A Sentimental Journey Through Hoosierdom
By Paul P. Harris
"The
poet says of the November day - "The day is
cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the
wind is never weary;" ‑ and yet to my mind there
is no month in the year when the Northern States
are more interesting than in November. Nature
throws herself wide open during the November
days; all secrets are disclosed. Hills and
valleys that were hidden away beneath the
foliage come forth to claim one's attention.
There
is a mysticism in the atmosphere and a sweet
melancholy at times."
President
Emeritus, Rotary International
The term "Hoosier" has been applied to the
People of Indiana for many years. Its first
appearance in print was as early as 1830 in a
poem by John Finley, "The Hoosier Nest," written
for the Indianapolis Journal. The exact origin
of the term is uncertain.
WHEN one has time or money to spend he may very properly ask
of himself the question: How can I make my expenditure count
most? It is easily possible to spend time and money in a
fruitless search for pleasure. Most people believe that the
one thing necessary to human happiness is an unlimited
income. What most of us really need is to know how to get
the maximum of results from the expenditure of the time and
money available in this world of ours.
Dean Butler of the University of Chicago has defined
education as an enrichment of life. There are those who
contend that the highest objective of education is learning
how to agreeably and profitably spend our leisure time.
A philosopher can gain as much happiness from the pages of a
good book as some gilded youth can find in vast riches. The
laboring man sometimes strikes for higher pay when he might
better strike for more culture. Babson contends that the
poorer we are, the more virtuous. More culture will enable
us to better stand prosperity. If prosperity must express
itself in jazz, it would be preferable to remain in
respectable poverty.
Whether the attainment of happiness or the discovery of
truth be the most noble objective of education, the great
and growing need in the world today is a broader and better
education.
If I have days and dollars to spend in the pursuit of
happiness, I prefer to spend them in a manner which will
enable me to enjoy them in retrospect as well as in
prospect; in other words, I prefer vacations which have
survival values.
The poet says of the November day - "The day is cold, and
dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary;" ‑
and yet to my mind there is no month in the year when the
Northern States are more interesting than in November.
Nature throws herself wide open during the November days;
all secrets are disclosed. Hills and valleys that were
hidden away beneath the foliage come forth to claim one's
attention.
There is a mysticism in the atmosphere and a sweet
melancholy at times.
There are indeed manifold joys in the country just before
the closing down of the white lid of winter; and even after
then, for that matter. Outdoor winter sports possess rare
fascination and should be encouraged in all Northern States.
What can be more enjoyable or more invigorating than
skating, snow shoeing, tobogganing, skiing, coasting, or
merely rambling over snow‑clad hills or mountains on a
winter mornings when the snow crystals are sparkling in the
sun.
Mr. and Mrs.
Sylvester Schiele and Mrs. Harris and I spent the last
four days of November on a delightful automobile trip
through the State of Indiana and we can cheerfully recommend
the journey to any and all who love nature and who believe
that vacations should be planned so as to be educational and
to give one happy memories in the days to come. It had been
the privilege of Mrs. Harris and the writer to make brief
but intensive studies of Wisconsin, Michigan and Illinois
and we eagerly hailed the opportunity of spending a holiday
in Indiana "when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's
in the shock."
Wednesday, November 24th, (1924) was crisp, and daybreak
found us bowling along the Dixie Highway in the neighborhood
of Chicago Heights. There is always a very special joy in
witnessing the break of day and to one born and bred in the
North, the joy is none the less because of the fact that it
is winter. There is happiness in the slow unfolding of
things. Mis‑shapen objects begin to assume recognizable
form, the smoke begins to rise from farmhouse kitchen
chimneys and one's fancy flies to hot coffee, buckwheat
cakes, and country sausage. Crows begin to lazily fly and
caw their disrespect of humans, the majority of whom still
must crawl along the surface of the earth even though they
move swiftly at times.
Valparaiso has an educational institution, which is noted
for its surprisingly low tuition and living costs. Of
course, the University was an object of special interest to
us who are always happy to do homage to education. La Porte
came and passed in the panorama and almost before we knew it
we found ourselves climbing the hill toward the glistening
distant buildings of Notre Dame. Someone said something
about "four horsemen" and an instant later we wished Father
Cavanaugh a fond farewell and were on our way treasuring an
indelible impression of the magnificent Catholic
institution
We lunched at Plymouth and in mid-afternoon arrived at
Culver. We circled about among the impressive buildings of
this great military academy on the beautiful lake and an
instant later were on our way to Logansport.
IT was after nightfall when four tired but happy people
glided down the level and lighted streets of Kokomo, and
glad we were to look up the Rotary hotel, register, wash up
and prepare for the splendid dinner served at the Frances.
There was an air of good cheer about that hostelry that did
credit to the judgment of the Kokomo Rotarians, who claim it
as their own.
Tired travelers are entitled to sound sleep. I heard the
town clock strike once or twice and was then off to
dreamland.
"The
enjoyment of nature does not come naturally except
to a few persons. Most have to be trained; all can
increase this enjoyment by taking thought.
Natural
scenery enjoyed is one of life's greatest joys. It
is restful, prevents worry, increases our sense of
beauty and wonder, brings the mind in contact with
things great and fair, opens for us the
‑"spirituality of the visible universe."
At five‑fifteen a sleepy porter gave us a sleepy ring and
after a hasty breakfast we were on our way, creeping
carefully along the hard wet pavement. As day broke we drove
somewhat faster ‑ too fast, some of us thought. How fast I
can not say; but in any event it was certainly exhilarating.
Corn fields, pasture, and woodlands flashed by in swift
succession. Farmhouses, and other buildings showed evidences
of prosperity and even more important, showed that the rural
people are learning how to realize more of life's values.
Old houses had been remodeled to admit more light. Sun
parlors and sleeping‑porches were numerous, and the houses
were frequently so located that they commanded excellent
views up and down the broad, hard‑surfaced highway. I was
reminded, through my sense of contrast, of a lady of my
acquaintance who was raised on a farm located on a dirt road
in the corn belt of Illinois. Her memories of long, shut‑in
winters and muddy spring roads haunt her to this day. No
wonder that there has been an exodus from farms to cities.
However, a better day has come to the country. Hard roads,
telephones, rural delivery and the radio have given rural
life new zest. The back tide has already set in. It is
astonishing how many new homes have already been built along
the hard‑surfaced roads, showing that given suitable living
conditions man loves the moon and stars better than he loves
any lighting system which man has produced. As we sped
swiftly along we soon became conscious of life
characteristic of the environs of big cities; then Broad
Ripple, a suburb of Indianapolis, burst upon our view.
To the commuter species there is no sport so fascinating as
that of comparing other suburbs with one's own, and we made
the best of the opportunity.
Indianapolis is always impressive to the visitor and its
imposing buildings and magnificent Circle registered a
strong impression on the minds of the mixed quartette from
Morgan Park, Illinois.
We paid a brief visit to the Claypool, the Rotary hotel, but
felt that we could not spare the time to visit Butler
College nor to visit the nearby city of Greenfield, where
James Whitcomb Riley was born. Indiana has produced many
stalwart men. Such names as Harrison, Voorhees, Gresham,
Fairbanks, Beveridge and Marshall instantly occur.
More swift‑flying landscapes, then a mile or two along the
base of a bluff and across the river to Martinsville; then
up the hillside and a beautiful panorama unfurled. For miles
as we ascended the long and circuitous road we gazed back
into the valley at the tidy little village we had left
behind; then the course continued down steep hills on the
other side. Distance views were obtainable in all
directions. We had never even thought it possible that there
could be country of such remarkable scenic interest so near
to Chicago and yet so little advertised. Surely the
much‑heralded Berkshire hills have nothing on this wonderful
stretch of Indiana uplands. I do not wonder that Indiana men
of letters have been inspired to write. This stretch of
country is a natural playground for all who love the great
outdoors. The land is not the best for agricultural
purposes, though peach and apple orchards thrive on
hillsides and in valleys. There are vast areas where land
can still be bought for twenty‑five dollars an acre or even
less. To the credit of the State, eight thousand acres in
Brown County have been purchased and dedicated to public
parks.
SOME of the scenery of the State owned lands is wildly
picturesque - a charm faithfully reflected in the paintings
of Theodore C. Steele, an Indiana painter of note. Many of
this artist's splendid landscapes were taken from
State‑owned land in Brown County.
Through the foresight of the Indiana legislators, seven
hundred and fifty acres have been purchased in the area
known as Turkey Run and appropriations have been made for
the purchase of twenty‑five hundred acres of the wonderful
dune lands bordering on the southern shores of Lake
Michigan. Twenty years ago the writer was working to this
very end. The Indiana dunes are located but a scant fifty
miles from Chicago and they constitute a favorite retreat of
thousands of Chicagoans.
Interest was high as we approached Bloomington, the home of
the State University. The University is located on a regal
site. The old buildings give the institution the classic
appearance of the ideal educational institution and new
buildings speak of progress. A great stadium is in process
of construction. We could have spent an enjoyable day in
Bloomington, but time pressed.
At one o'clock we took Thanksgiving dinner at the Greystone
Inn, the Rotary hotel at Bedford. A real good Thanksgiving
dinner it was and we were four very hungry people. Bedford
is the center of the Bedford stone quarries of wide renown.
The Bedford stone is an un-crystallized limestone which,
when first taken from the quarries, can be carved with
utmost ease. It is sometimes used in works of art; its
principal use, however, is in the building trade. It hardens
with exposure to air and seems adapted to all climates. Many
of the largest and finest buildings in the United States are
made of stone taken from the Bedford quarries.
At 2 p. in. we were on our way again over more splendid
roads and through unending and wonderful scenery. The hills
surrounding West Baden and French Lick were soon in sight.
Two hours were all the time we could spare for the, sights
of the two famous watering‑places and we were on the road
again before the curtains of night were pinned back by the
stars.
We arrived at Mitchell at about 7 p. m., but the little
Rotary hotel was already full and at 7:15 we were on our way
over winding roads through darkened hills en-route to
Trinity Springs. We were astonished at the amount of traffic
in these remote and sparsely settled parts. It made it
necessary for our chauffeur to tend strictly to business.
At 9 p. in. we arrived at our destination, but found that
the hotel had been closed.
Well, there was a farmhouse in sight and that night four
weary travelers seated themselves about a farmer's bounteous
board.
To be sure, our rooms were very cold that night, but what's
the use of venturing unless one expects adventure.
In the morning we looked out on snow‑clad hills and prepared
for a steaming country breakfast and in that we were not
disappointed.
Indian Springs and Owensboro were soon passed. At Bloomfield
the land flattened out, thus giving agriculture a better
chance. Small coal mines began to appear. A few miles
westward the Wabash river flows through land beneath which
lies great stores of bituminous coal, and fortunate it is
that it is so. The requirements of Indianapolis for water
for condensation purposes in connection with its public
utilities have nearly exhausted the supply of nearby smaller
rivers and it has been necessary to extend high tension
lines half‑way across the State to the waters of the Wabash
‑ that same old Wabash made famous in song. There is found
the happy combination of coal and water necessary for the
generation of electrical energy.
At 11 a. m. we arrived in Coal City, where we visited
Silvester Schiele's uncle and several cousins, nephews, and
nieces. At 12 a. m. we arrived in Clay City, a mile or two
from where Silvester first saw the light of day.
At one o'clock we sat down to a wonderful home dinner at the
home of Reuben Schiele, a brother of the first president of
the first Rotary Club.
Brazil was the next stop‑and there we visited more cousins
and more nephews and nieces.
At 4 p. m. we were en-route to Greencastle, where we drove
through the grounds of De Pauw University, the Alma Mater of
Senator Beveridge as well as other men who have made great
contributions to various fields of endeavor.
As dark settled down we drove away over good hard roads
northward.
THEN for fifteen miles we pointed direct for the West; down
and ever down we seemed to go. At seven o'clock we pulled
into Rockville, where we had dinner and resumed our way to
the State Park at Turkey Run.
The lands here located are well cared for and will be
preserved for the benefit of generations yet to come. The
center of attraction is the gorge through which Sugar Creek
winds and turns. In days of old this wild spot was the
refuge of thousands of wild turkeys. The refuge was well
chosen and the only fly in the ointment, viewing the matter
from the turkey viewpoint, was the fact that the tryst was
known to the Indians of nearby tribes. The red men had a
weakness for turkeys and creeping stealthily down the gorge
would drive the bewildered and frightened turkeys into the
recesses or runs of the gorge and proceed to help
themselves; hence the name Turkey Run.
We found the big State‑owned hotel full of students from
Butler College. They were enjoying a week‑end of dancing and
outdoor sports. The best we could get were beds in the
servants' quarters, but what more could be desired.
Remember, we were tired and could have slept on stone. We
sat for an hour before the mammoth fireplace wherein huge,
fat logs snapped and sizzled while we interested ourselves
in the fun and pranks of the students; then we slipped away
to bed. I either heard or dreamed that I heard a chorus of
young voices singing student songs, but they were far, oh,
so far away.
Saturday morning we breakfasted sumptuously and drove
through delightful farming country to Crawfordsville, where
we had two prospective points of interest, Wabash College
and the home of General Lew Wallace.
We found Wabash the fine dignified little institution we had
imagined it. What a blessing these smaller educational
institutions are to a great country, ready as they are to
expand as necessity requires. Many of the so-called small
colleges of today have more students than the major
universities of twenty years ago. Lew Wallace was a graduate
of Wabash.
The point of keenest interest in Crawfordsville is, of
course, the home of the author of Ben Hur and of The Fair
God; the home of the man who gave birth to the school of
literature which has made Indiana the pride of modern
America.
Behind high brick walls which shut out the confusion of
sounds from a neighboring railroad, and street traffic, is
the miniature park in which still stands the mosque-like
structure in which the famous author did his work. Visitors
are permitted to see original manuscripts, paintings, and
other artistic achievements of this truly great and
versatile man. The custodian exhibits the relies with pride
and relates delightful personal reminiscences of Wallace the
student, lawyer, soldier, author.
We left the fine old classic Crawfordsville with deep
regret, and were soon on our way to Lafayette, the seat of
Purdue University, splendid institution of learning.
Whatever Purdue may lack in atmosphere, it makes up in the
excellence of its educational facilities. It gives one the
impression of being a great University in the making. Notre
Dame and Purdue both impress one as modern in every respect.
Purdue is also a State university, specializing in
engineering and agriculture, while the institution at
Bloomington is devoted chiefly to arts, sciences and
literature.
Saturday afternoon we sped along past the George Ade farm.
Real cold weather had settled in. It was two hours after
sundown before we arrived in the famous Baptist suburb of
the Celestial, though windy, city which we call home.
During long winter evenings as we toast our feet by the
fireside our thoughts will frequently steal away to the
fleeting hours of our Indiana journey; yes, we shall live
them again many times in memory.
Of course, the, vital questions in the minds of all thinking
men are: Are we going forward or backward? Is this world of
ours to be, in the days to come, a better place to live in
than it has been in the past? Is civilization justifying
itself?
Our four‑day journey of eight hundred and thirty‑six miles
in Indiana has left me quite as much an optimist as ever. I
have an idea that we are just rounding the corner, just
coming into something well worth while.
THIS a day of wonderful advancement in facilities of
transportation. There seems to be no limit as to the ability
of mankind to make use of every new means of transporting
goods and people. Our needs of transportation are ten times
as great as were the needs of our forefathers.
Increase of transportational facilities should make for
increase of happiness. Of all God's creatures, that one
possessed of the best transportational facilities ‑ the bird
‑ is most given to song.
The automobile and other even more startling inventions give
man mobility comparable with the bird. City workers may
maintain their homes far away on the countryside. The
suburbs of our great cities are being pushed farther and,
farther out and the new suburbs are not of a hit‑or‑miss
character; they are being carefully planned by skilled
landscape gardeners and houses are built with beauty as
well‑as utility in mind.
The urban and suburban district of Chicago extends along the
shores of Lake Michigan for nearly one hundred miles. The
most remote districts are already planning landing places
for aerial commuters. The Des Plaines and the Fox river
districts are already included in the Chicago suburban area
and the Illinois and the Rock River and parts of the
Mississippi will be included as aerial transportation
advances; nor is the enjoyment of the outdoor privileges
confined to the rich alone. In addition to the regular park
system within the city limits, nearly thirty thousand acres
of woodlands have been purchased and developed in Cook and
adjoining counties for the benefit of those who can not
afford the luxury of country homes.
I can not find a better closing of this hasty article than a
quotation from a piece of literature published by the
Commission of Indiana State Parks:
"The enjoyment of nature does not come naturally except to a
few persons. Most have to be trained; all can increase this
enjoyment by taking thought.
Natural scenery enjoyed is one of life's greatest joys. It
is restful, prevents worry, increases our sense of beauty
and wonder, brings the mind in contact with things great and
fair, opens for us the ‑"spirituality of the visible
universe."
