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Florida College 'Boys Tight Saloons
(Continued from Page 1.)
Handsome Looks and Golden Words.
And those college boys made good! Those who
expected sophomoric effervescence were gladly disap
pointed. They proved to be, not merely campaign
ers of promise, but of performance. There was not
a dull moment from start to finish; and charming
as was the sandwich of thrilling songs, their
speeches were even better. Clad in becoming light
colored summer suits, their manly forms, faces and
manner seemed as far removed from the sometime
college fop and dude as William J. Bryan and kin
dred heroes are removed from the strutting sucker
of the cigarette.
Those Stetson boys looked good to me! That’s
what I told ’em when my time came for a “P. 5.,”
and the cheering crowd said Amen!
Harry Garwood (soprano), of Greencove Spring,
who usually handles the criminal phase of the sub
ject, did not dive full lengtn into his theme that
night (they don’t all speak every time), but acted
that evening as the “introducer” of his colleagues,
and said just enough about his subject to make us
wish for more.
Arthur Y. Milam (first base), of Jacksonville,
“elucidated” the economic side of prohibition, show
ing with the sweeping logic of a philosopher that
the abolition of the saloon can in no way militate
against the “business interests” of the State or the
welfare and happiness of the laboring man.
Doyle E. Carlton (first tenor), of Wauchula, who
is the manager of “the team,” showed how “local
option” means only one thing in the battle —the con
tinuation of saloons in Florida. His speech “made
the goose bumps” come out on me. That is, the
real test of eloquence. He could have licked Marse
Henry Watterson himself on “Democracy, Local
Option and Government by the Majority.”
“And last of all came Satan,” readeth certain
familiar lines. Not so with the Stetson Quartet.
But if some of the venders of liquid devilment had
been present (they don’t allow them in Monticello
any more), they would have felt, I’m afraid, a good
deal like consigning that last speaker to the place
where their liquor sends thousands every year. He
was Frank Wideman (2nd Bass), of De Land, and
the way he did hurl his thunderbolts at saloons in
handling the legal phase of the question was enough
to make the Devil “cuss”. Listen to his syllogism:
“A Legislature has not the right to make legal a thing
that is morally wrong. The sale of intoxicating
liquors as a beverage is morally wrong. Therefore a
Legislature has not the right to make legal the sale
of intoxicating liquors as a beverage.”
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The Golden Age for September 1, 1910.
Now, isn’t that a clincher? And the way that
young Stetson drove home his argument was a sight
to heai* and see!
J all and commanding, “handsome as the famed
Appollo,” resonant of voice and regal of manner, he
shook his black locks and swayed his eager audience,
not like the Sophomore that he is, but rather like
the alumnus he means to be. He created genuine
enthusiasm. Fellow-citizens, it was a great hour >
that those college'boys gave us.
To look at those manly young fellows fighting for
a holy cause, and then think of how they would look
in a few brief paonths or years, if the saloons could
have their way with them, is enough to stir the blood
of every patriot and philanthropist in America and
make them rise in their righteous might and DE
STROY THE DESTROYERS OF OUR YOUTH.
Although “the man from Georgia” had dropped in
unexpectedly on the rally, he was called on to “speak
a few verses”. It was easy to talk in such electrical
atmosphere as those college boys had created, and I
felt like speaking till the breaking of “rosy-fingered
dawn”, but I had mercy on the crowd and stopped
in about thirty minutes. If Alex. Dealer were to
hear of this, he would declare that the days of mira
cles has not passed.
The next day the whole town was aglow with the
enthusiasm which the college boys had awakened,
and rare, big-hearted, cultured old Monticello de
clared herself ready to roll up a rousing majority
against saloons and in favor of the safety of such
Florida boys as The College Students’ Campaign
Quartet.
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I REMEMBER— |
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t*4***** ******* *****4*****-**** 4****t
ON HAWTHORNE AVENUE.
We went to first housekeeping—
A home so sweet and new —
One year ago this very month
On HAWTHORNE avenue.
The very name’s inspiring,
There’s cadence in the sound;
It-stands for lofty manhood
And eloquence profound.
It stirs the best within us.
It weaves that magic spell
That grand old J. B. Hawthorne
Alone could wake so well.
And “memory bells” are ringing;
We see again the day
When Hawthorne came among us
To preach and fight and pray.
When, side by side with Grady,
He fought both late and soon,
And flashed his keen Damascus
Before the black saloon.
And how, upon the Sabbath,
The crowds would gather then
To hear the Old-time Gospel
That won the hearts of men!
O pulsing, great Atlanta—
O dreaming College Park,
With all your famous spirit,
Your culture and your art—
Whate’er your wondrous progress,
Whate’er ye love that’s true,
Remember J. B. Hawthorne
Poured out his heart for you!
And now that God has called him,
We lift our blended voice,
To tell in life we loved him,
In death we now rejoice—
That heaven fair ordained him
For Atlanta’s Golden Day—
To leave his stamp of blessing
Upon our upward way.
And as for me, I’m singing
As “a bird within the dark,”
Because my home that nestles
In cultured College Park—
That sings the dearest gladness
Beneath the bending blue,
Is planted in the sunshine
On HAWTHORNE AVENUE.
—WILLIAM D. UPSHAW.
7
