Clippings from Exchanges

An old Yankee fisherman up in Maine said to his son who was starting out to seek his fortune, “Sonnie, mind what I tell ye, in this here world you’ve either got to cut bait or fish.” Oscar Hammerstein, humorist, father of six children, plunger, man of business, cigar machine inventor, real estate speculator, vaudeville manager, composer, theater builder and impresario, is one of the men who fishes.

OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN

He fishes where he pleases, when he pleases, and how he pleases. “He wants what he wants when he wants it,” and what’s more he gets it. When he wants to do a thing he asks Oscar Hammerstein’s advice. If Oscar Hammerstein says go ahead he goes ahead.

This man has the faculty of disembodying himself. He looks upon himself objectively. He has implicit confidence in Oscar Hammerstein—in his judgment, in his courage, in his indomitable perseverance, in his star. The psychologists talk about the subliminal self. It is some such self which is Oscar Hammerstein’s guide, philosopher, friend, and mentor.

I asked Mr. Hammerstein if he had a Board of Directors. He replied, “Certainly; see that long table there with all those chairs round it? Those chairs are my directors. I sit at the head of that table and vote myself a salary of $150,000 and my Directors pass it unanimously. I suggest; they approve.”

One day about forty-three years ago a rich father Hammerstein in Berlin cruelly beat a young Hammerstein with a skate strap. That young Hammerstein was Oscar, and he decided he had had enough of that sort of thing. Taking his father’s violin he escaped from the music room where he was imprisoned. Selling the violin for thirty dollars he bought a steerage passage on a sailing ship bound for America. He says of this incident:

“I landed on these shores covered with vermin and without a cent. After a time I came to a sign which read, ‘Cigar Makers Wanted. Paid While You Learn.’ So I went in and applied for a job—not because I had any passion for making cigars, but because I didn’t want to starve.” Within a short time this two-dollar-a-week cigar maker’s apprentice had invented a machine for binding cigar fillers which he sold for $6,000.

His many inventions have revolutionized the entire cigar making industry. He has now a music room and a machine shop. After three in the afternoon he divides his time between composing and inventing. Mr. Hammerstein is a man who makes and loses fortunes. The last time he went under was about ten years ago, when his great three part Olympia Theater failed utterly. He said, “That cleaned me out—lost one million and a half. I realized that after the things were sold at auction Iwouldn’t have a dollar. Even to pay the rent for my modest apartment was a problem.”

“What did you do?”

“Do! I lit a cigar and took a long walk.”

“How did you feel—discouraged?”

“Felt fine! Discouraged, not a bit! I’ve never in my life felt discouraged or despondent. I’m something of a victim of melancholy, but that has nothing whatever to do with external events. It comes over me when my affairs are prospering most. But I’ve never been afraid of anybody or anything.

“What I did is too long a story. But mark this! If you have an honest conviction as to the right thing to do you can do it! If you have absolute faith in yourself, other people are bound to have faith in you. No question about it.”

Later one of Mr. Hammerstein’s assistants told me one thing he did in this emergency. He sold his grand piano and with the proceeds as his capital started the great Victoria vaudeville theater on Long Acre Square. Its out of the way site alone irrevocably condemned it to failure in the opinion of all the theatrical experts except its builder. One of his sons is now running it with immense success.

“I have only one partner,” continued Mr. Hammerstein—“my knowledge of human nature. I have the greatest conductor in the world—Campanini. I went to Europe and saw him conduct and decided I must have him. I met him and made him believe in me and he came. He had never heard of Oscar Hammerstein. I didn’t show him my bank book. It wouldn’t have impressed him if I had. It was the same way with Madame Melba and with all the others. They liked me, they believed in me, and they came with me. They won’t sing for a man they don’t believe in, no matter how many thousands he may offer them.

“When I started this opera house over here my friends were on the point of engaging a cell for me at Matteawan. Now my opera is a great success. With the exception of Caruso the Metropolitan singers can’t compare with mine. Of course, there’s not much money in this business. If money was what I wanted I should sell suspenders or shoe strings.

“No, I never asked or took anybody’s advice about anything in my life. Why should I? I know my own affairs better than anybody else can. I have no secretary. I have no bookkeeper. Of course I have a treasurer to handle the funds. I haven’t even a stenographer.”

“Why should I sit here and waste my time dictating letters about matters that don’t concern me to people that don’t interest me. When a letter really requires an answer I write a few lines in pencil on the letter itself and send it back to the writer. Here’s my letter file,” pointing to a capacious waste-basket, “and a very good one it makes. I never could understand why people should feel obliged to answer letters. All sorts of people write me about their affairs—not mine! Why should I spend my time writing people about their own affairs? Of course, helping people who deserve it is quite another matter.

“One quality that has always helped me immensely is my faculty—absolutely—to wipe the past from my mind. I look only to the future. I work only for the future. I drag no dead weights after me. But, no man knows why he does things. He can’t help expressing what is in him. The genius or talent or aptitude or whatever you call it, that is born in him is bound to come out no matter what his outward circumstances. The people who never discover their bent have none to discover. If you are a reporter and you don’t like the way your fountain pen works you make it work better. You invent another pen; and then, before you know it, you find yourself a pen manufacturer.”

With twinkling eyes and one of his contagious, boyish laughs Mr. Hammerstein got up from his desk and said, “Now I must excuse myself to attend one of those Directors’ meetings I was telling you about.”—Lyman Beecher Stowe.

(By Lilian Whiting.)

I love you, love you! only thisI have to say;All other visions, hopes and dreamsMust go their way.Your lightest word outweighs for meThe universe beside;My thought responds to all your ownAs ocean’s tideUnfailingly leaps up to meetThe moon’s sure call;Or as the stars in evening skiesMust shine for all.Life is no longer drift and dream,But vivified;And all its radiance, all its faiths,Are multiplied.Music and magic lay their spellUpon the daysThat dawn in rose and wane in goldAnd purple haze.O wondrous spirit-call that cameFrom out the airTo make all life forevermoreDivinely fair.—Harper’s Bazaar.

I love you, love you! only thisI have to say;All other visions, hopes and dreamsMust go their way.

Your lightest word outweighs for meThe universe beside;My thought responds to all your ownAs ocean’s tide

Unfailingly leaps up to meetThe moon’s sure call;Or as the stars in evening skiesMust shine for all.

Life is no longer drift and dream,But vivified;And all its radiance, all its faiths,Are multiplied.

Music and magic lay their spellUpon the daysThat dawn in rose and wane in goldAnd purple haze.

O wondrous spirit-call that cameFrom out the airTo make all life forevermoreDivinely fair.—Harper’s Bazaar.

The editor of the Lawton Weekly Democrat, in commenting on the election said, “Some time ago we borrowed a Rooster from the News-Republican, to use in celebrating the Democratic victory we just knew was going to take place November 3rd. However, about 9 o’clock Tuesday night our Rooster began to feel unwell and we called in medical assistance, sat up with him all night; but shortly before noon on Wednesday he turned over on his back and uttered a feeble good bye. Like many other democrats we realize now the mistake we made in borrowing too much from the Republican party. We are now searching for an egg from which to hatch one of those stout healthy roosters of the pure Jeffersonian Breed.”

Such an egg cannot be found in any hen house save the Populist and such a chicken if turned loose in the Democratic flock, like Bryan who was hatched in the Populist hen house, will soon be killed.—Peoples’ Voice, Norman, Okla.

For once E. H. Harriman has found himself blocked. The laws of Texas protect investors by prohibiting mergers with large systems, and Texas laws further require that all railroads within her borders shall be owned and operated by local corporations. Every State in the Union could have protected its citizens by such laws and prevented gigantic mergers of Harriman, Hill et al.

The anti-corporation wave that is sweeping over the Lone Star State will not quickly subside and if Harriman thinks that he can re-arrange the laws of Texas to suit his convenience he fails to realize that he must reckon with a people who are not owned by monopoly.

The Espee does not select the Governor of Texas at a dinner in New York a year in advance of the election, neither does it control the Railroad Commission, the Legislature or the Courts of that State. It is one of the chief beneficiaries of the system of centralism that has been fastened upon some of the States, notably California and Nevada.

It is gratifying to know that there is one State strong enough to check the octopus and prevent a combine of the railroad lines within its borders to the injury of the many and the benefit of the few.—The San Bernardina (Cal.) Free Press.

Today ushers in the season of the sportsman’s delight. From now on for the next few weeks the popping of guns will be heard throughout the land, and the wild life of field and wood will spend its days in bewildered trepidation.

Thus man returns to the primal instinct that drove him forth to forage for his daily provender in the era before agriculture and stock yards began to supply his needs in a scientific manner.

It must seem strange to the birds and beasts, this sudden explosion of humanity. Could they reason, what would be their judgment of beings who find pleasure in inflicting pain and death on inoffensive creatures? In their own struggle for existence they have their tragedies, but these are based upon the necessities of nature. Man’s invasion of their haunts with snare and gun is too often wanton.

As civilization progresses the hunting passion will disappear. Already we are learning to value the birds for their usefulness as destroyers of harmful insects, and coming to appreciate the beauty and wonder of the life that belongs to the little wild animals in our woods. The camera is superseding the shotgun; intelligent study and understanding are taking the place of senseless destruction. The invention of gun powder was an epoch-making event, but the world will be happier when we have outgrown its use.—Louisville Herald.

Charles W. Morse, found guilty of misapplying the funds of the National Bank of North America and of falsifying the books of the bank, has been sentenced to serve fifteen years in the federal prison at Atlanta. As has been said, this is one way of guaranteeing bank deposits.

But what about those other bankers in New York who have been guilty of precisely the same kind of offenses for which Morse is to be punished? Why is it that the other high financiers whose criminal banking methods were largely responsible for the recent panic that left a trail of ruin throughout the country are permitted to go unpunished?

Is it because the big Wall Street interests wanted to make Morse the goat, just as they have made a special crusade against Heinze?

Can it be that criminal bankers are not to be punished unless they have the ill luck to be particularly offensive to the New York banking and stock gambling trust?—Buffalo (N. Y.) Republic.

By Park Benjamin.

Press on! there’s no such word as fail;Press nobly on! the goal is near—Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!Look upward, onward—never fear!Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven rules above.Though storm and vapor interveneThe sun shines on, whose name is love,Serenely o’er life’s shadowed scene.Press on! If Fortune plays thee falseToday, tomorrow she’ll be true;Whom now she sinks she now exalts,Taking old gifts and granting new.The wisdom of the present hourMakes up for follies past and gone;To weakness strength succeeds, and powerFrom frailty springs—press on! press on!—The Carpenter.

Press on! If Fortune plays thee falseToday, tomorrow she’ll be true;Whom now she sinks she now exalts,Taking old gifts and granting new.The wisdom of the present hourMakes up for follies past and gone;To weakness strength succeeds, and powerFrom frailty springs—press on! press on!—The Carpenter.

The Atlanta Georgian in its Tuesday edition contains an editorial headed “A Misleading Epigram,” anent Tom Watson’s splendid speech to the Farmers’ Union convention in New Orleans.

During the course of Mr. Watson’s speech he had occasion to coin the following epigram: “If the farmers are the backbone of the country, we have a complicated case of spinal trouble.”

The Georgian goes on to say that the farmer of today is in better shape than ever before. If this statement had been made two, or even one, year ago, it could have been overlooked.

To say that the farmer is in good shape now, or words to that effect, is a great deal more misleading than the above epigram. The writerlives in one of the very best and most progressive farming sections of the state. He comes in daily contact with the farmer. Taking the conditions that exist here as an example, we find the farmers as a whole in worse shape than they have been in several years. As a consequence of this those who depend on the farmer, as most everybody does in the small towns, are in worse shape than the farmer. The Georgian gives as a reason for the good condition in which the farmer finds himself, that they are diversifying their crops. Our observation that his failure to diversify is the main cause of his helpless condition now. Too much cotton has broken, in a sense, the backbone of the country, and, as Mr. Watson remarks, it is afflicted with a complicated case of spinal trouble.

The Georgian merely has a pipe dream of what should be, and what would be if the farmer would diversify, and arrives at the conclusion that it already exists.—Royston Record.

The banker organizes a national bank having $100,000 capital, with which he buys $100,000 of United States bonds, “on which he draws interest in advance and pays no tax.” The government engraves, prints, and sends him notes to be used as money, to the face value of the bonds. Nominally these notes cost him $5.00 a thousand. He lends them out at from six to ten per cent on the thousand, or from sixty to one hundred dollars on the thousand. Then by a system of bank credits, which would be incredible if it were not so capable of proof, he multiplies his loans until he draws interest on NINE times more money than he ever put into his business.

To cap the climax, he gets the Government to surrender its revenue to his keeping, lends out these millions also, ... DRAWING ANOTHER INTEREST FROM THE TAX PAYERS WHOSE OWN MONEY HE IS LENDING BACK TO THEM.

What a mockery of equal and exact justice! What do you think of your old party representatives’ business ability, who issue United States bonds at 2, 3, or 4 per cent and turn around and loan it to the bankers at one-half of one per cent? With their twenty-five per cent reserves loaned to other banks and loaned to the gamblers of Wall street, as well as to the ones operating a gambling hell of the like kind in every large city, sending call money to eighty and more per cent. “And at last the chickens come home to roost, ... when the bogus dollars come to the doors of the bank clamoring for recognition and redemption, these silk hat thieves get together, refuse to honor their own notes, refuse to pay depositors, decline to cash checks; issue a nasty Clearing House Certificate, compel the business world to accept it as money, and thus MAKE ANOTHER PROFIT OUT OF THE WRITTEN EVIDENCE OF THEIR OWN DISHONESTY.” The United States bonds are a first liability of the Government. The National Bank notes are a second liability, and these pawnbrokers of a nation’s energy and productiveness propose a third liability based on your deposits and their capital, called for euphony, asset currency (asses’ money). This is the way they want to get the elastic currency (rubber money) whereby the exceeding hard work of the banker is to sign his name to thousand dollar bills and get in exchange your hard labor, inventive ability, and its products. They tell you to “work hard, save your money, and put it in the bank.” Why should your government tax you for their benefit, when you can do it directly without them? “Is it ‘equal and exact justice’ to allow six thousand national bankers to turn your credit into a mint for themselves, at your expense? Is there any defense of a system which turns Government credit and cash over to a favored few?” “They say their issue of money is good,” but your Government issuing money to you direct is “repudiation and national dishonor.” “Money is the life-blood of trade.” Will you leave in the hands of these pawnbrokers the powerto cut your business in half, curtail enterprise, reduce the workers’ wages, and diminish thereby the markets of the country?

The Peoples’ Party position on the money question is based on the United States Supreme Court’s decision, in The Legal Tender cases of 1862 and 1863, as well as the Supreme Courts of nineteen Northern States.—Ohio Liberty Bell.

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