Our Friend Mark Twain by Helen Nickerson Upson

Excerpts from-
"Our Friend Mark Twain" by Helen Nickerson Upson
The Redding Times, June 2, 1960

Background-

During the Civil War- John N. Nickerson, later known as Judge John N. Nickerson of Redding, served as a Private in New York's 56th Regiment. While in action, he was very seriously wounded and visited by a young Army Chaplain named Joseph H. Twichell. Nickerson survived, received a Medal of Honor and in the process formed an enduring friendship with Twichell.

Later in life, While serving as a State Legislative Representative (1885), Nickerson, through his friendship with Twichell, met informally with many of the "Hartford Wits" including Samuel L. Clemens and Charles Dudley Warner.

Narrative of Helen N. Upson-

Frequently Dad passed an evening playing billiards with Mark Twain in his Hartford home, and the Rev. Twitchell and Mr. Warner were often guests at our home in Redding.

I recall very well when I was a small girl that Mr. Warner lifted me on his knee and said, much to my delight: "Helen you are a girl after my own heart- brim full of spunk, fire and go. No grass will ever grown under your feet."

Twain Comes to Dinner

Only once was Mark Twain a dinner guest at our house and then he was accompanied by Mr. Warner and Albert Bigelow Paine. He was so impressed by Redding's beautiful hills and rolling landscape that eventually he wanted to build a house here.

{BMC: I do recall a letter by Isabel to an Angelfish that notes Paine and Clemens are headed to Redding well before he arrived here officially. There is no follow up on the trip and it did prompt me to note the entry for further research. The trip may have been the dinner date Helen writes of...makes sense, why would you not want to view this type of investment? Given the history of poor investments he had made, it would seem probable he would at least want to see Redding before purchasing land here.}

One day after answering a telephone call my father seemed happily excited. Nobody knew why and he didn't talk about it. It seems the call was from Mr. Paine who wanted Dad to drive around with him to look over a few building sites. Twain had asked for a site on higher ground, with an expansive view and neighbors- not so near.

Dad went and the site of "Stormfield" was selected, deeds and other business were taken care of and construction was started and proceeded secretly. No one knew for whom "Stormfield" was being built.

There was much curiousity and gossip in Redding about the mysterious structure rising in the pasture on Diamond Hill. It was so much larger than the average Redding home that a rash of guesses went all the way from a select school for girls to an infirmary for incurables.

Mark Twain's orders were that no one was to know that he was to own the place nor that he was to live there. He did not want to see the place until is was entirely finished, furnished, and complete with a kitten purring on the hearth.

His wishes were carried out to the letter and he seemed delighted with his new home in its quiet, restful setting.

The House is Named

However, soon after his arrival, a thunder storm of such violence came up that Mr. Clemens said it sounded as if its force was being created over his head which gave rise to the name "Stormfield"

{BMC: One of many theories on the re-naming of the house. This is not too far fetched. In the summer of 1999, I was caught completely off guard by a freak, late afternoon thunderstorm. It came out of nowhere while I was mountain biking in the Stormfield trail system. It was a thunder and lighting show like to no other I've encounter before or since, further enhanced by the fact that I was wearing steel toe-clips! I've encountered similar storms while visiting Susan Durkee at the Lobster Pot. So, it is a fact that... for one reason or another Storms do hit hard on that ridge.}

My father so successfully engineered...Mark Twain's purchases of real estate in Redding that during the rest of his life Dad took care of his personal legal business and affairs.

{BMC: She must mean legal business and affairs in Redding.}

At the time I assisted my father with his office work and also did all his driving for him, so I spent much time at "Stormfield." Frequently Dad and I had the priviledge of listening to Mr. Clemens' masterful organ playing on his fine instrument placed on the landing midway between the floors in the large hall at Stormfield.

It was indeed a treat to listen to the white haired Clemens accompany his daughter, Clara, who was a concert soloist. His heart was in it and I really think that this was his favorite pastime. Had Mark Twain not been a great humorist he certainly would have been a famous organist.

Careless with Copy

Mr. Clemens was a most informal, but geniune personality. He detested insincerity and over stressed formality was distasteful to him. He preferred to receive his guests or associates while he was propped up in bed. Here one usually found him busy with his writing or reading. As he wrote long-hand, a sheet finished was a sheet discarded. It might be manuscript or waste paper. To him that was a minor detail.

Once finished, a sheet of paper was indifferently cast aside. It might nestle in the bed clothes or slide on to the floor. Family and attendants were instructed never to disturb ANY papers in that room except Mr. Albert Bigelow Paine. We have him to thank for his painstaking daily care of every scrap of Mark Twain's paper as he carefully scanned each piece arranging and organizing usable material in proper sequence so that the literature for which Mr. Clemens was famous would be published in proper form.

With all his splendid qualities Mark Twain was the victim of two besetting sins. Reports of great conflagrations or of people burnt to a crisp could not stop him from smoking in bed. Also he was so obliging that if anyone asked for his signature on a paper or document, without a second look, he would sign and for him, at least, the transaction was finished.

Mr. Paine had repeatedly rebuked him for such readiness with his pen and over and over again Dad had warned him that if he continued so indifferently to this practice that sooner or later he would find himself in very serious trouble. Someway their warnings went unheeded and slipped away like water off a duck's back.


Signed the Wrong Letter

Early one morning the phone beside Dad's (Judge John N. Nickerson of Redding) bed rang persistantly. He answered. It was Mr. Clemens - distress plainly registered by his voice, "Jack, can you come to me at once? I am in trouble - very serious trouble."

"What under heavens is the matter now?" my father asked.

"I'll tell you when you get here, can you come now?" the humorist answered.

Dad called me to hurry through my breakfast, harness my horse and be ready to drive to Stormfield in half an hour. When we arrived Mr. Clemens was angrier than we had ever seen him and his daughters Clara and Jean were very much disturbed.

"Now, Sam, what on earth has happened that you are so excited and upset?" asked Dad. The great humorist replied with something far removed from humor,

"Well, Jack, just as you predicted, I have been a damned fool, and as a result I am in the deal of a fix. A trusted friend of mine who has recently married a 'man of experience' brought me a document to sign without in any way explaining it- and I was foolish enough to require no explanation."

"At the moment I was concentrating on the writing of a script and, as was my custom, took the paper and quickly signed as she directed without reading it and I supposed the matter was dismissed, but this morning, to my horror, I discover that I have signed over to a trusted friend ABSOLUTE Power of Attorney over everything that I possess and I cannot spend so much as a nickel! without her O.K. Could any man have been a bigger damned fool??"

Eventually she consented to withdraw if a certain [piece] of Mr. Clemens treasured real estate (and he owned property in several states) could be turned over to her. As Mr. Clemens was convinced this was the only way out he acceded. Dad took care of the transaction and the case was closed.

One day after the case was settled, Dad was seated beside Mr. Clemens' bed talking to him when the humorist reached over to a table and picked up a copy of Innocents Abroad. I saw his eyes twinkle as he opened the book and wrote something inside the front cover, then he passed the book to my father. Dad grinned as he read the handwriting, then passed the book to me. This is what he wrote:

"The sane man readeth first but the ass signeth without looking. Truly yours, Mark Twain"

Below this he added:

"To John N. Nickerson with the compliments of the Author."

This book today is among my (Helen's) treasures.


Bermuda- Last Trip Abroad

Mark Twain as we knew him was thoroughly American and always revealed the deepest respect for all things worthy of reverence, and would hit hard at anything which seemed to him to be hateful or mean. As a humorist, in my opinion, none greater ever lived. For this quality he was best known and loved. It is doubtful if any one in this century has made more people laugh than Mark Twain has done, and yet the laughter he has aroused has been clean, wholesome, and self respecting. However, he harbored a scorching and bitter hatred for frauds, hypocrites, and pretenders and often he seared them with his wit. As a man he was always sincere and straight-forward.

It was during Mr. Clemens' last summer while he was resting at his home in Bermuda that he sent for Dad to go to him on important business and suggested that I accompany him for the pleasure of the trip. It was my good fortune to go with my father on this errand. Mr. Clemens was do delighted to have us both accept the invitation- that in honor of my visit he arranged an afternoon tea with young women my own age as guests. He said that he doubted very much if my father would enjoy a hen party presided over by an old, strutting cock, so he sent Dad off fishing with a couple of friends.

It was a memorable occasion. Although the great humorist was not well, seated there among us in his easy chair he made a distinguished appearance. We all were delighted with his conversation which was simple yet verbose. Although his humor was gay and laugh provoking, there was a seriousness about the man which probably was due to his age and the imprint of the grief he had endured.

For further entertainment I rode around in Mr. Clemens' little two wheeled Park Wagon pulled by a pretty little donkey; also I rode a number of miles on his daughter's bicycle. Among other things I saw a large field of Easter lilies (Bermuda lilies) in gorgeous full bloom. They made such an impression that when I returned to Redding I threw away a pathetically sad looking, spindly Easter lily that I had been coaxing to bloom for three years.

Death Comes to Stormfield

Having already lost his devoted wife and talented daughter, Susie, before coming to Redding, Mark Twain received a crushing blow when his devoted daughter, Jean, in the midst of Christmas celebration in 1909, died very suddenly. Dad went to him at once. Albert Bigelow Paine was already there and Clara and her husband were returning from Europe. The great humorist could not be comforted. From then on he failed rapidly and on April 21, 1910, when Spring was dawning over the Redding hills, our beloved humorist breathed his last breath in the home he had learned to love- Stormfield.

Mark Twain's Only Grandchild

If you are not a member of the Mark Twain Forum, I would highly recommend you sign-up today: http://www.twainweb.net/

The Mark Twain Forum is an e-mail list that includes all the World's top scholars and enthusiasts. Last week a true gem arrived from R. Kent Rasmussen. Mr. Rasmussen is an author of six book on Twain and is considered an authority in Mark Twain studies.

"A moment ago, I noticed that today's date is August 18 and recalled its significance in Clemens family history. As much was made of last year's centennial of Mark Twain's death, it may be worth mentioning that today is both the 115th anniversary of Susy Clemens death and the 101st anniversary of Mark Twain's only grandchild, Nina Gabrilowitsch's birth.

It's hard not to wonder what Mark Twain would have made of that coincidence."

He went on to wonder out loud where in the house Nina was born, noting that it was doubtful that Clara would use the same bed that her father had died in just months before.

That question was answered by Kevin Mac Donnell, a Twain collector and top-tier authority on both Mark Twain's works and his life.

"I have Nina's original birth certificate and it doesn't say. Clara's music room was over the loggia, but her bedroom was near the top of the stairs. It was roomy with a terrific view of the backyard, pergola, and Redding, and had it's own big bathroom, so I suspect that's where Nina made her debut. The bedroom, not the bathroom. I have a batch of letters from Clara from just before and after Nina's birth and no clues there either."

So, my mission for next August 18th is to have more information on where Nina Gabrilowitsch's birth took place at Stormfield.




A Photo shopped image I created to show Sam and Nina, side-by-side.

Mark Twain Through the Eyes of an "Angelfish"

In the years since the death, in 1910, of Samuel Langhorne Clemens, whom we all knew and loved as Mark Twain, many people have asked me, "You actually knew him, didn't you?" What do you remember best about him?"

Yes, our family had the wonderful privilege of knowing him because father, Albert Bigelow Paine, was his biographer and was closely associated with him for many years. After Mr. Clemens moved to Redding, we frequently stayed at his hilltop home, Stormfield. On his afternoon drives- the old Redding Glen was one of his favorites- he often invited my sisters or myself to accompany him. He liked the companionship of young people and was especially understanding with little girls. Perhaps they reminded him of his own three daughters, whose long-ago games and make-believe he had shared and helped to invent.

What do I remember of those years? A good many things, but two of the highlights are the Sunday morning he took me for a stroll and a bus ride on Fifth Aveneue, and the afternoon in June 1908, when he came to Redding for the first time, and I was fortunate enough to be in the small group that traveled with him.

To make these events more understandable, it might be well to give a brief picture of the background which made them possible.

In 1906 my father was busy with the extensive preliminary work, preceding the writing of Mark Twain's biography. His subject was co-operating with enthusiasm.

Mr. Clemens was then living in an impressive corner house at 21 Fifth Avenue. It was luxurious and lonely. His wife had died and his two surviving daughters were elsewhere. Father found himself being encouraged to spend more and more time in the big house.

Mornings, accompanied by a stenographer, he would arrive for the daily interviewing, ready to encourage with questions, if need be, and alert for the fascinating stream of reminiscences, or philosophy, or occassional violent outbursts over burning subjects that followed.

Father said of these mornings: "He was in bed when we arrived, and he remained there during almost all of these earlier dictations, clad in a handsome silk dressing gown of rich Persian pattern, propped against great snowy pillows. He loved this loose luxury and ease and found it conducive to thought. On the little table beside him, where he lay his cigars, papers, pipes, and various knick knacks, shone a reading lamp, making more brilliant the coloring of his complexion and the gleam of his shining hair."

After these richly productive mornings, father often spent the afternoons working in the study adjoining Mr. Clemens' bedroom. At least that was the procedure until the Christmas when a handsome billiard table proved to be a history-making gift. From then on no day was complete without a spirited session around the great green table. Often the play would last for hours and then be resumed again in the evening. For all Mr. Clemens had passed his 70th birthday, he seemed tireless when engaged in his favorite game, and would twit my father- who was still in his 40's- when he seemed to falter. As their official relationship rippened into friendship, that friendship was extended to the rest of our family.

The first time I saw this extraordinary man was at dinner in his home in New York in 1906. Under my father's guidance I had made the delighted acquiantance of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and the Connecticut Yankee. The worldwide fame of the author had been explained to me. Now, he had become a friend of the family, and during my stay in New York at Thanksgiving time, on vacation from boarding school, we were all to have dinner with him!!

He was a charming host. He looked just like the pictures and he was as gracious to us three little girls as to my mother and father. Moreover, there was a dinner to delight children, topped off with a fairy-like mousse, piled high in a crystal bowl and accompanied by a sauce of big, red strawberries. Had he remembered that, at our age, dessert was at least as impressive as fame?

After dinner, he played the orchestrelle, the first time I had ever heard the full, warm tones of an organ except for church music. Years afterward this orchestrelle was presented to us and we added a special room for it to our Redding house. I used to run it by the hour, playing over and over again the selections that Mark Twain had preferred.

I believe it was the next spring that I was invited to return for the weekend, to be spent under the kindly supervision of Mr. Clemens' housekeeper and his secretary. What a story-book experience for a little girl! On Saturday we had a box for the Weber and Fields matinee, and I loved every minute of it, although once I was conscious of whispering concern behind me as to whether some of the humor was a trifle "adult" for my ears. But, like most children, I was blissfully unconscious of any lurking innundoes, and thought the whole show enchanting.

Sunday my breakfast was brought to me on a tray by a uniformed maid. I knew then that I was "living like a princess," even though this was long before the movies had familiarized every schoolgirl with the details of luxury living.

Then Sunday morning, came the memorable walk and bus ride. In those days the upper decks of Fifth Avenue buses were uncovered so that passengers could bask in the sun as they rode. Mr. Clemens enjoyed this and on a bright, mild Sunday he liked to ride from his home on lower Fifth Avenue up toward Central Park, and watch the gay crowds, returning from church or on the way to luncheon.

Hatless, with his dramatic white hair and his famous white flannel suit, he was a unique figure. As we rode, people turned to look up at him and point him out. Afterwards, when we walked a few blocks, more than one person came up and spoke a brief word to him about the joy some particular book had given him. In the St. Regis, where we paused to leave a message, one bell boy was quite overcome. Eagerly, he started "You are Mark Twain, aren't you?" and then, on being reassured could hardly continue his sentence of appreciation. Mr. Clemens encouraged him gently and I don't suppose that young man ever forgot the encounter.

Before I returned to school he gave me his photograph, inscribed with my name and "with love from Mark Twain."

He had a little group of schoolgirl friends whom he called his "Angel Fish." Each one of us was given a small enamel angel fish pin from Bermuda, and each was assigned one of the charming collection of fish pictures which used to hang on the walls of his billiard room. He inscribed each name carefully on the picture. Collectively, we were referred to by him as "Members of the Aquarium." One of the obligations of the membership was to write regularly to the "Curator of the Aquarium." His replies were prompt, and in longhand. One of these cherished letters to me begins with a well-deserved reproof. Here it is:

Dear Louise,

I don't expect this to reach you, for your habit is to violate the first law of correspondence, which is, repeat your address in every letter.

Tammany is dead. I am very sorry. She was the most beautiful cat on this western bulge of the globe, and perhaps the most gifted. She leaves behind her, inconsolable, two children by her first marriage-Billiards and Babylon; and three grandchildren by her second-Amanda, Annanci, and Sindbad. She met her death by violence, at the hands of a dog. She was found dead in the early dawn, under my windows, whither she had apparently dragged herself from a predacious excursion, for she had with her a field mouse that had suffered death by murder.

She was buried by Miss Lyon with the honors due her official rank- for by appointment she was Mascot to the Aquarium, and brought it good luck as long as she lived. She took great interest in the M.A.'s and went to the billiard room every day to look at their pictures.

As a token of respect and regret, it is requested that each M.A. wear black head ribbons during one hour on the 30th of this month- Tammany's birthday.

Lovingly, S.L.C.

At this time our family home was in Redding, in a simple old saltbox house at the foot of Diamond Hill Road. Father's enthusiasm for this unspoiled bit of country communicated itself to Mr. Clemens. He decided to buy some nearby property. He did not plan to build immediately, if at all, but perhaps he was wearier of the city life than he realized for it was not long before he began to dream of a home on the hilltop he had never seen.

It was is daughter Clara who first saw the property, liked it, and selected the location for the house.

Of the building of Mark Twain's Redding home, father says, in the Biography: "Innocence at Home" as the place was originally named, was to be ready for its occupant in June, with every detail in place, as he desired. He had never visited Redding; he had scarcely even glanced at the plans or discussed any of the decorations of the new home. He had required only that there should be one great living room for the orchestrelle, and another big room for the billiard table, with plenty of accommodations for guests. He had required that the billiard room be red, for something in his nature answered to the warm luxury of that color, particularly in moments of diversion...His one other requirement was that the place should be complete. "I don't want to see it, until the cat is purring on the hearth." He wanted the dramatic surprise of walking into a home that had been conjured into existence as with a word."

And that is exactly how it was. On the 18th of June, 1908, at about four in the afternoon he left New York City by an express train that was to make its first stop in Redding that day. With him were my father, a reporter or two, a photographer and that most fortunate little girl, myself, whose boarding school closed that day so that I, too, was homeward bound to Redding.

It was exciting to be going with Mr. Clemens when he was about to get his first glimpse of his new house. Moreover, he generously provided me with a large box of candy to enjoy on the way, although when we were about to leave the train, he suggested that we leave it behind, "because the porters sometimes like candy, and we can get some more."

Waiting for us at the Redding station was a proud array of carriages, flower trimmed, and filled with smiling people who waved warmly. I knew I would never forget it. Mr. Clemens waved in return, then stepped into his own carriage and drove toward the beautiful house that was t be his last home.

What a lovely place he made of it, and how we used to enjoy visiting him there. We lived nearby so my sisters and I could walk there easily, but other "Members of the Aquarium" came with there parents or governesses to stay for the week-ends or longer, and he taight us all to play Hearts and, with infinite patience, to manage billiard cues. He never made us feel that he was elderly man whose good manners included being kind to children. On the contrary, he seemed to be having such a genuinely good time himself that age differences were forgotten. Another question I am asked is "Was he always joking?" No. His tender, pervasive humor was far removed from ordinary joking. For me, it is summed up with his lovability and his philosophy- in the inscription he wrote in my autograph book: "Dear Louise: Consider well the proportion of things: it is better to be a young June-bug than an old bird of paradise. Affectionately yours, Mark Twain."

Mark Twain's Final Day (101st Anniversary Today)

Composite photo of Clemens' birthplace at Florida, MO. (1835),
Stormfield, his home in Redding, CT. (where he died in 1910) and
Halley's comet by Dave Thomson

Redding, Connecticut April 21. - Samuel Langhorne Clemens, "Mark Twain," died at 22 minutes after 6 tonight. Beside him on the bed lay a beloved book - it was Carlyle's "French Revolution" - and near the book his glasses, pushed away with a weary sigh a few hours before. Too weak to speak clearly, "Give me my glasses," he had written on a piece of paper. He had received them, put them down, and sunk into unconsciousness from which he glided almost imperceptibly into death. He was in his seventy-fifth year.

For some time his daughter Clara and her husband, Ossip Gabrilowitsch, and the humorists' biographer, Albert Bigelow Paine, had been by the bed waiting for the end which Drs. Quintard and Halsey had seen to be a matter of minutes. The patient felt absolutely no pain at the end and the moment of his death was scarcely noticeable.

Death came, however, while his favorite niece, Mrs. E. E. Loomis, and her husband, who is Vice President of the Delaware, Lackawanna & Western Railway, and a nephew, Jervis Langdon, were on the way to the railroad station. They had left the house much encouraged by the fact that the sick man had recognized them, and took a train for New York ignorant of what happened later.

Hopes Aroused Yesterday.

Although the end had been foreseen by the doctors and would not have been a shock at any time, the apparently strong rally of this morning had given basis for the hope that it would be postponed for several days. Mr. Clemens awoke at about 4 o'clock this morning after a few hours of the first natural sleep he had had for several days, and the nurses could see by the brightness of his eyes that his vitality had been considerably restored. He was able to raise his arms above his head and clasp them behind his neck with the first evidence of physical comfort he had given for a long time.

His strength seemed to increase enough to allow him to enjoy the sunrise, the first signs of which he could see out of the windows in the three sides of the room where he lay. The increasing sunlight seemed to bring ease to him, and by the time the family were about he was strong enough to sit up in bed and overjoyed them by recognizing all of them and speaking a few words to each. This was the first time that his mental powers had been fully his for nearly two days, with the exception of a few minutes early last evening, when he addressed a few sentences to his daughter.


Calls for His Book.

For two hours he lay in bed enjoying the feeling of this return of strength. Then he made a movement and asked in a faint voice for the copy of Carlyle's "French Revolution," which he has always had near him for the last year, and which he has read and re-read and brooded over.

The book was handed to him, and he lifted it up as if to read. Then a smile faintly illuminated his face when he realized that he was trying to read without his glasses. He tried to say, "Give me my glasses," but his voice failed, and the nurses bending over him could not understand. He motioned for a sheet of paper and a pencil, and wrote what he could not say.

With his glasses on he read a little and then slowly put the book down with a sigh. Soon he appeared to become drowsy and settled on his pillow. Gradually he sank and settled into a lethargy. Dr. Halsey appreciated that he could have been roused, but considered it better for him to rest. At 3 o'clock he went into complete unconsciousness.

Later Dr. Quintard, who had arrived from New York, held a consultation with Dr. Halsey, and it was decided that death was near. The family was called and gathered about the bedside watching in a silence which was long unbroken. It was the end. At twenty-two minutes past 6, with the sunlight just turning red as it stole into the window, in perfect silence he breathed his last.

Barbara Schmidt's Mark Twain web site is the perfect place to visit for the Centennial. It includes many newspaper articles by Mark Twain and about Mark Twain but that's not all! It also has an amazing amount of background information on his life and works.

For Mark Twain Quotes all day long follow http://www.twitter.com/TwainToday

The Last Day at Stormfield
By Bliss Carman, Collier's Weekly

At Redding, Connecticut,
The April sunrise pours
Over the hardwood ridges
Softening and greening now
In the first magic of Spring.

The wild cherry-trees are in bloom,
The bloodroot is white underfoot,
The serene early light flows on,
Touching with glory the world,
And flooding the large upper room
Where a sick man sleeps.
Slowly he opens his eyes,
After long weariness, smiles,
And stretches arms overhead,
While those about him take heart.

With his awakening strength,
(Morning and spring in the air,
The strong clean scents of earth,
The call of the golden shaft,
Ringing across the hills)
He takes up his heartening book,
Opens the volume and reads,
A page of old rugged Carlyle,
The dour philosopher
Who looked askance upon life,
Lurid, ironical, grim,
Yet sound at the core.
But weariness returns;
He lays the book aside
With his glasses upon the bed,
And gladly sleeps. Sleep,
Blessed abundant sleep,
Is all that he needs.

And when the close of day
Reddens upon the hills
And washes the room with rose,
In the twilight hush
The Summoner comes to him
Ever so gently, unseen,
Touches him on the shoulder;
And with the departing sun
Our great funning friend is gone.

How he has made us laugh!
A whole generation of men
Smiled in the joy of his wit.
But who knows whether he was not
Like those deep jesters of old
Who dwelt at the courts of Kings,
Arthur's, Pendragon's, Lear's,
Plying the wise fool's trade,
Making men merry at will,
Hiding their deeper thoughts
Under a motley array,--
Keen-eyed, serious men,
Watching the sorry world,
The gaudy pageant of life,
With pity and wisdom and love?

Fearless, extravagant, wild,
His caustic merciless mirth
Was leveled at pompous shams.
Doubt not behind that mask
There dwelt the soul of a man,
Resolute, sorrowing, sage,
As sure a champion of good
As ever rode forth to fray.

Haply--who knows?--somewhere
In Avalon, Isle of Dreams,
In vast contentment at last,
With every grief done away,
While Chaucer and Shakespeare wait,
And Moliere hangs on his words,
And Cervantes not far off
Listens and smiles apart,
With that incomparable drawl
He is jesting with Dagonet now.

[Copyright, 1910, by Collier's Weekly.]

View from the location of Mark Twain's bedroom at 6:30pm on April 21st, 2010:

Sure, it's not a comet but I thought it was close enough.

Huck Finn With or Without the N-Word Debate

"Huck Finn With or Without the 'N' Word"
Presented by the Greater New England Alliance of Black School Educators in collaboration with The Mark Twain House & Museum

On Saturday, April 9th a diverse group of open-minded individuals gathered at the Mark Twain House and Museum in Hartford to discuss the 'N' Word, and its usage in Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

The goal of the program was to gain insight on a topic which has gained intense cultural interest with the recent release of Alan Gribben's edited or "southern" version of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn which replaces the word "nigger" with "slave".

The planning committee of this event should be commended for their panelist selections. Dr. Kerry Driscoll (St. Joseph College), Timothy Floyd (Waterbury Arts Magnet School), Craig Hotchkiss (MTH&M Education Program Manager), Frederick Douglass Knowles II (poet-activist-educator at Three Rivers College) and moderator Thomas Smith (retired English AP Literature at Weaver High School), were all amazing.

Dr. Driscoll provided expertise on Twain, the novel and how she prepares future teachers to teach it in their classrooms; Timothy Floyd provided a very much needed first-person viewpoint of both his recent experiences defending the artistic usage of the 'N' Word along with his personal feelings as a student (within a mixed race classroom) reading Huck Finn; Frederick-Douglass Knowles II injected a refreshing mixture of intellect, energy and thought provoking commentary throughout the discussion; and as a retired history teacher and director of educational programs at the Mark Twain House & Museum, Craig Hotchkiss' awareness of the struggles teachers face when attempting to bring unconventional teaching methodologies into their classrooms was enlightening.


The panelists (l to r) Craig Hotchkiss, Dr. Kerry Driscoll, Frederick-Douglass Knowles II, Timothy C. Floyd, Jr., Thomas Smith (Moderator)

The program was preluded with a showing of the recent "60 Minutes" segment on Gribben's edition of Huckleberry Finn in a room a adjacent to the auditorium.

Moderator Thomas Smith's initial questions were formulated to establish background on the novel, Twain's intentions and a discussion on the usage of the 'N' word in everyday culture, which proved to be very successful.

The highlight was Mr. Knowles' explanation of the word's usage and acceptance in Hip-Hop culture. Knowles pointed to the billion dollar "Gangsta Rap" industry that has thrived and continues to thrive via the 'N' word since the late 80's, both validating and explaining its acceptance within that context very well; I believe Knowles' statements hit the nail squarely on the head. West Coast rap, fueled with hard-hitting, often violent lyrics describing life in the "hood" was an immediate hit with not only black culture but white culture as well and it is very plausible that the historical context of the word (within this realm) has been ignored in exchange for the riches generated in employing it.

As the program progressed, the panel discussion opened up to those in attendance and as a direct result very important lessons relating to the role "context" and "perception" play in regard to this subject en filtered the conversation. Via multiple first hand accounts it became abundantly clear that how the 'N' Word is used and by whom it is used by is the true issue with the 'N' Word.

Many teachers in attendance openly shared stories of the negativity they face when attempting to bring Adventures of Huckleberry Finn into their classroom. In the discussions that followed it was determined that there is a need to address the 'N' Word and teach students the historical context of the word prior to classroom discussions about the book's content. So, by:
1. examining the word, its history and its usage 2. explaining why it is used in Huck Finn and 3. why it is essential to the novel, teachers can lessen the negative feelings and emotions associated with the word. However, it was pointed out that some teachers will inevitability fail regardless of their efforts.

The lesson/conclusion that I took away from this discussion was that the 'N' Word is toxic. Both Frederick-Douglass Knowles II and Timothy C. Floyd, Jr. provided valid first hand accounts of the awkward anger they felt as African-Americans within classrooms reading Adventures of Huckleberry Finn out loud and dealing with the fact that they were the only African-Americans in the room (i.e all eyes on them). That viewpoint cannot be ignored. That viewpoint is likely why Alan Gribben's edited or "southern" version of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is filling bookshelves and being welcomed by school systems of the South.

The issue I have with Gribben's version is that Twain was not using the "N-word" because he was racist, he was using it to make a point. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is autobiographical. Twain's own parents had slaves and his relationship with the slaves and their children was very influential in his life & writings. His childhood experiences would clearly leave a legacy of guilt that he would later lash out at in his speeches and literary works in an attempt to lessen his guilt.

Twain's personal history paralleled Huckleberry Finn's and given the fact that Adventures of Huckleberry Finn took Twain 8 years to write, he used the words he used for a reason. To give that statement some weight, I'll add that between manuscript 1 and 2, he made more than 1,700 revisions. 88 percent of these revisions being: word changes, spelling, punctuation and adding emphasis. Removing or altering the words Twain himself wrote is misguided, the fact that a Twain scholar is the one doing it is down right vexing but it is what it is.

Background on Twain's life and experiences is essential to the reading of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Without that background, without providing students with a comprehensive understanding of why "nigger" is used 200+ times in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn makes Adventures of Huckleberry Finn pointless.

Mark Twain on Huckleberry Finn:

"A book of mine where a sound heart and a deformed conscience come into collision and conscience suffers defeat."
- Notebook #35 (reprinted in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Univ. of California Press, 2003)

Mark Twain on Slavery:

"In those old slave-holding days the whole community was agreed as to one thing--the awful sacredness of slave property. To help steal a horse or a cow was a low crime, but to help a hunted slave, or feed him or shelter him, or hide him, or comfort him, in his troubles, his terrors, his despair, or hesitate to promptly to betray him to the slave-catcher when opportunity offered was a much baser crime, & carried with it a stain, a moral smirch which nothing could wipe away.

That this sentiment should exist among slave-owners is comprehensible--there were good commercial reasons for it--but that it should exist & did exist among the paupers, the loafers the tag-rag & bobtail of the community, & in a passionate & uncompromising form, is not in our remote day realizable. It seemed natural enough to me then; natural enough that Huck & his father the worthless loafer should feel it & approve it, though it seems now absurd. It shows that that strange thing, the conscience--the unerring monitor--can be trained to approve any wild thing you want it to approve if you begin its education early & stick to it."

- Notebook #35 (reprinted in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Univ. of California Press, 2003)


If students don't understand Adventures of Huckleberry Finn's meaning and teachers don't have the time or interest to help them understand it, go in a new direction and teach Mark Twain's life in our school systems instead... kids will not only get it, they will want more of it.

Twain seems to have known we'd be reading his letters

Going through the MTP papers this letter caught my eye...

It is Mark Twain's letter to Joe Twichell in 1880 about his new baby daughter Jean and life in general.

Letter:

"Well, we are all getting along here first-rate; Livy gains strength daily, [&] sits up a deal; the baby is five weeks old [ and—— but] no more of this;

[He stops the letter abruptly to scold someone in the 1960's reading the letter]

somebody may be reading this letter 80 years hence. And so, my friend (you pitying snob, I mean, who are holding this yellow paper in [your] hand in 1960,) save yourself the trouble of looking further; I know how pathetically trivial our small concerns [would] seem to you, [&] I will not let your eye profane them. No, I keep my news; you keep your compassion. Suffice it you to know, scoffer [&] ribald, that the little child is old [&] blind, now, [&] once more toothless; [&] the rest of us are shadows, these many, many years. Yes, [&] your time cometh!"

-Mark

Twain estimates 80 years and we're still reading his letters 130 years later! And what is really wild is that we, here in 2011, can read this letter thanks to the intensive, ongoing editorial work going since the mid 1960s at the Mark Twain Papers & Project at University of California, Berkeley.


"The story of my life will make certain people sit up and take notice, but I will use my influence not to have it published until the persons mentioned in it and their children and grandchildren are dead. I tell you it will be something awful. It will be what you might call good reading."
- Twain during interview aboard SS Minneapolis, New York 06/08/1907

Life Lessons from Mark Twain

Mark Twain's life is perceived by many as a "charmed life" but the reality is the rags to riches story of the wealthiest and most widely recognized author/humorist the World has ever known is not as “charmed” as one would think. Mark Twain lived a life that many could not endure, let alone survive; personally, he referred to himself as “God’s Fool” and that was not too far from the truth. From his premature birth straight through to his seventy-fourth year of life, Twain ran a pain stricken, stress filled and often depressing gauntlet of life. Death was so common that it could be consider thematic and wealth, as odd as it may sound, did not agree with him either. And yet, somehow he found a way to weather the storms of life and one hundred years later, we are very lucky he did because in the process he delivered some very profound insights on life, love and perseverance that we can all use to our own advantage today.

The following comes from Twain’s letters, speeches, notebooks and writings; the wisdom of his thoughts are as inspiring as they are instructive.


Mark Twain on Life

1. "Perseverance is a principle that should be commendable in those who have judgment to govern it."
- The Enemy Conquered; or Love Triumphant

The lesson: Don't give up. Often it is those who keep at it that succeed.

2. “Only he who has seen better days and lives to see better days again knows their full value.”
- Notebook, 1902

The lesson: Focus on the present and value what you have. Only after his financial troubles, did Twain come to realize the value of the life and lifestyle he once had.

3. “...the events of life are mainly small events -- they only seem large when we are close to them. By and by they settle down and we see that one doesn't show above another. They are all about one general low altitude, and inconsequential.”
- Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 1 (University of California Press, 2010)

The lesson: Think before you act. People often overreact to situations and in hindsight regret it.

4. "... life does not consist mainly -- or even largely -- of facts and happenings. It consists mainly of the storm of thoughts that is forever blowing through one's head."

The lesson: There are two lessons that can be learned from this quote.

One: Be mindful that each one of us awakens each morning and faces an internal battle with our thoughts, feelings and personal desires. Take that into consideration when interacting with other people and realize that their position on a topic or reaction to your opinion is based solely on their perceptions.

Two: Give yourself a break. A lot of what’s floating around up there has nothing to do with reality. Focus on the positives, ignore the negatives and if you really want something, stop dreaming about it and go get it.

5. "Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry."
- The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson and the Comedy of the Extraordinary Twins

The lesson: Don’t we all enjoy that special person in our life that projects the positives, makes us laugh and does nice things for others? Be that person.