PAGE FOUR
THE GAZETTE-TIMES, HEPPNER, OREGON. THURSDAY. JUNE 21. 1923.
HEPPNER CHAUTAUQUA
June 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 1923
."IHIIMIMMMMinilMllllllllllllllllllllllllli
Lombard Entertainers Bring Varied Program
Chautauqua Folk Will Enjoy These Exceptional Entertainer on Fifth Day.
;M r . ft
I A Story of the if
i Highlands !l
i c
Harry Lombard, baritone, If known not only aa a singer, bnt also for his ability at a comedian of high rank. Lela
lalrchlld Lombard has a deep contralto Toice and Is also a talented reader and Impersonator. Both had many years
of experience as platform entertainers before the blind god, Dan Cupid, brought them together and they formed a part
nership for life, building a new program that gives both an opportunity to display their varied talents. The Lombards
carry fifteen sets of costumes, among them one imported from Japan at a cost of over $300. The program will In
clude musical selections from three grand operas, three light operas, and five musical comedies; plenty of popular
songs, readings, monologues, pianologues, whistling solos, novelties, etc. A special feature will be an original sketch,
The Home Town Girl," absolutely new, and containing many clever situations.
SJM LEWIS COMING
Drama Welsh Tenor to Be Heard
Here Soon.
Of outstanding musical Importance Is
the appearance of Sam Lewis, who will
be beard here In two concerts on the
second day of Chautauqua. The tolr
lowing is typical of press comment
received of hut work wherever he ap
pears: Martin's Ferry (Ohio) Times
aid: "Mr. Lewis singing last night
equaled anything we had heard on
either side of the Atlantic. We will
hear great things of this young Welsh
mas. Ills singing of the oratorio num
bers In his recital was highly artls
tle." From the Warren Dally Chron
icle: "A rare privilege It was to hear
Samuel Lewis, the tenor, In his Inter
pretation of Manrico. His voice Is
rich In quality. He sang with feeling,
bis charming personality tending itsslf
to the dramatic part His phrasing
wa marked for Its QTcellCTce."
Authority on Oral English
Coming to Chautauqua
Dr. Henry Gaines Hawn Brings Inspiring Message, "The Soul
of Things."
at nViinai in iiiiim. - J n
Inspirational of the truest Ope Is the address by Henry Gaines Hawn or,
the fifth evening of Chautauqua. There are few speakers now before the public
who equal this brilliant orator for forceful, persuasive eloquence and sparkling
humor. His thought Is strikingly original, and his whole soul goes out in In
structing, delighting, and arousing people to an appreciation of "living as a
fine art." He is a man endowed with unusual scholarly attainments ; gracious,
dignified, but modest and pleasingly democratic. Mr. Hawn Is a recognized
authority on oral English. He is ei-I'resldent of the National Speech Arts
Association; Founder of the Hawn School of the Speech Arts; Instructor of
Public Speaking, Rotary Club of New York ; special lecturer for the Brooklyn
Institute ot Arts and Sciences; and author of many works on subjects kindred
to oratory.
Four Exceptional Artists to Entertain Chautauqua Folk
Sam Lewis, Welsh Tenor, Brings High Class Musical Organization on Second Day.
.."
" fe
8am Lewis, a distinguished Welsh tenor, has been In concert and oratorio work for eleven years, and has made
four transcontinental tours with his own company of high cIhks musical artists. Mr. Lewis Is one of the most popular
ballad singers In America, aud Is scarcely less a favorite In oratorio arias. His voice possesses a never-to-be-forgotten
richness that goes home to the heart of every hearer. He has studied with Charles K'lward Clarke, of Chicago,
and David Itlspbain, of New York. He has appeared on the some courses with Louis Krledler, of the Chicago Opera,
and Frances lugram, of the Metropolitan. He Is appearing this season at the bead of his own concert organization.
Ills ssslstluf artlata are: Murle Colllton, pianist and accompanist ; Allen Anient, violinist, and Nell Adams, reader.
'. WILLIAM ALLEN WHITB r
nini in iTiiTmTiTiTiTiTiTi i i i 1 1 mi i miTiTm 1 1 1 1 1 ii
Cornht, 1922, bi !) MacmiUaa Co.
CKOSSING the Missouri river Into
Kansas, the west bound traveler
begins a stead-, upward climb,
until he reaches the summit of the
Hoekles. The Journey through Kansas
covers In four hundred miles nearly
five thousand feet of the long, upward
slant. In that long hillside there are
thren or four distinct kinds of land
scape, distinguished from one another
by the trees that trim the bottom.
The hills and bluffs that roll away
from the river are covered with scrub
oaks, elms, walnuts and sycamores. As
the wayfarer pushes westward, the oak
drops back, then the syenmore follows
the walnut, and finally the elm disap
pears, until three hundred miles to the
westward the horizon of the "gently
rolling" prairie is serrated by the
scraggy Cottonwood, that rises awM
wardly by some sandbarred stream
oozing over the moundy land. Another
fifty miles, and a Garden City, high up
on the background of the panorama,
even the Cottonwood staggers; and
isre and there, around some sinkhole
In the great flat prairie, droops a deso
late willow the last weary pilgrim
from the lowlands.
When the traveler has mounted to
this high table land, nearly four hun
dred miles from the Missouri, he may
walk for days without seeing any green
thing higher than his head. He may
Journey for hours on horseback, and
not climb a hill, seeing before him only
the level and often barren plain,
scarred now and then by Irrigation
ditches.
The even line of the horizon Is sel
dom marred. The silence of such a
scene gnaws the glamor from the
heart. Men become harsh and hard;
women grow withered and sodden un
der Its blighting power. The song of
wood birds is not heard; even the
mournful plaint of the meadow lark
loses Its sentiment, where the dreary
clanking drone of the windmill is the
one song which really brings good tid
ings with it. Long and fiercely sounds
this unrhythmical monody In the
night, when the traveler lies down to
rest in the little sun-burned, pine
board town. The gaunt arms of the
wheel hurl Its imprecations at him as
he rises to resume his Journey into the
silence, under the great gray dome,
with its canopy pegged tightly down
about him everywhere.
Crops are as bountiful in Kansas as
elsewhere on the globe. It Is the con
stant cry for aid, coming from this
plateau only a small part of the state
which reaches the world's ears, and
the world blames Kansas. The fair
springs on these highlands lure home
seekers to their ruin.
Hundreds of men and women have
been tempted to death or worse, by
this Lorelei of the prairies.
A young man named Burkholder
came out to Fountain county in 1885,
He had been a well-to-do young fellow
In Illinois, was a graduate of an inland
college, a man of good Judgment, or
sense, of a well-arranged mental per
spective. In 1885 money was plentiful.
He stocked his farm, put on a mort
gage, and brought a wife back from
the home of his boyhood. She was a
young woman of culture, who put a
bookshelf in the corner of the best of
the three rooms in the yellow pine
shanty, In which she and her husband
lived. She brought her upright piano,
and adorned her bedroom floor with
bright rugs. She bought magazines at
the "Post Office Book Store" of the
pralre town, She was not despondent.
The vast stretches of green cheered
her through the hot summer. There
was a novel fascination In the wide,
treeless horizon which charmed her for
a while. At first she never tired of
glancing up from her work, through the
south window of the kitchen, to see the
level green stretches, and the road that
merged Into the distance. She sat in
the shade of the house, and wrote
home cheerful, rollicking letters. "As
for roughing It, she enjoyed It thor
oughly. The crops did not quite pay the ex
penses of the year; so "Thomas Burk
holder and Lizzie his wife" put an
other mortgage on the farm. The
books and magazines from home still
adorned the best room. And all
through the winter and spring the pre
vailing spirits of the community
buoyed up the young people. It was
during the summer of 1887 that the
first hot winds came. They blighted
everything. The kaffir corn, the grass,
the dust-laden weeds by the wayside
curled up under their fiery breath from
the southwestern desert. Mrs. Burk
holder stayed Indoors. The dust spread
Itself over everything. It came Into
the house like a Hood, pouring through
the loose window frames and weather
boarding. Mrs. Burkholder, looking out
of her window on these days, could see
only a great dmit dragon, writhing up
and down the brown roail and over the
prairie for tulles and miles. The scene
seemed weirdly dry. She found her
self longing, one day, for a fleck of
water in the landscape. That longing
grew upon her. She said nothing of
It, but In her day dreams there was
always a mental Itching to put water
into the lnsterless picture framed by
her kitchen window. It was a kind
f soul thirst, In one of her letters
she wrote :
"The hot winds have killed every
thing this year, hut most of all I grieve
for the lltlie Cottonwood saplings on
e 'eighty' In front of the house.
There Is nut a tree anywhere In sight,
end as the government requires that
ve should plant trees on our place, as
a partial payment for it, I was so In
holies thnt ttiese would do well. They
are burned tip. now. You don't know
how lonesmne it seems without trees."
Hhe did not tell the home folk that
her piano and the books had gone to
buy provisions for the winter. She did
not tell the home folk that she had not
bought a new dress since she left Illi
nois. She did not let her petty cares
burden her letter. Hhe wrote of gen
eralities. "You do not know how I
miss, the bills,. Tojn an i roqft twenty
miles yesterday, to a place called the
Taylor bottom. It Is a deep sink-hole,
perhaps fifty fet deep, containing
about ten square acres. By getting
down Into this we have the effect of
hills. You cannot know bow- good and
snug, and tucked Id and 'comfy' It
seemed. It Is so naked at the house
with the knife-edge on the horizon,
and only the sky over you. Tom and I
have been busy. I haven't had time
to read the story In the uiagHzlne you
sent me. Tom can't get corduroys out
here. You should see him In overalls."
Mrs. Burkholder helped her husband
look after the cattle, The hired man
went away In the early full. This she
did not write home, either. All
through the winter days she heard the
keen wind whistle around the house,
and when she was alone a dread
blanched her face. The great gray
dome seemed to be holding her Its
prisoner. She felt chained under It.
She shut her eyes and strove to got
away from it In fancy, to think of
green hills and woodland ; but her eyes
tore themselves open, and with a hyp
notic terror she went to the window,
where the prnlrle thrall hound her
again In Its chains.
The cemetery for the prairie town
had been started during the spring be
fore, and some one had planted there
in a solitary Cottonwood sapling. Its
two dead, gaunt branches seemed to
be beckoning her, and all day she
thought she -heard the winds shriek
through the new iron fences around
the graves and through the grass that
grew wild about the dead. The scene
haunted her. It was for this end thnt
the gray dome held her, she thought,
as she listened dnrlne the cold nights
lo uie naru, ury snow as u oeui
against the board shanty wherein she
lay awake.
In the spring the mover's caravan
tiled by the house, starting eastward
before planting time. When the train
of wagons hail passed the year be
fore, Mrs. Burkholder had been amused
by the fantastic legends, which the
wagon covers white, clean, prosper
ous had borne. "Kansas or bust,"
they used to rend when headed west
ward. "Busted" was the laconic
legend, written under the old motto
on their first enstward trip. "Going
back to wife's folks," had been a com
mon Jocose motto at first. Mrs. Burk
holder and her hushnnd had laughed
over this the year before, but this
year as she saw the long line file out
of the west Into the east, she missed
the banners. She noticed, with a men
tal pang, that those who came out of
the country this year seemed to be
thankful to get out at all. There were
times when she had to struggle to con
ceal her cowardice; for she wished to
turn away from the light, to flee from
the gray dome, and from the beckon
ing of the dead Cottonwood In the
graveyard.
The spring slipped away and another
sultry summer came on, and then a
long, dry fall. Mrs. Burkholder and her
husband worked together.
There were whole weeks when she
neglected her toilet; she tried to
brighten up in the evening, and duti
fully went at the magazines that were
regularly sent to her by the home
folks. , ,
But she seemed to need sleep, and
the cares of the day weighed upon her.
The Interests of the world of culture
grew small In her vision. The work
before her seemed to demand ail her
thought; so that serial after serial
slipped through the magazines unread,
and new literary men and fads rose
and fell, all unknown to her. The pile
of magazines at the foot of the bed
grew dustier every day.
The Burkholders got their share of
the seed-grain sent to Fountain county
by the Kansas legislature and, Just
after planting time In 1889, the land
was gloriously green. But before July
the promises had been mocked by the
hiss of the hot wind In the dead grass.
That fall one of their hnrses died.
Saturday after Saturday Burkholder
went to the prairie town and brought
home groceries and coal. It was a
source of constant terror to him that
some day his wife might ask him how
he got these supplies. She hid it from
herself as long as she could. All win
ter they would not admit to each other
that they were living on "aid." On
many a gray, blustering afternoon,
when Burkholder was in the village
getting provisions, a straggler on the
road might see his wife coming around
the house, with two buckets of water
In her hands, the water splashing
against her feet, which were encased
In a pair of her husband's old shoes,
the wind pushing her thin calico skirts
against her stiff limbs and her frail
body bent stiffly In the man's coat that
she wore. Her arms and shoulders
seemed to shiver and crouch with the
cold, and her blue features were so
drawn that her friendly smile at the
wayfarer was only a grimace.
In the spring many men In Fountain
county went Bast looking for work.
They left their wives with God and
the county commissioners, Burkholder
dumbly went with them. In March, the
covered wagon train began to file past
the Burkholder house. By April it
was a continuous line shabby, tat
tered, rickety, dying. Here came a
wagon covered with bed quilts, there
another topped with oilcloth table cov
era; another followed, patched with
everything. For two years the mover's
caravan trailing across the plains had
taken the shape of a huge dust-colored
serpent In the woman's fancy; now It
seemed to Mrs. Burkholder that the
terrible creature was withering away,
that this was Its skeleton. The tree
less landscape worried her more and
more ; the steel dome seemed set tight
er over her, and she sat thirsting for
water In the landscape.
After a month's communion with her
fancies, Mrs. Burkholder nailed s
black rag over the kitchen window.
But the arms of the dead sapling in the
cemetery gyrated wildly In her sick
Imagination. It was a long summer,
and when It wss done there was one
more vacant house, one more among
hundreds far out on the highlands.
There Is one more mound In the bleak
country . graveyard, where the wind,
shrieking through the Iron fences and
the crackling, dead Cottonwood
branches, has never learned a slumber
song to sob for a tired soul. But there
are times when the wind seems to
moan upon Its sun-parched chords like
the cry of some lone spirit groping Its
tangled way back to the lowlands, the
green pastures, the still waters, and to
the peace that nassetb understanding.
I
I
At!
IHtt
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