THE CHILDHOOD OF AN AMERICAN POET

     James Whitcomb Riley was a Hoosier from boyhood.  He was a true product of a childhood in a pioneer Hoosier settlement of Greenfield, Indiana.  Here he had the usual number of disappointments, was “frail,” lived by his wits, knew temporary disgrace and climbed slowly to national eminence as a poet.

     One of his first disappointments occurred in Greenfield at any early age and taught him that friends can be the worst deceivers.  A Greenfield lad told him that there were trees in the woods that dripped honey just as the maples dripped sugar water.  Taking him to the midst of a huge poplar grove on Little Brandywine, the lad suddenly turned and said harshly, “T’aint so.  There ain’t no such trees,” laughed and ran away.  Riley’s description of his disillusionment is a masterpiece.  “I was a turtle,” he lamented.  “The bad boy turned me over on my back and left mje.  I creid all the way home, not because I was lost, but because I had been decived.”
     He also learned in Greenfield that his really desired profession, that of acting, was not for him.  “How did I become a poet?” he was once asked, “Why I wanted to be an actor, and thenearest thing to that line that I could do was to give public readings.  The people soon tire of the regular selections, so I concluded it might be taking thing to have an original program.”

     Living in Greenfield was a shoemaker from England by the name of Tom Snow, known as the Greenfield Socrates.”  He suggested that Riely interpret Dickens’ characters, a resolution which was strengthened by an article in the Greenfield Commercial which described Dickens’ appearances as those “which attract attention beyond all precedent.  People go from town to town in the vain hope of getting seats before they are sold.”
     Riley’s first poems were never published.  Interestingly enough, they were on the subject of temperance, the “blue ribbon” movement so strong at the time he was about twenty years of age.  One he considered his best was about a reforemed saloon keeper aided by the prayers of his wife.

     He also learned in Greenfield that he would not be immediately successful on the stage.  He was highly independent, and had his own ideas of intkerpreting the characters which did not suit the stage manager referred to by Riley as “the autocrat.” “Whenever I saw a chance to do some good acting,” recalled the poet, “the autocrat would scream out. ‘Here! That’s not the way to do it!’” I was always in hot water at rehearsals, and couldn’t be natural at the performance.”  After a property man gave him the advice, “Stick to your trade.  Why waste time in failure on the stage?” Riley went back to painting signs the profession of his early youth.

     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 boystoward the "Ole Swimmin' Hole" before he could swim. His father learnd of this and ran toward the crick in a great  panic. Upon arriving at the banks, his worst fears wererealized. 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 coloed 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 theCivil 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 thesquat 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 wellOut 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 ev ery 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 knowthat 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 schoolbut 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 eduction. 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 newsboyafter 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'sapprentice;  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 seemedexhaustless. 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 Englishme. 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)

(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 inGreenfield 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 thatJames 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."