Page Forty-eight
JUNE 1925
THE UNITED AMERICAN
“MINE OWN AMERICA”
(Continued from Page Forty-five)
that this country wasn’t justified in going
into this war. And—perhaps you share
the view of some of your German
friends.”
“You—you young fool!” father ex-
ploded. “You get out of here!” With
the air of a martyr who had been down
faced after proving his point, the young
lawyer departed. Two or three old
friends loitered after the rest had gone,
as if they would like to have a confi
dential talk with father, but he waved
them away.
You may judge how the talk got abroad
that father had pro-German leanings. He
was aware of it, and I’m sure it hurt
him, yet he went on quietly about his
business. Not even at home did he dis
cuss the fact that certain old friends were
fighting shy of him. Yet no one dared
lift a finger against Stoltz. For he
dwelt under the protection of father’s
standing in the community.
Nevertheless, father was troubled. He
took to walking the floor at night, long
after mother and I had retired. He took
neither of us into his confidence, and
when he answered our inquiries with
silence, there was nothing more to be
said.
Yet I realized what was passing in his
mind. His friendship for Stoltz was
rooted in his heart. When father came
west after the civil war and homesteaded,
it was Stoltz who taught him how to
hold the plow, lent him money when he
needed it, stood up with him when he
married mother, and brought the doctor
when I was born. It was Stoltz who
suggested father for the first of his
county offices, drove out to campaign for
him, was caught in a driving rain and
all but died of pneumonia. Then barely
recovered, he drove down to the county
seat the evening of election day with the
returns from his township. When he
arrived at midnight, all the other pre
cincts had reported, and father’s rival
was fifty votes ahead.
“Hooray!” cried Stoltz, when he heard
how the figures stood. “Why?” asked
the officers of election. “We give White
sixty votes,” was the answer. “And how
many for the other fellow?” they de
manded. “None,” was his triumphant
bellow. In season and out of season, he
had been father’s friend—in fact, he
fairly worshipped him.
Keenly sensitive to the obligations of
such a friendship, it may be judged that
he found his position most harrowing.
For, suppose Mason was right. What if
old Stoltz did do something desperate in
a moment of frenzy? Also, was it con
sistent with loyalty to his country, even
to seem to shield him? Father was
painfully conscientious and just, He
was fighting a terrible battle, And
mother and I wondered with growing
dread: “What would be the result?”
Through the strategy of Mason and
his kindred spirits a big patriotic meet
ing was arranged, and father was asked
to be the speaker. “Whoop her up,
Judge!” chirped a committeeman. “We
know you can do it.” But father failed
to enthuse. For he knew that the whole
town would expect a statement of his
attitude regarding Stoltz, and would be
satisfied with nothing less than an out
right repudiation of the old German.
Anything less, in the minds of towns
people, would have convicted him of dis
loyalty.
For Mason, it was a master-stroke.
This I bitterly realized; and I made up
my mind that if father was heckled into
saying something contrary to his calmer
judgment, I would give Mason the
drubbing of his life. As the day ap
proached, a shadow of doom seemed to
be settling down, especially when I noted
that father was making slow progress
in writing out his speech, to be care
fully committed to memory, as was his
practice.
The night before the meeting, the
committee met at Doc Fraser’s office
to complete some details. I was there
to keep tab on things and to see that
Mason didn’t get too presuming. Doc
came in late, and bustled right out again,
satchel in hand, at thé same time ex
plaining: “Sorry, can’t stay. But I got
a stork case and it won’t wait.”
Nothing exciting happened at the meet
ing. But next morning, as I was getting
the paper ready for the press, Doc called
up: “Got an item for you. Minnie Stoltz
has got a boy—ten pounder. Minnie had
a close call, but she’ll make it.” Making
room for this item, I rushed the paper
out, that I might have time to compose
myself for the evening’s ordeal.
The community hall was packed to the
door, when the meeting opened. The
chairman, the minister and father step
ped onto the platform and were greeted
with a flurry of applause. Father took
his seat by the flag-draped table in the
center of the platform. He never looked
so old and ill at ease. My heart chilled,
and I knew that everyone about me was
asking the same question as myself.
“What will he say?” As a part of the
general movement I came to my feet and
the singing of “America” was a con
fusion in my ears. Then the minister
prayed that “each of us might be given
strength to do his duty, no matter how
hard that duty seemed to be.”
We sat down, and father rose to speak.
Everyone leaned forward, and he was
the center of their tense, united gaze.
“Sir, and fellow citizens,” he began, his
voice unnatural and high-pitched—a bad
sign. “I—”
Then it happened! There was a com
motion in the rear of the hall and up the
aisle thumped old Stoltz. Men sprang
to their feet as he proceeded straight to
the platform and stepped up onto it.
There he stood—wild, dishevelled, and
with what we took to be a gleam of mad
ness in his eyes. Father stepped back,
dumfounded.
“What’s he going to do?” buzzed
through the hall.
In answer, Stoltz jerked the flag loose
from the table and waved it aloft.
“Grab him!” came the angry chorus.
“Wait!” father checked a fierce move
ment by the chairman. Stoltz turned and
bowed to him, then to the audience.
Waving the flag again frantically and
joyfully, he let it flutter out to its full
length and thundered:
“Mine own America!”
When we grasped the meaning, we
shouted and yelled until we were hoarse.
Then led by Mason — how changed he
now seemed — we rose to our feet and
gave him the greatest tribute of Ameri
can hearts — three magnificent cheers.
“Listen mine friends,” said Stoltz
when he was able to make himself heard.
“Old Stoltz has been through hell, and all
the wrong ideas have been burned out of
him—thank Gott!” Here we roared,
Stoltz looked puzzled, then smiled
broadly.
“All right,
mine friends—laugh,
Mebbe the old language stick in mine
speech some yet. But old Stoltz’s heart
is all right. It’s Uncle Sam’s and Gott’s.”
“Now look here,” he bristled, being
flustered by our interrupting applause,
“you keep still and let me talk. I say
I got something to tell you.”
Silence reigned, and he began a tre
mendously earnest, solemn recital. “Last
night,” he said, “I sit in mine room and
listen at a woman’s agony coming
through the wall. Poor little Minna was
going through hell and old Stoltz went
with her all the whole way. Herr Doctor
come in ‘bout midnight and say: ‘Stoltz,
its terrible serious and I want to prepare
you for the worst.’” Choking, he grasped
the table to steady himself and went on:
“I said: ‘Gott, why is all this pain and
sorrow in the world ? Why is little Minna
got to suffer so?’ Then a voice say plain
to me: ‘It’s- so Fred can live on and
your name, Stoltz, go down the genera
tions.’ Mine name, friends! Think of
that—mine name! Something squeezed
my heart, so I almost died.
“ ‘Mine name is clear,’ I cries, ‘I never
did no man wrong.’ ‘Stoltz, are you
sure?’ come the answer. ‘What is that
big blotch doing on your name?” ’ Ach,
mine friends! It come to me. Ungrati
tude! Ungratitude to Germany? No!
I was borned there, but I come ’way
when I was young man. Why ? Be-
cause America say: ‘Come on over,
Stoltz. I give you goot opportunity.’
And she done so. She give Stoltz land
and pigs and chickens ’cause he work
hard and was honest. She give Stoltz
his whole life—mine home, mine
Dorothea, mine boy Fred and mine dear
Minna. And here I got naturalized,
What? An American citizen!
“Then I say: ‘Stoltz, you are a bum!
There is a man in next room fighting to
save Minna’s life and ’nother one. Is
he your enemy? And what ’bout these
people you -lived among so long time?
Ain’t they been goot to you ? Didn’t you
go and come just as you like? Is they
your enemy? Ain’t Judge White been
brother to you ? Is he your enemy?
Ain’t this country been mother to you,
Stoltz? Ain’t you breathed her air, got
rich off her soil? Is her your enemy?’
‘Mine Gott!’ I cries, ‘America is always
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