Atlanta Georgian. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, May 07, 1912, HOME, Image 20
EDITORIAL PAGE
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN
Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday
By THE GEORGIAN’ COMPANY
At 20 East Alabama St., Atlanta, Ga_
Entered as second-class matter at postoffice at Atlanta, under act of March 3. 1873.
For Ages the Poor Have
Been “Locked Below”
•? M M
And When Any Craft Sank, They Sank With It. It is Time for
the Lowly to Take Part in Government.
Mr. E S. Martin, kind hearted, intelligent and well meaning,
feels that too much is said about giving consideration and power
to the poor, and that too much prejudice is aroused against “the
favored classes.’’
Mr. Martin says:
No; it is not true. It is not true, that any considerable
group of our people consciously aims to oppress or de
fraud the rest. Discipline, which is law, is a device to
hinder mob rule, which is a horror, and class rule, -which
is oppression. What did discipline do on the Titanic?
Who drowned?
The strong, the rich, the powerful.
Who went in the boats?
The women and children.
Thank God fnr discipline; for the order and the law
that sent men to their death and saved honor.
It is quite true that no considerable group of our people “con
acientiously aims to oppress or defraud the rest.’’
It is also true that the people, as a whole, and especially
those that are cunning, resourceful and able, think chiefly of
themselves and little of others.
And Mr. Martin makes a poor selection when he picks out the
disaster of the Titanic as proof that the meek and lowly should
gladly entrust themselves and their destinies to the haughty and
the powerful.
Mr. Martin asks who drowned on the Titanic, and answers
“The strong, the rich and powerful
Rut he overlooks OTHERS.
On the Titanic were drowned also in one batch five hundred
and thirty-two men, women and children —poor, third class pas
sengers—LOCKED BELOW THE DECKS, FORBIDDEN TO
COME CP, FORBIDDEN EVEN TO STRUGGLE TO SAVE
THEIR LIVES, BECAUSE THEY WERE POOR AND LOWLY.
What do Mr. Martin and others who tell us that we should
allow the powerful and the intelligent to rule think of the condi
tion of the five hundred and thirty-two steerage passengers mur
dered by class distinction and class brutality.on board the Titanic?
If the five hundred and thirty-two had been rich passengers;
if they had had among them an able leader, feared and respect
ed. THEY" NEVER WOULD HAVE BEEN LOCKED BELOW
THE DECKS
They, too. would have had a chance to save their lives, as
rich and cunning Mr. Ismay saved HIS life.
They would at least have had a chance to look at the iceberg
that killed them, to look at the sky above them, and to go to
their death if they must go, as decent human beings, showing
their share of courage and devotion.
But that was too good for them.
A hero's death was all very well for "the strong, the rich,
the powerful.’’
It was too good a death for the steerage passengers.
They, five hundred and thirty-two of them, must stay, locked
below, and drown with the rats that drowned in the hold of the
ship.
Does not Mr. Martin, do not others who like him really
sympathize with the poor, feel that something is wrong in a
civilization that talks so much about “the strong, the rich, the
powerful,’’ that die heroic deaths and so little about the five hun
dred and thirty-two MURDERED BECAUSE THEY WERE
POOR. BECAUSE THEY WERE WEAK, BECAUSE IT WAS
■ RIGHT IN OUR CIVILIZATION TO LOCK THEM BELOW
AND DROWN THEM WITH THE RATS?
The lesson that the Titanic teaches is not a lesson of sub
mission to wealth, intelligence and good intentions.
It is a lesson that has been taught tn the poor and the op
pressed all through the ages.
The disaster on the Titanic, while it proves that there are
good and unselfish brave men among the powerful and fortu
nate, proves above all that those that are NOT powerful, those
that are NOT fortunate, need loaders and representatives.
If any man had locked in John Jacob Astor and the others
that, drowned on that boat, if rich and powerful men had been
drowned because they were arbitrarily locked below the decks,
some one would now suffer.
BUT NO ONE WILL SUFFER FOR THE MURDER OF
THE FIVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO THIRD-CLASS
PASSENGERS.
They are only THIRD-CLASS passengers.
As it was on the Titanic so it has been from the beginning
of time
The most cunning and unscrupulous get to the top. and they
survive—like a Talleyrand in the shipwreck of the French aris
tocracy, or an Ismay in a shipwreck at sea.
Occasionally, "the strong, the rich, the powerful" go down
and die heroic deaths.
. But they are treated as heroes; they are remembered and
honored.
The-poor people, whether in the wrecks on shore or the
wrecks at sea. must drown LIKE THE RATS, ami nothing is said
.about it. No heroism for them. In the old days they were slaves
to be butchered at will, in the later days they were, as Napoleon
called them, "flesh ♦’<»■ cannon." and in these civilized days they
are speculative atoms r< presenting twenty-five dollars apiece to
the steamship companies, and drowned like the rats in the cargo.
The poor need leaders, they need organization
They must have, as the great German Socialist-Democrat de
clared, "their place in the sunlight."
They must see the sun and the sky. they must not be locked
below the decks in the sinking ship, or locked forever below the
ground in the mines or locked away from happiness and real life
in mills and factories, all through the ages
They must get their place in the sun. and they WILL get it.
And they will not get it by looking with folded hands and
bent heads at those above them, but by taking their place AND
GETTING THEIR SHARE.
The Atlanta Georgian
“HOME, JAMES!”
By HAL COFFMAN.
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DOROTHY DIX WRITES
OF
The Risks an American Takes Who Marries a Foreigner
AMAN asks me what I think
about the advisability of mar
riages between Americans
and the men and women of other
nationalities.
There is no general rule by which
the likelihood of the success or
failure of any marriage may be
determined beforehand. It depends
upon the individual. It is a purely
personal matter, and whether a
marriage between an American
and a foreigner results in happi
ness or In misery rests with the
character and temperament of the
man and women who undertake to
work out their life problem to
gether.
Conceding that all marriage is a
lottery, and full of risks and dan
gers. I should say that when Amer
icans marry foreigners they take
an added risk and run a greater
danger, and that there are more
chances against them in the lot
tery. When an American marries
an American he or she has at
least, a sporting chance at domes
tic felicity, but when an American
marries a foreigner he or she takes
a hundred to one shot at happi
ness
This is no reflection upon the
men and women of other nations,
or upon their desirability as hus
bands or wives. it is merely a
reiteration of the old truth that we
find those people most congenial
and easiest to get along with who
have the same tastes and habits as
we have, who have been bred to
the same ideals, and have the same
point of view.
Heaven knows, the average hus
band and wife And enough to ar
gue over and enough points of con
flict without .browing in different
nationality, different religion, dif
erent religion, different traditions,
and a different style in cooking'.
Hence, those who wish peace in the
household do well to « spouse those
of their own race, faith and color,
and who think as they do, from
polities to pie
Only Statistics Available
Show Misery of Matches.
The only statistics that are ob
tainable regarding international
marriages are those that deal with
great matches where American
heiresses have married men of title.
TUESDAY, MAY 7, 1912.
Bv DOROTHY DIX
With scarcely an exception, these
have turned out disastrously, but
as in these cases the man sold
himself for money and the woman
sold herself for social position,
they prove nothing in regard to the
wisdom or folly of Americans mar
rying foreigners. Any marriage
entered into with the same mo
tives would bring nothing but mis
ery.
Indisputably there are many
happy and successful marriages,
inspired by love alone, in which
one of the parties is an American
and the other a foreigner, the mar
riage of Americans and English and
Americans and Germans being par
ticularly apt to be harmonious,
and to produce splendid children.
The marriage of an American
man with a foreign woman stands
a better chance of success than
that of an American w oman with a
foreign man. and yet. paradoxically
enough, this marriage takes place
far less frequently than that of the
American .woman to the foreign
man. It is undeniable that, as a
rule, the foreign woman does not
attract the American man. while
the foreign man has an almost ir
resistible attraction for the Ameri
can woman.
The explanation of this psychic
phenomenon shows why the inter
national match is seldom a happy
one. The men of every nation,
through many generations, have
trained their women to be the kind
of wives that they want, the kind
of wives that suit their tastes.
The Englishman has evolved the
splendid, sturdy pattern of all the
virtues—-the British matron, who
has been taught to take a back
seat and amuse herself by bearing
children nd burning Incense be
fore her lord and master.
The German has trained up the
hausfr.iu. whose so'- business in
life is to vibrate between the kitch
en and the nursery, and make her
husband comfortable.
The Frenchman has produced a
wife who is the hybrid of feminin
ity. a w oman w ho can save money
and look like- a fashion plate, who
can grant him all liberty and ask
none for herself, and w ho can keep
up the Action of a perfect family
life so artistically that she comes
to believe in at herseif.
The men of the Latin countries
havec reated a wife that stays
“put” in the chimney corner, and
who does salaams before the su
perior being she calls husband.
But the American man has de
vised a wife who is one part god
dress. one part toy and plaything.
He gives her all the freedom in the
world. He delights in indulging
her. He adores spending his mon
ey in dressing her up, and it
amuses him to death when she
sasses him.
The American woman represents
American man's taste in wives.
That’s why she suits him. and
that's why she is caviar to the pal
ate of the men of other nations,
and why she disagrees so w ith for
eigners if they marry her.
Foreigners always say that the
Amer! an woman is spoiled. Very
likely. But she is as she is, even
as the foreign man is as he is. and
that Is why there is small chance
of harmony when two such diverse
natures come together in the close
quarters of matrimony. How can
the woman who has been used to
having her own way all her life
expect to be happy when she mar
ries a man who is imbued with the
idea of the divine right of hus
bands to rule?
How can a woman who has been
petted and coddled expect to be
happy when she marries a man w ho
is accustomed to seeing the men of
his family take all the best, and
the wives content with anything
that happens to be left over?
Wise Man Will Pick Wife
From His Own Nation.
Nor would the situation be any
better for the man. for he, whose
ideal of a wife is Patient Griselda,
mu.-i g>’t a horribie shock w hen he
finds out that he is tied up with
spunky Am. riean Mary Ann. and
that inst-ad of fading meekly into
the background of domesticity she
insists on standing in the limelight
of society, and that her penchant
is not for the kitchen, but for the
parlor, and her talent not for sav
ing. but for spending money?
For these and many other rea
sons. a m tn is wise to marry among
his own people. There are enough
troubles and trials in matrimony,
anyway, without dragging in inter
national complications.
THE HOME PAPER
Tomorrow Come
Today
BY WINIFRED BLACK.
THE Little Boy ran into the
house with a warm little fist
ful of discouraged-looking
dandelions.
“Here’s a be-au-ti-ful bouquet
fnr you, mamma," said the Little
Boy, “and, mamsy, I want to ask
you somefin’ —somefin’ secret.”
“Well,” said the Little Boy’s
Mother, pinching her right hand
with her left very hard to keep
from rumpling the Little Boy’s hair
back out of his eyes In the way he
hates —“well, what is the secret
question ?”
And the Little Boy leaned so
close to his Mother that she could
feel a kind of soft warmth in the
air. “Mamma," said the Little
Boy, speaking very softly, "mam
ma, is it tomorrow yet?”
“No!—I mean yes, Little Boy,”
said the Mother, hesitating an in
stant and then answering quite de
cidedly, “yes, Little Boy. it is to
morrow-right now.”
“Oh!" cried the Little Boy, be
ginning to dance like some kind of
a strange, merry little toy wound
up, “oh. then we can go into the
real country and pick real flowers
with smelling to them, and watch
the real grass grow—and—and—”
“Yes. indeed." said the Little
Boy’s Mother, “we can do all these
things and we will, too.” And she
took the Little Boy and the Little
Boy’s sister and put on their rough,
heavy shoes and their good dark
coats, and she tied up a box of
sandwiches and some cookies with
raisins in them, and away they all
went to the real country to see the
real flowers with real smelling to
them, and to wetch the real grass
grow, and to heat- the real birds up
in the trees telling each other all
the real news about yesterday and
today and tomorrow and all the
time there ever Is or ever will be.
And it was cool in the shade and
warm in the sunshine, and it was
thirsty work walking, and there
was a real well by the real road
side. and a real woman at the door
of the real farm house gave them a
real drink and took them out to the
barnyard and let them see a real
calf before it had begun to worry
about being a cow and acting re
spectable.
And there was a rowdyish little
stream, running nowhere .in partic
ular. and, of course, there were fish
in it —somewhere —even if it was
only an inch deep; and all the real
willows were out; you could smell
them a long -way off with your eyes
shut.
Once a hen flew clucking across
the road, and after her there came
peeping, peeping, one, two. three,
four, six little yellow things, all
peeping for their lives and holding
their foolish stubs of wings up and
running like mad. and asking the
old hen, so the .Little Boy thought,
whether it was tomorrow yet. And
the old hen was very cross and kept
saying. “No. no, of course not.”
And the Little Boy stood on a
high stone and watched the little
yellow chickens and pitied them
because they were in today yet,
when he was in the glorious tomor
row. And he named them, one by
one, Daddy Rogers, and Miss Ruby,
and James Metcalf, and Rebecca—
and the others wouldn’t wait to be
named, but ran away, peeping loud
er than ever.
“Poor things.” sighed the Little
Boy, “poor little things. Now they
will never know what to say when
they want to cal! each other and
find out if it is tomorrow yet.”
And the sun shone and.the Spring
Beauties nodded from the edge of
the woods, and the shooting stars
gleamed in the meadows and down
by the rowdy little stream that
came from nowhere, the violets
stooped under their green parasols
and tried to see themselves in the
clear brown water and they pre
tending to be so shy and modest,
“A Model Citizen”
By J. W. MrCOXAUGHY.
BENEATH the dark, tempestuous
wave.
As blameless as can be,
There dwells in peaceful, deep-sea cave
The sea-anemone.
A perfect mode! for us all
In these our sinful lives;
He never touches alcohol.
Or flirts with neighbors’ wives.
He never robs the shellfish
Os a single shiny pearl;
He's never harsh or selfish.
He never kissed a girl.
He does not stay out late at night,
He'd not desert his wife;
Over in the broad field the mead
ow lark whistled like a merry
hearted li’ttle boy calling to his be
loved vagabond the dog who fol
lows him by day and by night step'
for step, and breath for breath.
“Follow me,” whistled the lark
high and clear. “Follotv me, for
where I am is spring.” And the
Little Boy ran and shouted and
whirled round and round with pure
delight. And the sister, who ought
to be little and -who isn’t little at
all, any more, jumped over fences
and hung from low limbs of ac
commodating trees, and broke sup
ple whips of willow, and was a fairy
princess riding a milk white steed,
and then she was a circus rider in
gorgeous skirty coats, and then she
was a great queen and held her
nose high in the air, and then she
was a runaway colt and whinnied
and kicked up her heels and no one
said, “Oh, oh, Little Girl, your knees
are showing every minute.”
And when the sun began to sink
the Little Boy crept close to his
Mother on one side, and the sister,
who ought to be little, crept close
to her mother on the other side,
and they al] sat down on a fallen
log and watched the glory of the
Western skies, And they spoke no
more, neither laughed nor sang,
and when it was time to go the
Little Boy leaned close to his
Mother again and whispered:
"Mother. I’m glad this was tomor
row. aren't you?”
“Yes,” said the Little Boy’s
Mother—and she was very glad it
was tomorrow right then and there.
Tomorrow, the glorious tomorrow,
the hopeful tomorrow of joy and
kindness, and of light-hearted and
simple love of living and all that
living means.
"I might have said that it was
'today,’ ” said the Little Boy’s
Mother, as the three walked home
ward in the soft Spring twilight.
“I might have said to the Little
Boy, ‘Tomorrow has not come yet,
my son’—and it would have been
true, too—if I had said so.
“I’m glad I didn’t— aren’t you,
Little Girl?”
And the sister, who ought to be
little, smiled the strange, myste
rious smile she has when she looks
as if she heard sweet music and
could not tell where it came from,
or exactly what it meant, but only
that it was sweet and soothing,
and as yet—far away.
“Yes,” she said. “Mother, I am
very glad.” so all the three, were
very glad together.
And in the evening, when the
stars were out and the new moon
looked down from the edge of a
feathery cloud, the Little Boy’s
Mother sat and looked at the moon
and at the stars and at the float
ing clouds and wished and wished—
after the fashion she had followed
when she was little and had trou
ble waiting for tomorrows, and
some days that never came
“Star light, star bright,” said the
Little Boy’s Mother, “first star I’ve
seen tonight; wish I may. wish I
might have the wish I wish to
night." and she raised her two fore
fingers in a sort of invocation that
goes with the old rhyme to make it
mean anything.
“Wish I may. wish I might.” and
what do you think she wished there
in the light of the stars and the
young moon of April?
“I wish.” she said softly, “that
all the tomorrows of delight and
hope and joy may turn into todays
for the whole race of us, just as
this today turned into glorious to
morrow for the happy three of us.”
And on the soft air of the Spring
night a gentle fragrance seemed to
rise like a sigh of mild content,
and all at once she saw again the
smile of the Little Girl, as if she
heard sweet music far away.
He’s never in a barroom fight.
He shrinks from sin and strife.
I hat he may feast no* even worms
Or little fish must d e;
He fills his tummy full of germs
And animalculae.
He does not sorrow for his kind,
He knows not sacrifice;
To grief and suff’ring he is blind,
To ignorance and vice.
Then let us give him. due respect
With “our most honored," wisa r>
Fate's made the sea-anemone /"
“A model citizen!” _ ■ -e