Vernon County censor. [volume] (Viroqua, Wis.) 1865-1955, 1906-05-23
Being an Episode In
Boomer Klamm.


more pride than some men say, Il am
a democrat" But l am above poll
tics. could never degrade myself
into the exalted position of a satchel
ncarrier for any party, any boss. Look
at our senator's,
When | entered the noble field OF
literature l sought for myself bit of
meadow ground virginia. from the nib
bling of grazing writer's. Behold, /
found not plot uncoveted, not vale
untenanted. My maiden efforts in the
newspapers were Knocked. What if
did sign my middle name, The boom
ers have made history in the west.
And the Klamms can boast some dis
tinguished statesmen in the east |
was warned to avoid Oyster Bay, be
cause of the hereditary hates of the
two families of bivalves. Finally,
when one scribe, a contemplate per
son, babe me Don't be a clam" /
burst into tears and relinquished
journalism forever.
But there is no such thing as head
ing off genius. l dropped my middle
name and stood forth in the worlds
gaze, naked and u1ashamed, as Har
aid Klamm. (Please don't forget the
two "a's' in HaraldD Like Rudyard
Kipling, | was content with nominal
simplicity, and l sported similar in
itial. There was still hope I forgot
to say that I began my career with
music making. l dreamed of bread
and kisses and Chopin; l awoke to the
terrible realities of piano teaching
and gas bills. From that to journal
ism was but a step upward; from
journalism to the magazine world,
flight into the beautiful azure-so
believed l was undeceived-and
simply No editor would print my
stories. l tried them with prose
poems, swift dashes at the infinite.
The tales were returned with bland
eplanations to the effect that Edgar
Allen Poe was dead many years. To
revive his troubled spirit might prove
dangerous-there are too many I'M
imaginative men and women making
an honest living with their pens
IL wa IlS nOut vi uCopdll. III NY
fatuausness l had fancied that the
magazine world was simply yawning
for new blood, new plots, new ideas,
new men, new styles; that art for art
was not byword in the metropolis;
that Henry James was a god in the
eyes of editors; that the manner of
telling a story was as important as
the story itself; that-oh, a hundred
other old fashioned, banal, exploded
notions of artistic prose, big, broad
fiction, artistic workmanship. l was
thoroughly undeceived. Art is Ia
booed word in America. Be anything
but artistic Paint editorials with
tall brush; smudge paper like the
gang generally; but for gracious sake
don't attempt literature with ideas or
style You will be called immoral.
Well. I was about departing for our
family seat in N. ]. when l happened
upon a good hearted Samaritan, and
an editor, mirabile dictu! This is
what he said to me, and his words
drove me to this Confession
Back 20 the Mud.
"See here, Klamm, old fellow, you
are on the wrong track altogether.
Expose somebody or something"
How expose?" l eagerly interject-
ed.
Listen. Just now the periodicals
are revolutionizing the country with
their exposures of wickidness, of
craft and graft, of guile and guilt, of
trusts and civic treacheries. For ex-
ample, we have the glorious specta-
Gle of a brave woman tearing off the
business mask of John D. Rockefeller.
Then there is Lawson tearing up the
foundations of Wall street; Jack Lon
don spouting socialism; David Ora
ham Phillips exposing the social Sc
crets of the rich; Vance Thompson
exposing the diplomatic life; James
l.. Ford exposing the literary fakes;
Lefevre splitting the insides of bulls
and bears; Steffens smashing munich
pal corruption; Ray Stannard Baker
shaking up the trusts; Cleveland
Moffet exposing the wastefulness of
society; Alfred Henry Lewis dissect-
ing local politicians. Now, Harald,
why don't you select some moral tu-
NOR for viyisection, whether social
artistic, polite, judicial, economic"
I went to my attic-I still believe in
old time Bohemianism. A man can't
write we'll unless he is starving and
is forced to work. At a bakery |
bought a loaf of bread and at dairy
a nat of butter-it was my luxurious
evening. These, with big pot of tea,
would keep me before the inkwell I'M
ii. my lamp expired.
All, Ha! the CIewl
AS I munched and slipped my eyes
fell on the wrinkled paper that had
covered my supper It was some
yages of the American Grocer. Idly
| read its lean, commercial prose. |
started. The article in question was
devoted to the nations's drink bill
This interested me. l knew that the
beef trust, wheat trust, insurance
trust, coal trust, tobacco trust, rail-
road trust, the God knows what
trusts. had been exposed. But, ali,
the clue! The drink trust had not
been hailed before the bar of the world
and there made to disgorge its obi
Gus secrets. It was my chance.