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The MISSION of MUSIC
in the MODERN HOME
M
A W a truth is spoken in jest."
We have just passed the Bicenten-
nial birthday of Washington, the
man who spoke naught but the
truth, who could not tell a lie. In this re-
spect I claim no resemblance to our first
President, though with no thought of pre-
sumption I do see two similarities. My
father was a stage driver and so with him in
my early youth I took a stage at Montrose
while Washington took a hack at the cherry
tree. Then again the only children that
Washington had was the children of his wife
by her first husband and so too the only chil-
dren I have are the children that Mrs. Weeks
had by her first husband, with just the minor
difference that while Washington was "First
in war, first in peace and first in the hearts
of his countrymen" he was Mrs. Washing-
ton's second husband, while I, and I don't
care who knows it, am Mrs. Weeks' first hus-
band.
But be that as it may, if I must further
emulate his example and adhere to the truth,
may I do it in not too serious a manner.
During the past two years we have had
enough that has been serious. But let me
dismiss the matter of depression by saying
that I hope we can all make the best of the
situation, as did the old family doctor who
was called in to treat Mrs. Smith's kitchen
maid. He called and examined Mary as to
her pulse, her temperature, and blood pres-
sure, after which he said: "Mary, I cannot
find a symptom to indicate that you are ill."
"Shure, Doctor," said Mary, "there's nary a
thing the matter with me at all at all. Shure
and Mrs. Smith has not paid me me wages in
three weeks on account of the depression as
she calls it. And so I am on a sick strike
and I'm not goin' to sthur a step out of this
bed until she do he payin' me." "Well,
Mary," said the old doctor, "Mrs. Smith on
account of the depression has not paid me for
my professional services here for three years.
Move over. . . ." And so I say, let's make
the best of the situation and pass on to hap-
pier thoughts, the first of which are the optimis-
tic thoughts for the future that Charles M.
Schwab has recently expressed on his seven-
tieth birthday which I make bold to reiterate
in rhyme as I say:
Edwin R. Weeks, President of the
National
Association
of
Merchants, Tells the Rotarians of
New England Something
Musical Instruments Might Well
TRADE
We hear a song at early morn
That says to us "A son is born"
And Wedding March of Mendelssohn
Proclaims "Two hearts now beat as one."
Bear in Mind
While Chopin March and funeral toll
Says "Death has claimed another soul."
Yes, music, friends, cannot be matched
When one is hatched, matched, or dispatched.
tween the Japs and the Chinks would seem
to indicate, and while we are waiting for
the offing to become the inning may we not
fill in the chinks with the more attainable
theory that with better understanding between
husbands and wives may come less warfare
in the home.
I am a believer in harmony in the home.
Domestic harmony and musical harmony, and
the two walk together hand in hand. It
seems to me that music must have been born
of love. Had there never been any human
affection, there might never a strain of music
been uttered. It is easy to believe that the
first mother looking into the eyes of her new-
born babe breathed out the first melody on
the enraptured air of Eden.
When language falls short of expressing
the highest emotions, the greatest longings or
the deepest grief, then music triumphantly
enters to fill the need. Mendelssohn and
Wagner have, with their immortal music,
given to the wedding an ecstatic thrill to be
remembered after the words of the officiating
divine have oft been trampled in the dust,
Music, which is an important part of the
weekly programs of Rotary Clubs in seventy-
two countries of the world, has proven to be
a great unifying force. When the Interna-
tional Rotary Convention was held in Atlantic
City, my club at Binghamton sent a large
delegation. I had written a song for the
occasion in which was set forth the fact that
the Endicott-Johnson shoe factories were in
our midst, hence Binghamton was doing its
bit to put the world on a proper footing.
Also that Binghamton was the home of
Kilmer's Swamp Root, the Great Female
Eradicator—at least that was what I called
it since a man wrote Dr. Kilmer saying, "My
wife who took a bottle of your Swamp Root
died. I am married again. Please send me
another bottle."
The League of Nations, which the United
States organized but did not join, is sometimes
referred/ to as the League of Notions, since
it has the very laudable notion that with a
better understanding among nations would
come less warfare in the world. This is still
in ihe offing as the melee in the Orient be-
MUSIC
About
Music's Value That the Sellers of
I quite agree with Charlie Schwab,
Whose birthday finds him on the job,
And who with faith and hope has said:
"Good days for all are just ahead."
THE
Music
while Chopin's mourning but triumphant
march marks the passing of a soul, by
blending the sad tone of the present with the
exultant note of hope for the future, or, if I
may put it a bit less seriously, in rhyme,
REVIEW,
EDWIN R. WEEKS
March,
1932
We got down to Atlantic City to find that
no singing was allowed in the dining room
of the big hotel where we were quartered.
We chafed under this restraint for a couple
of days and then decided that, rules or no
rules, we were going to sing that song. Our
forces were gathered with myself as leader,
and the criminal procedure was launched.
In due time or a little before, there came
wildly into the room a man who proved to
be the proprietor, and who in a lound voice
hollered, "Stop! Stop." But unfortunately we
had not been presented to the gentleman
formally, and being stickers for the little
niceties of etiquette, we proceeded on our
merry way. "Stop, Stop!" he again wildly
ejaculated. But this was before the time of
four-wheel brakes and sudden stopping might
have proved fatal. So on we went in our
melodious and merry way. Then the enraged
proprietor caught sight of me in the midst
of the group, and sensing that I was the
leader of the insurrection, he jimmied his way
through to where I was and grasping me by
the lapel of my coat and shaking me as a
terrier would a rat, he said, "I say, sir, you
can't sing," to which I replied, "I know it,
brother, but I'm doing the best I can."
When the excitement in a measure had
abated, a member of the Boston Rotary Club
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