kenotic content of the poem is its center in the promise of life after death from the incarnate Christ. The poem recalls the teaching of Paul who argued, "If God when on earth preached that there was a rebirth after death, how can any among you be saying that the dead aren't reborn into new life after death? If there's no life after death, then God when on earth could not now exist as he once did as an earth dweller, arose and arisen."
BEREAVED (1890)
Let me come in where you sit weeping, - ay, Let me, who have not any child to die, Weep with you for the little one whose love I have known nothing of.
The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed Their pressure round your neck. the hands you used To kiss, - Such arms - such hands I never knew. May I not weep with you?
Fain would I be of service - say some thing, Between the tears, that would be comforting, - But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I, Who have no child to die.
The writing of "Bereaved" began with a strange premonition which so vividly impressed Riley one night that he was unable to sleep. He arose and wrote the poem rapidly in about twenty minutes. Usually, Riley's compositions were labored, taking days or even months to rewrite and polish. On this occasion, he stated his heart was heavy with a sadness he could not relate to any known cause as he addressed his lines to the unknown parents in the poem. Later he received word of the death of the child of his lecturing partner, Bill Nye and Riley at once dedicated this poem to Mr. and Mrs. Nye. Had they been the subject of his strange foreboding? The poem is kenotic in its presentation of the mind of the Incarnate Christ in grief over the human condition. This poem is demonstrative of such grief as is found in childlessness. The poet had no children. About the genesis of this poem, Riley wrote, "I was awakened far in the night as by a summons, and in seeming answer I arose and the poem came trickling through my tears. What was it that woke me I can not tell. Was it the pitying gaze of fathers and mothers keeping their lonely vigil through the night? Was it the cry of empty arms for the touch of vanished fingers? Was it an angel ray of light, a celestial petition from the land of dreams and sleep? I do not know."
POETRY OF THE "DEER CRICK" OR "DELPHI" EPOCH
A famous body of Riley poetry was written in an epoch in which Riley escaped from not just the lyceum circuit, but also Indianapolis and Greenfield by frequent visits to Delphi, Indiana, where his friend, Dr. Wycliffe Smith lived. This was in the mid-1880's. The "Deer Creek" poems reflect Riley's opportunity to wander "Deer Crick" country of Carroll County which bordered orchards, clover fields and forested areas. The poem "On the Banks of Deer Crick" was written for the Delphi TIMES at a time when Riley was not feeling well. Riley went to the banks of Deer Crick (Creek in Hoosier dialect) across from Jackson's hole or Wilson's cave where he could rest before reading poems at the old Delphi Opera House that evening. While taking in the scenic wonder of the place, he scribbled the poem "On the banks o' Deer Crick..."
ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK (1885)
On the banks o' Deer Crick! There's the place fer me! - Worter slidin' past ye jes' as clair as it kin be: - See yer shadder in it, and the shadder o' the sky, And the shadder o' the buzzard as he goes a-lazin' by; Shadder o' the pizen-vines, and shadder o' the trees - And I purt' nigh said the shadder o' the sunshine and the breeze! Well! - I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea. - On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me!
On the banks o' Deer Crick - mil' er two from town - 'Long up where the mill-race comes a-loafin down, - Like to git up in there - 'mongst the sycamores - And watch the worter at the dam, a-frothin' as she pours: Crawl out on some old log, with my hook and line, Where the fish is jes' so thick you kin see 'em shine As they flicker round her bait, coaxin' you to jerk, Tel yer tired ketchin' of 'em, might nigh, as work!
On the banks o' Deer Crick! - Allus my delight Jes' to be around there - take it day er night! - Watch the snipes and killdees foolin' half the day - Er these-'ere little worter-bugs shootin' ever' way! - Snake-feeders glancin' round, er dartin' out o' sight; And dewfall, bullfrogs, and lightnin-bugs at night - Stars up through the tree-tops - er in the crick below, - And smell o' mussrat through the dark clean from the old by- o!
Er take a tromp, some Sund'y, say, 'way up to "Johnson's Hole," And find where he's had a fire, and hide his fishin'-pole: Have yer "dog-leg" with ye, and yer pipe and "cut-and-dry" - Pocketful' o' corn-bread, and slug er two o' rye... Soak yer hide in sunshine and waller in the shade - Like the Good Book tells us - "where there're none to make afraid!" Well! - I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea. - On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me!
The "Deer Creek" poetry was the hallmark of one of Riley's favorite platform lectures entitled, "Characteristics of the Hoosier Dialect," and it was fantastically popular all around the country beginning in 1884. One of the poems he wrote for this "lecture" as it was billed was "Knee Deep in June." Although the poem was tailored for his platform entertainment, he later had it first published in the Indianapolis JOURNAL of June 14, 1885 under the title "Long About Knee Deep in June." Then, it was included in the immensely popular book AFTERWHILES in 1887. It was made available for sale at the Indianapolis NEWS office in Indianapolis in that year and the first edition of 1,000 did not last a month. It sold for $1.25. "Knee Deep in June" probably received more critical acclaim than most of Riley's poems. Among those who have commented on "Knee Deep in June" was James Russell Lowell, one of the Cambridge group of poets, who remarked that, "Nothing that the poets have written in this country for years has touched me so deeply as 'Knee Deep in June.'"
KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE (1885)
I Tell you what I like the best - 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, - some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest, And not work at nothin' else!
II Orchard's where I'd ruther be - Needn't fence it in fer me! - Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath - Sort o' so's a man kin breathe Like he ort, and kind o' has Elbow-room to keerlessly Sprawl out len'thways on the grass Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Allus, when they's company!
III Jes' a-sort of lazin' there - S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer Through the wavin' leaves above, Like a feller 'ats in love And don't know it, ner don't keer! Ever'thing you hear and see Got some sort o' interest - Maybe find a bluebird's nest Tucked up there conveenently Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be Up some other apple tree! Watch the swallers skootin' past Bout as peert as you could ast; Er the Bob-white raise and whiz Where some other's whistle is.
IV
Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow - Er a hawk, - away up there, 'Pearantly froze in the air! - Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever' chick she's got, Sudden-like! - and she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you! - You jes' bet yer life she do! - Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, Waitin' till he makes a pass!
V
Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second-class, Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, In them baseball clothes o' his, Sportin' round the orchard jes' Like he owned the premises! Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade's where glory is! That's jes' what I'd like to do Stiddy fer a year er two!
VI
Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in Work 'at kind o' goes ag'in' My convictions! - 'long about Here in June especially! - Under some old apple tree, Jes' a-restin' through and through, I could git along without Nothin' else at all to do Only jes' a-wishin' you Wuz a-gittin' there like me, And June wuz eternity!
VII
Lay out there and try to see Jes' how lazy you kin be! - Tumble round and souse yer head In the clover-bloom, er pull Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes And peek through it at the skies, Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, Maybe, smilin' back at you In betwixt the beautiful Clouds o' gold and white and blue! - Month a man kin railly love - June, you know, I'm talkin' of!
VIII
March ain't never nothin' new! - Aprile's altogether too Brash fer me! and May - I jes' 'Bominate its promises, - Little hints o' sunshine and Green around the timber-land - A few blossoms, and a few Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, - Drap asleep, and it turns in 'Fore daylight and snows ag'in! - But when June comes - Clear my th'oat With wild honey! - Reach my hair In the dew! and hold my coat! Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat! - June wants me, and I'm to spare! Spread them shadders anywhere, I'll get down and waller there, And obleeged to you at that!
After accompanying Dr. Wycliffe Smith on a horseback ride, Riley penned:
FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN (1884)
I
From Delphi to Camden - little Hoosier towns, - But here were classic meadows, blooming dales and downs; And here were grassy pastures, dewy as the leas Trampled over by the trains of royal pageantries!
And here the winding highway loitered through the shade Of the hazel covert, where, in ambuscade, Loomed the larch and linden, and the greenwood-tree Under which bold Robin Hood loud hallooed to me!
Here the stir and riot of the busy day Dwindled to the quiet of the breath of May; Gurgling brooks, and ridges lily-marged and spanned By the rustic bridges found in Wonderland!
II From Delphi to Camden, - from Camden back again! - And now the night was on us, and the lightning and the rain; And still the way was wondrous with the flash of hill and plain, - The stars like printed asterisks - the moon a murky strain!
And I thought of tragic idyll, and of flight and hot pursuit, And the jingle of the bridle and the cuirass and spur on boot, As our horses' hooves struck showers from the flinty boulders set In freshet-ways of writhing reed and drowning violet.
And we passed beleaguered castles, with their battlements a- frown; Where a tree fell in the forest was a turret toppled down; While my master and commander - the brave knight I galloped with On this reckless road to ruin or to fame was - Dr. Smith!
THE MEDIA FOR SPRAIVOLL'S WRITING
Any artist lies imprisoned within his media of expression. These bounds are as iron bars to genius. The best an artist accomplishes is to ecstatically raise the language of his or her media to its highest pitch and intensity. James Whitcomb Riley's media was the Nineteenth Century "local sheet" the predecessor to today's newspaper. We have seen the mundane operation of these organs as we traced how the hoax poem "Leonainie" came to be published. Through most of his life, Riley was a "newspaper poet." The one newspaper he came to be most associated with was the Indianapolis JOURNAL, now the Indianapolis STAR. Riley wrote, however, for many newspapers in many capacities. He wrote advertising and editorial copy as well as his more famous poetry. He also covered news events and was assigned to special projects such as his five-part serial on "What Our Bright College Boys Are Doing" published during the last 1891 to January 1892. There is not a major Riley poem which was not first published in a newspaper before printing in a book. There simply is no current reference to the poetry published in the newspapers of the American Nineteenth Century. The practice of placing poetry on the newspaper front pages - of anywhere - in newspapers has long ago vanished. Riley's media has, in short, passed into history. Without experience with the media, it is hard to understand its message. Nevertheless we must try if we are to have any chance at all of understanding the Post Civil War American scene and particularly its mood and dynamic. Riley was apprenticed into newspaper journalism at a time when country journalism was intensely personal in cast and flavor. Editors of local newspapers were vehement in their beliefs, many of them of a political nature. Politics caused great candid and savage debate - a product of the great divisions in the country caused by the American Civil War just a decade earlier in history. Elections were especially bitter in the Hayes-Tilden election of 1876. Many Hoosiers refused to accept that Hayes won and called him a "de jure" President. No doubt some of Riley's journalistic work was of a political nature. The newspapers of his day were highly partisan and Riley wrote for many of them to include their editorials. Riley had trouble with this. Throughout his life, Riley had great suspicion about the political process. Remembering the lynching incident from his young manhood, Riley was suspicious of aroused people. Politics was also tied to racism in Indiana in Riley's memory especially during election times. Greenfield's black community were Republican and at the time the county voted basically Democrat. It was a rare election in which Greenfield's blacks were not harassed in some way. In the 1872 campaign, a political speaker of the Democrat parties, Thomas A. Hendricks, came to Greenfield to speak for Greeley and evoked racism according to George Knox, Greenfield's black barber as stated in his memoirs, saying "he could stand everything but one thing and that was the "nigger." Shortly after the black lynching in Greenfield in 1875, in the 1876 presidential campaign, clubs were organized, Grant and Lincoln clubs by the Republicans and Tilden and Hendricks clubs by the Democrats. On the Monday before the election in November, the Democrat Club held a county rally numbering by George Knox's estimate about 25,000 and the club members gathered in Greenfield shouting things like "Hurrah for Tilden and Hendricks!" and occasionally "God damn the Republicans and nigger lovers." Wagons were decorated with slogans like, "Clean the Radicals out," "Clean the black Republicans out," "White husbands or none." George Knox remembered a group coming into his barbershop and one jumping up on his stove and Knox asked him to get off and was told, "Don't give me any of your black sass." Some took razors and cut Knox's leather straps and another kicked his dye stand over. Knox stated, "I had gone through the army, passed through exciting times, had experienced the quick terror of the midnight whisper, "the enemy is upon us" (during the Civil War in Northern service), but even on the battle field of Mission Ridge, that bloody spot, where men were being killed in platoons all around me, heads and legs torn off, cannon and minie balls flying as thick as hail, at no time did I suffer in feelings, as on that awful day." George Knox was James Whitcomb Riley's great friend and first employer. Riley was on his side politically. Riley was able to avoid the most heated of these political conflicts by seeking to live at the soul level where his play characters could breathe. Not until the Benjamin Harrison campaign for the Presidency do we find Riley personally speaking out for a candidate. Benjamin Harrison was his man in that election largely because he was a good personal friend. If pressed, Riley would not say he was either a Democrat or Republican. To probe more deeply, Riley was asked about his father's politics since political affiliation was often a family matter. Reuben Riley of course had been both a Democrat and Republican and other "splinter" parties. Once when asked whther his father was a Democrat or Republican, Riley replied: "I don't know, I haven't seen him since breakfast." Riley hated such politicizing. Riley mentioned that he was forced to do editorial work of this nature in a letter to Elizabeth Kahle of August 9, 1881. Riley actually felt politicians were a rather comical lot.
A LOCAL POLITICIAN FROM AWAY BACK (1887)
Jedge is good at argyin' - No mistake in that! Most folks 'at takles him He'll skin 'em like a cat! You see, the Jedge is read up, And b'en in politics, Hand-in-glove, you might say, Sence back in '56.
Elected to the Shurrif, first, Then elected Clerk; And buckled down to work; Practised three or four terms, Then he run for jedge - Speechified a little 'round And went in like a wedge!
The first newspaper Riley contributed to was The REPUBLICAN. This was a newspaper begun by T. B. Deems about 1870 in Greenfield, Indiana, and survived for approximately three months. No copy of this newspaper survives. For a far longer period Riley wrote for The Greenfield COMMERCIAL. The COMMERCIAL was begun by Amos C. Beeson in 1867. In 1870, Beeson sold this Pro-Republican newspaper to Lionel E. Rumrill who terminated it in December, 1872. Riley published most poetry in the Greenfield COMMERCIAL anonymously. One poem was a spoof of a Bret Harte style and revolved around a girlfriend of Riley's, Lucy Atkinson. Riley called on her as did a young jewelry salesman of Greenfield. Riley and the jewelry salesman did not consider themselves rivals for the attention of Lucy because neither saw each other at Lucy's home. One day, Lucy sent Riley a note to come to her home at six o'clock p.m. that evening. Riley did so but somewhat later than six. When Riley arrived, he saw Lucy in a bridal dress with happy friends around in an obvious marriage party. A two-horse carriage was tied at the gate ready to take the married couple off. The woman was Lucy. Riley had been invited to a surprise wedding of his girlfriend to another man. To commemorate this occasion, Riley wrote a poem in the style of Bret Harte's "Truthful James." It was published in The Greenfield COMMERCIAL on January 14, 1871 in "The Poet's Corner" section of that newspaper. The name of the poet was listed as Brat Heart.
AN UNEXPECTED RESULT
Of late I'm becoming persuaded to smile At some things turning out, once-in-awhile; In the way that they do! I'll aim to explain, In order to make my meaning more plain, In the following crude vernacular strain:
"Never go back on a woman, John! Unless you think she's a drawin' you on."
"Drawing me on! Now look here, Dick Show me the girl that can do that trick Before you venture on calling me `sick."! It's all set up - she wants to tell Me "something" to-night - now look here - well - I'm going to cut her - I want you to see How much more she thinks of me Than of that damned jeweler - how'll that be?" "Be? - mighty bad, for a woman to fix And dress and get ready by half-past six, Don't play off on her, John! If you can, Get ready and go! act like a man - Some other time you can work this plan! And besides that you want to know What she wants by begging you so To come there early. If I were you I'd marry that woman, that's what I'd do, As certain as one and one make two! Or ain't you much on the marry now? Well, she's a mighty fat take anyhow!"
"Well now, you can bet she ain't so slow, Hang it! I won't play off on her so! Where's my overcoat? I'm going to go! And you needn't sit up till I come in, For I am right on the `woo' and the `win!'"
"All right, John, my bully old brick! Play it right fine, and talk mighty slick, Good night, success to you!"
"Good night, Dick!"
"Not back a'ready! Why, what's up now? Going to go back on it? What's the row? Are you going crazy - Ouch! look here, say, Don't step on my corns in that lubberly way! You're the cussedest fool 'at I've seen today!"
"Well, I reckon I am! Say, Dick, look here - Come here to the window and it will appear To you in a stronger light - I'm a fool, And a damned one too! Oh, I'm perfectly cool! I mostly resemble what's most like a mule. Don' you see 'em turning the corner there? See those carriages? That with the pair Of grays hitched to it? The happy twain Who sit inside, it is very plain, Are married and going off on the next train!"
"Well, what of that?"
"Why, that's the girl I kindly consented not `whirl For your sweet sake - and I'll defer Stating particulars - but for her, She may go to hell with her jew - el - er!"
Of late I'm growing persuaded to smile At some things turning out once-in-awhile, In the way that they do. I've tried to explain, In order to make my meaning more plain, In what some may term a "sarcastic vein."
Toward its last days Riley was the COMMERCIAL's local editor, solicitor and writer of advertisements. He filled the literary department with poetry and astonished the editor and public as well with advertisements like the following:
Write me a rhyme of the present time; And the poet thus begun: A cheap bazaar for a good cigar Is the store of Carr and Son."
The wares of the Mr. George Dove's shoe shop were presented this way:
"It's my opinion," said Farmer Gray, As he drove in town one Christmas day, `Of all the gifts there's none that suits A boy as well as a pair of boots.' So he drove to Dove's and made the purchase."
"O where - tell me where Shall I buy my winter ware? And a voice answered, There! At the store of Hart and Thayer, Where They deal so fair And square You'll be tickled, I'll declare."
A year and half after his mother's death, Riley sent a poem to his brother John, then living in Indianapolis, to see if his brother could get it published. John was able to do so at the Indianapolis Saturday MIRROR but only after recopying because Riley's penmanship was very bad. Riley sent this poem to his brother on February 9th and awaited expectantly until the first, "Man's Devotion," was published on March 30th. Riley used the pen name Jay Whit but the newspaper mistakenly printed it as "Jay White." Again Riley sent poetry in. Riley drove himself crazy after sending "A Ballad" to the Mirror. He wrote his brother "This suspense is terrible! - daily I may be seen with solemn expression following the mail-bag from the depot, as though' it were some dear-little-fat-corps of a relative who had perhaps remember me in his will- but alas!... " When the poem "A Ballad" was finally published, it was edited and Riley was heartsick. Prepositions and articles were changed. Riley saw these as insults to the "ballad style." "It hurts me more that the poem was my favorite, and I had built an airy castle for it!" he said. Riley's early contributions to this newspaper were thus: 1872: March 30, "Man's Devotion" by Jay White (sic); April 13, "A Mockery" by Jay Whit; "Flames and Ashes" by Jay Whit; May 11, "A Ballad" anonymous; May 25, "Johnny" by Jay Whit. After the Greenfield COMMERCIAL ceased operation, many of Riley's writings then appeared in the older Greenfield newspaper, The Hancock DEMOCRAT. The reason was one of his best loafing buddies was Almon Keefer, several years his elder, but a compositor at that newspaper. Keefer had been in Riley's father's Civil War unit and was a bachelor himself. The Hancock DEMOCRAT is a great source of information about the writings and career of James Whitcomb Riley. This is the newspaper, for example, which published Riley's obituary of Nellie Millikan Cooley and his poetry to her. An Editor of the DEMOCRAT, John Mitchell, was also a close Riley friend and companionable social alcoholic with an arrest for public intoxication in Greenfield close to the time of Riley's own in his younger years. Another of the first newspapers publishing Riley poetry was the Greenfield NEWS. Riley once said when he covered an event for the NEWS, it became a "Hartpence local." This referred to William Hartpence, a Civil War veteran who returned to Greenfield in December, 1874, purchased the plant of the Greenfield NEWS, and published it as a Republican weekly newspaper to which Riley contributed. The Greenfield NEWS began in 1874 under the ownership of Will T. Walker and Lionel E. Rumrill. A year later Walter Hartpence purchased the newspaper and continued it until the NEWS ceased publication in the Spring, 1875. Riley felt responsible since he was one of the few who contributed to the doomed newspaper. Riley's efforts at the Greenfield NEWS were recounted by William Hartpence as follows: "When I took possession of the NEWS, Riley was contributing a serial bit of fiction, entitled "Babie McDowell." This I continued for some weeks, when needing space for increased advertising, by my direction, Riley dexterously "killed" his principal characters and ended the story. I preserved the file of the NEWS very carefully and they are neatly bound in first-calls style in marbled board full size of page. They show Riley's name at the head of the local department of the paper. This volume is now more carefully than ever preserved by my son. Bert E. Hartpence, Harrison, Ohio. My knowledge of James Whitcomb Riley began in 1861 when I was a printer in the Hancock DEMOCRAT office, that was at that time housed in a little brick annex on the west side of the old courthouse in Greenfield. "Jim" as everybody called him until he came into fame, was then a yellow-haired, freckled faced boy of the normal type, with a predilection for chewing tobacco, which, I think, he inherited from his father, Reuben A. Riley." The NEWS he was writing for part time and without pay folded in the Spring 1875. Riley celebrated the event by joining company with a friend, Oliver Moore, to make a circuit as "Delineator and Caricaturist" shortly afterward. This attempt to start an entertainment career, bombed as otherwise related. As an older man, Riley recalled his first serious journalistic writing as occurring after his return from the "medicine show" escape from his hometown. The account appears in the Biographical Edition of his poetry and was ostensibly edited by his nephew, Edmund Eitel: "...he became the local editor of his home paper (The Greenfield NEWS) and in a few months "strangled the little thing into a change of ownership." The new proprietor transferred him to the literary department and the latter, not knowing what else to put in the space allotted him, filled it with verse. But there was not room in his department for all he produced, so he began, timidly, to offer his poetic wares in foreign markets. The editor of The Indianapolis MIRROR accepted two or three shorter verses but in doing so suggested that in the future he try prose. Being but a humble beginner, Riley harkened to the advice, whereupon the editor made a further suggestion; this time that he try poetry again. The "Danbury (Connecticut) NEWS," then at the height of its humorous reputation, accepted a contribution shortly after "The MIRROR" episode and Mr. McGeechy, its managing editor, wrote the young poet a graceful note of congratulation. Commenting on these perilous times, Mr. Riley once wrote, "It is strange how little a thing sometimes makes or unmakes a fellow. In these dark days I should have been content with the twinkle of the tiniest star, but even this light was withheld from me. Just then came the letter from McGeechy; and about the same time, arrived my first check, a payment from "Hearth and Home" for a contribution called "A Destiny" (now "A Dreamer in A Child World"). The letter was signed, `Editor' and unless sent by an assistant it must have come from Ik Marvel himself, God bless him! I thought my fortune made. Almost immediately I sent off another contribution, whereupon to my dismay came this reply: `The management has decided to discontinue the publication and hopes that you will find a market for your worthy work elsewhere.' Then followed dark days indeed, until finally, inspired by my old teacher and comrade, Captain Lee O. Harris, I sent some of my poems to Longfellow, who replied in his kind and gentle manner with the substantial encouragement for which I had long thirsted." Riley's first full-time employment came at Anderson, Indiana when Riley was hired by the Anderson DEMOCRAT. This tour ended Riley's wandering days about Indiana as a painter and member of the Graphics or with its members. In the Anderson DEMOCRAT of April, 1877, a box in the newspaper stated the following: WORD "It is our endeavor to serve the best interest of our patrons, and with this in view, we have secured the services of Mr. J. W. Riley, who has attained quite a reputation as a poet and writer. His productions have already attracted the attention of such men as Longfellow, Whittier, Trowbridge and many other notables; and being convinced of the high order of his talent in that direction, we believe we not only benefit ourselves and patrons by the acquisition of his services, but that he is also supplied with a congenial position, and one in which he will develop the highest attributes of his nature. Feeling that we have already the hearty endorsement of a kindly public, we leave Mr. Riley to close the homily. Todisman and Groan (Proprietors) In making my salam to the Anderson public, I desire first to extend my warmest thanks to those who have interested themselves in my behalf, and whose kindly influence has assisted me to an office I will ever feel pleasure in occupying. And in the fulfillment of the duties that devolve upon me, it shall be my warmest endeavor to merit the trust and confidence that has been so generously relegated. That the position is one that is fraught with a thousand trials and vexations, shall not deter me from the steadfast purpose of right and justice; and while I shall at all times exercise the lighter attributes which go to make up the interest of a weekly, it shall be my care, as well, to wend away all petty slurs that shake the growth of dignity, and in fact, to nurture jealously the character of the paper, and assist in my humble way in giving to its individuality the stamp which "bears without abuse the grand old name of gentleman." Treating the kindly indulgence of the public for any discrepancy of inexperience, I am, Very truly, J.W. Riley." At the Anderson DEMOCRAT, Riley took charge of the advertising end of the paper: soliciting, make-up, proofreading, reporting of locals, starting at eight dollars a week. Soon he began inserting his own poetry such as his parody of the Whittier poem that Riley called "The Other Maud Muller," "A Man of Many Parts," "The Frog" and a parody of the Coleridge poem, "The Ancient Mariner" that Riley called "The Ancient Printerman," "Craqueodoom" in the style of Joseph Drake's "The Culprit Fay," and a parody of Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland" poem of the same name called "Father William." I suppose "Leonainie" is in this same line of imitation pieces for apprenticeship into a greater poetry. Newspapers did not pay for poetry when Riley first began to hope for monetary rewards from his writing. The newspapers did pay for prose pieces. To accommodate both his need for money and his interest in poetry, Riley wrote prose pieces but included poetry within them so that he did in fact get paid. From the start through advertising rhymes, doggerels and occasional more serious poetry, James Whitcomb Riley came to sharpen his poetic skills as a newspaper contributor and poet. Although there are original poems published in many, many newspapers throughout the country, three are newspapers of particular significance. Each was a major publisher of original Riley poetry. Riley's longstanding career was however with only one of these newspapers, the Indianapolis JOURNAL. How did Riley become a newspaper poet and not simply a journalist? From the start he was hired on because of his poetic bent. Of all the people who gave James Whitcomb Riley a start in his writing career none was more helpful than Judge Elijah B. Martindale. He should be credited with initially giving Riley the chance to write poetry regularly for newspapers. The Judge gave Riley employment at The Indianapolis JOURNAL, which would be about the only truly steady job Riley ever had. The offer of this job literally snatched Riley out of a period of great despair and drunkenness. Riley actually started at the JOURNAL in November, 1879 after returning from a stint accompanying the temperance lecturer, Luther Benson, through a circuit in Northern Indiana. Riley started out at the JOURNAL at a regular weekly salary of twenty-five dollars. Riley contributed to the JOURNAL earlier but only sporadically. The editor said Riley "would stamp up and down our reportorial rooms moaning for the sight of sunflowers." Riley would get homesick and leave a note on the editor's desk, "Going down home for a day or two to smoke my segyar." Then he was simply gone. The only picture I have seen of Judge Martindale has him posed as Napoleon with his right hand thrust inside his coat. He was a heavy man with receding hairline and a huge brushlike mustache with its ends curled as if by wax below the line of his mouth. His appearance is very self-assured and his eyes look like those of a man who can see through steel. I have not seen a picture of him after he filed personal bankruptcy in the later 1870's, having previously transferred the JOURNAL and other major assets to this children. Here was a man who almost literally took Indianapolis as a pup and tamed it during the post-Civil War period, giving it the habits that continue now in its maturity. Judge Martindale grew up near Shirley, Indiana, although he was born in the country in Wayne County August 22, 1828. His father was a pioneer preacher of the Christian Church and moved to a country farm near Shirley when the Judge was four. Like so many persons who amounted to something that I have found in Hoosier history, he learned industry by living and working on a family farm. He was the tenth of fifteen children. His education was the scanty one of the period with only brief seminary attendances in the dead of winter. At sixteen, in 1844, he decided to become a saddler and was apprenticed to learn to make horse saddles which took him to age twenty or so. While he had been a saddler apprentice, he had also become a great reader and particularly found himself most interested in the law. In his early twenties he decided to become a lawyer, moved to New Castle, and hung out a shingle. He also married there and would eventually be the father of ten children. For twelve years he practiced law in our neighbor county seat. For one term he was a Prosecuting Attorney but he became of interest to us, as a James Whitcomb Riley influence, in 1861 when he was appointed the Judge for Hancock County. Here he came to know of the Riley family of Greenfield. Reuben Riley, the poet's father, had been a very active member of the Greenfield bar. The Judge's position was more technically Judge of the Court of Common Pleas for Hancock, Henry, Randolph, Delaware, and Wayne Counties which was all one big venue in those days. This brief stint - he was judge only a year - earned him the title Judge ever after. He moved to Indianapolis in 1862 and began a legal practice there. From the start, the Judge took Indianapolis on as a development project. Cattycornered from the City-County Bldg is the Martindale "Block" or building, the northeast corner of Market and Pennsylvania Streets, which he had built and he also was a prime mover of the platting of most of Indianapolis of that period so that lots could be sold on easy terms for new settlers to move there. He represented many commercial and manufacturing interests and always encouraged them to expand and grow to build up our Hoosier capital. He was a visionary who saw the prime city of Indiana as needing not just employment opportunities and homes of brick and wood but also a poet of the love of the home. This seems why he brought James Whitcomb Riley to Indianapolis -to nourish the heart and soul of his adopted city. In 1876, the Judge bought the Indianapolis JOURNAL, then the leading Republican newspaper in the state. He managed this newspaper for only a four year period and sold it on the eve of the political campaign of 1880 after a personal bankruptcy had caused him great distress. His period of ownership and that of his children into whose name the JOURNAL was placed for "safekeeping," was, however, critical in the life of James Whitcomb Riley. During the Judge's first year as owner of the JOURNAL he happened to come to Greenfield, a town he knew well, for the funeral of a young lawyer, Hamilton Dunbar, who had been a "star comer" of his court when he had been judge. It was September, and the meeting would prove to be one of the most important dates in Riley history. The tragically dead young lawyer, Hamilton Dunbar, had been a schoolmate and good friend to James Whitcomb Riley and Riley had written a poem, "Dead in the Sight of Fame" which Riley read at a meeting of the Greenfield bar honoring the memory of Hamilton Dunbar. Judge Martindale was very impressed by Riley's poem. A week later, the Judge wrote to ask Riley to come to Indianapolis to talk to him. Riley did not do so, but he did send the Judge some poems that Riley offered the Judge's newspaper to publish. The next February, the Judge sent Riley $10 for the poems and repeated his invitation for Riley to come see him, writing a letter as follows: The JOURNAL Indianapolis, Feb. 27, 1877. Jas. W. Riley Greenfield, Ind. My dear Sir: I want to thank you for the article and poem sent The JOURNAL. I am sure you have a future and will help with The JOURNAL to make it whatever your application and industry deserves. I hope you will call on me when you are in the city. I may be able to make some suggestions and afford you encouragement. I like to help young men who help themselves. Truly yours. E.B. Martindale
The Judge and his newspaper, the JOURNAL, were to remove Riley from his home in Greenfield to Indianapolis at the most bitter time in Riley's life when the only other course which was probably open to Riley was that of becoming an unemployed Greenfield town drunk. Of the Judge's later life, little is important to us in following the life of James Whitcomb Riley. The Judge went on to establish and become the owner of a major Indianapolis industry, the Atlas Works, a foundry and machine factory, and was active in many social and public causes until his death. The first time Riley used his full name for a poem was for a poem published in the Indianapolis JOURNAL of April 17, 1881 entitled "The Ripest Peach." When asked why he had used his full name then, he said there were many James Rileys in Indianapolis and he was tired of getting letters from their girls. Although Riley was employed by the JOURNAL until 1888, he contributed poems long after that. The JOURNAL used Riley for humorous items and poems. Riley told how he produced them. "I had a peculiar position...My editor-in-chief was one of the most indulgent men in the world and let me do pretty much as I pleased. I wrote when I felt like it, and when I did not, nothing was said. At first when called on for a certain thing by a certain time I grew apprehensive and nervous, but I soon solved the problem. I learned to keep a stack of poems and prose on hand, and when there was a big hold in the paper and the called for `copy' I gave them all they wanted. Riley was closely connected to the Indianapolis JOURNAL. The newspaper employed Riley and regularly published Riley poetry for many years from January 10, 1877 with "Song of the New Year," to December 29, 1901 with "To the Mother." There is an example of the enthusiasm with which The JOURNAL published Riley poetry after he reached fame. The newspaper was literally willing to stop its presses to put in a Riley poem toward the end of his long period of contribution to that newspaper. James Whitcomb Riley had very deep feelings that caused him to write poetry under great inspiration and excitement. One night during 1890, Riley wrote a poem to describe his feelings about war. Riley wrote the poem "Song of the Bullet" from his Lockerbie Street home when most Hoosiers, not so poetic or maybe inspired, were in bed. He liked to write in the middle of the night. The managing editor of The Indianapolis JOURNAL, then Indiana's most prominent newspaper, Harry New, related that Riley brought the poem in at 1 in the morning in great disarray and very excited. Riley said he had just written it and if The JOURNAL wanted to run it they could. The managing editor told the famous Hoosier Poet that the next day's newspaper had already been made up and he would give the poem very prominent treatment in the next issue. Riley replied that he would let The JOURNAL have the poem if they would publish it the next morning or not at all. So great was the occasion of publishing anything from "The Hoosier Poet" that you can imagine what Indiana's most important newspaper did. It stopped the presses to print the poem as James Whitcomb Riley had asked. Since Riley has been dead for so many years it might be well to give his words as remembered by that editor as best he could recall, when Riley had brought in that poem. "I have done something good," he said. "I had gone to bed and to sleep. It came to me and woke me up. I got up and put it down. It is good. There it is. You may have it." When the Editor had said he couldn't possibly publish it in the next morning's newspaper since Riley had brought the poem in to him at 1 am, that's when Riley said publish it for the morning paper or not at all. Thinking about it, the poem gives a view of war that the struggling country was trying to deal with. The imagery and message of the poem combine to produce its powerful impact on the reader. The poem became very well known and was printed in many newspapers around the country. It is simply not possible to say that Riley wrote for only the The Indianapolis JOURNAL. Riley was a journalistic "gadfly." He apparently was willing to write news, edit such material, garner advertising, and/or do any and everything else for a newspaper which published his poetry. One finds him editing the Kokomo TRIBUNE "Home Department" in 1879 in order to secure for himself an organ to originally publish his seventeen "John C. Walker" poems of this era and other poetry. Following the "fame" from Leonainie, the John C. Walker poems were the next stepping stone to Riley's rise in prominence as a poet. These poems, all of which were first published in the Kokomo TRIBUNE, were copied far and wide in the United States. Great speculation arose. Who was this John C. Walker? In July, 1879, the Mishawaka ENTERPRISE published the following article directed to the Kokomo TRIBUNE: "Will wage a year's subscription to the ENTERPRISE that your "John C. Walker" whose charming little poems have been such a brilliant feature of your paper, is none other than J.W. Riley, Indiana's rising young poet, in disguise." For the most part they were as entertaining as any poetry ever written. John C. Walker wrote verse that was "The Ginoine Ar-Tickle" which was the title of his poem in the "Home Department" of the Kokomo Saturday TRIBUNE of November 8, 1879. THE GINOINE AR-TICKLE (1979)
Talkin' o' poetry, - there're few men yit `Ats got the stuff biled down so's it'll pour Out sorgum-like, and keep a year and more -Jes' sweeter ever' time you tackle it! W'y all the jinglin' truck `at has ben writ For twenty year and better is so pore You caint find no sap in it any more `N you'd find juice in puff-balls! - AND I'D QUIT! What people wants is facts, I apperhend; And naked Natur is the thing to give Your writin' bottom, eh? And I contend `At honest work is allus bound to live. Now thems my views; cause you kind reecommend Sich poetry as that from end to end.
Charles H. Philips, placed him in charge of his Kokomo TRIBUNE column, "Home Department." James Whitcomb Riley knew Charles Philips, the eldest son of Theophilus C. Philips, owner and publisher of the Kokomo TRIBUNE from Riley's Graphics days of wandering about Indiana. Philips's father had been appointed postmaster of Kokomo by President Lincoln and was a staunch Republican as well as Editor and Owner of the Kokomo TRIBUNE. The famous John Walker Poems eventually were all published first in The Kokomo TRIBUNE. After the Leonainie incident, the next step in general public awareness of Riley came through the publication of his poetry and prose in the Kokomo TRIBUNE where Riley took employment as Editor of the TRIBUNE's Home Department in March 1879. The Kokomo TRIBUNE, at this point in its history, was among the finest publications in the west and strived to duplicate the quality of "magazine" journalism. Many of the finest Hoosier writers contributed to it and it prided itself on having "sixty" literary contributors who were the finest writers in Indiana. "John C. Walker" soon took top honors as the finest of them all. The first of Riley's poetry to the Kokomo TRIBUNE was after Riley's contribution of the "Edgar Allan Poe" hoax poem, "Leonainie," to the rival Kokomo DISPATCH. About a month after this publication, Riley sent to the Kokomo TRIBUNE his hoax of the hoax, called "Leoloony" contributed anonymously but published by the Kokomo TRIBUNE September 1, 1877. He also wrote an anonymous parody of "Leonainie" for the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD which was published September 1, 1877. Not until January, did Riley begin his vast output of significant poetry sent to the Kokomo TRIBUNE. It began with Riley's tribute to Luther Benson, the temperance lecturer who had "pulled him out of his alcoholic bout" after the condemnation of Riley for pulling the Edgar Allan Poe hoax. Benson had literally rescued Riley from oblivion and the obscurity of being a public drunk. Within this time period had come Riley's firing from his job at the Anderson DEMOCRAT and his arrest for public intoxication in his hometown of Greenfield. The beautiful kenotic poem "T.C. Philips" followed in July, and a tribute to a child of Kokomo named after the ill- fated poem, Leonainie, before the John C. Walker series of poems began. Occasional anonymous poems from the pen of James Whitcomb Riley were also published within the period 1879 and March 19th, 1881 when the last was printed. The most significant was a poem, "The Beetle," which was as widely reprinted in the national press as the John C. Walker poems. The poem suffered a title change as it began a long career of re-publication and re-issuance and became known as the "Dusk Song." Its refrain is: "O'er garden blooms On tides of musk, The beetle booms adown the glooms And bumps along the dusk." James Whitcomb Riley's friend, Dan Paine, a critic for the Indianapolis News in August, 1879, wrote Riley, "That infernal Beetle has been booming and bumping about my ears all day. The poem is just crammed with subtle beauties. Do you know there is as much imagery and poetry in the work you have turned out this week as would suffice many a man, who breaks into the magazines at a round price, for half a year. And you are doing it for nothing." From 1877: September 1, "Leoloony." to March 19, 1880, "Kate Kennedy Philips." Some were telling Riley his poetry was too good to contribute to weekly papers, but the counsel of Myron Reed, Riley's spiritual mentor in matters of his alcoholism and life in general, was different. Reed encouraged Riley to "keep" as close as possible to the people of his age and time. They were to be the "balance" of his poetry. Reed insisted Riley stay attuned to the country people of the Hoosier state. Only by knowing his own people could Riley become acquainted with himself and the well-springs of his own poetics. Reed insisted Riley weigh his own life first and inform it with the life of those with whom he lived. Avoid at all costs gratifying your desire to live in the vanity of city literary life, Reed warned. In the meantime, the poems contributed to the Kokomo TRIBUNE were picked up on the newspaper exchanges and widely reprinted. Riley occasionally used his own name in the "Home Department" columns as with his poem "Tired.
TIRED (1879)
"Oh I am tired!" she sighed as her billowy Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy, Graceful and fair as a goddess of old: Over her jewels she flung herself drearily, Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast, Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearily Clung in her hair like a dove in its nest. -And naught but a shadowy form in the mirror To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her! "Tired?" - of what? Could we fathom the mystery? - Lift up the lashes weighed down by her tears, And wash, with their dews one white face from her history, Set like a gem in the red rust of years? Nothing will rest her - unless he who died of her Strayed from his grave, and in place of the groom, Tipping her face, kneeling there by the side of her, Drained the old kiss to the dregs of his doom. -And naught but that shadowy form in the mirror To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her!
Another newspaper publishing Riley poetry was The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD. This was the weekly newspaper which published "The Flying Islands of the Night" in the "Buzz Club" series, and Riley's "Poetic Gymnastics" series. The newspaper accepted Riley poetry from an earlier period of time than The Indianapolis JOURNAL. Poetry in the HERALD began with a Jay Whit poem on June 26, 1875, "Red Riding-Hood" and ended on December 19, 1885 with "At Last Meeting." James Whitcomb Riley was a writer in prose as well as a poet. Riley wrote news articles and editorials by the hundreds. Riley took newspaper assignments to report events like other staffers. There is a record of Riley's assignment to report on what he called a "wind fight" one time. This was an oratorical contest. Routine assignments continued during the days he was at the JOURNAL. Few of them are identified as Riley's work. Many of his editorials were written for the Indianapolis JOURNAL, which we remember was the chief newspaper in Indiana. If such things mould public opinion or express it tangentially if in no other way, Riley's writing had to be influential. Although we cannot identify this sort of work, we can pose that it was of the same gentle, humanitarian and generous point of view as his other writing. Some mention should also be made about Riley's interest in another media. Sound recordings were just being invented and becoming popular in Riley's era. Riley had planned on releasing nine records in his own voice to the public, but only four were issued: 1) "Out to Old Aunt Mary's," 2) "Little Orphant Annie," 3) "The Happy Little Cripple" and 4) "The Raggedy Man." Five other recordings were made but not marketed: 1) "Goodbye, Jim," 2) "When the Frost is on the Punkin," 3) "An Old Sweetheart of Mine," 4) "On the Banks of Deer Crick" and 5) "The Rain" (it is not known which rain poem this was to be, perhaps "Wet Weather Talk" or "A Sudden Show." These unreleased recordings have been lost to the history of literature. The records appeared in 1914 and 1915 on rolls in the thick Edison style but also on the regular Victrola variety.
THE MEDIA FOR SPRAIVOLL'S WRITING
Any artist lies imprisoned within his media of expression. These bounds are as iron bars to genius. The best an artist accomplishes is to ecstatically raise the language of his or her media to its highest pitch and intensity. James Whitcomb Riley's media was the Nineteenth Century "local sheet" the predecessor to today's newspaper. We have seen the mundane operation of these organs as we traced how the hoax poem "Leonainie" came to be published. Through most of his life, Riley was a "newspaper poet." The one newspaper he came to be most associated with was the Indianapolis JOURNAL, now the Indianapolis STAR. Riley wrote, however, for many newspapers in many capacities. He wrote advertising and editorial copy as well as his more famous poetry. He also covered news events and was assigned to special projects such as his five-part serial on "What Our Bright College Boys Are Doing" published during the last 1891 to January 1892. There is not a major Riley poem which was not first published in a newspaper before printing in a book. There simply is no current reference to the poetry published in the newspapers of the American Nineteenth Century. The practice of placing poetry on the newspaper front pages - of anywhere - in newspapers has long ago vanished. Riley's media has, in short, passed into history. Without experience with the media, it is hard to understand its message. Nevertheless we must try if we are to have any chance at all of understanding the Post Civil War American scene and particularly its mood and dynamic. Riley was apprenticed into newspaper journalism at a time when country journalism was intensely personal in cast and flavor. Editors of local newspapers were vehement in their beliefs, many of them of a political nature. Politics caused great candid and savage debate - a product of the great divisions in the country caused by the American Civil War just a decade earlier in history. Elections were especially bitter in the Hayes-Tilden election of 1876. Many Hoosiers refused to accept that Hayes won and called him a "de jure" President. No doubt some of Riley's journalistic work was of a political nature. The newspapers of his day were highly partisan and Riley wrote for many of them to include their editorials. Riley had trouble with this. Throughout his life, Riley had great suspicion about the political process. Remembering the lynching incident from his young manhood, Riley was suspicious of aroused people. Politics was also tied to racism in Indiana in Riley's memory especially during election times. Greenfield's black community were Republican and at the time the county voted basically Democrat. It was a rare election in which Greenfield's blacks were not harassed in some way. In the 1872 campaign, a political speaker of the Democrat parties, Thomas A. Hendricks, came to Greenfield to speak for Greeley and evoked racism according to George Knox, Greenfield's black barber as stated in his memoirs, saying "he could stand everything but one thing and that was the "nigger." Shortly after the black lynching in Greenfield in 1875, in the 1876 presidential campaign, clubs were organized, Grant and Lincoln clubs by the Republicans and Tilden and Hendricks clubs by the Democrats. On the Monday before the election in November, the Democrat Club held a county rally numbering by George Knox's estimate about 25,000 and the club members gathered in Greenfield shouting things like "Hurrah for Tilden and Hendricks!" and occasionally "God damn the Republicans and nigger lovers." Wagons were decorated with slogans like, "Clean the Radicals out," "Clean the black Republicans out," "White husbands or none." George Knox remembered a group coming into his barbershop and one jumping up on his stove and Knox asked him to get off and was told, "Don't give me any of your black sass." Some took razors and cut Knox's leather straps and another kicked his dye stand over. Knox stated, "I had gone through the army, passed through exciting times, had experienced the quick terror of the midnight whisper, "the enemy is upon us" (during the Civil War in Northern service), but even on the battle field of Mission Ridge, that bloody spot, where men were being killed in platoons all around me, heads and legs torn off, cannon and minie balls flying as thick as hail, at no time did I suffer in feelings, as on that awful day." George Knox was James Whitcomb Riley's great friend and first employer. Riley was on his side politically. Riley was able to avoid the most heated of these political conflicts by seeking to live at the soul level where his play characters could breathe. Not until the Benjamin Harrison campaign for the Presidency do we find Riley personally speaking out for a candidate. Benjamin Harrison was his man in that election largely because he was a good personal friend. If pressed, Riley would not say he was either a Democrat or Republican. To probe more deeply, Riley was asked about his father's politics since political affiliation was often a family matter. Reuben Riley of course had been both a Democrat and Republican and other "splinter" parties. Once when asked whther his father was a Democrat or Republican, Riley replied: "I don't know, I haven't seen him since breakfast." Riley hated such politicizing. Riley mentioned that he was forced to do editorial work of this nature in a letter to Elizabeth Kahle of August 9, 1881. Riley actually felt politicians were a rather comical lot.
A LOCAL POLITICIAN FROM AWAY BACK (1887)
Jedge is good at argyin' - No mistake in that! Most folks 'at takles him He'll skin 'em like a cat! You see, the Jedge is read up, And b'en in politics, Hand-in-glove, you might say, Sence back in '56.
Elected to the Shurrif, first, Then elected Clerk; And buckled down to work; Practised three or four terms, Then he run for jedge - Speechified a little 'round And went in like a wedge!
The first newspaper Riley contributed to was The REPUBLICAN. This was a newspaper begun by T. B. Deems about 1870 in Greenfield, Indiana, and survived for approximately three months. No copy of this newspaper survives. For a far longer period Riley wrote for The Greenfield COMMERCIAL. The COMMERCIAL was begun by Amos C. Beeson in 1867. In 1870, Beeson sold this Pro-Republican newspaper to Lionel E. Rumrill who terminated it in December, 1872. Riley published most poetry in the Greenfield COMMERCIAL anonymously. One poem was a spoof of a Bret Harte style and revolved around a girlfriend of Riley's, Lucy Atkinson. Riley called on her as did a young jewelry salesman of Greenfield. Riley and the jewelry salesman did not consider themselves rivals for the attention of Lucy because neither saw each other at Lucy's home. One day, Lucy sent Riley a note to come to her home at six o'clock p.m. that evening. Riley did so but somewhat later than six. When Riley arrived, he saw Lucy in a bridal dress with happy friends around in an obvious marriage party. A two-horse carriage was tied at the gate ready to take the married couple off. The woman was Lucy. Riley had been invited to a surprise wedding of his girlfriend to another man. To commemorate this occasion, Riley wrote a poem in the style of Bret Harte's "Truthful James." It was published in The Greenfield COMMERCIAL on January 14, 1871 in "The Poet's Corner" section of that newspaper. The name of the poet was listed as Brat Heart.
AN UNEXPECTED RESULT
Of late I'm becoming persuaded to smile At some things turning out, once-in-awhile; In the way that they do! I'll aim to explain, In order to make my meaning more plain, In the following crude vernacular strain:
"Never go back on a woman, John! Unless you think she's a drawin' you on."
"Drawing me on! Now look here, Dick Show me the girl that can do that trick Before you venture on calling me `sick."! It's all set up - she wants to tell Me "something" to-night - now look here - well - I'm going to cut her - I want you to see How much more she thinks of me Than of that damned jeweler - how'll that be?" "Be? - mighty bad, for a woman to fix And dress and get ready by half-past six, Don't play off on her, John! If you can, Get ready and go! act like a man - Some other time you can work this plan! And besides that you want to know What she wants by begging you so To come there early. If I were you I'd marry that woman, that's what I'd do, As certain as one and one make two! Or ain't you much on the marry now? Well, she's a mighty fat take anyhow!"
"Well now, you can bet she ain't so slow, Hang it! I won't play off on her so! Where's my overcoat? I'm going to go! And you needn't sit up till I come in, For I am right on the `woo' and the `win!'"
"All right, John, my bully old brick! Play it right fine, and talk mighty slick, Good night, success to you!"
"Good night, Dick!"
"Not back a'ready! Why, what's up now? Going to go back on it? What's the row? Are you going crazy - Ouch! look here, say, Don't step on my corns in that lubberly way! You're the cussedest fool 'at I've seen today!"
"Well, I reckon I am! Say, Dick, look here - Come here to the window and it will appear To you in a stronger light - I'm a fool, And a damned one too! Oh, I'm perfectly cool! I mostly resemble what's most like a mule. Don' you see 'em turning the corner there? See those carriages? That with the pair Of grays hitched to it? The happy twain Who sit inside, it is very plain, Are married and going off on the next train!"
"Well, what of that?"
"Why, that's the girl I kindly consented not `whirl For your sweet sake - and I'll defer Stating particulars - but for her, She may go to hell with her jew - el - er!"
Of late I'm growing persuaded to smile At some things turning out once-in-awhile, In the way that they do. I've tried to explain, In order to make my meaning more plain, In what some may term a "sarcastic vein."
Toward its last days Riley was the COMMERCIAL's local editor, solicitor and writer of advertisements. He filled the literary department with poetry and astonished the editor and public as well with advertisements like the following:
Write me a rhyme of the present time; And the poet thus begun: A cheap bazaar for a good cigar Is the store of Carr and Son."
The wares of the Mr. George Dove's shoe shop were presented this way:
"It's my opinion," said Farmer Gray, As he drove in town one Christmas day, `Of all the gifts there's none that suits A boy as well as a pair of boots.' So he drove to Dove's and made the purchase."
"O where - tell me where Shall I buy my winter ware? And a voice answered, There! At the store of Hart and Thayer, Where They deal so fair And square You'll be tickled, I'll declare."
A year and half after his mother's death, Riley sent a poem to his brother John, then living in Indianapolis, to see if his brother could get it published. John was able to do so at the Indianapolis Saturday MIRROR but only after recopying because Riley's penmanship was very bad. Riley sent this poem to his brother on February 9th and awaited expectantly until the first, "Man's Devotion," was published on March 30th. Riley used the pen name Jay Whit but the newspaper mistakenly printed it as "Jay White." Again Riley sent poetry in. Riley drove himself crazy after sending "A Ballad" to the Mirror. He wrote his brother "This suspense is terrible! - daily I may be seen with solemn expression following the mail-bag from the depot, as though' it were some dear-little-fat-corps of a relative who had perhaps remember me in his will- but alas!... " When the poem "A Ballad" was finally published, it was edited and Riley was heartsick. Prepositions and articles were changed. Riley saw these as insults to the "ballad style." "It hurts me more that the poem was my favorite, and I had built an airy castle for it!" he said. Riley's early contributions to this newspaper were thus: 1872: March 30, "Man's Devotion" by Jay White (sic); April 13, "A Mockery" by Jay Whit; "Flames and Ashes" by Jay Whit; May 11, "A Ballad" anonymous; May 25, "Johnny" by Jay Whit. After the Greenfield COMMERCIAL ceased operation, many of Riley's writings then appeared in the older Greenfield newspaper, The Hancock DEMOCRAT. The reason was one of his best loafing buddies was Almon Keefer, several years his elder, but a compositor at that newspaper. Keefer had been in Riley's father's Civil War unit and was a bachelor himself. The Hancock DEMOCRAT is a great source of information about the writings and career of James Whitcomb Riley. This is the newspaper, for example, which published Riley's obituary of Nellie Millikan Cooley and his poetry to her. An Editor of the DEMOCRAT, John Mitchell, was also a close Riley friend and companionable social alcoholic with an arrest for public intoxication in Greenfield close to the time of Riley's own in his younger years. Another of the first newspapers publishing Riley poetry was the Greenfield NEWS. Riley once said when he covered an event for the NEWS, it became a "Hartpence local." This referred to William Hartpence, a Civil War veteran who returned to Greenfield in December, 1874, purchased the plant of the Greenfield NEWS, and published it as a Republican weekly newspaper to which Riley contributed. The Greenfield NEWS began in 1874 under the ownership of Will T. Walker and Lionel E. Rumrill. A year later Walter Hartpence purchased the newspaper and continued it until the NEWS ceased publication in the Spring, 1875. Riley felt responsible since he was one of the few who contributed to the doomed newspaper. Riley's efforts at the Greenfield NEWS were recounted by William Hartpence as follows: "When I took possession of the NEWS, Riley was contributing a serial bit of fiction, entitled "Babie McDowell." This I continued for some weeks, when needing space for increased advertising, by my direction, Riley dexterously "killed" his principal characters and ended the story. I preserved the file of the NEWS very carefully and they are neatly bound in first-calls style in marbled board full size of page. They show Riley's name at the head of the local department of the paper. This volume is now more carefully than ever preserved by my son. Bert E. Hartpence, Harrison, Ohio. My knowledge of James Whitcomb Riley began in 1861 when I was a printer in the Hancock DEMOCRAT office, that was at that time housed in a little brick annex on the west side of the old courthouse in Greenfield. "Jim" as everybody called him until he came into fame, was then a yellow-haired, freckled faced boy of the normal type, with a predilection for chewing tobacco, which, I think, he inherited from his father, Reuben A. Riley." The NEWS he was writing for part time and without pay folded in the Spring 1875. Riley celebrated the event by joining company with a friend, Oliver Moore, to make a circuit as "Delineator and Caricaturist" shortly afterward. This attempt to start an entertainment career, bombed as otherwise related. As an older man, Riley recalled his first serious journalistic writing as occurring after his return from the "medicine show" escape from his hometown. The account appears in the Biographical Edition of his poetry and was ostensibly edited by his nephew, Edmund Eitel: "...he became the local editor of his home paper (The Greenfield NEWS) and in a few months "strangled the little thing into a change of ownership." The new proprietor transferred him to the literary department and the latter, not knowing what else to put in the space allotted him, filled it with verse. But there was not room in his department for all he produced, so he began, timidly, to offer his poetic wares in foreign markets. The editor of The Indianapolis MIRROR accepted two or three shorter verses but in doing so suggested that in the future he try prose. Being but a humble beginner, Riley harkened to the advice, whereupon the editor made a further suggestion; this time |