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Show j OOOOOOCOOCOOCOOOOCOOOOOOCOOCO jj JAMES WHITCOMB ILEYThe Booster Voet jj I CKXXXXXOOOOOOOOOOCOCKXX 7 TTTT" IDDEN away between two Pjjjj.1 busy thoroughfares in In-"rSFi'lil In-"rSFi'lil dianapolis ts Lockerbie 'fa' 111-3 Btreet- Scarce two block3 J'XL; in length it resembles noth-w.m,iiKlJ noth-w.m,iiKlJ jng so much as a country j J lane. Great elm trees line 5&)J the sides and meet to form f a bower of shade. It is unpaved, for its "leading resident" does not like paving, and when, several years ago, the city council insisted that it should be converted into a conventional conven-tional city street with a paving of brick, he voiced his protest In a poem beginning: Such a dear little street It Is, nestled away, From the noise of the city and heat of the day, In cool shady coverts of whispering trees. With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze, Which In all Its wide wanderings never may meet With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie Locker-bie street I That poem has long been famous and Lockerbie street remains as it always was, "nestled away from the noise of the city and heat of the day." Its "leading resident" is no less a personage than James Whitcomb Riley, Ri-ley, recognized as the greatest of living liv-ing American poets and whose name Is one the best known literary critics of the world treat with a profound respect. re-spect. Here In Lockerbie street he lives, quietly, unostentatiously, in a large brick house that breathes the very spirit of comfort, but which makes no pretentions to elegance. And to this spot countless friends will wend their way on Monday, October 7, to extend their congratulations and felicitations, the occasion being the poet's birthday. This will begin what Is to be known throughout literary circles as "Riley week," and which will mark the greatest great-est ovation ever tendered an American Ameri-can writer. This celebration will not be confined to Indianapolis either, for nearly every city in the United States has enthusiastically taken up the idea and arranged exercises to be held during this week In honor of James Whitcomb Riley. Every one seems anxious to pay tribute to the man who has brought sunshine into thousands of lives. Only a few months ago there was sadness in many hearts, for the word had gone forth that Mr. Riley had been stricken with an Illness from which he could never recover. But today that sadness is changed to joy, for Mr. Riley has been spared to celebrate cele-brate another birthday. He is not only alive, but practically as well as ever he was. He is always happy, and although he no longer strolls through the Indianapolis Btreets as once he did, he is still a familiar figure, and every day he takes long rides In his big touring car. He Is an enthusiastic motorist and one of his principal delights is to take his friends for a spin around the city or through the country in the vicinity of Indianapolis. In 1853, in the little country village of Greenfield scarcely even a village in those days there was born James Whitcomb Riley, the son of Reuben Riley, a lawyer and a man known for his fearlessness and unconventlonality. The boy's mother a Marine was a gentle and naturally poetic woman, and it was from her that Riley inherited in-herited his ability as a rhymester. The young lad's life, in his earlier years, was not marked by any unusual unus-ual event. His was the life common to boys in small towns. Beyond this, nothing much is known there is nothing else to know. He attended school irregularly, more often than not a truant as he himself has pictured pic-tured barefoot, browned by summer suns, happy and care-free, listening to a voice no other boy could hear, keeping his heart open and his soul I free a heart and soul that have ! oever grown old. j "I did not go to school very much," - - s . t v(.- v. v , x.'. Jill he once told an Interviewer, "and when I did I was a failure In everything every-thing except reading, maj'be. I liked to read. We had McGuffey's readers. But I always ran away when we were to read 'Little Nell.' I knew I couldn't read it without crying and, if I cried, the other boys would laugh at me." To another visitor Mr. Riley said that he never had much schooling, and, continuing, he remarked: "What little I had never did me much good, I believe. I never could master math-emathlcs, math-emathlcs, and history was a dull and julceless thing to me. But I was always al-ways fond of reading in a random, desultory way, and took naturally to anything theatrical. I cannot remember remem-ber when I was not a declaimer, and I began to rhyme almost as soon as I could talk. The first verse I ever remember re-member writing was a four-line valentine. val-entine. I was so small that I could hardly reach the top of the table, and I was painting a comic sketch on a piece of paper. I had a natural faculty facul-ty for drawing as well as for rhyming, and should probably have made a fair artist if I had kept at it. Well, below be-low the 6ketch I was making I wrote four comic lines, and these were probably prob-ably my first poetic effort." Perhaps the child Riley studied both the picture he had drawn and the lines he had written and decided then and there that the lines were so much better than the picture that he would devote his efforts thereafter to writing. writ-ing. In any event, he became a poet. According to his own autobiographical sketch he was born "so long ago that be persists In never referring to the date. Citizens of his native town of Greenfield, Ind., while warmly welcoming wel-coming his event were no less' demonstrative demon-strative some years since to 'speed the parting guest.' It seems, in fact, that as they came to know him better the more resigned were they to give him up. He was Ill-starred from the very cradle, it appears. One day, while but a toddler, he climbed unseen to an open window where some potted plants were ranged, and while leaning far out to catch some dainty gilded butterfly, but-terfly, perchance, he lost his footing, nd, with a piercing shriek, fell to the sidewalk below; and when, an Instant In-stant later, the affrighted parents picked him up, he was he was a poet!" At the age of fifteen Riley ceased to attend school, and at the wish of his father began to study law. As may readily be understood, in view of his career, the law had no attraction attrac-tion for the young poet ' So, after being advised by the family physician physi-cian to travel, Riley seized the first opportunity that offered and, putting aside his Blackstone, fled one afternoon after-noon between twilight and sunset to return to his native town no more for a year. Riley, as he afterward said, had no money with which to defray the expenses ex-penses of a trip, and, when a patent medicine "doctor" made his advent In Greenfield Riley allied himself with the traveling caravan and departed de-parted when the cavalcade pushed on to the next town. "I was with this man about a year," be said a few months ago. "His home was In Lima, Ohio, and he was a kindly old fellow. fel-low. I did a good many things while in his employ painted signs, beat the bass drum a bit and. maybe. I recited. My experience put an Idea In my head a business Idea for a wonder and the next year I went into partnership with a young man. We organized an advertising company; com-pany; we called it 'The Graphic company.' com-pany.' There were five or six young fellows all musicians as well as handy painters. We used to capture .the towns with our music, then contract con-tract with some merchants and decorate deco-rate the fences along the country roads with their signs." v Riley and his associates continued in this occupation three or four years. All the while the young poet was gaining a reputation here and there as a rhymester, a teller of good stories sto-ries and a companionable, interesting, lovable young man. He wrote a great deal, and much that was submitted to eastern periodicals. peri-odicals. Their editors, however, returned re-turned these contributions as regularly regular-ly as they were received. It was discouraging, dis-couraging, especially so in the eyes of the young poet, who believed and doubtless was Justified In believing that his products were as good as those the magazines accepted and published. He did not have a name and lack of reputation in those days was a serious handicap. Riley never ceased to contend when with his friends that this fact and this alone held him back. To prove it, he wrote the famous "Leonainie," and, with the connivance of the editgr of a Koko-mo Koko-mo (Ind.) paper, presented it to the world as an unpublished poem by Edgar Ed-gar Allen Poe. An elaborate . story was devised, in which it was said that the poem, bearing the Initials E. A. P., had been- found on the fly leaf of a book. The verse was in Poe's well-known well-known style, and its publication aroused much interest. In the end the hoax was discovered, but not until un-til many critics had accepted the poem as "one .of the best Poe had written." For a time, he said In later life, he was hopelessly despondent. It was In this frame of mind that a letter found him and summoned him to Indianapolis. In-dianapolis. The note was from the editor of the Indianapolis Journal, and It urged Riley to accept a position posi-tion on the Journal staff. At the same time a tender, encouraging note came from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Long-fellow. These two communications revived Riley's drooping spirits, and leaving Anderson and Greenfield, he weDt to the state capital. Indianapolis Indianapo-lis gained a poet, and a few months later, in 1883, Riley's first book ol verse was issued. It was a simple little affair, bound in paper, bearing the title, "The- Old Swlmmin' Hole and 'Leven More Poems." Riley, as may be Imagined, did nol long remain in the Journal's regulai employ. One after another his bound volumes began to make their ap-. pearance. Then came the poet's association as-sociation with Nye on the lecture platform, followed, when that association asso-ciation was Bevered, by more poems, public readings and then many years of leisurely writing in his home In quiet little Lockerbie street. Fortune For-tune has smiled on him and his wealth has increased and his fame has grown. But he is still the same gentle, lovable man who won friends in Greenfield and Anderson and Ko-komo. Ko-komo. He has made thousands of friends during his lecture tours. Yes. Mr. Riley's birthday is to be a glorious event, and the tribute? which will be paid him during "Riley Week" are indeed well deserved. |