Raleigh High School - Excelsior Yearbook (Raleigh, IN)

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be etched upon his memory many of the portraits afterwards presented to the public and to fame. It was perhaps on those journeys that he met Jap Miller. Of Jap he writes: He,ll talk you down on tariifg er he'll talk you down on tax, And prove the pore man pays 'em all-and them's about the fans!- Religiou, law, er politics, prize fightin' er baseball- .Tes tech Jap up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all. In the course of his ramblings over Indiana, his propensity to write asserted itself and he found his way to country newspaper offices. With at least two of these, one an Anderson and the other a Koko- mo papers, he established more than casual relations, forming lasting friendships with the editors and contributing many of his earliest productions to their columns. In them, he iirst tried his poetical wings. It was when he began to contribute to the India- napolis Journal, however, that his literary career really began. The Journal, an old, well-established paper, had always given more or less attention to matters not strictly of a news character, and was especially hospitable to writers of the state. On its st-aif at that time were several men who were keenly appreciative of literary merit and quick to discern originality. Meanwhile, Mr. Riley himself was a frequent visitor to the Journal oiiice, coming over from his home in Greenfield and before many months taking up his residence in Indianapolis, which city has since been his permanent home, and with which he is closely identified. He made the Journal office his headquarters, and from that time, in the middle Page fourteen seventies, until 1904, when the Journal was sold and merged with the Star, a desk there was assigned to his use, and there he wrote perhaps the greater number of his poems. But he was not a methodical regular worker He was never one of the authors of whom it is re- lated that they produce a certain number of words each day and accomplishing the task at fixed hours. He wrote when the spirit moved him, when the in- spiration came. He fell into the ways of the morn- ing newspaper and formed a habit of dropping into the editorial rooms at midnight and later, some- times iinding the late hours a favorable time for writing. Once he came after twelve o'clock with a bit of manuscript in his hands. I want this, printed in the morning, he said. But Riley, said the editor in charge, running his eye over the lines, the poem 's all right and we'll use it, but it 's too late to get it in in the morning. We 'll use it next day. It can 't be too late. You've got more news to set and you can set this. I had gone to bed and this thing got into my head and I had to get up and write it or I couldn't have slept. I want to see it in type. 'tBut the editorial page where such things go is already made up, objected the editor. I don 't care where it goes. Put it on the market page or among the advertisements. The editor did as he was asked. The poem was The Song of the Bullet. What inspired the lines in that time of peace he does not himself know. It might have been accounted for had it been produced at the time of the writing of this sketch, when all America stands aghast at the sudden transformation

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his day. His taste was for variety, for dipping into hooks here and there, for reading more interesting literature than text-books, for wandering at will. Where over the meadow is sunshine and shadow, The meadow larks trill and the bumble bees drone. Echoes come down from that bygone time which indicate that he was something of a trial to his teach- ers, who did not comprehend that this child-mind that would not be interested in the lesson of the text- book was feeling its way to more important things and storing up a folk lore and absorbing nature 's secrets that were afterward transmuted into song and story by the alembic of his fancy. For all of his boy companions he must have been a lonely little fellow, certainly one who took few into his confidence. His mother was sympathetic and comprehending, but she died while he was yet a child and no one ever took her place. To that mother he has paid many a tender tribute in his verse. Of her he says: Oh rarely soft the touches of her hands, As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands. But this boy of many gifts, stumbling his Way as best he could along the road to manhood, and find- ing it sometimes a difficult and bewildering path, found in one teacher an appreciative friend. Mr. Lee O. Harris. a teacher of many years, was a type none too common in the educational field at any time. He was a man of fine quality, with a love for literature and a poetic ability of his own that no doubt made him the quicker to discover signs of intellectual promise in others. At all events, he was discerning enough. to see that young Riley could not be pressed into the same mold into which his companions litted, and was wise enough to allow him much latitude in his school pursuits. He proved to be guide, philosopher and friend, to the lad and in later years a valued companion. Riley no doubt gained much inspiration from him. Another educational influence was the village newspaper office, whose fascinations were early dis- covered, and about which he loved to linger. A country newspaper is an excellent school, and it was perhaps in the dingy office that his first lit- erary ambition was born. Though he developed a writing and rhyming knack early, he was, after all, slow in 'fiinding him- self. He made various ventures--a trip with a company of strolling players, another with a travel- ling doctor for whom he painted signs and adver- tisements, and a tour as a sign painter with a part- ner or two being the chief undertakings. One reason for these wanderings was the verdict of the family doctor that he, ought to be out of doors a good deal because of his poor health. He had tried reading law with his father, but the under- taking soon came to an end. He had a distinct talent for painting or drawing and thought of being a portrait painter, his experiments in that line being on the back of wall paper, which he bought for the purpose. Then he descended in the artistic scale and learned ornamental sign painting from an old German. These travels, which were in the company of young men like himself, of good habits and good family, continued for several years. They widened his acquaintance with all sorts and conditions of men, and his insight into character, and his quick eye for originality in others must have caused to Page thirteen

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of Europe in a battlefield. The poem expresses in a wonderful way, both by its thought and form, the swift speeding of the murderous missile: lt whizzed and whistled along the blurred And red-blent ranks, and it nicked the star Of an epaulet, as it snarled the word- War! On it sped--and the lifted wrist I Of the ensign-bearer stung, and straight E Dropped at his side as the word was hissed- I Hate! On went the missle-smoothed the blue Of a jaunty cap and the curls thereof, Cooing, soft as a dove might do- Love! ' Sang on!-sang on!-sang hate-sang war- Sung love, in sooth, till it needs must cease ' Hushed in the heart it was questing for,- . Peace! i l Mr. Riley made many contributions to the Journal before he mustered courage to ask for remuneration or before it occurred to the editor that he was en- titled to it by reason of the merit of his oierings. Finally, illumination came to the editorial mind and today there exists a list of poems for which a lump sum was paid to the author. The list includes some of his most familiar and most famous verses, but what was paid for them is the author 's own secret. Then it was proposed that Mr. Riley join the l Journal editorial staff at a fixed salary, which he did. 13 His duties were not well defined, but it was then li that he wrote the Benjamin F. Johnson series, The E Old Swimmin' Hole and 'Leven More Poems, one appearing each week in company with a letter pur- porting to be written by Johnson, an illiterate but intelligent old farmer with a strong vein of senti- ment. Meanwhile, Mr. Riley 's personal acquaintance extended rapidly among appreciative people. Some of the men of his group were John C. New, Rev. Myron W. Reed, William Pickney Fishback, Elijah W. Halford, and General Harrison, afterward Presi- dent. His recognition in the Eastern states came more slowly than elsewhere, but when finally given it was generous and enthusiastic. He became a favorite at Boston and always drew large audiences from the most exclusive intellectual circles. His first appearance in New York City was at an author's reading given for some special cause. Many distinguished writers, including William Dean Howells, Thomas Baily Aldrich, and Richard Watson Gilder were on the program. An author 's reading is usually a dull affair, writers seldom being good speakers, and the great audience grew restless and weary. Riley was last on the program, he was un' known and people were indifferent and impatient to be gone. But he proved to be the star of the occas- ion. Quickly it was seen that here was something new and original, that here was an artist. Wave upon wave of applause followed his recitation of a dialect poem-a character sketch in verse-and late as it was encores were demanded. Newspapers next morning gave him much praise and his fame was firmly established in the literary and artistic world. His life to the onlooker seems an ideal one for a literary man, with full honors and recognition be- stowed upon him while yet living, respected and ll ill! gl ill' ll, ll l 1 1 l l Page fifteen