Promoting Your School Going Beyond PR Third Edition Carolyn Warner
Promoting Your School Going Beyond PR Third Edition Carolyn Warner
Promoting Your School Going Beyond PR Third Edition Carolyn Warner
Promoting Your School Going Beyond PR Third Edition Carolyn Warner
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5. Promoting Your School Going Beyond PR Third Edition
Carolyn Warner Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Carolyn Warner
ISBN(s): 9781412958127, 1412958121
Edition: Third Edition
File Details: PDF, 7.04 MB
Year: 2009
Language: english
8. This book is dedicated with equal measures of love, respect, and gratitude to my mother,
Mary Tullis Rexroat Kunde, a teacher and one of the first women principals in both
Oklahoma and California; to my father, Uriah Thomas Rexroat, Head Teacher of the first
public school in Southwest Oklahoma Indian Territory and who later served in the
Oklahoma legislature; to my uncle, Dr. David Sherman Tullis; and my aunt, Beulah
Baker Tullis. Finally to Jerry Emmett, a great teacher and a remarkable human being.
All are examples of great teachers, administrators, and human beings.
11. Contents
List of Resources and Sample Documents viii
Foreword x
Jay Mathews
Preface xii
Acknowledgments xv
About the Author xvi
Part I. Establishing Communication 1
1. The Foundation of Success 3
The Communication Process 4
Dealing With Perceptions 5
Opinion Leaders 5
Getting the Word Out 6
2. Making Your Schools Stand Out 8
Improving Your Image 9
Strategic Planning: The Key to Organizational Success 9
Developing a Marketing Plan 10
Ideas to Help You Get Started 12
References and Suggested Readings 19
3. Internal Communication 37
Techniques for Improving Staff Communication 39
Techniques for Improving Student Communication 44
Suggested Readings 45
4. Publications/Electronic Communication 48
Newsletters 49
Technology Tools 55
Monthly Calendar/Menu 57
Parent/Student Handbooks 57
Brochures and Flyers 58
Language 59
Suggestions for Better Writing 59
References and Suggested Readings 61
12. 5. Media Relations 74
Building a Working Relationship With Reporters 75
Getting Your Story to the Media 78
Writing a News Release 79
Preparing a Media Tip Sheet 81
Writing a Public Service Announcement (PSA) 81
Dealing With Newspapers 82
Using Television Effectively 83
Working With Radio 85
Tips for Talking to the Media 85
Suggested Readings 88
Part II. Building and Strengthening Partnerships 95
6. Building Your Team 97
Who Makes Up the Team? 98
Successful Teams Communicate Well 99
The Leader as Facilitator 100
Defining the Task 100
Getting to Work 101
Suggested Readings 101
7. Involving Parents in School 105
Effective Educators Seek Parent Support 106
Ways to Involve Parents 107
Changing Demographics of the American Family 111
Hard-to-Reach Parents 112
Parents Needed for Political and Economic Support 113
References and Suggested Readings 114
8. Community Outreach 127
Getting the Community Involved 128
Suggested Readings 134
9. Rallying Support for Public Education 138
Career and Vocational-Technical Education 139
How State Coalition Campaigns Are Raising Support
for Public Education 141
10. Strengthening and Showcasing Instruction 141
Cooperative Learning 144
Authentic Instruction 144
Problem-Based Learning 145
Interdisciplinary Units 146
Incorporating Technology 147
Multiple Intelligences 148
Assessment 148
Suggested Readings 149
13. Part III. Acknowledging Change 151
11. Crisis Management 153
Organizing a Crisis Planning Committee 155
Developing a Crisis Plan 157
School Crisis Team 158
Managing the Crisis 158
Communicating the Situation 159
After the Crisis 160
A Private Crisis 161
References and Suggested Readings 161
12. Data Gathering: Road Map for Accomplishments 176
Types of Data Gathering 178
Identifying Your Target Audience 180
Deciding What to Ask 180
Collecting Data From Other Sources 181
Evaluating and Reporting the Results 181
Suggested Readings 182
13. Communicating With Technology: Going Beyond Web Sites 232
How Has Technology Changed (or Improved) the Way We
Communicate With Our Stakeholders? 233
Technology Terminology 233
Internet Behavior Tracking 236
Resource A 237
14. List of Resources and
Sample Documents
1. The Foundation of Success 3
Commandments for Communicators 7
2. Making Your Schools Stand Out in a Crowd 8
Mount Vernon City Schools Strategic Plan 20
Mt. Edgecumbe High School Vision/Mission Statement 25
The Communication Audit—Your Blueprint to School Community
Support 26
Prescott Unified School District Marketing Brochure 29
National Education Media Contacts 35
3. Internal Communication 37
Student of the Month (Certificate) 46
In Recognition of Outstanding Scholarship (Certificate) 46
In Recognition of Excellent Attendance (Certificate) 47
4. Publications/Electronic Communications 48
Fall Mountain Regional High School Newsletter 62
Washington Junior High School Newsletter 64
Plymouth Middle School Brochure 70
Paradise Valley High School Week in Review Form (Staff Bulletin) 72
Owen J. Roberts Weekly Calendar 72
Robbinsdale Area Schools Activities Calendar 73
5. Media Relations 74
News Release (Sample) 89
Chicago Public Schools News Release 90
Washington School District Media Contact Form 92
News Tip Form (Washington School District) 93
Public Service Announcement (Sample) 94
6. Building Your Team 97
Modified Deming Points for Continuous Improvement of Education 103
Implementation/Monitoring Plan 104
7. Involving Parents in School 105
East Irondequoit Central School District Parent Guide Brochure 115
Orange County Public Schools Parent Involvement Survey 117
viii
15. ix
LIST OF RESOURCES AND SAMPLE DOCUMENTS
Fall Mountain Regional High School—Wildcat Winners Club (Notice) 119
Fall Mountain Regional High School Principal’s Postcard 120
Fall Mountain Regional High School Principal’s Positive Phone Call (Report) 120
National Association of Elementary School Principals’ Report
to Parents—Sample Pages 121
8. Community Outreach 127
Resolution: Education/Business Partnerships 135
Major Magic City Campus Teaching-Learning Programs 136
9. Rallying Support for Public Education 138
Arizona Public Schools—Making a Difference Every Day 143
10. Strengthening and Showcasing Instruction 144
iSAFE Recognizes Hawaii’s Commitment to e-Safety Education 150
11. Crisis Management 153
Making Sure the Message Gets Through—Creating an Effective Message 162
Guidelines for Handling Specific Varieties of Bad News 164
Threat Call Checklist (Sample) 165
Checklist: Emergency Management Kit 166
Cascade Middle School Memo—Lockdown Procedures 167
Lockdown (Flyer) 168
Task Check-Off List for Crisis Intervention 169
Emergency Calling Tree (Sample) 170
Crisis Procedures for Person in Charge 171
Guidelines for Emergency Notification 171
Suicide Postvention Plan 172
Sample Letter to Parents (On Occasion of Death/Accident) 173
Sample Letter to Students (On Occasion of Suicide of Friend or Classmate) 174
Child Abuse Reporting Procedures (Sample) 175
12. Data Gathering 176
Data-Gathering and Execution Plan 183
Superstars in Education 185
Desert Foothills Report Card 192
L’Anse Creuse Middle School North Parent Survey 194
Mountain View School Parent Survey 200
Magic City Campus Parent Needs Assessment Survey 205
The Middle School Concept (Evaluation) 207
Guidelines for Running a Focus Group 208
John Jacobs Site Council Needs Assessment (Notice) 209
Assessment Participation Letter to Parents 210
Angola High School Statistical Report 211
Marion County Public Schools Parent Survey 228
16. Foreword
Educators will often tell you that schools get too much negative coverage in the
press. That may be true from their perspective. Just one or two stories about bad
cafeteria food or missing textbooks may be too much for some people. But I have
been reading education stories in The Washington Post and other newspapers, as well as
watching them on television, for 40 years, and most of those stories have been positive.
We education reporters know that our readers are mostly parents, teachers, and
students. They want to know what is happening in schools. They have invested so much
time and hope in those places, they are much more pleased to read happy stories than
nasty ones. Carolyn Warner, an extraordinarily experienced veteran of education news
coverage in America, understands that. Notice how upbeat and optimistic her sugges-
tions are for promoting one’s school. She knows that we journalists (well, most of us at
least) are well-brought-up and friendly people, motivated not by a desire to make schools
look bad but by a need to make enough money to eat and pay the rent. We know we will
not be able to do that if we don’t write a lot of interesting stories and get them to our
editors on time.
Reflect for a moment on the kinds of newspapers that do most of the education report-
ing in this country. They are the opposite of The Washington Post. They are small, not big.
They are very local, not regional or national. They are often weeklies, not dailies. And
what do the editors of those small papers want to see, first and foremost, in their school
stories? Blood? Tragedy? Corruption? Nope. They want to see names—names of students,
names of parents, names of teachers, as many names as possible. Why? Because people
love to see their names in the paper and are more likely to buy it if the editors and
reporters make a great effort to mention lots of local folks.
Former Arizona state school superintendent Warner also appreciates a unique advan-
tage that educators have when dealing with reporters. People become teachers because
they want to help kids. They are, in my view, among the most humane people I know.
I have covered business tycoons, and bureaucrats, and politicians. When I made mistakes
in stories about people like that, they never took my phone calls again. But whenever
I make a mistake in a story about a teacher—and I have done that many times—the
teacher will take my call or answer my e-mail the next day, without hesitation. She will
explain to me what I did wrong, and tell me how I can do better the next time. She treats
me just like the student she gave a D+ to on an exam. To her, all people are educable, and
she treats them that way.
That is exactly the way we journalists should be dealt with, like slow-witted pupils
who need more time and guidance to do our work correctly. Ms. Warner is too polite
to say this in her book, but the best way to handle a conversation with any of us is to
pretend we are about 12 years old. That way, you won’t yell at us, you won’t question our
parentage, you won’t hang up the phone. You will simply tell us how to do better and
encourage us in that direction.
x
17. Sounds simple, right? It’s not. This book is 264 pages long, and Ms. Warner has not
wasted a single word. Forging a strong and healthy bond between a community and its
schools can be hard work. It takes thought and preparation and teamwork. Ms. Warner
has seen how this is done from every possible perspective. I may quarrel with some of her
advice, but not much of it. And I suspect that wherever we differ—given that she has
much more experience with these issues than I do—she is right and I am wrong.
So, enjoy the book. If I were you, I would use the table of contents to sample parts of the
book that interest you most. But if you are an educator, or an active community member,
for whom these issues are an important part of your life, I would read the whole thing.
And remember, the next time you see reporters like me, annoying and intrusive and
demanding more than you can give, just smile and say you are so impressed with our
good questions, and will be happy to help us with our story. We mean well, usually, even
if it doesn’t sound like it. You should not pat us on the head, but treat us like the occa-
sionally impatient and clueless girls and boys we are, and all will work out fine.
—Jay Mathews
Washington Post Education Columnist, 2008
xi
FOREWORD
18. xii
Preface
The first edition of Promoting Your School was published in 1994. Because of its success,
Corwin asked me to update it with new material on the challenges facing
education in the 21st century. The second edition, published in 2000, came out on the
cusp of the explosion in technology that is still going on. Today, as we have prepared this
third edition, even more rapid advances in technology continue to direct the ways we com-
municate. So we have done even more research on the most effective applications of tech-
nology. Educational leaders who participated in the first and second editions of the book
were asked for additional input. From elementary and secondary state school “Principals
of the Year” to “Superintendents of the Year” to school public relations experts from
around the country—all were invited to contribute. As a result, this new edition contains
updated examples of how these experts are taking full advantage of the latest technology
in school and district communication efforts. Students and educators alike are increasingly
sophisticated in their knowledge and use of computer technology and all its possibilities,
so examples have been added throughout this edition showcasing some of the best prac-
tices in use today in public education. There is no better way to increase the confidence
level of parents who want their children to be prepared to succeed both academically and
economically in this changing world than to show them firsthand how educational
change, creatively employed by educational leaders, is benefiting their children.
Promoting Your School is about communication. In this era of high-demand/high-
performance expectations, schools struggle with their role in the community and with their
ability to project an image that is both positive and honest. Academic requirements have
increased at the same time that schools have taken on countless new responsibilities—
responsibilities having nothing to do with the classic “three R’s” that traditionally have
been fulfilled by extended families, community agencies, and religious institutions.
Promoting Your School was written with these realities in mind, and to simplify at least
some aspects of the life of all school leaders by helping them draw upon a wide array of
school and community resources to build a support base of human, material, and financial
capital.
Parents who believe their children are getting a quality education in your school or
school district will not “vote with their feet” by withdrawing their children from the
public schools and enrolling them in a private school—and then lobbying for state fund-
ing to pay their tuition! If you honestly and openly involve parents and the greater com-
munity in your efforts to improve your school or your district, they will reward you not
only with their time and support but also with the most precious asset they possess—their
children.
Moreover, America’s businesses have come to understand that a well-trained, well-
educated, properly motivated workforce is the most powerful asset any company can
have—especially if that company wants to be a player in the global economy of the 21st
century. Employers are increasingly willing, even eager, to partner with schools to assist
in developing such a workforce.
19. As it is with the private sector and with parents, it will also be with the community at
large. Households that have no school-age children need tangible demonstrations of get-
ting their money’s worth before they will even consider paying more in taxes to support
somebody else’s children. It is up to you and your school teams to demonstrate the value
of the education tax dollar.
So, more than ever before, it is “Job #1” for schools and school leaders to build and
strengthen the four-way partnership between schools, parents, community, and the pri-
vate sector. Today’s high-demand/high-performance–era educational leaders must be
able to successfully communicate the needs, problems, goals, successes, challenges, and
educational priorities of their schools. Stakeholders who know the truth about public
schools have demonstrated a remarkable willingness to be supportive not only with their
time but with their resources as well.
But you have to tell them! You have to communicate with them! The entire community
has to be told. It is up to you to see that the message gets out, and to remember that some
of your best communicators are your students, staff, parents, and community members.
Throughout this book, the word marketing is used. You have to market (sell) your
school and your district to the external constituencies of parents and community and
employers, as well as to the internal constituencies of students, teachers, and staff. Every
group must be given a reason for caring about what happens to your school.
No single book can answer every question or foresee every eventuality, but the strate-
gies contained in this book can provide you with a map to help you and your team get to
where you want and need to go. Most of these techniques and strategies are drawn from
the actual successful experiences of schools all across the United States. Still others are
taken from real-world business and political situations in which collaborative, commu-
nicative leadership has overcome bureaucratic tradition and inertia.
There are 13 chapters in this book. Each chapter deals with a separate component of
communicating/marketing challenges and offers strategies for how to meet them. Unlike
a novel or a biography, this book isn’t necessarily designed to be read from beginning
to end, or chapter by chapter. Communicating/marketing/selling your school or your
school district is the only “plot,” and there is a certain amount of duplication from chap-
ter to chapter, since some basic marketing techniques obviously apply to more than one
strategy or project.
Thus, each chapter is something of a stand-alone “cookbook” intended to provide
hands-on strategies, tips, how-to’s, lists, and resources for reaching and enlisting your
essential audiences. The emphasis is on the practical and the doable rather than the
theoretical.
Clearly, every tip and technique will not work for every school. Although some of this
information may be old hat or didn’t work for you, it may be new to someone else and
may work well in another school environment or community. Also, remember that just
because an idea has been around a long time doesn’t mean it’s not a good one.
This book is written to be used by all school and district administrators, new to the
position or experienced, and at schools or districts, large or small; rural, suburban, or
urban; elementary, intermediate, or secondary. It recognizes that principals and district
administrators come to this task with varying levels of expertise in communications and
marketing but that they are united by a common desire to help their schools be the best
that they can be.
The book is also intended to be used, or at least to be helpful, to leaders of PTA/PTO orga-
nizations who want to be effective and supportive school advocates; to business leaders who
realize that, without quality public schools, they have no economic future; to community
xiii
PREFACE
20. xiv PROMOTING YOUR SCHOOL
members who understand that good schools make strong, healthy neighborhoods; and to
elected and appointed public officials who understand the relationship between high-
achieving public schools and an enhanced quality of life for their constituents.
The resources and samples at the end of each chapter were drawn from a wide vari-
ety of sources. A survey instrument was sent to “Principals of the Year” in all 50 states and
to selected other school administrators—several hundred in all—soliciting items from
their “arsenal of tricks.”
Other techniques and concepts were gleaned from school public
relations professionals and other communication experts. The goal throughout was to
avoid reinventing the wheel and to seek out what works best from the practitioners who
are in the arena, marketing their schools day in and day out.
Selecting which material to include was a challenging task. The standards were to
select those resources/samples that (a) seemed to best represent successful practices,
(b) could be replicated outside their original setting, (c) covered as wide a spectrum of
techniques and approaches as possible, and (d) could actually be implemented at the
building level with building-level resources as well as at the district level, with a broader
array of support. Every form, sample, example, or model is included in the book for one
purpose only: to be used. Permission is granted to readers to copy, modify, or adapt any of
this material for local school or district use.
Like the first and second editions, this new, third edition of Promoting Your School:
Going Beyond PR has been very much a collaborative effort. Throughout the research
process, I have received enormous and willing assistance from many of the best, most cre-
ative minds in education and from a number of outstanding national educational organi-
zations and enterprises. I am grateful to the many educators who have shared so generously
their ideas, advice, techniques, strategies, wisdom, and vision. Their contributions make
up a large portion this book. With admiration and appreciation, those educators who con-
tributed to both the original and second editions of Promoting Your School are acknowl-
edged in Resource A at the end of the book.
21. Acknowledgments
My special gratitude goes to Eleanor Andersen and Jeri Robertson for their
research, contributions, and updates to this edition of Promoting Your School; to
David Bolger for his contributions to all three; and to Bethany Holder and
Renee Davis for their tireless assistance in bringing this third edition to completion.
This book would not have been written without the inspiration, talents, and collabo-
ration of all the people and organizations listed throughout the book. The credit goes to
them. The errors of commission or omission remain mine alone.
PUBLISHER’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Corwin gratefully acknowledges the contributions of the following individuals:
Bruce Deterding, Principal
Wichita Heights High School
Wichita, KS
Anne Roede Giddings, Assistant Superintendent
Ansonia Public Schools
Ansonia, CT
William A. Sommers, Program Manager
Southwest Educational Development Laboratory (SEDL)
Austin, TX
xv
22. About the Author
Carolyn Warner has gained national stature as one of America’s most
articulate educational and public policy leaders. A product of pio-
neering Oklahoma stock, her father was an Oklahoma state senator,
teacher, and newspaper publisher in whose honor the first public
school in Oklahoma’s Indian Territory was named. Her mother, also a
teacher, served as a school principal in both Oklahoma and California.
With six children in the public schools, Carolyn Warner became an
active parent volunteer and PTA member, and she began her public
service career with election to the Phoenix Union High School District
Board of Trustees. In 1974, public service became a full-time commitment when she was
elected Arizona State Superintendent of Public Instruction, the first noneducator ever
elected to this post. She was reelected to two additional 4-year terms. During her tenure,
Warner became nationally known for her advocacy of educational accountability (both
academic and fiscal); citizen participation in educational decision making; the integration
of career and technical education and basic academic skills; and an unparalleled partner-
ship with school administrators, teachers, and business leaders. Under her leadership,
Arizona’s Basic Skills and Employability Skills initiatives became national models, and
were among the first educational materials to be printed in the Navajo language.
As a respected public policy leader, Warner maintains an active role in political and
educational initiatives and organizations on both the state and national scene. Drawing
on her vast experience in government, business, education, and communications, she
heads her own firm, Corporate Education Consulting, Inc., which offers consulting, speaking,
seminar, and training services focusing on education, workforce/workplace issues,
leadership, and public–private partnerships.
Carolyn Warner is nationally known as a speaker of uncommon skills, giving over
30 keynote and seminar presentations per year. Her public speaking expertise is reflected
in her bestseller, The Last Word: A Treasury of Women’s Quotes. She is also the author of
Everybody’s House—The Schoolhouse, published by Corwin in 1997.
xvi
25. The Foundation
of Success
“If you’re the only one who knows something, it’s a secret.”
In days past, schools did not always need solid communication and public relations
programs. The school was there, the teachers were there, parents sent their children,
the law said so—and that was it!
Half a century ago, more than three-quarters of the families in both rural and urban
communities across the United States had children in public schools. Today, fewer than
one-quarter of families have children in public schools, leaving many community members
with no direct line of communication with their local schools.
Thus, the traditional modes of communication from the school to the public—report
cards, parent-teacher conferences, calls home when a child misbehaved, open house, fly-
ers announcing special events, a newsletter, sporadic media coverage of special activities—
were deemed adequate for keeping the community informed. But today, these methods,
although still important pieces of a comprehensive communication plan, are simply not
sufficient to build the broad-based support schools need to be successful.
The rightness of your “cause” (your position, your district’s mission) aside, people
just aren’t going to take your word for it anymore. They want to see results, accountabil-
ity, proof. Can you blame them for being skeptical in the face of the current, widespread
public furor over the crisis in American education? However, it has been demonstrated
that, over the long haul, communities will support a school system that exhibits a solid,
measurable commitment to quality.
As a professional educator or public education supporter, you know that in most
schools throughout the country, most educators are doing a good job with most students.
Yet the public’s knowledge of and confidence in public education does not always reflect
3
1
27. accessible to any one for a small fee, interested me particularly
because the people were so well apparelled, so “good-looking,” and
the atmosphere was so charged with the spirit of neighborliness.
The favorite dances there were the waltz (old style), the fox-trot,
and the schottische. I confess that this recrudescence of the
schottische in Cleveland, a progressive city that satisfies so many of
the cravings of the aspiring soul—the home of three-cent car-fares
and a noble art museum—greatly astonished me. But for the fact
that warning of each number was flashed on the wall I should not
have trusted my judgment that what I beheld was, indeed, the
schottische. Frankly I do not care for the schottische, and it may
have been that my tone or manner betokened resentment at its
revival; at any rate a policeman whom I interviewed outside the
pavilion eyed me with suspicion when I expressed surprise that the
schottische was so frequently announced. When I asked why the
one-step was ignored utterly he replied contemptuously that no
doubt I could find places around Cleveland where that kind of rough
stuff was permitted, but “it don’t go here!” I did not undertake to
defend the one-step to so stern a moralist, though it was in his eye
that he wished me to do so that he might reproach me for my
worldliness. I do not believe he meant to be unjust or harsh or even
that he appraised me at once as a seeker of the rough stuff he
abhorred; I had merely provided him with an excuse for proclaiming
the moral standards of the city of Cleveland, which are high. I made
note of the persistence of the Puritan influence in the Western
Reserve and hastily withdrew in the direction of the trolley.
Innumerable small lakes lie within the far-flung arms of the major
lakes adding variety and charm to a broad landscape, and offering
summer refuge to a host of vacationists. Northern Indiana is
plentifully sprinkled with lakes and ponds; in Michigan, Wisconsin,
and Minnesota there are thousands of them. I am moved to ask—is
a river more companionable than a lake? I had always felt that a
river had the best of the argument, as more neighborly and human,
and I am still disposed to favor those streams of Maine that are
played upon by the tides; but an acquaintance with a great number
28. of these inland saucerfuls of blue water has made me their
advocate. Happy is the town that has a lake for its back yard! The
lakes of Minneapolis (there are ten within the municipal limits) are
the distinguishing feature of that city. They seem to have been
planted just where they are for the sole purpose of adorning it, and
they have been protected and utilized with rare prevision and
judgment. To those who would chum with a river, St. Paul offers the
Mississippi, where the battlements of the University Club project over
a bluff from which the Father of Waters may be admired at leisure,
and St. Paul will, if you insist, land you in one of the most delightful
of country clubs on the shore of White Bear Lake. I must add that
the country club has in the Twin Cities attained a rare state of
perfection. That any one should wing far afield from either town in
summer seems absurd, so blest are both in opportunities for outdoor
enjoyment.
Just how far the wide-spread passion for knitting has interfered with
more vigorous sports among our young women I am unable to say,
but the loss to links and courts in the Western provinces must have
been enormous. The Minikahda Club of Minneapolis was illuminated
one day by a girls’ luncheon. These radiant young beings entered
the dining-room knitting—knitting as gravely as though they were
weaving the destinies of nations—and maybe they were! The small
confusions and perplexities of seating the party of thirty were
increased by the dropping of balls of yarn—and stitches! The round
table seemed to be looped with yarn, as though the war overseas
were tightening its cords about those young women, whose brothers
and cousins and sweethearts were destined to the battle-line.
29. On a craft plying the waters of Erie I found all of the
conditions of a happy
outing and types that it is always a joy to meet.
Longfellow celebrated in song “The Four Lakes of Madison,” which
he apostrophized as “lovely handmaids.” I treasure the memory of
an approach round one of these lakes to Wisconsin’s capitol (one of
the few American State-houses that doesn’t look like an
30. appropriation!) through a mist that imparted to the dome an
inthralling illusion of detachment from the main body of the building.
The first star twinkled above it; perhaps it was Wisconsin’s star that
had wandered out of the galaxy to symbolize for an hour the State’s
sovereignty!
Whatever one may miss on piers and in amusement parks in the
way of types may be sought with confidence on the excursion
steamers that ply the lakes—veritable arks in which humanity in
countless varieties may be observed. The voyager is satisfied that
the banana and peanut and the innocuous “pop” are the ambrosia
and nectar of our democracy. Before the boat leaves the dock the
deck is littered; one’s note-book bristles with memoranda of the
untidiness and disorder. On a craft plying the waters of Erie I found
all the conditions of a happy outing and types that it is always a joy
to meet. The village “cut-up,” dashingly perched on the rail; the girl
who is never so happy as when organizing and playing games; the
young man who yearns to join her group, but is prevented by
unconquerable shyness; the child that, carefully planted in the most
crowded and inaccessible part of the deck, develops a thirst that
results in the constant agitation of half the ship as his needs are
satisfied. There is, inevitably, a woman of superior breeding who has
taken passage on the boat by mistake, believing it to be first-class,
which it so undeniably is not; and if you wear a sympathetic
countenance she will confide to you her indignation. The crunching
of the peanut-shell, the poignant agony of the child that has loved
the banana not wisely but too well, are an affront to this lady. She
announces haughtily that she’s sure the boat is overcrowded, which
it undoubtedly is, and that she means to report this trifling with
human life to the authorities. That any one should covet the cloistral
calm of a private yacht when the plain folks are so interesting and
amusing is only another proof of the constant struggle of the
aristocratic ideal to fasten itself upon our continent.
31. The Perry monument at Put-in Bay.
A huge column of concrete erected in commemoration
of Commodore Perry’s victory.
Below there was a dining-saloon, but its seclusion was not to be
preferred to an assault upon a counter presided over by one of the
most remarkable young men I have ever seen. He was tall and of a
slenderness, with a wonderful mane of fair hair brushed straight
back from his pale brow. As he tossed sandwiches and slabs of pie
32. to the importunate he jerked his hair into place with a magnificent
fling of the head. In moments when the appeals of starving
supplicants became insistent, and he was confused by the pressure
for attention, he would rake his hair with his fingers, and then,
wholly composed, swing round and resume the filling of orders. The
young man from the check-room went to his assistance, but I felt
that he resented this as an impertinence, a reflection upon his
prowess. He needed no assistance; before that clamorous company
he was the pattern of urbanity. His locks were his strength and his
consolation; not once was his aplomb shaken, not even when a
stocky gentleman fiercely demanded a whole pie!
While Perry’s monument, a noble seamark at Put-in-Bay, is a
reminder that the lakes have played their part in American history, it
is at Mackinac that one experiences a sense of antiquity. The white-
walled fort is a link between the oldest and the newest, and the
imagination quickens at the thought of the first adventurous white
man who ever braved the uncharted waters; while the eye follows
the interminable line of ore barges bound for the steel-mills on the
southern curve of Michigan or on the shores of Erie. Commerce in
these waters began with the fur-traders travelling in canoes; then
came sailing vessels carrying supplies to the new camps and
settlements and returning with lumber or produce; but to-day sails
are rare and the long leviathans, fascinating in their apparent
unwieldiness and undeniable ugliness, are the dominant medium of
transportation.
One night, a few years ago, on the breezy terrace of one of the
handsomest villas in the lake region, I talked with the head of a
great industry whose products are known round the world. His
house, furnished with every comfort and luxury, was gay with music
and the laughter of young folk. Through the straits crawled the
ships, bearing lumber, grain, and ore, signalling their passing in
raucous blasts to the lookout at St. Ignace. My host spoke with
characteristic simplicity and deep feeling of the poverty of his youth
(he came to America an immigrant) and of all that America had
meant to him. He was near the end of his days and I have thought
33. often of that evening, of his seigniorial dignity and courtesy, of the
portrait he so unconsciously drew of himself against a background
adorned with the rich reward of his laborious years. And as he talked
it seemed that the power of the West, the prodigious energies of its
forests and fields and hills, its enormous potentialities of opportunity,
became something concrete and tangible, that flowed in an
irresistible tide through the heart of the nation.
34. CHAPTER III
THE FARMER OF THE MIDDLE WEST
That it may please Thee to give and
preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the
earth, so that in due time we may enjoy
them.—The Litany.
WHEN spring marches up the Mississippi valley and the snows of the
broad plains find companionship with the snows of yesteryear, the
traveller, journeying east or west, is aware that life has awakened in
the fields. The winter wheat lies green upon countless acres;
thousands of ploughshares turn the fertile earth; the farmer, after
the enforced idleness of winter, is again a man of action.
Last year (1917), that witnessed our entrance into the greatest of
wars, the American farmer produced 3,159,000,000 bushels of corn,
660,000,000 bushels of wheat, 1,587,000,000 bushels of oats,
60,000,000 bushels of rye. From the day of our entrance into the
world struggle against autocracy the American farm has been the
subject of a new scrutiny. In all the chancelleries of the world crop
reports and estimates are eagerly scanned and tabulated, for while
the war lasts and far into the period of rehabilitation and
reconstruction that will follow, America must bear the enormous
responsibility, not merely of training and equipping armies, building
ships, and manufacturing munitions, but of feeding the nations. The
farmer himself is roused to a new consciousness of his importance;
he is aware that thousands of hands are thrust toward him from
over the sea, that every acre of his soil and every ear of corn and
bushel of wheat in his bins or in process of cultivation has become a
factor in the gigantic struggle to preserve and widen the dominion of
democracy.
35. I
“Better be a farmer, son; the corn grows while you sleep!”
This remark, addressed to me in about my sixth year by my great-
uncle, a farmer in central Indiana, lingered long in my memory.
There was no disputing his philosophy; corn, intelligently planted
and tended, undoubtedly grows at night as well as by day. But the
choice of seed demands judgment, and the preparation of the soil
and the subsequent care of the growing corn exact hard labor. My
earliest impressions of farm life cannot be dissociated from the long,
laborious days, the monotonous plodding behind the plough, the
incidental “chores,” the constant apprehensions as to drought or
flood. The country cousins I visited in Indiana and Illinois were all
too busy to have much time for play. I used to sit on the fence or
tramp beside the boys as they drove the plough, or watch the girls
milk the cows or ply the churn, oppressed by an overmastering
homesickness. And when the night shut down and the insect chorus
floated into the quiet house the isolation was intensified.
My father and his forebears were born and bred to the soil; they
scratched the earth all the way from North Carolina into Kentucky
and on into Indiana and Illinois. I had just returned, last fall, from a
visit to the grave of my grandfather in a country churchyard in
central Illinois, round which the corn stood in solemn phalanx, when
I received a note from my fifteen-year-old boy, in whom I had
hopefully looked for atavistic tendencies. From his school in
Connecticut he penned these depressing tidings:
“I have decided never to be a farmer. Yesterday the school was
marched three miles to a farm where the boys picked beans all
afternoon and then walked back. Much as I like beans and want to
help Mr. Hoover conserve our resources, this was rubbing it in. I
never want to see a bean again.”
I have heard a score of successful business and professional men
say that they intended to “make farmers” of their boys, and a
36. number of these acquaintances have succeeded in sending their
sons through agricultural schools, but the great-grandchildren of the
Middle Western pioneers are not easily persuaded that farming is an
honorable calling.
It isn’t necessary for gentlemen who watch the tape for crop
forecasts to be able to differentiate wheat from oats to appreciate
the importance to the prosperous course of general business of a big
yield in the grain-fields; but to the average urban citizen farming is
something remote and uninteresting, carried on by men he never
meets in regions that he only observes hastily from a speeding
automobile or the window of a limited train. Great numbers of
Middle Western city men indulge in farming as a pastime—and in a
majority of cases it is, from the testimony of these absentee
proprietors, a pleasant recreation but an expensive one. However, all
city men who gratify a weakness for farming are not faddists; many
such land-owners manage their plantations with intelligence and
make them earn dividends. Mr. George Ade’s Indiana farm,
Hazelden, is one of the State’s show-places. The playwright and
humorist says that its best feature is a good nine-hole golf-course
and a swimming-pool, but from his “home plant” of 400 acres he
cultivates 2,000 acres of fertile Hoosier soil.
A few years ago a manufacturer of my acquaintance, whose family
presents a clear urban line for a hundred years, purchased a farm on
the edge of a river—more, I imagine, for the view it afforded of a
pleasant valley than because of its fertility. An architect entered
sympathetically into the business of making habitable a century-old
log house, a transition effected without disturbing any of the timbers
or the irregular lines of floors and ceilings. So much time was spent
in these restorations and readjustments that the busy owner in
despair fell upon a mail-order catalogue to complete his preparations
for occupancy. A barn, tenant’s house, poultry-house, pump and
windmill, fencing, and every vehicle and tool needed on the place,
including a barometer and wind-gauge, he ordered by post. His joy
in his acres was second only to his satisfaction in the ease with
which he invoked all the apparatus necessary to his comfort. Every
37. item arrived exactly as the catalogue promised; with the hired man’s
assistance he fitted the houses together and built a tower for the
windmill out of concrete made in a machine provided by the same
establishment. His only complaint was that the catalogue didn’t offer
memorial tablets, as he thought it incumbent upon him to publish in
brass the merits of the obscure pioneer who had laboriously
fashioned his cabin before the convenient method of post-card
ordering had been discovered.
II
Imaginative literature has done little to invest the farm with glamour.
The sailor and the warrior, the fisherman and the hunter are
celebrated in song and story, but the farmer has inspired no ringing
saga or iliad, and the lyric muse has only added to the general
joyless impression of the husbandman’s life. Hesiod and Virgil wrote
with knowledge of farming; Virgil’s instructions to the ploughman
only need to be hitched to a tractor to bring them up to date, and he
was an authority on weather signs. But Horace was no farmer; the
Sabine farm is a joke. The best Gray could do for the farmer was to
send him homeward plodding his weary way. Burns, at the plough,
apostrophized the daisy, but only by indirection did he celebrate the
joys of farm life. Wordsworth’s “Solitary Reaper” sang a melancholy
strain; “Snow-Bound” offers a genial picture, but it is of winter-clad
fields. Carleton’s “Farm Ballads” sing of poverty and domestic
infelicity. Riley made a philosopher and optimist of his Indiana
farmer, but his characters are to be taken as individuals rather than
as types. There is, I suppose, in every Middle Western county a
quizzical, quaint countryman whose sayings are quoted among his
neighbors, but the man with a hundred acres of land to till, wood to
cut, and stock to feed is not greatly given to poetry or humor.
English novels of rural life are numerous but they are usually in a
low key. I have a lingering memory of Hardy’s “Woodlanders” as a
book of charm, and his tragic “Tess” is probably fiction’s highest
venture in this field. “Lorna Doone” I remember chiefly because it
38. established in me a distaste for mutton. George Eliot and George
Meredith are other English novelists who have written of farm life,
nor may I forget Mr. Eden Phillpotts. French fiction, of course, offers
brilliant exceptions to the generalization that literature has neglected
the farmer; but, in spite of the vast importance of the farm in
American life, there is in our fiction no farm novel of distinction. Mr.
Hamlin Garland, in “Main Traveled Roads” and in his autobiographical
chronicle “A Son of the Middle Border,” has thrust his plough deep;
but the truth as we know it to be disclosed in these instances is not
heartening. The cowboy is the jolliest figure in our fiction, the farmer
the dreariest. The shepherd and the herdsman have fared better in
all literatures than the farmer, perhaps because their vocations are
more leisurely and offer opportunities for contemplation denied the
tiller of the soil. The Hebrew prophets and poets were mindful of the
pictorial and illustrative values of herd and flock. It is written, “Our
cattle also shall go with us,” and, journeying across the mountain
States, where there is always a herd blurring the range, one thinks
inevitably of man’s long migration in quest of the Promised Land.
The French peasant has his place in art, but here again we are
confronted by joylessness, though I confess that I am resting my
case chiefly upon Millet. What Remington did for the American
cattle-range no one has done for the farm. Fields of corn and wheat
are painted truthfully and effectively, but the critics have withheld
their highest praise from these performances. Perhaps a corn-field is
not a proper subject for the painter; or it may be that the Maine
rocks or a group of birches against a Vermont hillside “compose”
better or are supported by a nobler tradition. The most alluring
pictures I recall of farm life have been advertisements depicting vast
fields of wheat through which the delighted husbandman drives a
reaper with all the jauntiness of a king practising for a chariot-race.
I have thus run skippingly through the catalogues of bucolic
literature and art to confirm my impression as a layman that farming
is not an affair of romance, poetry, or pictures, but a business,
exacting and difficult, that may be followed with success only by
industrious and enlightened practitioners. The first settlers of the
39. Mississippi valley stand out rather more attractively than their
successors of what I shall call the intermediate period. There was no
turning back for the pioneers who struck boldly into the unknown,
knowing that if they failed to establish themselves and solve the
problem of subsisting from the virgin earth they would perish. The
battle was to the strong, the intelligent, the resourceful. The first
years on a new farm in wilderness or prairie were a prolonged
contest between man and nature, nature being as much a foe as an
ally. That the social spark survived amid arduous labor and daily self-
sacrifice is remarkable; that the earth was subdued to man’s will and
made to yield him its kindly fruits is a tribute to the splendid courage
and indomitable faith of the settlers.
These Middle Western pioneers were in the fullest sense the sons of
democracy. The Southern planter with the traditions of the English
country gentleman behind him and, in slavery time, representing a
survival of the feudal order, had no counterpart in the West, where
the settler was limited in his holdings to the number of acres that he
and his sons could cultivate by their own labor. I explored, last year,
much of the Valley of Democracy, both in seed-time and in harvest.
We had been drawn at last into the world war, and its demands and
conjectures as to its outcome were upon the lips of men
everywhere. It was impossible to avoid reflecting upon the part
these plains have played in the history of America and the increasing
part they are destined to play in the world history of the future.
Every wheat shoot, every stalk of corn was a new testimony to the
glory of America. Not an acre of land but had been won by intrepid
pioneers who severed all ties but those that bound them to an ideal,
whose only tangible expression was the log court-house where they
recorded the deeds for their land or the military post that afforded
them protection. At Decatur, Illinois, one of these first court-houses
still stands, and we are told that within its walls Lincoln often
pleaded causes. American democracy could have no finer monument
than this; the imagination quickens at the thought of similar huts
reared by the axes of the pioneers to establish safeguards of law
and order on new soil almost before they had fashioned their
40. habitations. It seemed to me that if the Kaiser had known the spirit
in which these august fields were tamed and peopled, or the
aspirations, the aims and hopes that are represented in every
farmhouse and ranch-house between the Alleghanies and the
Rockies, he would not so contemptuously have courted our
participation against him in his war for world domination.
What I am calling, for convenience, the intermediate period in the
history of the Mississippi valley, began when the rough pioneering
was over, and the sons of the first settlers came into an inheritance
of cleared land. In the Ohio valley the Civil War found the farmer at
ease; to the west and northwest we must set the date further along.
The conditions of this intermediate period may not be overlooked in
any scrutiny of the farmer of these changed and changing times.
When the cloud of the Civil War lifted and the West began asserting
itself in the industrial world, the farmer, viewing the smoke-stacks
that advertised the entrance of the nearest towns and cities into
manufacturing, became a man with a grievance, who bitterly
reflected that when rumors of “good times” reached him he saw no
perceptible change in his own fortunes or prospects, and in “bad
times” he felt himself the victim of hardship and injustice. The glory
of pioneering had passed with his father and grandfather; they had
departed, leaving him without their incentive of urgent necessity or
the exultance of conquest. There may have been some weakening of
the fibre, or perhaps it was only a lessening of the tension now that
the Indians had been dispersed and the fear of wild beasts lifted
from his household.
There were always, of course, men who were pointed to as
prosperous, who for one reason or another “got ahead” when others
fell behind. They not only held their acres free of mortgage but
added to their holdings. These men were very often spoken of as
“close,” or tight-fisted; in Mr. Brand Whitlock’s phrase they were “not
rich, but they had money.” And, having money and credit, they were
sharply differentiated from their neighbors who were forever
borrowing to cover a shortage. These men loomed prominently in
their counties; they took pride in augmenting the farms inherited
41. from pioneer fathers; they might sit in the State legislature or even
in the national Congress. But for many years the farmer was firmly
established in the mind of the rest of the world as an object of
commiseration. He occupied an anomalous position in the industrial
economy. He was a landowner without enjoying the dignity of a
capitalist; he performed the most arduous tasks without recognition
by organized labor. He was shabby, dull, and uninteresting. He drove
to town over a bad road with a load of corn, and, after selling or
bartering it, negotiated for the renewal of his mortgage and stood
on the street corner, an unheroic figure, until it was time to drive
home. He symbolized hard work, hard luck, and discouragement.
The saloon, the livery-stable, and the grocery where he did his
trading were his only loafing-places. The hotel was inhospitable; he
spent no money there and the proprietor didn’t want “rubes” or
“jays” hanging about. The farmer and his wife ate their midday meal
in the farm-wagon or at a restaurant on the “square” where the
frugal patronage of farm folk was not despised.
The type I am describing was often wasteful and improvident. The
fact that a degree of mechanical skill was required for the care of
farm-machinery added to his perplexities; and this apparatus he very
likely left out-of-doors all winter for lack of initiative to build a shed
to house it. I used to pass frequently a farm where a series of
reapers in various stages of decrepitude decorated the barn-lot, with
always a new one to heighten the contrast.
The social life of the farmer centred chiefly in the church, where on
the Sabbath day he met his neighbors and compared notes with
them on the state of the crops. Sundays on the farm I recall as days
of gloom that brought an intensification of week-day homesickness.
The road was dusty; the church was hot; the hymns were dolorously
sung to the accompaniment of a wheezy organ; the sermon was
long, strongly flavored with brimstone, and did nothing to lighten
“the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world.”
42. The horses outside stamped noisily in their efforts to shake off the
flies. A venturous bee might invade the sanctuary and arouse hope
in impious youngsters of an attack upon the parson—a hope never
realized! The preacher’s appetite alone was a matter for humor; I
once reported a Methodist conference at which the succulence of the
yellow-legged chickens in a number of communities that contended
for the next convocation was debated for an hour. The height of the
country boy’s ambition was to break a colt and own a side-bar buggy
in which to take a neighbor’s daughter for a drive on Sunday
afternoon.
Community gatherings were rare; men lived and died in the counties
where they were born, “having seen nothing, still unblest.” County
and State fairs offered annual diversion, and the more ambitious
farmers displayed their hogs and cattle, or mammoth ears of corn,
and reverently placed their prize ribbons in the family Bibles on the
centre-tables of their sombre parlors. Cheap side-shows and
monstrosities, horse-races and balloon ascensions were provided for
their delectation, as marking the ultimate height of their intellectual
interests. A characteristic “Riley story” was of a farmer with a boil on
the back of his neck, who spent a day at the State fair waiting for
the balloon ascension. He inquired repeatedly: “Has the balloon
gone up yit?” Of course when the ascension took place he couldn’t
lift his head to see the balloon, but, satisfied that it really had “gone
up,” he contentedly left for home. (It may be noted here that the
new status of the farmer is marked by an improvement in the
character of amusements offered by State-fair managers. Most of
the Western States have added creditable exhibitions of paintings to
their attractions, and in Minnesota these were last year the subject
of lectures that proved to be very popular.)
The farmer, in the years before he found that he must become a
scientist and a business man to achieve success, was the prey of a
great variety of sharpers. Tumble-down barns bristled with lightning-
rods that cost more than the structures were worth. A man who had
sold cooking-ranges to farmers once told me of the delights of that
occupation. A carload of ranges would be shipped to a county-seat
43. and transferred to wagons. It was the agent’s game to arrive at the
home of a good “prospect” shortly before noon, take down the old,
ramshackle cook-stove, set up the new and glittering range, and
assist the womenfolk to prepare a meal. The farmer, coming in from
the fields and finding his wife enchanted, would order a range and
sign notes for payment. These obligations, after the county had
been thoroughly exploited, would be discounted at the local bank. In
this way the farmer’s wife got a convenient range she would never
have thought of buying in town, and her husband paid an exorbitant
price for it.
The farmer’s wife was, in this period to which I am referring, a poor
drudge who appeared at the back door of her town customers on
Saturday mornings with eggs and butter. She was copartner with her
husband, but, even though she might have “brought” him additional
acres at marriage, her spending-money was limited to the income
from butter, eggs, and poultry, and even this was dependent upon
the generosity of the head of the house. Her kitchen was furnished
with only the crudest housewifery apparatus; labor-saving devices
reached her slowly. In busy seasons, when there were farm-hands to
cook for, she might borrow a neighbor’s daughter to help her. Her
only relief came when her own daughters grew old enough to assist
in her labors. She was often broken down, a prey to disease, before
she reached middle life. Her loneliness, the dreary monotony of her
existence, the prevailing hopelessness of never “catching up” with
her sewing and mending, often drove her insane. The farmhouse
itself was a desolate place. There is a mustiness I associate with
farmhouses—the damp stuffiness of places never reached by the
sun. With all the fresh air in the world to draw from, thousands of
farmhouses were ill-lighted and ill-ventilated, and farm sanitation
was of the most primitive order.
44. A typical old homestead of the Middle West.
The farm on which Tecumseh was born.
I have dwelt upon the intermediate period merely to heighten the
contrast with the new era—an era that finds the problem of farm
regeneration put squarely up to the farmer.
III
The new era really began with the passage of the Morrill Act,
approved July 2, 1862, though it is only within a decade that the
effects of this law upon the efficiency and the character of the
farmer have been markedly evident. The Morrill Act not only made
the first provision for wide-spread education in agriculture but
lighted the way for subsequent legislation that resulted in the
elevation of the Department of Agriculture to a cabinet bureau, the
system of agriculture experiment-stations, the co-operation of
federal and State bureaus for the diffusion of scientific knowledge
pertaining to farming and the breeding and care of live-stock, and
the recent introduction of vocational training into country schools.
45. It was fitting that Abraham Lincoln, who had known the hardest
farm labor, should have signed a measure of so great importance,
that opened new possibilities to the American farmer. The
agricultural colleges established under his Act are impressive
monuments to Senator Morrill’s far-sightedness. When the first land-
grant colleges were opened there was little upon which to build
courses of instruction. Farming was not recognized as a science but
was a form of hard labor based on tradition and varied only by
reckless experiments that usually resulted in failure. The first
students of the agricultural schools, drawn largely from the farm,
were discouraged by the elementary character of the courses.
Instruction in ploughing, to young men who had learned to turn a
straight furrow as soon as they could tiptoe up to the plough-
handles, was not calculated to inspire respect for “book farming”
either in students or their doubting parents.
The farmer and his household have found themselves in recent years
the object of embarrassing attentions not only from Washington, the
land-grant colleges, and the experiment-stations, but countless
private agencies have “discovered” the farmer and addressed
themselves determinedly to the amelioration of his hardships. The
social surveyor, having analyzed the city slum to his satisfaction,
springs from his automobile at the farmhouse door and asks
questions of the bewildered occupants that rouse the direst
apprehensions. Sanitarians invade the premises and recommend the
most startling changes and improvements. Once it was possible for
typhoid or diphtheria to ravage a household without any interference
from the outside world; now a health officer is speedily on the
premises to investigate the old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
that hangs in the well, and he very likely ties and seals the well-
sweep and bids the farmer bore a new well, in a spot kindly chosen
for him, where the barn-lot will not pollute his drinking-water. The
questionnaire, dear to the academic investigator, is constantly in
circulation. Women’s clubs and federations thereof ponder the plight
of the farmer’s wife and are eager to hitch her wagon to a star.
Home-mission societies, alarmed by reports of the decay of the
46. country church, have instituted surveys to determine the truth of this
matter. The consolidation of schools, the introduction of comfortable
omnibuses to carry children to and from home, the multiplication of
country high schools, with a radical revision of the curriculum, the
building of two-story schoolhouses in place of the old one-room
affair in which all branches were taught at once, and the use of the
schoolhouse as a community centre—these changes have dealt a
blow to the long-established ideal of the red-mittened country child,
wading breast-high through snow to acquaint himself with the three
R’s and, thus fortified, enter into the full enjoyment of American
democracy. Just how Jefferson would look upon these changes and
this benignant paternalism I do not know, nor does it matter now
that American farm products are reckoned in billions and we are told
that the amount must be increased or the world will starve.
The farmer’s mail, once restricted to an occasional letter, began to
be augmented by other remembrances from Washington than the
hollyhock-seed his congressman occasionally conferred upon the
farmer’s wife. Pamphlets in great numbers poured in upon him, filled
with warnings and friendly counsel. The soil he had sown and
reaped for years, in the full confidence that he knew all its
weaknesses and possibilities, he found to be something very
different and called by strange names. His lifelong submission to
destructive worms and hoppers was, he learned, unnecessary if not
criminal; there were ways of eliminating these enemies, and he shyly
discussed the subject with his neighbors.
In speaking of the farmer’s shyness I have stumbled into the field of
psychology, whose pitfalls are many. The psychologists have as yet
played their search-light upon the farm guardedly or from the
sociologist’s camp. I here condense a few impressions merely that
the trained specialist may hasten to convict me of error. The farmer
of the Middle West—the typical farmer with approximately a quarter-
section of land—is notably sensitive, timid, only mildly curious,
cautious, and enormously suspicious. (“The farmer,” a Kansas friend
whispers, “doesn’t vote his opinions; he votes his suspicions!”) In
spite of the stuffing of his rural-route box with instructive literature
47. designed to increase the productiveness of his acres and lighten his
own toil, he met the first overtures of the “book-l’arnin’” specialist
warily, and often with open hostility. The reluctant earth has
communicated to the farmer, perhaps in all times and in all lands,
something of its own stubbornness. He does not like to be driven; he
is restive under criticism. The county agent of the extension bureau
who seeks him out with the best intentions in the world, to counsel
him in his perplexities, must approach him diplomatically. I find in
the report of a State director of agricultural extension a discreet
statement that “the forces of this department are organized, not for
purposes of dictation in agricultural matters but for service and
assistance in working out problems pertaining to the farm and the
community.” The farmer, unaffected as he is by crowd psychology, is
not easily disturbed by the great movements and tremendous crises
that rouse the urban citizen. He reads his newspaper perhaps more
thoroughly than the city man, at least in the winter season when the
distractions of the city are greatest and farm duties are the least
exacting. Surrounded by the peace of the fields, he is not swayed by
mighty events, as men are who scan the day’s news on trains and
trolleys and catch the hurried comments of their fellow citizens as
they plunge through jostling throngs. Professor C. J. Galpin, of
Wisconsin University, aptly observes that, while the farmer trades in
a village, he shares the invisible government of a township, which
“scatters and mystifies” his community sense.
It was a matter of serious complaint that farmers responded very
slowly in the first Liberty Loan campaigns. At the second call
vigorous attempts were made through the corn belt to rouse the
farmer, who had profited so enormously by the war’s augmentation
of prices. In many cases country banks took the minimum allotment
of their communities and then sent for the farmers to come in and
subscribe. The Third Loan, however, was met in a much better spirit.
The farmer is unused to the methods by which money-raising
“drives” are conducted and he resents being told that he must do
this, that, or the other thing. Townfolk are beset constantly by
demands for money for innumerable causes; there is always a
48. church, a hospital, a social-service house, a Y. M. C. A. building, or
some home or refuge for which a special appeal is being made.
There is a distinct psychology of generosity based largely on the
inspiration of thoroughly organized effort, where teams set forth
with a definite quota to “raise” before a fixed hour, but the farmer
was long immune from these influences.
In marked contrast with the small farmer, who wrests a scant
livelihood from the soil, is his neighbor who boasts a section or a
thousand acres, who is able to utilize the newest machinery and to
avail himself of the latest disclosures of the laboratories, to increase
his profits. One visits these large farms with admiration for the
fruitful land, the perfect equipment, the efficient method, and the
alert, wide-awake owner. He lives in a comfortable house, often
electric-lighted and “plumbed,” visits the cities, attends farm
conferences, and is keenly alive to the trend of public affairs. If the
frost nips his corn he is aware of every means by which “soft” corn
may be handled to the best advantage. He knows how many cattle
and hogs his own acres will feed, and is ready with cash to buy his
neighbors’ corn and feed it to stock he buys at just the right turn of
the market. It is possible for a man to support himself and a family
on eighty acres; I have talked with men who have done this; but
they “just about get by.” The owner of a big farm, whose modern
house and rich demesne are admired by the traveller, is a valued
customer of a town or city banker; the important men of his State
cultivate his acquaintance, with resulting benefits in a broader
outlook than his less-favored neighbors enjoy. Farmers of this class
are themselves usually money-lenders or shareholders in country
banks, and they watch the trend of affairs from the view-point of the
urban business man. They live closer to the world’s currents and are
more accessible and responsive to appeals of every sort than their
less-favored brethren.
But it is the small farmer, the man with the quarter-section or less,
who is the special focus of the search-light of educator, scientist, and
sociologist. During what I have called the intermediate period—the
winter of the farmer’s discontent—the politicians did not wholly
49. ignore him. The demagogue went forth in every campaign with
special appeals to the honest husbandman, with the unhappy effect
of driving the farmer more closely into himself and strengthening his
class sense. For the reason that the security of a democracy rests
upon the effacement to the vanishing-point of class feeling, and the
establishment of a solidarity of interests based upon a common aim
and aspiration, the effort making to dignify farming as a calling and
quicken the social instincts of the farmer’s household are matters of
national importance.
It may be said that in no other business is there a mechanism so
thoroughly organized for guarding the investor from errors of
omission or commission. I am aware of no “service” in any other
field of endeavor so excellent as that of the agricultural colleges and
their auxiliary experiment and extension branches, and it is a
pleasure to testify to the ease with which information touching the
farm in all its departments may be collected. Only the obtuse may
fail these days to profit by the newest ideas in soil-conservation,
plant-nutrition, animal-husbandry, and a thousand other subjects of
vital importance to the farmer. To test the “service” I wrote to the
Department of Agriculture for information touching a number of
subjects in which my ignorance was profound. The return mail
brought an astonishing array of documents covering all my inquiries
and other literature which my naïve questions had suggested to the
Department as likely to prove illuminative. As the extent of the
government’s aid to the farmer and stockman is known only vaguely
to most laymen, I shall set down the titles of some of these
publications:
“Management of Sandy Land Farms in
Northern Indiana and Southern Michigan.”
“The Feeding of Grain Sorghums to Live
Stock.”
“Prevention of Losses of Live Stock from
Plant Poisoning.”
50. “The Feeding of Dairy Cows.”
“An Economic Study of the Farm Tractor in
the Corn Belt.”
“Waste Land and Wasted Land on Farms.”
“How to Grow an Acre of Corn.”
“How to Select a Sound Horse.”
“The Chalcis Fly in Alfalfa Seed.”
“Homemade Fireless Cookers and Their
Use.”
“A Method of Analyzing the Farm Business.”
“The Striped Peach Worm.”
“The Sheep-Killing Dog.”
“Food Habits of the Swallows, a Family of
Valuable Native Birds.”
As most of these bulletins may be had free and for others only a
nominal price of five or ten cents is charged, it is possible to
accumulate an extensive library with a very small expenditure. Soil-
fertilization alone is the subject of an enormous literature; the field
investigator and the laboratory expert have subjected the earth in
every part of America to intensive study and their reports are
presented clearly and with a minimum use of technical terms. Many
manufacturers of implements or materials used on farms publish and
distribute books of real dignity in the advertisement of their wares. I
have before me a handsome volume, elaborately illustrated, put
forth by a Wisconsin concern, describing the proper method of
constructing and equipping a dairy-barn. To peruse this work is to be
convinced that the manger so alluringly offered really assures the
greatest economy of feeding, and the kine are so effectively
photographed, so clean, and so contented that one is impelled to an
immediate investment in a herd merely for the joy of housing it in
the attractive manner recommended by the sagacious advertiser.
51. Agricultural schools and State extension bureaus manifest the
greatest eagerness to serve the earnest seeker for enlightenment.
“The Service of YOUR College Brought as Near as Your Mail-Box,” is
the slogan of the Kansas State Agricultural College. Once upon a
time I sought the answer to a problem in Egyptian hieroglyphics and
learned that the only American who could speak authoritatively on
that particular point was somewhere on the Nile with an exploration
party. In the field of agriculture there is no such paucity of
scholarship. The very stupidity of a question seems to awaken pity in
the intelligent, accommodating persons who are laboring in the
farmer’s behalf. Augustine Birrell remarks that in the days of the
tractarian movement pamphlets were served upon the innocent
bystander like sheriffs’ processes. In like manner one who manifests
only the tamest curiosity touching agriculture in any of its phases
will find literature pouring in upon him; and he is distressed to find
that it is all so charmingly presented that he is beguiled into reading
it!
The charge that the agricultural school is educating students away
from the farm is not substantiated by reports from representative
institutions of this character. The dean of the College of Agriculture
of the University of Illinois, Dr. Eugene Davenport, has prepared a
statement illustrative of the sources from which the students of that
institution are derived. Every county except two is represented in the
agricultural department in a registration of 1,200 students, and, of
710 questioned, 242 are from farms; 40 from towns under 1,000; 87
from towns of 1,000 to 1,500; 262 from towns of 5,000 and up; and
79 from Chicago. Since 1900 nearly 1,000 students have completed
the agricultural course in this institution, and of this number 69 per
cent are actually living on farms and engaged in farming; 17 per
cent are teaching agriculture, or are engaged in extension work; 10
per cent entered callings related to farming, such as veterinary
surgery, landscape-gardening, creamery-management, etc.; less
than 4 per cent are in occupations not allied with agriculture. It
should be explained that the Illinois school had only a nominal
existence until seventeen years ago. The number of students has
52. steadily increased from 7 registrations in 1890 to 1,201 in 1916-17.
At the Ohio College of Agriculture half the freshman classes of the
last three years came from the cities, though this includes students
in landscape architecture and horticulture. In Iowa State College the
reports of three years show that 54.5 per cent of the freshmen were
sons of farmers, and of the graduates of a seven-year period (1907-
1914) 34.8 are now engaged in farming.
The opportunities open to the graduates of these colleges have been
greatly multiplied by the demand for teachers in vocational schools,
and the employment of county agents who must be graduates of a
school of agriculture or have had the equivalent in practical farm
experience. The influence of the educated farmer upon his neighbors
is very marked. They may view his methods with distrust, but when
he rolls up a yield of corn that sets a new record for fields with
which they are familiar they cannot ignore the fact that, after all,
there may be something in the idea of school-taught farming. By the
time a farm boy enters college he is sufficiently schooled in his
father’s methods, and well enough acquainted with the home acres,
to appreciate fully the value of the instruction the college offers him.
The only difference between agricultural colleges and other technical
schools is that to an unscientific observer the courses in agronomy
and its co-ordinate branches deal with vital matters that are more
interesting and appealing than those in, let us say, mechanical
engineering. If there is something that stirs the imagination in the
thought that two blades of grass may be made to grow where only
one had grown before, how much more satisfying is the assurance
that an acre of soil, properly fertilized and thoroughly tended, may
double its yield of corn; that there is a choice well worth the
knowing between breeds of beef or dairy cattle, and that there is a
demonstrable difference in the energy of foods that may be
converted into pork, particularly when there is a shortage and the
government, to stimulate hog production, fixes a minimum price
(November, 1917) of $15.50 per hundredweight in the Chicago
market; and even so stabilized the price is close upon $20 in July,
1918.
53. Students of agriculture in the pageant that celebrated the
fortieth
anniversary of the founding of Ohio State University.
54. The equipment of these institutions includes, with the essential
laboratories, farms under cultivation, horses, cattle, sheep, and
swine of all the representative breeds. Last fall I spent two days in
the agricultural school of a typical land-grant college of the corn belt
(Purdue University), and found the experience wholly edifying. The
value of this school to the State of Indiana is incalculable. Here the
co-ordinate extension service under Professor G. I. Christie is
thoroughly systematized, and reaches every acre of land in the
commonwealth. “Send for Christie” has become a watchword among
Indiana farmers in hours of doubt or peril. Christie can diagnose an
individual farmer’s troubles in the midst of a stubborn field, and fully
satisfy the landowner as to the merit of the prescribed remedy; or
he can interest a fashionable city audience in farm problems. He was
summoned to Washington a year ago to supervise farm-labor
activities, and is a member of the recently organized war policies
board.[C] The extension service in all the corn and wheat States is
excellent; it must be in capable hands, for the farmer at once
becomes suspicious if the State agent doesn’t show immediately that
he knows his business.
The students at Purdue struck me as more attentive and alert than
those I have observed from time to time in literature classes of
schools that stick to the humanities. In an entomology class, where I
noted the presence of one young woman, attention was riveted
upon a certain malevolent grasshopper, the foe of vegetation and in
these years of anxious conservation an enemy of civilization. That a
young woman should elect a full course in agronomy and allied
branches seemed to me highly interesting, and, to learn her habitat
in the most delicate manner possible, I asked for a census of the
class, to determine how many students were of farm origin. The
young lady so deeply absorbed in the grasshopper was, I found, a
city girl. Women, it should be noted, are often very successful
farmers and stock-breeders. They may be seen at all representative
cattle-shows inspecting the exhibits with sophistication and
pencilling notes in the catalogues.
55. To sit in the pavilion of one of these colleges and hear a lecture on
the judging of cattle is to be persuaded that much philosophy goes
into the production of a tender, juicy beefsteak or a sound,
productive milch cow. In a class that I visited a Polled Angus steer
and a shorthorn were on exhibition; the instructor might have been
a sculptor, conducting a class in modelling, from the nice points of
“line,” the distribution of muscle and fat, that he dilated upon. He
invited questions, which led to a discussion in which the whole class
participated. At the conclusion of this lecture a drove of swine was
driven in that a number of young gentlemen might practise the fine
art of “judging” this species against an approaching competitive
meeting with a class from another school. In these days of
multiplying farm-implements and tractors, the farmer is driven
perforce to know something of mechanics. Time is precious and the
breaking down of a harvester may be calamitous if the owner must
send to town for some one to repair it. These matters are cared for
in the farm-mechanics laboratories where instruction is offered in the
care, adjustment, and repair of all kinds of farm-machinery. While in
the summer of 1917 only 40,000 tractors were in use on American
farms, it is estimated that by the end of the current year the number
will have increased to 200,000, greatly minimizing the shortage in
men and horses. The substitution of gasolene for horse-power is
only one of the many changes in farm methods attributable to the
imperative demand for increased production of foodstuffs. Whitman
may have foreseen the coming of the tractor when he wrote:
“Well-pleased America, thou beholdest,
Over the fields of the West those crawling monsters;
The human-divine inventions, the labor-saving implements”;
for “crawling monster” happily describes the tractor.
The anxiety to serve, to accommodate the instruction to special
needs, is illustrated in the length of courses offered, which include a
week’s intensive course in midwinter designed for farmers, two-year
and four-year courses, and post-graduate work. Men well advanced
in years attend the midwinter sessions, eager to improve their
56. methods in a business they have followed all their lives. They often
bring their wives with them, to attend classes in dairying, poultry-
raising, or home economics. It is significant of the new movement in
farming that at the University of Wisconsin, an institution whose
services to American agriculture are inestimable, there is a course in
agricultural journalism, “intended,” the catalogue recites, “to be of
special service to students who will engage in farming or who expect
to be employed in station work or in some form of demonstration or
extension service and who therefore may have occasion to write for
publication and certainly will have farm produce and products to sell.
To these ends the work is very largely confined to studies in
agricultural writing.”
IV
The easing of the farmer’s burdens, through the development of
labor-saving machinery, and the convenience of telephones, trolley-
lines, and the cheap automobile that have vastly improved his social
prospects, has not overcome a growing prejudice against close
kinship with the soil. We have still to deal with the loneliness and the
social barrenness that have driven thousands of the children of
farms to the cities. The son of a small farmer may make a brilliant
record in an agricultural college, achieve the distinction of admission
to the national honorary agricultural fraternity (the Alpha Zeta, the
little brother of the Phi Beta Kappa), and still find the old home
crippling and stifling to his awakened social sense.
There is general agreement among the authorities that one of the
chief difficulties in the way of improvement is the lack of leadership
in farm communities. The farmer is not easily aroused, and he is
disposed to resent as an unwarranted infringement upon his
constitutional rights the attempts of outsiders to meddle with his
domestic affairs. He has found that it is profitable to attend
institutes, consult county agents, and peruse the literature
distributed from extension centres, but the invasion of his house is a
very different matter. Is he not the lord of his acres, an independent,
57. self-respecting citizen, asking no favors of society? Does he not
ponder well his civic duty and plot the destruction of the accursed
middleman, his arch-enemy? The benevolently inclined who seek
him out to persuade him of the error of his ways in any particular
are often received with scant courtesy. He must be “shown,” not
merely “told.” The agencies now so diligently at work to improve the
farmer’s social status understand this and the methods employed are
wisely tempered in the light of abundant knowledge of just how
much crowding the farmer will stand.
58. A feeding-plant at “Whitehall,” the farm of Edwin S. Kelly,
near
Springfield, Ohio.
59. Nothing is so essential to his success as the health of his household;
yet inquiries, more particularly in the older States of the Mississippi
valley, lead to the conclusion that there is a dismaying amount of
chronic invalidism on farms. A physician who is very familiar with
farm life declares that “all farmers have stomach trouble,” and this
obvious exaggeration is rather supported by Dr. John N. Hurty,
secretary of the Indiana State Board of Health, who says that he
finds in his visits to farmhouses that the cupboards are filled with
nostrums warranted to relieve the agonies of poor digestion. Dr.
Hurty, who has probably saved more lives and caused more
indignation in his twenty years of public service than any other
Hoosier, has made a sanitary survey of four widely separated Indiana
counties. In Blackford County, where 1,374 properties were
inspected, only 15 per cent of the farmhouses were found to be
sanitary. Site, ventilation, water-supply, the condition of the house,
and the health of its inmates entered into the scoring. In Ohio
County, where 441 homes were visited, 86 per cent were found to
be insanitary. The tuberculosis rate for this county was found to be
25 per cent higher than that of the State. In Scott County 97.6 per
cent of the farms were pronounced insanitary, and here the
tuberculosis rate is 48.3 per cent higher than that of the State. In
Union County, where only 2.3 per cent of the farms were found to be
sanitary, the average score did not rise above 45 per cent on site,
ventilation, and health. Here the tuberculosis death-rate was 176.3
in 100,000, against the State rate of 157. In all these counties the
school population showed a decrease.
It should be said that in the communities mentioned, old ones as
history runs in this region, many homes stand practically unaltered
after fifty or seventy-five years of continuous occupancy. Thousands
of farmers who would think it a shameless extravagance to install a
bathtub boast an automobile. A survey by Professor George H. von
Tungeln, of Iowa College, of 227 farms in two townships of northern
Iowa, disclosed 62 bathtubs, 98 pianos, and 124 automobiles. The
number of bathtubs reported by the farmers of Ohio is so small that
I shrink from stating it.
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