Part 21

Like David of old, little Michael tended his father’s flocks, but the passion of the boy, true to the instincts of his race, was for education. He studied by the light of a pine torch, and copied out the school-books he could not afford to buy. By dint of extreme frugality he was able to complete his studies at the University of Athens.

For a time he was engaged in newspaper work and interested in politics. Then he met my father and became his assistant in ministering to the suffering Cretan exiles in Athens.

The story goes on like a true romance. Young Anagnos, accompanying Doctor Howe to America, struggled valiantly with the difficulties attending transplantation to a foreign soil, but finally overcame them all.

“You say you have only five vowels in English. You really have twenty-six,” he would plaintively remark.

How his faithfulness and tireless industry won one step after another, how he married sister Julia and succeeded my father as director of the Institution, has been already told.

It was indeed a triumph for a foreigner to win the appointment to such a responsible position in the conservative town of Boston.

He abundantly justified the trust reposed in him, devoting his whole soul and his considerable talents to the task. His signal success, like that of his predecessor, has become a part of the proud record of the state of Massachusetts.

The two men were very unlike. Doctor Howe was essentially a leader, original in thought, quick and daring in action, yet possessing great patience.

The work of the pioneer was eminently congenial to him. He laid the foundations of the education for the blind in this country on such broad lines, he so thoroughly thought out and left on record the principles governing it, that his reports are considered educational classics. Hence his successor took up a work already well established. The task of Anagnos was to administer and to enlarge. For this he was admirably fitted. He greatly augmented the work of the printing in embossed letters, by raising a Howe Memorial Fund, largely increasing, also, the financial assets of the Institution.

His most striking achievement was the foundation and maintenance of a kindergarten for the blind, the first of its kind in the world. Both he and sister Julia were extremely fond of children. She had been greatly interested in the enterprise, but died while it was still in its infancy. Her last words were, “Take care of the little blind children.”

Anagnos made very full reports of the work under his charge. After the death of my sister it fell to my lot to go through these in order to make sure that the English idioms, so difficult for a foreigner to catch, were all correct. Thus for some twenty years it was my annual task to criticize “Michael’s” reports.

The great, square, brown paper envelopes in which these were contained, directed in my brother-in-law’s beautiful copper-plate hand, were sometimes greeted with groans on their arrival. For they were due at a season of the year when I was very busy.

Yet the work was very helpful to me, because it called for careful consideration of the reasons for or against certain forms of speech. With the prepositions we had special difficulty. Anagnos, too, as a true Oriental, possessed a very flowery style which it was necessary to prune and restrain in order to adapt it to our cold New England climate. At first he would pile metaphor upon metaphor and add simile to simile until his sober Puritan sister-in-law stood aghast. We had special difficulties with the obituaries of deceased benefactors of the Institution, whose virtues his gratitude painted in the most glowing colors. To have excellent but matter-of-fact Boston citizens compared to spreading oak-trees of benevolence seemed to me a trifle incongruous. I also demurred to “the Ark of the Institution keeping step in the march of progress.”

Looking back on the matter now, I am inclined to think my brother-in-law knew human nature better than I did. My work in cutting down the adjectives of encomium was perhaps supererogatory.

Anagnos found it on the whole very satisfactory. My use of English was the best in the family, he averred—but then he was a foreigner!

To his countrymen he was always ready to lend a helping hand. On the wall of his sitting-room hung an immense piece of canvas showing a ruined Greek temple, done in cross-stitch—“All there is to show, my dear, for two thousand dollars!”

He had lent this sum to a compatriot desiring to engage in the confectionery business. It is not probable that he often lost money in this way, for the Greeks are a thrifty race.

He was deeply interested in the war between Turkey and Greece. I could appreciate the eloquence of his address to his fellow-countrymen, even though no word was intelligible to me. When he seized their national flag and waved it they burst into applause.

It was wonderful to hear the ancient language spoken as a living tongue.

One could fancy how it must have sounded from the lips of Demosthenes. When Anagnos at his desk added up a column of figures he would occasionally murmur their Greek names. Thus the shades of the old classic world seemed to brood above the prosaic office-table of our day!

A great meeting in Music Hall, held in honor of his memory, testified to the affection and respect in which he was held. Here, also, the Old and New Worlds mingled, a priest of the Greek Church, robed in mourning, taking part in the ceremonies; at a memorial function held by his fellow-countrymen funeral sweetmeats were given to those present.

Having devoted his life to the service of his adopted country, Anagnos bequeathed his fortune to the cause of education in his native land. He founded two schools for girls in Epiros, naming them for his mother.

Our trip to Europe had given my husband a much-needed rest from care, and his health had improved correspondingly.

But from the time he was sixteen, when his brother entered the Union army, his lifelong habit had been to take more than his share of responsibility and, sparing those around him, to work to the limit of his strength, often beyond it. We did induce him to relax his efforts somewhat, but his unselfish nature and gallant spirit alike urged him to go on with the work of his arduous profession, that of the law.

He returned from the office, one Saturday, apparently in his usual health. But some over-exertion in working in the garden brought on an attack which ended fatally in a few hours. Thus he died literally in harness.

I said to myself, “I have let a most precious jewel slip through my fingers.” How much I had been sheltered and shielded by my husband’s devotion, what his affection had meant to me during thirty-six years of married life, I now realized for the first time.

The suttee of the Indian widow, formerly incomprehensible, I began to understand. Fortunately, there was much work for me to do. Our daughter had returned from her art studies in Paris a year before, in order to give her father, whose health we knew to be precarious, the pleasure of her companionship.

She already had a studio in Plainfield, but New York afforded a much better opening. The charge of the moving she assumed, since it would have been simply impossible for me to empty the house of the accumulations of fourteen years in the two weeks at our disposal.

She is a young woman of great resolution, and somehow we accomplished the job. We took an apartment in Washington Square and a studio in the old Stokes Building. The latter Caroline arranged charmingly, after the fashion of artists. Here we received our friends. I enjoyed this glimpse into the art world and managed to pick up a few gleanings of knowledge.

It was essential, however, that daughter’s painting should help with the bread and butter, so “one-man shows” became a part of my education. She had an exhibition at the rooms of the Civic League in New York, and two in successive summers, at houses lent us for the purpose, in Newport. Here we had more friends than in the great city, and we had the powerful assistance of sister Maud, ever generous in helping others. Many pictures were sold, to our joy, though I sometimes hated to part with them. A little maternal partiality no doubt entered into this affection for my daughter’s paintings. But they certainly had charm, especially when a number were gathered together.

My mother was still living and the summer studio was under her hospitable roof at “Oak Glen.” Here it was a great pleasure to see the work grow under Caroline’s hands and to recognize the familiar and beloved island landscape, somewhat disguised by the requirements of art.

Here, too, she painted the portrait of her grandmother, studying closely the ever-changing face and sparing her subject as much as possible the tedium of sittings. A studio is the most delightful place in the world to those in sympathy with the artist. Here we have beauty, life, growth, creation, and, where a painter is concerned, the warmth and joy of color!

Those were happy days, yet there were moments when I remembered that canvases and paints are dead things, compared with living human companionship. Therefore, when my daughter became engaged to be married to the Rev. Hugh Birckhead I knew that she had chosen wisely. Doubtless to all mothers the marriage of an only daughter, even under the very brightest auspices, is an occasion of mingled joy and sorrow. We rejoice at the new happiness; we regret the ending of the old home life and intimate companionship. In the midst of the strange confusion of feeling, on the great day, I did not fail to observe the gallant bearing of the groom as he came down the chancel steps to meet the bride, who looked her very best. Yet I was very near to tears. All that saved me from them was the comic look of a chorister marching in the wedding procession, a stout, short man with a round face and an open mouth that looked like the letter O. Since that time I have never _quite_ liked Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”

Without my daughter’s companionship life proved lonely. After a year of it the youngest son came to his mother’s rescue, proposing that we should keep house together, at High Bridge, New Jersey, where his work was.

“But, my dear, are you _sure_ you want me? Would not you rather continue bachelor housekeeping with your young friends?”

He was very sure he _did_ want Mother, evidently sharing my opinion that family life, even of two, is better than the existence of six or eight young men without any womankind. We took up our residence in the late Crucible Club—so named for the connection of its inmates with the steel industry. With a sigh of relief Jack laid aside the cares of the establishment, which had naturally fallen upon him. (He has his father’s talent for taking responsibilities off the shoulders of others.) He protested that he was willing to eat _anything_ for dinner, provided he did not have to order it!

High Bridge is a picturesque New Jersey borough, some fifty-odd miles from New York. It is situated among the hills of the northwestern part of the state, four hundred feet above sea-level. To those knowing only the flatlands of eastern Jersey, this region with its rolling country and lovely views comes as a surprise.

The town, considered from an economic standpoint, consists principally of the Taylor-Wharton Iron and Steel Company. This patriarchal institution was established in the eighteenth century by the Taylor family and still continues under their jurisdiction. It has grown from a small iron-foundry into a plant with branches in other towns employing three thousand men in all. Its one hundred and seventy-fifth anniversary has recently been celebrated.

Every one living in the village is either connected in some way with the steel-plant or keeps a shop to supply the wants of the workers. The latter are of a class not commonly employed in such industries at the present day. There are some Hungarians and other foreigners, but the great backbone of the establishment consists of American men and women. Many of these have their own homes in the surrounding country, coming to work in the Ford cars which have nearly driven out the primeval High Bridge buggy. It is a proud boast of the company that there have been practically no strikes in its history.

In little gate-houses and other odd places one sees the figures of quaint old men, still employed for little services instead of being flung into the discard. The Taylor Company has proved that kindness of heart helps rather than hinders success in business. Old retainers, here as elsewhere, sometimes take advantage of their position, but on the whole the system works well.

The great distance from the metropolis and the small measure of railroad communication tend to isolate the village. If you miss a train you may be obliged to wait four hours for the next. All these conditions tend to produce quaint characters and a unique use of English.

In High Bridge we are very careful never to say _seen_ under any circumstances, substituting the elegant phrase, “I have saw.” Persons of a weakly constitution are held to lack “stamania,” while “financially” is considered more elegant than “finally.” If we wish to postpone a trip, we “refer” it till to-morrow.

The combinations in shopkeeping are also out of the common. To have a barber sell oysters and ice-cream, and a clothier act as optician, surprises the city resident. High Bridge has an atmosphere all its own. One becomes readily attached to the quaint little town.

My son’s business calling him to New York, we spent some winters there, settling this time in Stuyvesant Square near old St. George’s Church.

I was soon drawn into the maelstrom of the old, beloved work. The Twelfth Assembly District, familiarly known as “Charlie Murphy’s,” was clamoring for a leader of the Woman Suffrage party. Mrs. Frederick Gillette, who had conducted its affairs with great ability and signal devotion, absolutely refused to take office again, as her health would not permit it. Her predecessor, the first leader, a lovely woman idolized by her fellow-suffragists, had died in harness! I was on the wrong side of sixty and had been advised by the doctor to take life quietly.

Putting aside all misgivings as to possible fatal results, I accepted the office. A new rôle was now before me, for modern suffrage activities have opened a field of effort very different from that of our earlier experience in New Jersey.

Instead of expecting the people to come to us, we now went to them—opening “suffrage shops,” as the temporary headquarters are called; speaking at street corners; visiting our neighbors in their own homes; last but not least, watching at the polls, both inside and out. The canvassing was the most interesting of all, when we had once gathered the courage to do it ourselves. It was by no means so difficult as we had feared.

We had full directions from the finely organized parent association, the Woman Suffrage party, and the neighboring twenty-fifth district launched us on our task. Then we used our own mother wits. Team-work and a supplementary supper were found to be essential to the task. This was not only on account of the good-fellowship and the good cheer involved, but also because we ourselves had omitted our own evening meal in order to catch the voters while partaking of theirs!

The good nature and patience of the men, thus interrupted, was pleasant to see. We announced ourselves as representatives of the Woman Suffrage party. A quiet and assured manner, with the absence of all airs and graces, gained us ready admittance. The men fully understanding that we came to talk with them as one fellow-citizen with another, received us in a frank and friendly spirit. It is wonderful to see how well we all get on together in these United States, when we meet on this common ground!

Our visits were usually brief. We did not stop to argue long, leaving behind us literature and postal cards where the voters were absent. The replies sent on these were, with one or two exceptions, brief and formal. One man of an illogical turn of mind wrote that we were a lot of old maids and should stay at home to mend our husbands’ stockings!

The climbing the stairs of many tenement-houses (voters seemed always to live on the top floor), with halls half-lighted in the early summer evenings, was rather fatiguing. There was, too, quite a little dirt and occasional evil smells. But the work was extremely interesting. We set out to educate the voters, and in the process educated ourselves, learning a great deal about human nature in general and our neighbors of the district in particular. The dwellings, poor as they were, were much better than I had anticipated—probably “voters” do not live in the worst class of tenement-houses, leaving these to aliens. We went, however, to localities where, politicians told us afterward, they were afraid to go themselves.

We were almost always received with courtesy and listened to with respect. We had some amusing experiences. One friend, a middle-aged man slightly the worse for drink, tried to explain to us the residence of his sons, the family arrangements being rather complicated. Every now and then he would turn to his good wife and ask _her_ to explain. She stood there, quiet and dignified, yet evidently mortified at her husband’s condition!

Some ladies living in our own apartment-house were amused by our visit. We could hear them afterward describing over the telephone, amid peals of laughter, the call of the suffragettes!

The working-people, both men and women, understood the matter. Those whose wives and daughters are as much in the struggle for life as themselves do not take the “pedestal” view of the sex. The fathers, especially, were quick to see the benefit the possession of a vote would bring their girls.

One of my pleasantest visits was to a young Hebrew physician and her family. They were of the intellectual type of their race, while Doctor —— herself was of noble spirit.

When we remember how the glad tidings of the Christian religion were first spread by sermons in the open air, when we call to mind Peter the Hermit and John Wesley, we see that the soap-box is only a modern representative of a very ancient institution.

“Soap-box” is only a generic name nowadays. During our 1915 campaign in New York City, we used automobiles, or, failing these, borrowed a chair from a neighboring shop.

Perched on this, with our banner of the Twelfth Assembly District waving near by, and with one or two members on hand to distribute literature, collect signatures, and pass the hat, we addressed the public. Permission was obtained beforehand from the police, and an officer was sent to look out for us in case of possible trouble.

Valiant little Corporal Klatschkin did receive a douche of cold water from a neighboring window, but the rest of us had no trouble. The fact of her Hebrew blood, and some incautious criticisms, were responsible for the amenities extended to her.

The literally pressing interest of the children on the East Side was flattering, but inconvenient. They would pack themselves so closely around the speaker, many of them little tots who could hardly understand anything of the address, that we were often obliged to ask for more room. But we, the suffragists, were the show of the hour, and those babies were determined to lose no moment of it. Indeed, they were sometimes extended in such a wide circle around us as to place the grown-ups at an inconvenient distance for our voices to reach. From Tompkins Square the boys escorted us and our banner in such a solid phalanx, one evening, as to make it difficult to get on the trolley. We were sometimes applauded, the majority of the crowd being “with us.” The obligations of hospitality were not so personal as during our domiciliary visits, but we were well received. In the foreign neighborhoods where we spoke our audiences were especially quiet, though it is doubtful whether they understood much of the speeches.

In the course of our campaign work people related their woes to us or asked us to help them get a job. We were recognized as friends of the people. One man had much to say about the iniquity of the women who watched the street workers and reported absences, thereby causing a person to lose his job, “when very likely he was somewhere else.” I thought it probable that he was.

We spoke indoors as well as out, notably at the Memorial Building of St. George’s Episcopal Church, where we held a debate with the “antis.” Even the Tammany chieftains consented to listen to us in the room of the Anawanda Club. Here we were so fortunate as to secure the help of Mrs. Margaret Chanler Aldrich, a favorite great-niece of my mother’s. They had worked together in the Association for the Advancement of Women. Mrs. Aldrich, the treasurer of the New York City Woman Suffrage party, is an ardent suffragist. She is also strong in the Democratic faith, as becomes the daughter of Mr. Winthrop Chanler. She produced an excellent effect by reminding her hearers that her father had represented this very district in Congress! I prudently refrained from mentioning my own political faith.

To hunt the elusive politician to his lair, ascertain his views, and, if possible, enlist him to our side, was a part of our duties. It was so difficult to do this that we sometimes interviewed him over the telephone. Wherever possible, we arrived as a delegation at his office. The appointment once made, we found it well to have plenty of time at our disposal, for the politician may desire to do the talking himself. Then you listen patiently while he tells you his views, or what he wants you to think are his views. I, a black Republican born and bred, have harkened, with outward resignation, to a panegyric on the benevolence of Tammany Hall. One man talked to us for half an hour or more, explaining his chivalrous feelings toward women. Incidentally he told us of one of our sex who received a salary of three thousand dollars. Whenever he saw her he thought of some man who might have had the job. The chivalry of this point of view was not clear to us.

Our reception was always courteous, sometimes encouraging and sometimes not. We were glad to know the real opinions of the men, even if these were unfavorable. The ignorance in high places about woman suffrage is surprising. People will talk to you about the dangers of the ignorant vote, and in the same breath will make statements showing great ignorance not only of what the ballot in the hands of women has accomplished, but of human nature itself. I suspect this ignorance among politicians is wilful.

Our activities increased as November drew nearer, coming to a climax on Election Day. The Legislature had granted us permission to have a watcher at each polling-place then and on the preceding registration days. The same leave was given to the “antis,” at their request, but they failed to attend. If they had not demanded the place, we should perhaps have been allowed to fill it. To be the only woman at a polling-booth was a little trying. But we knew that we were fulfilling our duty as citizens, and we felt great confidence in American men. Since the law had given us a right to be at the polls, we were sure we should be protected.

It was part of my duty as leader to make the round of the election precincts. The streets grew very dark and lonely before we reached the outermost edge of the “gas-house” district on our tour of inspection. Evidently this locality, with rare altruism, gives all its light to others and keeps none for itself!