The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1918-10-11
TWO OLD CRONIES.
tween Uncle Remus'' and Frank Stanton.

Julia Collier Harris, daughter of the man who gave Uncle Remus" to the world, tells in the book on her father, recently published, great many things about his literary methods, his kindly nature, and his modesty, which those who's privilege it was to be near him, much or little, during the years of his apparently humdrum labor on The Atlanta Constitution, have long known and have been passing around" among his friends. Miss Harris has brought together many of the most charming of the ] anecdotes told about her father by 1 his contemporaries, and has succeed ed in recounting them well. Her book, which will be welcomed by all l upon it's own merits |
 One wonders, however, why Frank l L. Stanton, who wasr so to speak, Joel Chandler Harris office mate for many | years, has not put into print and be- tween covers he recollections of the | daily routine in those newspaper 1 strewn little rooms at the head of the stairs in The Constitution office. l Stanton and Harris were always wis | iting.' You climbed the steep, straight 1 stairway, found Stanton and got him l started in conversation, when Harris | scissors in one hand and. newspa | per cutting in the other, or, perhaps, page of "copy'' would put his head in at the door and say, Frank, l want you to hear this" then pause, i apologize, and back away. Always Stanton would say, Don't go away; was jest wishin' you-aH would look | in; let me introduce you to" and 30 on. Or you climbed the stairs and found Harris alone in his little room; he invited you to take a seat, you wound one already partly occupied by exchanges" and you were just be- ginning to enjoy the talk of the man l whom you had so long desired to hear, when Stanton, scissors in one hand, or, maybe a lead pencil and 1 newspaper, or magazine, or a page of manuscript in the other, would
 darken the door and say, Look heah, you jest listen to this" and pause and apologize for the intrusion. And al- ways Harris would say, Come right in, you; whae you-all standfn in the
 doah foh? Let me introduce you
 to- and so on.
 Then, if only they took a fancy to
 you, you would hear something worth while. The dialect was intended for,
 and only used before, people they lik-
 ed They could be as precise and
 punctilious as university professors
 before people to whom they were in-
 different, but, when the visitor was
 fortunate enough to have made .
 good impression on either, both would drop into the beautifully mellow dia- lect which the Southerner liked to use
 among home folks"
 , Joel Chandler Harris had such a fund of Southern negro tradition and
 lore to draw upon that he was never
 at loss for figures of speech or il-
 illustrative anecdotes, and he only
 paused occasionally, when in the hu-
 nor for talking, to let Frank Stanton
 come in with one of his delightful
 stories or rhymes. That the two
 enjoyed each other thoroughly was 5 rlain to the caller.
 f Joel Chandler Harris knew that he lad made place for himself in the esteem and affection of tens of thous- 2 ands of people the world over, but
 the knowledge filled him with wondet
 rather than with self-pride. He
 was the least conceited of writers; the Is least conscious that he had done
 anything extraordinary. His success!
 Of course, was made evident by thT ,e demand for his manuscript; it wa! IS confirmed by the demand for hi ic books; 1t was written on the face O Q the checks that came from his pub
 fishers; but 1t was all in the nature
 of a surprise to him He could no d soc, and he could not be made by hi es osf1ce associates or his friends to see or tAat he had done anything especialI, n remarkable.