|
CASTING back over my
experiences of almost fourscore years in this cursory fashion brings
into rather strong relief, in my own mind at least, some interesting
social phenomena which have been lost sight of under the shadow of
more important and more conspicuous events.
The readiness with
which human beings adapt themselves to their environment and the
conditions of living oftentimes outranges the comprehensibility of
those whose experiences are embraced within a limited field and an
unvaried manner of living. Within my own lifetime the changes have
been vast. It is difficult sometimes to convince people of the
present day that human nature was able to withstand the rigors we
repeatedly encountered three-quarters of a century ago, and the
recital of some of my own experiences will probably be received with
some incredulity. The whole fabric of living has been altered within
that time. The things that go to make up the day's routine, work or
play, are different. And who knows what changes the next fifty years
will have wrought?
Nevertheless, human
nature has conformed to the changes that have occurred with much
greater facility than might be imagined by those whose span of life
has been too short to enable them to realize their extent. People
met with equanimity the rigors of old. With probably too much
equanimity they have accepted the comforts and luxuries of the new
scale of living, a fact worthy of consideration in weighing the
morals of our present community life.
In my early boyhood
in New Brunswick, one of the oldest settled regions on the western
continent, work began at early dawn, as I have said, and continued
until darkness brought it to an end. Every family was clothed with
the wool from its own flock of sheep grazed on the commons, and the
carding, spinning, weaving, and knitting went on incessantly. There
were no stoves nor lamps nor many of the conveniences now regarded
as necessities. Domestic activity, centered upon the big open
hearths, and for artificial light we depended upon candles of our
own molding. No moment was wasted. The exigencies of the time
afforded no leisure. And even these conditions, I have no doubt,
were an improvement upon those which confronted the greater number
of immigrants to the western world.
Yet life seemed to
hold its full measure of happiness. There was no idleness to breed
discontent. There were no false standards of living to stir up
dissatisfaction and envy. The luxuries which now afford so many
opportunities for excursions into the field of extravagance simply
did not exist.
In the isolated
logging camps in New Brunswick, Maine, Michigan, and Wisconsin,
almost completely cut off from the world at large by the formidable
winters, the same routine prevailed. The limited fare of salt pork,
beans, bread, tea, and molasses was unvarying. Yet men thrived upon
it and were reasonably content. Nor did they suffer for lack of more
diversified sustenance. From this point of view their health was
better than that of workmen of the present day.
Even greater
contrasts are reached by comparison of modern conditions with those
which confronted the voyageurs, the timber explorers, in which
capacity I traversed many miles of territory bordering upon Green
Bay and the upper lakes. Sometimes when the snow lay deep in the
forest and the temperature reached thirty and thirty-five degrees
below zero, we slept in the open without a fire and only a pair of
blankets to cover us. Nor did we have cooked food,— only what we
were able to carry in our knapsacks fortified by a cup of hot tea.
In the summer-time conditions were almost as uncomfortable. The
rains beat down upon us, for we were without shelter of any kind,
and in forcing our way through the thick underbrush our clothes were
saturated. Yet we were none the worse for these experiences, nor did
we suffer from the afflictions supposed nowadays nowadays to result
from them.
Many of the
conveniences for which our latter-day civilization is conscious were
unknown three-quarters of a century ago. Railroads were just
beginning to be built. The telephone, electric lights, and a hundred
other inventions had not yet been evolved. But all of these, while
answering to our needs, have at the same time provided opportunity
for extravagance, the national weakness of the American people. No
sooner does the automobile make its appearance, by way of
illustration, than it becomes an obsession and people that can ill
afford to buy them are put to extraordinary extremities to emulate
those who are able to maintain one. Improvement of railroads has
stimulated the passion for travel and on every side newly discovered
luxuries rapidly come to be regarded as necessities, and
dissatisfaction and discontent, follow in the wake of
overindulgence.
There is now much
talk of the high cost of living. If we lived as we did a
half-century, or more ago, our expenditures for necessities would be
a third less than then. But it is not the necessities that are
absorbing the incomes of to-day. It is the rapid advance in the
scale of living, the demand for more conveniences, for greater
luxury, and the insatiable appetite of human nature for novelty. The
essentials of progress, labor, and thrift are too often lost sight
of in the rush to adopt new facilities which are of value as aids to
industry but detrimental when made the ends to be attained.
Because of the rather
unusual position I occupied in the logging camps and lumber
settlements and my opportunities for observation, it is but natural
that I should be struck by the more recent phenomena that have
appeared with the advent of doctors and the multiplication of drug
stores. In our isolated camps sickness was rare. Most of the minor
and many of the major ills we seemed to escape. I do not wish to
disparage the work of physicians. I have known many excellent ones.
Among them was Dr. Hall, one of the pioneer lumbermen of the
Menominee River. Despite the primitive conditions under which we
lived, he never lost a case of typhoid, a common disease in the
early days along the river, if he gave it careful attention. I
remember one occasion when there were eleven mill employees in
Menominee in one room, all afflicted with it, some of whose tongues
were parched and cracked with the fever. All of them under Dr,
Hall's ministrations recovered as expeditiously, perhaps, as they
would have had we enjoyed the facilities of a modern hospital.
With the flood of
doctors poured out upon the country after a perfunctory university
education I have little patience. We succeeded in getting on very
well without them. None the less, human nature, with the same
facility with which it adapted itself to the old order, has embraced
the new and has developed all manner of ills calling for the
attention of physicists and the absorption of drugs and medicines.
Some diseases have
even made their appearance as fads which have been assiduously
cultivated by the doctors who profited by them. A number of years
ago, for example, the country appeared to be in the throes of
appendicitis, and many misguided persons partook of grapes and other
fruits in fear and trembling lest they swallowed a seed which might
lodge in the vermiform appendix. I myself appealed to Dr. Ishiam, at
one time dean of the medical profession in Chicago, who happened to
be taking breakfast at my house. "There is not much appendicitis,",
he said. "There never was. I eat grapes, seeds and all." Then came
the scientific revelation that a seed had never been discovered in
the appendix, the opening of which is too small to permit one to
lodge there.
In spite of this,
thousands of persons were subjected to operations, some of whom
died; and the fear was so general that one woman I knew informed me
that she was going to the hospital for another ailment and purposed
to have her appendix cut out at the same time to avoid the
possibility of having the disease. That particular fad has passed,
but others have succeeded it and the innumerable doctors always find
a way of keeping occupied.
The quantity of
medicines consumed has gone on at a rapid rate, for no apparent
reason. Early experiences and close observation have led me to the
conclusion that nature will work its own curative effects and that
the elaborate formulae devised by physicians oftentimes becloud the
ailment, to the dismay of the patient but to the advantage of the
druggist as well as the doctor. The drugs upon which I have come to
rely are meager. When the "ague-and-chill fever" prevailed in the
Middle West, and I as well as everybody else suffered with it, I
came to appreciate the value of quinine. It was used sparingly for
many years and administered only with fourth-proof brandy; but I
took liberal doses, sometimes a spoonful, and suffered no ill
effects. For many years I had been subject to very pronounced
attacks of influenza. The quinine, which appeared to be stimulating
in its effects, prevented these, I discovered, if taken when the
symptoms first became manifest. I also found that snuff did much to
relieve the congestion in the nasal passages. For me, at least,
these two remedies have been of incalculable value, and for the past
nine years I have never been afflicted with a "cold." Although
repeatedly threatened with them I have warded them off so
successfully that I can defy them with confidence. Another medicine
which I have used for forty years, at the suggestion of Dr. Isham,
to keep the digestive tract clear is aloes. These have been for me,
at least, sufficient to ward off ordinary ills and my continued good
health I owe in large measure to them.
The objection that
may be taken to the multiplication of doctors may be applied with
equal force to lawyers, judging by the perspective of seventy years.
They, of course, have their place in the scheme of civilization as
well as physicians, but in the early settlements along Green Bay we
did very well without them. Now the universities turn them out by
the thousands every year and every community is overcrowded with
them. Instead of simplifying life their activities have complicated
it, and litigation over trivial things clogs the courts and has
become a positive evil, especially in the United States. The
assertion has been made that there is more litigation in Cook
County, Illinois, than in England, and I am inclined to believe that
it is true.
I have so tried to
regulate my own affairs as to avoid lawsuits or legal entanglements
and have succeeded, I think, very well. I have never had a personal
lawsuit, never gave my note and endorsed only one, never borrowed a
dollar. The suits entered against the companies of which I have had
charge have been very few and unimportant. I have managed the
affairs of the N. Ludington Company at Marinette, which has done an
extensive business, for more than fifty-seven years. For the first
fifty years of this time less than fifty dollars was paid in legal
fees nor was it involved in a lawsuit. All deeds, of which there
were thousands, were prepared in the office of the company and there
was never occasion to call for legal counsel or aid.
To sum up, the
extraordinary increase in the number of professional men, many of
whom are social parasites, has gone on at such a pace in this
country, which is becoming overcrowded with them, that it
constitutes a sociological fact which must sooner or later be
pondered carefully if the nation is to continue in the path of
progress. Fundamentally the strength of a nation depends upon its
productivity and its productivity depends primarily upon the soil -
the farms, mines, and forests. Processes of production, of course,
need to be studied and manufacture is essential, but the function of
the so-called professions is secondary, to keep the machinery of
production running smoothly and to promote the efficiency of the
human race. Beyond that point they have no reason for existence and
are a sociological encumbrance. Such, at least, is the moral to be
drawn from a comparison of present-day conditions with those which
prevailed when the Middle West was in the awakening.
Two or three
generations ago a far larger proportion of the day was given up to
labor than at present. I am not sure that there was even less time
for sleep. My own habits in this respect are probably somewhat
exceptional and I mention them only because of the general interest
in the subject. Mr. Ogden, as I have said, a man of tremendous
energy, worked eighteen hours out of twenty-four and seemed to
require only a few hours of sleep to keep himself at the highest
point of efficiency. Since my twentieth year I have found that four
or five hours suffice for me. While others in the camps were asleep,
I read far into the night, poring over the Congressional Globe and
medical books or thinking over business affairs and laying plans for
the future. This rule I have followed throughout my life, much to my
own advantage, I have no doubt.
I could moralize at
length on a hundred different facts of our present-day existence as
emphasized by a comparison with our manner of living long ago; but
it would be, I fear, to no purpose, as the world is made and we
cannot change it. Likewise my reminiscences might be expanded to
fill volumes. What I have written here is but a bare outline. Such
as it is, however, it will be found to be accurate. My memory has
always served me well, and in casting back over the years it has
been no task for me to recall day and date, time and place. From the
period when, at the age of three, having been put to bed with the
measles, I slipped out of the house and walked barefooted in the
snow, much to my mother's alarm, down to the present, I recall
vividly all sorts of incidents in my career. Names I do not remember
so easily, probably because I have known and employed so many men
that it has been impossible to keep them all in mind.
I realize that in the
ever-busy present interest in the lesser affairs of the past is not
keen, and it is not my purpose to overburden this record with the
recital of insignificant events. I give it to the reader for what it
is worth; and if, as I have said, the scrutiny of the present from
the perspective of three-quarters of a century will enable anyone to
judge with clearer vision, I shall count what is here written as of
some value. |
