The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1886-05-22
IN THE LONG AGO,
Picture of a Great School-Strike in
Peoria Academy in 1858.

are nothing new. But they don't de-
velop and bring out and down the
strong hand of the ruling power as they
used to. Among the sunny memories
of my own school days there CLOVIS,
bright and soft as a summer sunset, the
picture of the great strike at Humans,
in Peoria, away back in 1858. Humans
was the greatest school in the West.
The dear old man was superintendent
of public instruction, board of educa-
ton, school trustee, county superin-
tendent. principal, assistant and iani-
tor. He had pleasant smile, firm
temper, and slate frame. He also
carried about his person a grip that
would make blacksmith's wise crawl
into the scrap heap and hide itself. We
used to have general exercises Friday
afternoons, at which we were wont to
recite in vociferous concert the multi
plication tables, the States and capt.
tails, and such thrilling rhetorical exer-
cises as "Will you a0atk? or ride?" and
"They tell as to be MoDer-
ate, but they, THEY - torevelinpro
FU-sion!" 1t was thrilling. But
after we had learned all these
chants "by heart" and could chant
them off with our eyes shut, "Old Hin
imam" introduced an innovation
''speakin' pieces" Upon that we
struck. We endured it three wee ks
and then we determined to boycott the
whole business. All the boys went
into it. Bill Smith and Hub Tuttle,
Rob Gregg, Ed. Easton, Steve Bum,
Bill Rodecker, Hen Keener and all
the big boys, too. The first boy called
on to "speak" was to announce the
strike, and as my name came pretty
well up in the alphabet, 1 stood good
chance of being leader, distinction
for which | was not at all ambitious,
being of tender years and of rudy
countenance and sensitive feelings
But boy named Allen, who was called
ahead of me, fiunked and said his piece
"Hohenlinden," although we made
such suggestive gestures at him that he
forgot half of it and broke down and
cried. When l was called refused to
speak. Being pressed for reason, |
said, in faltering accents, that ''there
wasn't goin' to be no more speakin. :"
When the old man, with unfeigned sur
prise, asked me who said so, l said ''all
of us did" Then he said there would
be "a little more speakin'" before the
close of the session, and so he led me
out upon the rostrum. Then and there,
with feelings which | now shudder to
recall, did my first song and dance
act / had often before performed my
! solitary cachuca to the lascivious pleas
ing of "Old Humans slate frame, but
never had accompanied myself with
words. Boy like, had selected for
my piece a poem expressive of those
| peaceful virtues l most heartily de-
spised, so that my performance, at the
Inauguration of the strike, ran some
what like this:
o, not for me (whack) is the rolling (whack)
drum,
Or the (whack, whackD trumpet's wild
twhackl appeal. Boo hoo!
Or the cry boo hooD of (whack) war when
the (whaclx) foeis come,
Or the (Ow) brightly (whack) flashing steel
ewhack, whack).
can not convey to the most vivid
imagination the gestures which accom-
panied the seven stanzas of this beauti
full poem. Suffice it to say that they
kept pace with the old mans peculiar
system of punctuation, until at last,
overcome with conflicting emotions,
went sobbing to my seat and wondered
why an inscrutable Providence had
given TO the rhinoceros the hide that
the eternal fitness of things had evil
IDENTIFY prepared for the school-boy.
But forgot my own sorrows and
dried my tears, in the enjoyment of
the play, as my compatriots developed
| it. Mr., Human, who had been I'M
usually gentle and self-restrained With
me, lost his temper with the boy who
| followed me, and there was a sound of
revelry for the next hour. He shook
| boys until their teeth ratified so you;
couldn't hear them cry; he hit Mickey
Mccain, the tough boy, one whack
with a skate-strap and Mickey ran out
and rolled in the snow to cool off; he.
hit Jake Bailey across the thighs with.
the slate frame and it hurt so that Jake.
couldn't howl-he Just opened his
mouth and gasped and forgot his
own name; he pushed Bill Haskell
into seat and the bench broke; he
shook Dan Stevens so that his feet
didn't touch the floor for five minutes;
he ran across the room and reached
out for Lem Harkins, and Lem had a
fit before the'old man touched him; he
whipped the two Knowltons with both
| hands at the same time, and the Glib
bon family, five boys and big girl, he
hit all at once with a girls skipping
rope and they raised such q united
wall the clock stopped; he kept the at
mosphere of that old school room full
of dust and splinters and lint, weeping
wailing and crashing of teeth, until
his old arms ached and all hearts
wearied of the inhuman strife and
wicked contention, and then he stood
up before us, in sickening tangle OF
strap and cane and slate frame, rattan
and skipping rope, and asked, in clear,
triumphant tones:
"WHo says there isn't going to be
any more speakin'?"
And the boys of that school rose up
as one being and shrieked, in tones Of
anguish:
"NoBoDYi'
And l, who led that strike and was
| its first martyr, have been "speakin"
ever since. --Burdettc, in Brooklyn
Eagle.