Gadsby quotes

Such a jolt to a young child's mind, craving instruction, is apt so to dull its avidity, as to hold it back in its school work.

Try to look upon a child as a small, soft young body and a rapidly growing, constantly inquiring brain.

It must grow to maturity slowly. Forcing a child through school by constant night study during hours in which it should run and play, can bring on insomnia; handicapping both brain and body.

And I say, again, that so will Youth grow dormant, and hold this big, throbbing world back, if no champion backs it up; thus providing it with an opportunity to show its ability for looking forward, and improving unsatisfactory conditions.

So this small town of Branton Hills was lazily snoozing amidst up-and-doing towns, as Youth's Champion, John Gadsby, took hold of it; and shook its dawdling, flabby body until its inhabitants thought a tornado had struck it.

Call it tornado, volcano, military onslaught, or what you will, this town found that it had a bunch of kids who had wills that would admit of no snoozing; for that is Youth, on its forward march of inquiry, thought and action.

and to think only of what it calls "topics of maturity." Amongst such discards, is many a form of happy play; many a muscular activity such as walking, running, climbing; thus totally missing that alluring "joy of living" of childhood.

If you wish a vacation from financial affairs, just go out and play with Youth.

Play "blind-man's buff," "hop-scotch," "ring toss," and football. Go out to a charming woodland spot on a picnic with a bright, happy, vivacious group. Sit down at a corn roast; a marshmallow toast; join in singing popular songs; drink a quart of good, rich milk;

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Aw! Why is this town so slow? It's nothing but a dry twig!!

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"

Bah! Why not start a class to show goldfish how to waltz!

I didn't go to any such school; and what am I now? A Councilman! I can't saw a board straight, nor fry a potato chip; but I can show you folks how to hang onto your town funds."

Oh, hum!!

It's a tough job making old dogs do tricks.

But our Organization was now holding almost daily sittings, and soon a bright girl thought of having band music in that now popular park. And what do you think that stingy Council did? It actually built a most fantastic band-stand;

City Councils, now-a-days, willingly grant big appropriations for paving, lights, schools, jails, courts, and so on; but invariably fight shy of charity; which is nothing but sympathy for anybody who is "down and out."

No man can say that Charity will not, during coming days, aid him in supporting his family; and it was Gadsby's claim that humans:—not blocks of buildings, form what Mankind calls a city.

But what would big, costly buildings amount to, if all who work in such cannot maintain that good physical condition paramount in carrying on a city's various forms of labor?

Think, for an instant, as to just what a city is. As I said long ago, it is not an array of buildings, parks and fountains. No.

A city is a living thing! It is, actually, human; for it is a group of humanity growing up in daily contact; and if officials adopt as a slogan, "all I can do," and not "all I can grab," only its suburban boundary can limit its growth.

Branton Hills attracts thousands, annually. All of that influx looks for comforts, an opportunity to work, and good schools. Branton Hills has all that;

"This town is too plain; too dingy.

Brick walls and asphalt paving do not light up a town, but dim it.

So I want to plant all kinds of growing things along many of our curbs. In our parks I want ponds with gold fish, fancy ducks and big swans; row-boats, islands with arbors, and lots of shrubs that blossom;

worra, worra! his parlor, halls, dinin' room an' back yard 'd furnish him wid a zoo, all right! Wid two always a-scrappin' about a ball bat or a sling shot; a brat continually a-bawlin' about nuthin'; an' a baby wid whoopin' cough,

I know phwat a zoo is, widout goin' to City Park to gawk at a indigo baboon, or a pink tom cat.

"

for no animal will stand, for an instant, anything approaching an attack, or any form of harm to its young. But what a lot of tots find slaps, yanks and hard words for conditions which do not call for such harsh tactics!

No child is naturally ugly or "cranky."

And big, gulping sobs, or sad, unhappy young minds, in a tiny body should not occur in any community of civilization. Adulthood holds many an opportunity for such conditions. Childhood should not.

With similar animals all around it, and, day by day, just a happy growth from cub-hood to maturity,

I almost wish that I was a zoo animal, with no boss to growl about my not showing up, mornings, at a customary hour!

Now, as our Organization of Youth is rapidly growing up, a young crowd, too young to join it at first, is coming up; imbibing its "why-not-do-it-now?" spirit.

and right in all glory of youth. Youth!! Ah, what a word!! And how transitory! But, how grand! as long as it lasts. How many millions in gold would pour out for an ability to call it all back, as with our musical myth, Faust.

During that magic part of a child's growth this world is just a gigantic inquiry box, containing many a topic for which a solution is paramount to a growing mind.

And to whom can a child look, but us adults?

Any man who "can't stop now" to talk with a child upon a topic which, to him is "too silly for anything," should look back to that day upon which that topic was dark and dubious in his own brain.

A child who asks nothing will know nothing.

That is why that "bump of inquiry" was put on top of our skulls.

And,—think about it. That's all; until a formal study brings accompanying thoughts from many minds; and, by such tactics, judging that in all probability such and such a rock or fossil footprint is about so old.

Natural History holds you in its grasp through just this impossibility of finding actual facts; for it is thus causing you to think.

Now, thinking is not only a voluntary function; it is an acquisition; an art. Plants do not think. Animals probably do, but in a primary way, such as an aid in knowing poisonous foods, and how to bring up an offspring with similar ability.

and, by such tactics, judging that in all probability such and such a rock or fossil footprint is about so old. Natural History holds you in its grasp through just this impossibility of finding actual facts; for it is thus causing you to think.

Now, thinking is not only a voluntary function; it is an acquisition; an art.

Plants do not think. Animals probably do, but in a primary way, such as an aid in knowing poisonous foods, and how to bring up an offspring with similar ability. But Man can, and should think, and think hard and constantly.

"How can it?" said our official. "

A train can only go just so fast, stamp or no stamp.

"

… your flapping, bulging canvas walls, city man rubs against town man, rich and poor girls bump, snobs attain no right of way, and a proud, happy boy or girl shows a "First Class" satin ribbon which a lovingly brought-up calf or poultry brood has won.

Only a satin ribbon, but, displaying it to a group of admiring young pals brings to a child that natural thrill from accomplishing anything worthy of public acclaim.

Such thrills will not crowd in as Maturity supplants Youth; and so I say, "a trio of our customary huzzas" for any child who can carry away a satin ribbon from a County Fair.

for you don't know half of what an accumulation of rubbish is kicking about, in its dark, musty corridors. Old fashions in thoughts; bigotry; vanity; all lying stagnant. So why not drag out and sort all that stuff, discarding all which is of no valuation?

About half of us will find, in our minds, a room, having on its door a card, saying: "It Was Not So In My Day."

Go at that room, right off. That "My Day" is long past. "Today" is boss, now. If that "My Day" could crawl up on "Today," what a mix-up in World affairs would occur! Ox cart against aircraft; oil lamps against arc lights!

Anyway, that day's night finally cast its soft shadows on Branton Hills.

Night, with its twinkling stars, its lightning-bugs, and its call for girls' most glorious wraps; and youths' "swallowtails", and tall silk hats,—is Cupid's own; lacking but organ music to turn it into Utopia.

And was Gadsby's mansion lit up from porch to roof? No. Only that parlor and a room or two upstairs, for wraps, mascara, a final hair-quirk, a dab of lip-stick; for Kathlyn, against all forms of "vain display," said:—

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I'm only going to marry a man; not put on a circus for all Branton Hills.

"

"All right, darling," said Gadsby, "you shall marry in a pitch dark room if you wish; for, as you say, a small, parlor affair is just as binding as a big church display.

It's only your vows that count.

"

Now Branton Hills had, as you know, built this school for public instruction; and, as with all such institutions, visiting days occur. And what a display of goods and workmanship! And what bright, happy pupils, standing proudly back of it!

For mankind knows hardly a joy which will surpass that of approval of his work.

Gadsby's party first took in a wood-working shop; finding small stands which fit so happily into many a living room nook; book racks for walls or floor; moth-proof bins, smoking stands, many with fancy uprights or inlaid tops; high chairs for tiny tots;

"Man at a city's front! What a grand post for a man!

A city, a big, rushing, dashing, slamming, banging, boiling mass of humanity!

A city; with its bright, happy, sunny parks; and its sad, dark slums; its rich mansions and its shanty-town shacks; its shops, inns, shows, courts, airports, railway stations, hospitals, schools, church groups, social clubs, and,—and,—Oh! What a magic visualization of human thought it is!

"No, sir.

Is this God's parlor?

"

"

I'll think of God's parlor, always and always and always!!

" and Gadsby, on glancing upwards, saw a distinct drooping and curving of many stalks; which is a plant's way of bowing to a child. And, at Branton Hills' following Council night a motion was—— But I said Gadsby had a hunch.

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But," said Gadsby, "what a City Council should do, and what it will do, don't always match up.

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"

Spooks don't hop around in daylight.

"

But I said that a stir was occurring in back of that boat landing, with its small shack for storing oars and such. If our big crowd was laughing and talking up to now, it quit! And quit mighty quickly, too!

If you want to hold a crowd, just mystify it.

Old Lady Flanagan was starting to shout about "this phony stuff," but Old Man Flanagan said:—

Why, I think that not only animals, but plants can know pain. I carry a drink to many a poor, thirsty growing thing; or, if it is torn up I put it kindly back, and fix its soil up as comfortably as I can.

Anything that is living, John, is worthy of Man's aid.

"

and, not marrying, was "just plodding along," living in a small room, with no fun, no constant company, no social goal to which to look forward; and had, thus, grown into what boys call "a big, old grouch." But it wasn't all Simpkins' fault.

A human mind was built for contact with similar minds.

It should,—in fact,—it must think about what is going on around it; for, if it is shut up in a thick, dark, bony box of a skull, it will always stay in that condition known as "status quo;" and grow up, antagonistic to all surroundings.

Now nothing can so light up such a mind as a good laugh.

Start a man laughing, good, long and loud, and his mind's grimy windows will slowly inch upward; snappy, invigorating air will rush in, and—lo! that old snarling, ugly grouch will vanish as hoar-frost in a warm Spring thaw!

And so it got around, on a bright Spring day, to Old Bill sitting on Gadsby's front porch; outwardly calm, and smoking a good cigar (which didn't blow up!), but, inwardly just full of snarls and growls about Branton Hills' Youth.

Now that small girl, "of about six," who had had Nancy's baby out in City Park, was passing Gadsby's mansion, and saw Old Bill.

A kid of six has, as you probably know, no formally laid-out plan for its daily activity; anything bobbing up will attract.

So, with this childish instability of thought, this tiny miss ran up onto Gadsby's porch and stood in front of Old Bill, looking up at him, but saying not a word.

That is what I call a coward!! By golly! almost a criminal! If a tot is what you call naughty, (and no child voluntarily is,) why not lift that young body up onto your lap, and talk—don't shout—about what it just did?

Shouting gains nothing with a tot.

Man can shout at Man, at dogs, and at farm animals; but a man who shouts at a child is, at that instant, sinking in his own muck of bullyism; and bullyism is a sin, if anything in this world is. Ah! Youth!

By golly! almost a criminal! If a tot is what you call naughty, (and no child voluntarily is,) why not lift that young body up onto your lap, and talk—don't shout—about what it just did? Shouting gains nothing with a tot.

Man can shout at Man, at dogs, and at farm animals; but a man who shouts at a child is, at that instant, sinking in his own muck of bullyism; and bullyism is a sin, if anything in this world is.

Ah! Youth! You glorious dawn of Mankind! You bright, happy, glowing morning Sun; not at full brilliancy of noon, I know, but unavoidably on your way! Youth! How I do thrill at taking your warm, soft hand; walking with you; talking with you;

our Manual Training School graduation. All that did a big lot toward showing Youth that this big world is 'not half bad,' if adults will but watch, aid, and coach. And I will not stand anybody's snapping at a child! Particularly a tiny tot.

If you think that you must snap, snap at a child so big as to snap back.

I don't sanction 'talking back' to adults, but, ha, ha! I did find a grand, big wallop in Marian's April Fool cigar! Woo! Did Old Bill jump!!

'Why is it dark at night?' 'Why can't a baby talk?' But, you and I, John, didn't laugh at him. No, not for an instant. And now look at our Julius and our Kathlyn; both famous, just through all that asking; and our aid. John,

God could put Man into this world, full-grown. But God don't do so; for God knows that, without a tiny hand to hold, a tiny foot to pat, tiny lips to kiss, and a tiny, warm, wriggling body to hug, Man would know nothing but work.

"

Just why, I don't know. It, though, is a trait of Mankind only. Animals don't 'bloom' out so abruptly. You can hunt through Biology, Zoology or any similar study, and find but slow,—awfully slow,—adaptations toward any form of variation.

Hurrying was not known until Man got around.

"

"

Stopping a war; that is, stopping actual military combat, is not stopping a war in all its factors.

During continuous hard strain a human mind can hold up; and it is truly amazing how much it can stand. Day by day, with that war-strain of worry pulling it down, it staunchly holds aloof, as a mighty oak in facing a storm.

Did that long-past, happy day float in glowing colors through his mind? It did. And now that old, hard-working bunch of kids, grown up, now, and with kids of its own; that loyal bunch of young sprouts was taking root; was born again!

Oh, how Youth crawls up on you!

How a tiny girl "almost instantly" shoots up into a tall, charming young woman! How a top-spinning, ball-tossing, racing, shouting boy looms up into a manly young chap in Military School uniform! Gadsby was happy; for, wasn't this a tonic for his spinal column?

In Branton Hill's locality it is not, customarily, what you would call a cold day. Many a Thanksgiving has had warm, balmy air, and without snow; though, also, without all that vast army of tiny chirping, singing, buzzing things on lawn or branch.

But contrast has its own valuation; for, through it, common sights, vanishing annually, show up with a happy joy, upon coming back.

Ah! That first faint coloring of grass, in Spring! That baby bud, on shrub or plant, shyly asking our loving South Wind if it's all right to pop out, now. That sprouting of big brown limbs on oak and birch;

"That's all right," said Gadsby; "but it was young hands and young minds that did my work!

Don't disqualify Youth for it will fool you, if you do!

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