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My
Friend ‘Chape’
A
look back on the life of a quiet man who left
Rotary and his world richer than he found them.
By
Paul P. Harris
Founder and President Emeritus, Rotary International
"A
STRANGE, whimsical man" might have been a proper sum‑up of the
character of
Rufe Chapin in the minds of Rotarians in attendance at
Conventions during the last score of years.
Bring back to memory a picture. The Convention hall is packed
with thousands of excited delegates from all parts of the United
States and many other lands. The chair announces that nomination
for Treasurer for the ensuing year are in order. A man rises
from the center of the hall and says: "I would like to make a
nomination."
"Very well," the chairman answers. "Mr. Rufus Chapin, of
Chicago, has a nomination to make. Come to the platform, Rufe."
The man arises, marches down the center aisle and up the
stairway, makes his appearance before the microphone, draws an
impressive manuscript from his pocket, clears his throat, and
announces in stentorian tones: "I nominate Rufus Fisher Chapin,
of Chicago, as Treasurer of Rotary International for the coming
year." He then folds his manuscript and stomps noisily back to
his seat amid salvos of applause and roars of laughter.
Old‑timers shout, "There's old Rule at his perennial trick."
Needless to say, Rufus Fisher Chapin was invariably elected as
Treasurer of Rotary International by an overwhelming majority.
To have elected anyone else would have been unthinkable. The job
had been nailed on Rufus back a long generation ago. So, after
having enjoyed the brief break, the Convention settles down to
business again.
Rufe Chapin has gone from us and
thousands of Rotarians mourn his loss.
Yes, Rufe was a strange man, never quite fully understood. I
have known him intimately for 40 years and yet to his very last
day he was disclosing new qualities of mind to me. He was not
always puckish, not always eccentric. In the face of joy, in the
face of sorrow, he was always unruffled. His amazing philosophy
of life rendered him immune from pain. Sometimes I think that
Rufe was the most unforgettable character I have ever known. He
was a combination of bank official, Rotarian, and Will Rogers,
and as son of a widowed mother he arose supreme. No, Rufe was
not always clowning. Clowning was a recreation of his, and he
gave multitudes of worn and weary folks hearty and refreshing
laughs. But does clowning go with banking? Yes, if you don't try
to do both things at the same time.
In
the Spring of 1905, and within five months from the first
meeting of the first Club, Chape became a Rotarian. We became
fast friends at once, though our ideas of Rotary differed
widely. Chape was a member of a social organization known as the
Cipher Club, the membership of which was composed of folks of
cultural aims who on Saturday nights enjoyed the companionship
of their kind in Bohemian relaxation. Chape and his mother were
constant attendants. All members had the right to make speeches,
sing songs, or dance jigs at meetings of the Cipher Club. To do
the unexpected was especially good form. Chape's stunt of
nominating himself for Treasurer of Rotary International would
have been considered quite Cipheresque. The members of the
Cipher Club would have been proud of him had they been present.
The meetings frequently extended into the wee hours of the
morning and then the members adjourned, not to their homes, but
to some all‑night restaurant where festivities frequently
continued until 4 o'clock in the morning. Mother Chapin at 80
years of age was the most youthful of them all. She attended all
Rotary International Conventions during the latter years of her
life and invariably led the grand march on the night of the
ball.
Mother Chapin was born, raised, and married in New England. She
and her husband moved to a farm in Wisconsin, where they lived
for some years - years which Mother Chapin always referred to as
the most lonesome and wretched years of her life. She was ill
prepared for her duties as a farmer's wife and she longed for
the excitement of the city.
SO
EVENTUALLY the Chapins moved to Chicago, where Rufus and two
daughters were born. The oldest daughter became Mrs. Stewart
Spalding, world traveller and leader of Chicago's social set.
Mother Chapin's antipathy to rural life fastened itself on her
son. Rufus was as uncomfortable as a fish out of water when
business affairs took him beyond the City limits.
Rufus gained the friendship of the son of a banker who lived
next door to the Chapins. The banker's name was Rawson and he
was president of the Union Trust Company of Chicago. His son's
name was Freddie. The father took a liking to Rufus and, while
the latter was still in his knickerbockers, gave him employment
in the big bank of which he was the head. Freddie also was taken
into the bank and in course of time became its president.
Chape never left the Union Trust Company, and eventually became
its vice‑president, which position he held until the Union Trust
Company was absorbed by the First National Bank, in which
institution he continued in his office of vice‑president. The
friendship between Fred Rawson and Chape begun in childhood
continued until the death of the former. Chape had many friends
- in fact, everyone loved him but none of his friendships
absorbed as much of his life as that of his little playmate who
lived next door.
TO
ROTARIANS the most remarkable quality which manifested itself
was his devotion to his mother. He never had any other girl
friend and he was her slave. If she happened to want a beef
steak at midnight, which she not infrequently did, he quickly
got into his street clothes and they were off downtown. There
was once a rumor of his affections having been engaged by a fair
lady of his own age, but that did not last long.
When Mother Chapin passed away, everyone thought that Chape
would buckle up completely, but he engaged a housekeeper and
continued in his apartment as usual.
Ten years ago Chape was stricken with a painful spinal malady
which continued until his death. For all these years, he was
practically confined to his house. He employed specialists from
all parts of the United States, but none was able to relieve
him. Often he sat unclothed except for the trousers of his
pajamas because he could not bear to have his clothes touch his
back. On the rare occasions when he went out, he wore a metal
harness which kept his shirt from touching his hack. He had that
harness on, friends in Rotary, when you heard him nominate
himself for Treasurer.
Bereft of the companionship of his mother, cut off from business
and business associates, unable to attend Rotary Club meetings,
no friends near at hand, and living in an apartment in an
overgrown city among strangers, and suffering from constant
pain, what was this man to do? If courage, resourcefulness, and
determination were ever called for, it was on this occasion.
Chape had what it took.
Realizing that his only salvation was to keep his mind busy,
Chape planned his campaign. Every hour of the day and many hours
of the night must be productive. There had been many things he
had wanted to do, but had never had sufficient time; he would do
them now, He devised a Utilitarian Calendar and a Fonetik
Alfabet, and designed nonfriction superhighways and traffic
standards. While he never studied architecture or engineering,
he created, designed, and drew to scale the most elaborate plan
for helping Chicago fulfill its destiny. His perfectly
coordinated scheme included a central loop railroad terminal,
docks for ocean steamers, a gigantic airport on, the lake front,
high‑speed boulevards running to all parts of the city, and a
thousand and one other details. Chape never had been so busy as
when leisure forced itself upon him. He told me that the days
were never long enough to suit him. Morning, noon, and night,
year in and out, Chape worked at his self‑appointed tasks.
He
forgot about his pain. He said that he was more or less
conscious of its presence, but he declared himself too busy to
do it justice. He thought that he would miss it if it left him
entirely.
During the course of an address I was making before the Chicago
Rotary Club, I spoke of the brave fight he was making against an
affliction that would have broken most men. He rebuked me,
saying: "You speak of my affliction, Paul. I am not suffering an
affliction. I am going through the greatest experience of my
life. I would hate to have missed it."
THESE words are not intended as an argument in favor of night
life as a character builder. Even greater wonders might have
been revealed to us if the Chapin family had remained on their
Wisconsin farm, though I cannot imagine what they could have
been, but there is no gainsaying the fact that Chape learned
early in life how to serve. His love of his mother lured him
into paths of service and taught him to be gentle, considerate,
and self‑sacrificing. Equipped with such virtues there is no
limit to what might be done.
Stripped of everything in life which he had held most dear, he
created from the ground up a new life of service in the interest
of all men. In so doing he arose above his physical suffering. A
wholesome philosophy of life is more valuable than vast empires
of material possessions. May your rest be peaceful, old friend.
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