The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1913-01-18

And it is good to talk with Richard
Fritz-to learn what he has seen. and
most of all, what he has thought. When
he was a timid little boy and lived
in Prussia, he listened to hobgoblin
stories, and was afraid of spooks. Now
he says, I'VE know well that we all
hat to die. Death has no horrors to
me. We hat all to go to mudder
Earth
And spooks?' you ask him.
'Dere amt such a ting like spook, "
quoth he
Take a car some afternoon, and get
off at the cemetery. Ask the first man
you meet, Us Mr.. Fritz about?''
Doubtless he will point over his
shoulder. ""There he is,'' he will say,
Iaconically, Sealing a vault He won't
be through for half an hour.
While you are waiting you will spec
uIate upon the nature of this Gabriel
Grub you will meet. For, If you love
Dickens you will Immediately think Of
Gabriel Grub. Grub you remember, was
the abbey grave digger carried away
by the COLLINS according to the tale
told by Mr.. Wardle to the Pickwick
Club one wintry night. You'll wonder
if Mr.. Fritz resembles the abbey sex
ton-''an ill-conditioned, crOSS-gra1ned,
surly fellow, a morose and lonely man,
who consorted with nobody but himself
and an old wicker bottle.
If you believe in the law of con-
trasts you will prepare to see Mr.. Fritz
the merriest fellow in the world-a
short. stout, jolly little grave digger
with a laugh in his eyes.
You will gaze over the wide, brown
fields to where the dome of the state
house and tall chimney stacks tower
above the busy little world of men.
Then you will look through tn gran
lite stones and see the broad back or
a man standing in a grave, shoveling
dirt.
A trio of boys, grouped about him,
drift away, hats in hand, and you
speedily approach him.
"Mr. Fritz"
s+F.ritz is my name"
He looks up at you, and you know
that your ideas of him were strange,
unnatural and false. Do you remem-
Der who it is that paints griZzled
French peasants with straight blue
Jackets and kindly eyes? Such pic
ture is Richard Fritz, as he leans on
his shovel, and looks up at you,
gravely.
Born in Prussia in 1919.
He speaks with a queer German ac-
cent that is, at first, almost hard to
understand. He has been in this
country a score of years, but has not
forgotten the tongue of the father
land He was born in Prussia in 1S49,
and may tell you that he was a
frightened little chap and used to
SILVER when his daddy held him ON his
knee In the freight and told him
stories of elf1ns, COLLINS and ghosts
The wind would howl down the Chin
ney, beat out the flames, and the lit
tie boy would shake with trepidation.
And now he loves ''Mudder Earth"
with the warmth of his big heart. and
spends days, and some of his nights.
calmly and practically pottering about
the deserted graveyard. He tells you
he has dug graves when the frost was
two feet deep. or when a blizzard was
wailing about him. He has dug
graves when the August sun was bis
tering his back, and when the soft
spring rain was falling about him.
Strangest of all, he has toiled alone
on moonlight nights when long. eerie
shadows are dancing through the
tombs and all the world is asleep but
.'It must be spooky," you challenge
him aren't you afraid of ghosts ?''
No Such Thing as Spools.
mo. no. no." he treasures you,
81 say, dere amt such a
ting like a spook. You know dat?
The dealers don't spook no more"
In the course of the conversation
YOU will learn that he has been fore
man of the grave diggers for sixteen
years.
1t Means Bread and Butter.
81 come to Kansas in 49, he re- I
marks, '+for a While I was a contrac-
Tor. Den I come to the cemetery, and
naf been here ever since. This ISIS not
!. sad life; it is yust hurry up and dig
! grave-no sentiment about it. 1t ISIS
Vust the way I made my bread und
outter''
While he chats, he is busily plying
his shovel-throwing dirt in the hole
md mounding it neatly.
How many shovels have you
lsed ?'
twelve" he responds, solemnly.
twelve shovels hat 1 wore out diggin'
graves"
Mr.. Fritz's back is straight, his eyes