Part 20

This was pre-eminently the dominant power of James Thomas Murfee, LL.D., whose station in life and whose labors within the realm of education made him distinguished throughout the South, and beyond. To him education was a passion, not of the spasmodic sort which spends its force at theoretical random, but which he built into constructive character in such way as wisely to direct the instruction obtained. His idea was to build knowledge into character, making the one a component of the other, and thus construct manhood, not alone for usefulness in the ordinary humdrum of life, but in order to invest the entire man with an atmosphere conducive to making life radiant, delightful and useful--to teach one not alone to do, but to be. This was the conception which Dr. Murfee had of a thorough education.

Swayed by this purpose, Dr. Murfee for a long period of years, taught in several states, but the bulk of his lifework was done in Alabama. One never met him without finding him buoyant with enthusiasm concerning education. Nor did he expend his theories in mere phrasing, but reduced them to actual practice. His was the enthusiasm of patience. His passion was to make men, and to turn to practical account every advantage afforded in the drill of the classroom to this end. He sought to excite assertion of a salutary sort, and then to impart the power for its execution. There are hundreds of men adorning the different vocations in this state and in others, including the preacher in the pulpit, who gratefully trace the inception of their success to this great teacher of youth.

Indeed, the rule is well nigh universal that a genuinely successful man is able to date the turning point of his life to the vital touch with some superior character, from which thrill has been derived, and as life broadens into stern practicalness, additional ingredients from the same source are appropriated which continue to tincture and temper for good throughout. While the recipients of these advantages may not be always conscious of the derivation of these augmenting and contributory forces, yet the fact remains that without the abiding presence of this once dominant force, life might have been vastly different.

There would come under the sway of this master of men, at the different institutions in which he served, raw lads from obscure rural retreats, unskilled, gawky, and awkward, yet within whom were powerful possibilities, which the student of character and the incisive teacher would detect, and, like the opaque diamond in the hand of the lapidary, the crude youth would yield results often the most astonishing.

Thus through multitudes who sat at his feet Dr. Murfee has been instrumental in changing the faces of many communities, as his students have taken their places in life. This expression is attributed to Alexander the Great: "I am indebted to my father for living, but to my teacher for living well."

All this is suggested by the life and career of the great teacher now under review. A life so long and so useful was necessarily varied. Born in Southampton County, Virginia, on September 13, 1833, Dr. Murfee lived through a number of the most stirring periods of our national history. His collegiate career was at the Virginia Military Institute, from which he was graduated with the rare distinction of never having received a demerit in a school, the most rigid and exacting in scholastic work and discipline. It is not surprising that the result was that he bore away the highest honors of his class, which occurred in 1853.

Dr. Murfee's gifts and disposition led him to the adoption of the vocation of teaching, and he was called first to Lynchburg, Va., in that capacity; then, later, to the chair of physical science in Madison College, Pennsylvania. In 1860 he came to Alabama as professor of mathematics and commandant of cadets at our state university. During the war that followed, soon after his advent into the state, he became the lieutenant colonel of the Forty-first Alabama Regiment, but resigned to resume his duties at the University of Alabama. Near the close of the war, when the state was overrun by the federals, he commanded the cadets in an engagement at Tuscaloosa.

After the close of the war Dr. Murfee was engaged as architect to design and erect new buildings for the university, in place of the magnificent edifices destroyed by the enemy, to which stupendous task he set his hand and mind, recommending at the same time a new scheme of university organization, all of which was accepted by the board of trustees, but he was thwarted in his efforts by the reconstruction régime.

Called in 1871 to the presidency of Howard College, then at Marion, which institution had writhed in the throes incident to those troublous times, he brought it to the front as one of the best institutions of its grade then in the South. On the removal of Howard to Birmingham, in 1887, Dr. Murfee was tendered the presidency of the college in its new location, but preferred to remain at Marion, where he founded, in the original college buildings, the Marion Institute, of which he was the superintendent until 1906, when he retired from active service on an annuity from the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. This annuity was granted on the basis of "long and distinguished service to the cause of education in Alabama."

In 1882, Dr. Murfee was appointed by President Harrison, a member of the board of visitors to the West Point Military Academy. After his retirement from active service, Dr. Murfee devoted his time leisurely to the development of the educational foundation at Marion, that it might become a source of perpetual strength to the state and to the South. On April 23, 1912, Dr. Murfee died at Miami, Fla., at the advanced age of seventy-nine years.

ABRAM J. RYAN

"Father Ryan," as he is familiarly called, was Alabama's sweet singer. He was a born poet, and sang because he could not help it. Emanating from the heart, his plaintive strains go straight to the head. Yet he wrote only at intervals. Moved by the afflatus which only a poet feels, he would now and then take up his poetic pen and give voice to the minstrelsy of his soul. His verse is merely fugitive snatches of song springing from an imagination essentially poetic, and a heart subdued by religious emotion. In no sense was poetry a profession with this charming lyrist, for he himself tells us that his verses "were written at random--off and on, here, there, anywhere--just when the mood came, with little of study and less of art, and always in a hurry."

Leaping warm from the heart and taking the wings of poesy, his thought throbs with virility, and makes an appeal to the heart of another with a force that is irresistible; visions of matchless beauty rose continually before his imperial imagination and sought vent in song.

Had Father Ryan subjected his thought to the lapidary finish of the professional poet, it is doubtful if it would now be so popular. He wrote as he was moved, the fervid thought seizing the first words within reach as a vehicle, and thus they fall on the ear of the world.

Simple songs his poems are, generally melancholy, meditative, pensive, the chief virtue of them being that they touch the heart. His thoughts seem to move in popular orbits in search of objects invested with the plaintive. It is not the weirdness so often met with in Poe that one encounters in the poetry of Ryan, but the touch of moaning, the sadness of a burdened heart yearning and burning for that which it has not, but hopes for and looks for in other realms yet unrevealed. Resounding corridors of gloom, dimly lighted vestibules, processions of mourners moving till lost in darkness, the chimes of melancholy airs heard by mystic ears, the muffled footfall in mysterious darkness, the touch of vanished hands, the outreach of timorous arms through the gloom for a kindred touch, the sighing of a soul for its inheritance--these are the elements which resound his verses through.

Much of his poetry savors of his theologic thought and environment, and, naturally enough, the object frequently pertains to that dear to the devout Catholic; but it is not about the substance of his thought that we here speak, but of his undoubted genius as a poet. Equal objection might prevail against much that is written by other poets, as, for instance, the substance of some of Poe's productions, whose "Annabel Lee" is heathen throughout, but it is poetic in its every syllable.

The symbols and paraphernalia of his church, its worship, and all that pertains to it may be encountered in one way or another in the poetry of Ryan, but the undoubted genius with which it is wrought and molded into verse is that which fascinates the lover of poetry.

That Father Ryan would have been pre-eminent in poetry had he exercised his powers, seems clear. The vividness of expression, the subtle beauty inherent in his strains, and the deft touch given his thought are those of the genuine poet. He dwells apart from the ordinary drift of thought. The coloring of his thought was derived from numerous sources, and, emitted from the furnace of his heart, it was ever in transformed shape. The rattle and clatter of the rushing world fell on the ear of his soul with the element of melody. His emotions were pent up, and when they leaped their barriers, they gave to a responsive soul-world that which we call Father Ryan's poems. His own soul, subdued to softness and gentleness by his inner reflection, sang itself in musical cadence.

His verse, always graceful and often brilliant, flowing melodious and limpid with the lilt of a landscape rill, borrowing delicate tints of beauty from the greensward and varied bloom which fringe its banks, and flashing back the light derived from heaven, makes an instinctive appeal to the soul of the reader, and has a sobering effect on his thought. From the source to the sea there is the same gentle flow with its occasional puddle and its subdued sound of ripple.

That which our poet does is more indicative of possibility than of final actuality. His strains are merely soft touches of the fingers of the musician on the keys of the soul, and yet they evoke such melody that one wishes the reserved force of the soul, whence they come, might have fuller and freer expression, that the slight thrill experienced might rise to rhapsody.

Most rare are many of the pithy passages to be met with in his productions. Did space permit, it would be a delight to enumerate many of these gems which glitter along his pages, but only one or two may here be indicated. On the occasion of a visit to Rome, he penned a fragment on "After Seeing Pius IX." The first four lines are here quoted to illustrate the power of the poet derived from a mere glance of a man's face, and in the last two of the lines quoted resides a power in metaphor rarely met with. Says the poet:

"I saw his face today; he looks a chief Who fears not human rage, nor human guile; Upon his cheeks the twilight of a grief, But in that grief the starlight of a smile."

The transference of the idea of the twilight and the gentle star meekly peeping through, to the struggle discerned in the features of one, is a picture that would occur to none other than a poet.

Equally striking is the beauty of the figure contained in his "A Land Without Ruins," where he says:

"Yes, give me the land where the battle's red blast Has flashed to the future the fame of the past."

Numerous are the striking pictures which he brings before the eye by one single stroke of the pen. Nor does Father Ryan conjure with the emotions merely to quicken and to stir for the moment. Indeed, he does not seem conscious of that which he has done and so greatly done; he merely sings out his soul in low refrain and leaves his melody lingering in the air.

Ryan was patriotic to the core. In the thunderous years of the great Civil War his pen was busy with the ink of patriotic fire, but the aftermath of the war was more aptly suited to his nature. When in her night of sorrow, the South was a land of mounded graves, within which slept a generation of young heroes, while blackened chimneys stood sentinel over them, and while the monuments of the South were only heaps of charred ruins, and her once fair fields were littered with wreck and disaster, these appealed to our lyrist with unwonted force. The spirit of his Hibernian blood was invincible, and when embodied in a stream of poetic fire it illuminated scenes which else were dreary and desolate. From out the environment of darkness and ruin, his spirit sought the solace which the future must bring in recognition of principle, and thus he sang. Thousands who differed with Father Ryan religiously, honored him as a gifted singer. He has but scant recognition in the literary history of the country, but this is to be expected. He was largely a poet of locality, both geographically and religiously, and wrote not so much for others as for his own pastime, but Alabama owes him much as her greatest poet. Because of the genuine merit inhering in his verse, and because of the unquestioned worth attaching to his productions, he is easily the file leader of the literary spirits of Alabama.

JAMES R. POWELL

The presentation of the name of Colonel Powell suggests a turning point in the history of the state. A new era had dawned of which Colonel Powell was an exponent. The long agitation with which the country was rocked for decades, had culminated in bloody conflict which was waged to exhaustion. The turbulence of rehabilitation represented in the struggles of reconstruction had followed, and now the eyes of the people were once more turned to the ways of peace and re-established prosperity. Resources practically immeasurable were untouched in the soils and mountains of a great state, and public thought began to peer into the future with a longing for tranquil prosperity. A class of men represented by the subject of this sketch was in demand, and, as is always true, when the demand exists for men they are to be found. Thus appeared this pioneer at the threshold of a new era.

A native of Brunswick County, Virginia, Mr. Powell, while yet a beardless youth, had ridden the distance from Virginia to Alabama on horseback. This was before Alabama had emerged into statehood. On his faithful horse he reached the straggling village of Montgomery with less than twenty dollars in his pockets. Entering on life in the new region to which he had come, as a mail contractor, he gradually rose to the direction of a line of stage coaches for the transportation of mail and passengers, and with a widening horizon of business tact and comprehensiveness of enterprise for which he was remarkable, he adjusted his stage coach enterprise to a chain of hotels, the most noted of which were located at Montgomery, Lowndesboro and Wetumpka. These interests flourished as the people continued to pour into the new state. As the forests were transmuted into smiling fields, villages, and towns began to emerge into populous centers, and institutions began to flourish. While Powell was instrumental in making new conditions, the conditions were making Powell. A man grows by the means which he creates. While he makes a fortune the fortune makes him. Gifted with an enterprising and constructive mind, Mr. Powell was gradually coming to that stage for which his life was fitting him. The combination of conditions which followed in the wake of the turbulence of years, was one which would arrest the enterprising eye of a man of executive skill, and breadth of vision, which James R. Powell had. Two unfinished lines of railway penetrated the state, in part, one reaching from the Gulf northward, but checked by mountain barriers, the other stretching from the fertile West southward, but halting before the mountains, beyond which was the line with which it was destined to be linked in the creation of one of the greatest arteries of commerce in the South. Between the two, lay a wide barrier of mountain region, in which were embosomed untouched treasures which were destined in their development to excite the interest of the world.

With these resources was associated in the fertile brain of James R. Powell, the picture of a mineral metropolis in the mountains of north Alabama, and in a region where men least dreamed of such a possible creation. He had engineered primitive mail routes, first on horseback, and later by the rumbling coach, and widening the expansion of interest and effort by the establishment of timely hostelries, but here he was destined to crown his unusual career as the builder of a mighty city. Hence, Birmingham.

In the rush and rattle of a great mart, such as Birmingham has become, those of a later generation, who throng its streets of architectural magnificence, and gaze on its piles of splendor, are apt to forget those who laid the foundation stones of the great municipality, and made possible a mighty urban center, destined to eclipse all others of the South in compass and in the number of its people. Men are apt to tread with careless feet over the unmarked graves of the harbingers of that bequeathed to a later generation, forgetful of the brain which contrived and the hand which executed.

It is not the phrase of empty eulogium to speak of James R. Powell as one of the greatest of Alabamians. Unlettered in the schools, he followed the unerring finger of a transparent judgment, and unawed by formidableness of difficulty or vastness of scheme, he planned and wrought, both wisely, and, propelled by a pluck born of the enthusiasm of patience, he succeeded. The career of a man like this in a generation, or even in a century, is a vital inspiration, and far worthier of record more elaborate, than a brief and humble sketch like this.

Incidents in his career illustrative of his native and inherent greatness, are worthy of at least a casual notice not only, but of permanent embalmment in the memories of those who reaped where he sowed. Men like the subject of the present sketch are apt to be thought of as sordid and selfish, while with intensity of spirit and strenuousness of brow, they drive impetuously over obstruction, forgetful of the gentler amenities of life. Oftener, however, than is supposed, there is beneath the intense exterior, hearts of corresponding compass with the sweep of executive activity. There were many instances of gentle and substantial worth woven into the career of Colonel Powell, only one of which is here given.

The record of the severity of the winter of 1863 is phenomenal in meteorological chronicles. The lakes and ponds were covered with a thick stratum of ice. An object of wonder to many, the phenomenon addressed itself to the practical side of the mind of Colonel Powell, who cut large quantities of the ice and carefully stored it away. The manufacture of ice was then practically unknown as a commodity for market, and it was in great demand in the hospitals of the Confederacy. He declined an offer of forty thousand dollars for his store of ice, and presented it to the Confederate army hospital department, for use in Alabama and Georgia. Many acts of generous spirit were his, but they belong to the chronicles of unwritten history.

In 1871, James R. Powell, at the head of the famous Elyton Land Company, was scouring the territory of Jefferson County with the plan in view of founding here a large city, the logical result of the immense resources embedded in the hills and mountains of this favored region. The Louisville & Nashville Railroad had supplied the missing link between the North and South, and Colonel Powell was among the first to see the possibility of a great city in this region. While the local and adjacent resources were then only imperfectly known, they were sufficiently known to justify the colossal proposal of a mighty emporium. The task was herculean, but the projector was a man of wide experience in grappling with odds, and in subordinating to the mastery of his will the disputing difficulties. Small minds quarrel and quibble over points of inconsequence, while giants stride over them with serene non-recognition.

Without tiring, Colonel Powell gave the world accounts of the fabulous resources of the district of the prospective city. The facts first published throughout the United States and Europe, were first regarded as speculative rose-water, but they in truth represented only a stiver of that which subsequently came to be known.

Birmingham was first a straggling, struggling village, penetrated here and there at irregular distances, by rugged highways, the terror of the driver in a rainy season. Diminutive houses dotted the scene over, without respect to order or system. One small brick structure stood where now stands the Brown-Marx Building, then the most substantial expression of confidence yet given. Highways of deep red clay ran past the building on either side, and among the shanties and small houses was an occasional dingy tent.

Under such conditions, Colonel Powell, with his usual daring, ventured to invite the session of the Alabama Press Association to hold its session in "the city of Birmingham," in 1873. He succeeded, but, not content with this, he appeared before the body and again pleaded that the following session be held here also. He encountered stout opposition for two reasons, namely, Birmingham was a most uninviting place, without accommodation, and other places of the state wanted the next session. But, combining diplomacy with suavity, Powell prevailed a second time. Having succeeded in this, he urged that the New York Press Association, which would be meeting at the same time, be invited to join their brethren of the quill in Alabama. Such temerity staggered the body. Besides the ragged and rugged conditions existing, the New York press was hostile to that of the South, because of its opposition to President Grant in his southern policy. Insuperable seemed the barriers in the way of such an accomplishment as Colonel Powell sought, but he overbore all obstruction, and succeeded.

The result of such movement, coupled with the geological investigations going steadily on meanwhile, made Birmingham secure. The voice of the northern press resounded throughout all the states, and went beyond the Atlantic. Honorable Abram S. Hewitt, of New York, sounded the prophetic expression: "The fact is plain--Alabama is to become the iron manufacturing center of the habitable globe." A wave of awakening light spread throughout the financial world, and Birmingham was secure.

But a new disaster arose. A scourge of Asiatic cholera smote the young city now struggling to the birth. The dead were numerous, and a funeral pall hung over the town. Colonel Powell remained with Roman courage on the ground, caring for the suffering, burying the dead, and preserving order. Pestilence stalked along the rugged streets and wasted at noonday, but the faith of this man of iron nerve was unshaken. His courage stiffened that of others--his faith was contagious. No wonder that he came to be called "The Duke of Birmingham." No special shaft marks the recognition of this mighty builder of a great city, but the city attests his power. In the dim light in St. Paul's, in London, the tourist reads a tablet, "Christopher Wren, builder. Would you seek his monument? Look around." Not otherwise is the relation of Greater Birmingham to James R. Powell. Its towering turrets and lofty buildings, its residence palaces and shaded streets, its smoking stacks and hives of mineral mines, and its numerous railway lines with their cargoes of daily traffic--these are his monument.