The Contributors' Column

FEW men have had such exceptional opportunities to study the motives and methods of public officials as Clinton W. Gilbert (’The People against Pork’). A seasoned newspaperman of forty years’ experience, ho is the Washington correspondent of the Philadelphia Public Ledger and co-author of The Mirrors of Washington. ∆ There is only one I Helen Keller, but she reveals a hitherto unsuspected side of her genius in the present paper, ‘Put ’tour Husband in the Kitchen.’ Charlotte Kellogg (‘Music’), energetic in humanitarian enterprises, is also a poet and biographer, whose most recent book, Jadwiga, Poland’s Great Queen, has gone through three editions. She is the wife of Vernon Kellogg, whose article on the President appeared in these pages last month. ∆ The unique position which Walter Lippmann (‘The Scholar in a Troubled World’) occupies as a critic of American life was further signalized in June, when he was awarded honorary degrees by Columbia and Dartmouth. Josephine W. Johnson (’Mr. Nathan’) has already published several poems, essays, and short stories. ∆ Though he is an author with more than a dozen books to his credit, the dearest pride of Archibald Rutledge (‘A Plantation Boyhood’) is Hampton, the home acres of his ancestors near Charleslon, which he still owns and hopes to leave to his three sons.

Wife of John Butler, the artist, Agnes Anderson Butler served in the American Red Cross during the war, and at its close embarked upon the hilarious business career which she describes in ‘Adventures with a Restaurant.’ Sad to relate, she is no longer the proprietor of Chez Rosalie. Rosalie herself has returned to it, and the But lers are now living in Greece, in the small village of Pyrgos near the ‘Monkish Republic’ on Mount Athos. ∆ Well known as a poet, Derrick N. Lehmer (’The New Thanatopsis’) is Professor of Mathematics at the University of California. George E. Sokolsky has been intimately identified with the inner circles of polities in China. ‘Will Revolution Come?' sets forth his observations upon the current scene in America after an absence of fifteen years. Robert Dean Frisbie (‘A Copra Island’) calls Tahiti home, but he is often away from it, sailing or loafing and inviting his soul wherever the spirit of the South Seas moves him. Charles D. Stewart ('Two Men of Mark’) is the author of many books and articles, all of them impregnated with his own special brand of homespun philosophy. George H. Grant (’In Line of Duty’) went to sea at the age of fifteen, rose to the rank of captain by the time he was twenty-five, and now, at thirty-six, has completed eleven years in command of ships of the United Fruit Company, making monthly trips to the Caribbean. A. Lawrence Lowell (’Universities, Graduate Schools, and Colleges’) is President of Harvard. ∆ ’Reconstruction Begins at Home,’says John Coleman, Jr., and he ought to know, for he has been taking a voluntary vacation from his Chicago brokerage office ever since the last trickle of business dried up twelve months ago. ∆ Lexicographer and author, Frank H. Vizetelly (‘Pillaging the Language’) is the editor of the Funk and W agnails dictionaries. Louise Taylor ('The Soul of a Samurai ) is an assistant in the Asiatic Department at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. T. G. Barman (’Ivar Kreuger: His Life and Work’) is the Stockholm correspondent of the London Times. He knew the ‘Swedish Match King’ in the days of his glory, and has followed at first hand the investigation which was precipitated by his suicide on March 12.

George E. Sokolsky summarizes the changing temper of the average American very aptly when he says: ‘In 1930, Hoover was the goat; in 1931, Wall Street; in 1932, Congress.’ Congress has certainly gone out of its way to justify the ill repute in which it is currently held. In the same issue with Clinton W. Gib bert’s article, ‘The People against Pork,’ the following lines, quoted from F. P. A.’s Conning “Power in the New York Herald-Tribune of May 31, are peculiarly apposite:—

To THE CONGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES 1932

Those gorgeous Gibson boys.

Dear Atlantic, —
As a commentary upon the amusing article, ‘Our Sporting Grandfathers,’ which Arthur C. Cole wrote for your July number, I’d like to quote from a letter in my possession, written sixty-five years ago (August 2, 1867) by a young woman in the East to her ‘intended’ in the West. Here is an excerpt: —
‘Do you take any interest in the base ball game? It is all the rage here this summer, and about all the boys are good for. Last Saturday Gibson beat Harford in a match game. The Gibson boys wore suits of scarlet flannel, Zouave pants, white stockings, moccasin shoes, no coats, wide belts, and white caps. I think it is almost wicked to waste so much precious time in such useless employment, or idleness rather.’
The recording of so frivolous an event as a match game of baseball represented, on the part of the earnest writer, condescension, if not compromise of principle. The letter itself is of exhaustive length, and this paragraph is clearly irrelevant to the real text, which has to do with Matters of Importance, such as the last rehearsal of the church choir, apologies for the (very decorative) penmanship, references to the gift of a bracelet, not to mention speculation as to whether or not we should ‘shrink with fear and trembling were we to penetrate the dark veil of Futurity.’
CHARLOTTE DAVTS
Dillon, Montana

Too many ‘experts.’

Dear Atlantic, —
The article by Walter Millis in the June issue, ‘Prepare, Prepare, Prepare,’ is not merely well written, it; is really enlightening—at least for those who can bear the light. He struck the very keynote of our modern civilization — a civilization saturated with scientific and technical fictions. In religion, education, economics, politics, in the problem of our national defense, the rationalistic. mathematico-scientific fiction is enthroned and holding tyrannical sway over our minds. We have gotten away from Reality.
And now Reality, the. most relentless of all avengers, is pressing against, our fictions and shattering their illusory values. Hence the crisis, the depression. To see this demands courage; to correct it, heroic courage. To listen to false prophets now means to go deeper into the mire.
C. BACHER
San Francisco, California

Wings for the earth-bound.

Dear Atlantic, —
Congratulations on another article by Francis Vivian Drake, that clever exponent of flying, who by his enthusiasm and facile prose transports the rocking-chair brigade to the stalwart back of a cloud-plunging Pegasus, and who by his figures and facts and good sense makes the coast -tocoast trip through the sky seem not only safe and sane and fascinating, but possible — even to an earth-bound agriculturist.
A few days ago my farmer-banker husband had a holiday and a cold. Holidays come seldom to a man with two masters, each calling a separate command at, the same time; colds, fortunately, come to him less often. But with the cold came a restlessness that only a man with an inherited love, of outdoor activity can feel when his wife bars the door and administers nose drops. And it was on a clear summer day when the men were mowing hay in the front field! The tension of the imprisoned male was high, and the holiday spirit, had it been born, would have been choked in mentholatum. And then I, hoping to soothe but hardly to alleviate the disappointment of neither work nor play, stumbled across ‘Pegasus Express’ in the June Atlantic.
My husband and I had already enjoyed ‘The Flying Banker’ and ‘Spring Morning,’ and Mr. Drake’s name was synonymous with pleasures our pocketbook and the exigencies of life could not afford. To one whose appetite for aviation has been whetted by a few short local flights, ‘Pegasus Express’ is an even more zestful stimulant for the reality of a trip by air across our continent; and one hungers and counts one’s pennies and wonders whether to continue to hunger or to spend the pennies. So far, the price of wheat and the salary of a country banker have n’t allowed enough copper coins to accumulate for the round trip from East to West and back; but the cold has quite gone, the cattle are gaining, more pigs are coming into the world, the hay is mowed. There is much youth, and life and hope; and, high up in the cloudless blue, mechanical wings, accurate, reliable, miraculous, dip and glide — westward.
ELIZABETH MORINS FOSTER
The Plains, Virginia

A reporter’s blunder rectified.

Dear Atlantic, —
I am enclosing a letter I have just received from Dr. John Timothy Stone, President of the Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Chicago, calling attention to certain errors in the report of the seminary fire which I quoted in my article. I am sorry to have helped, however unwittingly, in perpetuating a false account of the event, and shall be grateful if you can find space to print Dr. Stone’s letter as a means of correcting it.
The quotation of which I made use was genuine enough, as anyone may see who cares to look up the Chicago Tribune of August 28, 1931, from which it was taken. Since the incident there described was of a kind with dozens of others which show beyond question that it is a common habit of religious folk to expect miracles in answer to prayer. I saw no reason to doubt it. The point I sought to make remains valid, I think, even though the illustration proves to have been ill chosen.
PHILIP E. WENTWORTH

Dear Mr. Wentworth, —
Your article in the June Atlantic has much in it worthy of thought, but you should not judge from a daily paper report. I fear all are not so accurate as the Boston Transcript, which I have always respected.
It happened that our Seminary was not in session at the time of the fire, and I was a thousand miles away, fishing in the Colorado Rockies. Had I been present, I should have formed a bucket-and-ladder brigade in preference to any other method. I understand that the reporter who saw the fire was intoxicated, and apparently wanted to ‘make a story.’ It has caused much merriment with friends. We fried here to get the account corrected, but it seemed not to be a matter of importance to the Tribune.
I am sorry to spoil a point in your well-written article, but I want you to know that I agree with you in preferring action rather than the expectation of a miracle.
JOHN TIMOTHY STONE
Chicago, Illinois

The prayer of Samantha Jones.

Dear Atlantic, —
A reading of Philip E. Wentworth’s article, ‘What College Did to My Religion,’recalled to mind an actual occurrence in one of our large cities.
A Presbyterian church that had done duty for two generations was badly in need of repairs, but the congregation was composed of people of limited means, and the wherewithal to make improvements could not he raised. The building was well insured, and the hope was secretly entertained by some of the more thrifty members that it might catch fire and burn to the ground.
At last a fire did gel started in it, but the fire department arrived in time to extinguish the blaze before much damage had been done. The insurance adjusters, of course, assessed the damages on the basis of the loss suffered, leaving conditions the same or worse than before. A meeting was called to discuss the situation, and in the course of the proceedings an old and very devout member arose and related how, when she heard the church was on fire, she went down on her knees and prayed to the Lord to save it from destruction, and her prayer had been answered. As she sat down, one of the more practical members turned lo her neighbor and whispered in a tone of deep disgust. ‘ I wish Samantha Jones had kept her mouth shut.’
A. C. WHERRY
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Good riddance.

Dear Atlantic, —
Mr. Wentworth’s article found a responsive chord in me. I too was reared in a pioneer community, and the religion of my childhood and youth was the religion of ultraconservatism. For me too this religion was knocked into a cocked hat by college. And, let me add, I’m devoutly thankful for it!
I cannot agree with Mr. Wentworth that the churches cannot give up the God of magic and remain Christian. I gave up the God of magic long ago, like thousands of other liberal clergymen, and I still call myself a disciple of Christ; and that, I take it, is what it means to be a Christian.
With such a naive outlook on religion, it is fortunate that Mr. Wentworth did not enter the ministry. There are too many such in the pulpit as it is. I am reminded of Emerson’s statement: —
‘It is not in the power of God to make communication of His will to a Calvinist.’
HOWARD J. CHIDLEY, D.D.
Winchester, Massachusetts

The Church’s loss.

Dear Atlantic, —
I assume that Mr. Wentworth, like so many other college graduates, was confronted on Commencement Day with the necessity of getting his further schooling in a line which he could be reasonably sure of turning to practical account, and that he feared to go on to a theological seminary when his conscience might in the end not permit him to enter the ministry. Otherwise, so fair-minded a man could not have denied to theology an opportunity to justify herself through the mouths of her own professors. It is a dilemma that in these days robs the Church of many who would have served her well. It seems a pity that the Church should hesitate to say to such young men that all she requires of her ministers is that they teach the truth as they see it, after they have prepared themselves so to do by an honest and impartial study of her accumulated knowledge of God.
ST. JULIEN R. CHILDS
Charleston, South Carolina

The most unkindest cut of all.

Dear Atlantic, —
Referring to the article, ‘What College Did to My Religion,’ I should like to ask Mr. Wentworth the following questions: —
1. Was this article written for money? That is, was he paid for writing it?
2. Does he think the article will help anybody?
3. Is not one rather egotistical to write an article of this sort?
4. What were the writer’s relations, when in college and since, with the following: (a) women; (b) whiskey; (c) gambling?
Inasmuch as this article now belongs to the public, having been published in your magazine, which costs forty cents a copy, I suggest that you ask him to write another article and answer the above inquiries.
S.B. LOVE
Richmond, Virginia

Thoughts from the antipodes.

Dear Atlantic, —
The advice of my friend Hall, printed in your May issue, to go to Tahiti and forget the world’s woes, is sound, though, frankly, I should be sorry to see too many follow it, and so would Hall. But in Tahiti there are no ‘depressions,’ neither economic worries nor the ‘dominance of things.’ And such other troubles as human flesh is heir to always seem to weigh lightly upon one there and never to shut the sunshine out of one’s soul. In Tahiti ‘sweet content sits smiling on the heart,’ and men and women still sing and dance simply because there is joy in the very fact of existence.
There are Europeans living in Tahiti, or in adjacent islands, who never use money at all and have no need for it, since coconuts and bananas, oranges and papaia and breadfruit and mangoes and alligator pears, may be had for the taking, since numberless fish still disport themselves in blue lagoons and grasp greedily at every hook flung them, and since men yet live there in something approximating human brotherhood, and none would see another want.
Captain Hall’s reference to England — our Mother Country, God bless and preserve her always — likewise strikes an immediately responsive chord in my heart. In whatever other parts of the world I may be, I am ever filled with desire to return to England or to Tahiti, I am never quite sure which. But at the moment, as I remember those ‘starry nights at Arué,’ I think it is Tahiti.
MARC T. GREENE
Auckland, New Zealand

Gentles all.

Dear Atlantic, —
I wonder if the ancient word ‘woman’ will ultimately disappear from the American vernacular? My daughter Phyllis, aged six, asked me the other day, ‘Daddy, sing about the lady who eats with her knife,’ and l sang the first two lines of a campus song popular in Ann Arbor about 1903:—

It is not a new phenomenon. During the course of Roosevelt’s libel trial in Marquette against the Ishpeming Iron Ore, Roosevelt’s attorney asked him, when he was on the stand, ‘Mr. Roosevelt, how old a gentleman may you be?’ Did he mean. ‘How long have you been a gentleman, Mr. Roosevelt?’
The French Revolution made every Frenchman ‘Citizen’; we make every American a gentleman or a lady. One might argue from this that the French Revolution leveled down, and that American democracy has leveled up — but I don’t.
THOMAS V. WILLIAMS
Medford. Oregon