The herald., 1894-01-01
SOMETHING ABOUT GENE FIELD
Something About the the Career of
a Happy Writer.
His Evolution From a Reporter Into
a Poetical Essayist.
Some Examples Of His EARLY work-His
Poetry and His FAbies-Now
I'm Southern Cali
fornia.

Hogoboom in the Pasadena Crown
Vista has the following:
So 'Gene Field ia down in Los Ange-
les, eh? Trying to thaw out case OF
4 Lake Michigan pneumonia, they say.
| Well, well, WE'LL Same old Gene Field,
l suppose? do hope he'll get along all
right, for there is never a man l read
who can start laugh or tear on me
with the facility of that man, Gene
Field. He's humorist. By that l
mean one who can put US either in a
| good humor or bad one by the simple
transmission OF some thoughts to US on
| paper. That's rare gift, possessed by
q few.
Perhaps the reader will be interested
in knowing more about this rare Gene
Field OF Chicago. At least it plesses
me to be able to tell something about
| him, and thus it is a matter OF email
Importance whether the reader be
pleased on not: for If not pleased the
reader may retaliate by ceasing to be a
reader. And 80 here goes.
He was born in st. Louis. That hap
pened in 1850. Since then nothing of
Importance has occurred in st. Louis
but forgot; dear me, this is the story
of Eugene Field, not of st. Louis. When
he was very young he was sent away off
to Massachusetts to live with his aunt,
because his mother was dead, and after
long while he got to be eighteen years
old. Then he was sent to Williams
College. His father died one year later
and the young man returned to Missouri
and soon after entered the State Univer-
SHY. AA.s A.s the close of the iunior year he
left school and hasn't been back since
He went to Europe. 1t must have been
there that he first began the perpetra-
ton of his Jokes, for we have been hear
ing fumors OF war in Europe ever since.
But those were his first jokes, you must
understand, and 8 mans first jokes-O,
well, / can't say much, myself.
In 1873 Mr.. Field did his first newspa-
per work. He was a reporter on the st.
Louis Evening Journal when Stanley
Huntley, the man who wrote those
hilariousls funny Spoopendyke papers,
was city editor. Soon after Field was the
associate editor of the st. Joseph Gazette.
Afterwards, to escape paying poll tax,
he moved to Kaneas City and became
the managing editor of the Daily Times.
Then he doubled back on his tracks and
for a while edited the st. Louis Times
journal.
Mr.. Field used to chew enormous
quantities OF fine cut tobacco in those
days and it made him thin and pale.
Then he allowed his hair to grow quite
long while at the same. time his pants
grew short, like his salary, and the first
thing he knew the impression got out
that he was poet. So then the Mis-
souri Press association, being shy q
poet, elected him to fill the vacancy. In
retaliation of this insult Mr.. Field sat
down one day, about this time of the
year, and wrote poem entitled Christ
mas Treasures. 1t went on to state:
count my treasures o'er with care
A little toy that baby knew
A little lock of faded hue
little lock of golden hair.
Long years ago this Christmas time,
hy little one-my all to me-
Sat robed in white upon my knee,
And heard the merry Christmas chime.
"Tell me- my little golden head,
ssn.s s Ghaas ns S4n sa2ald e9p8s 8bS Pb4feeht
What treasures for my boy?" l said.
And then he named the little toy.
While in his round apd truthful eyes
There came look of glad surprise
That spoke his trustful, childish JOY.
And as he lisped his evening pray'r.
He asked the boon with baby grace,
And toddl1ng to the chimney place,
He hung his little stocking there
That night, as lengthening shadows crept,
Isaw the white winged angels come
With music to our humble home,
And kiss our darling as he slept.
They must have heard his baby prsyr.
For In the morn, with glowing face,
He t0ddled to the ch mney place
And found the little treasure there,
Ihey came again one Christmas tide
That angel host, SO fair and white
And singing all the Christmas night,
They lured my darling from my side.
little sock, little toy
A little lock of golden hair
The Christmas music on the air
watching for my baby boy.
But il again that angel train,
| And golden head come back for me
To bear me to eternity,
NY watching will not be In vain.
Not Satisfied, it seems, the association
| again elected him poet. Mr. Field again
waited for cold weather to come and
freeze his inspiration solid enough to
bear up his weight, when he once more
wrote ss follows;
! THE SAME DEAR HAND.
The bells ring out happy sound.
The earth is mantled DER with white,
Itis the merry Christmas night,
And love and joy and mirth abound.
Ano here sit you and here sit /;
! ] should be happiest in the land,
For oh, l hold tnat same dear hand
I've heId for many ii year gone by.
1 - NTH oara.
It is as fresh and fair TO see,
AS sweet to hold ana dear to me.
| As wien VITA chimes upon the air
ON Christmas nights OF years ago
held the same dear little thing