Humanity Life

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 ‘𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺,’ 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘚 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨.

William McCarty Little (1845–1915) was born to wealthy New York City parents who often vacationed in Newport, Rhode Island. Little took a liking to the coastal city and, more importantly, the ocean itself. His affinity for the sea and naval matters would lead him to become one of the most important naval officers and instructors in American history.

𝗔𝗻 𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴

Little began his naval career inside the classroom at the United States Naval Academy, which, due to the Civil War, was moved from Annapolis, Maryland, to his more familiar surroundings of Newport. Little graduated in 1866, shortly after the end of the war (the school had returned to Annapolis by this time). While studying at the Academy, he met an officer who would leave a lasting impact on the U.S. Navy and Little himself—Stephen B. Luce, who eventually rose to the rank of rear admiral.
Little served aboard numerous ships over the years, including vessels of the North Atlantic Squadron. A career in the Navy, however, didn’t promise quick promotion. It was considered the “dark ages” of the military branch, but this didn’t keep Little from impressing many of his fellow and superior officers.

He was a talented seaman who took education on naval matters seriously. He spoke and wrote several languages fluently, including French, a benefit of growing up with family property in France. Additionally, he was handsome, charming, and consistently presented himself professionally while in uniform. These qualities also helped him earn the hand of Anita Chartrand, the daughter of a prominent Cuban family in Newport.

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𝘈𝘯 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘹 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

In the formative years of aviation, when aircraft were little more than wood, wire, and fabric held together by ingenuity, Katherine Stinson earned a reputation as one of the most accomplished pilots of the era. Her career was built on exhibition flying, long-distance travel, instruction, and aviation promotion. More than a century later, her achievements remain firmly woven into the history of early flight.

𝗚𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀

Born in 1891 in Fort Payne, Alabama, Stinson spent portions of her youth in Mississippi and Arkansas. Music initially occupied much of her attention. She heard that stunt pilots earned large sums of money and planned to finance her music education through aviation.

Once introduced to flying, however, she discovered a field that demanded both discipline and imagination. After training with noted aviator Max Lillie, she earned her pilot’s certificate in 1912 and quickly developed a reputation for confident aircraft handling.

At a time when public exhibitions offered one of the few avenues for earning a living in aviation, Stinson became a sought-after performer. Traveling throughout the United States, she appeared before thousands of spectators who gathered to watch aircraft climb, bank, and maneuver in ways that seemed extraordinary. Her exhibitions were noted less for showmanship alone than for precision and consistency. Indeed, fellow aviators and newspaper accounts frequently praised the control she displayed in the air.

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𝘈𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘵. 𝘓𝘰𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭.

Long before televised World Series games and multimillion-dollar endorsement contracts, baseball gloves were crude, stiff accessories that players could barely trust. During the late 19th century, fielders often played barehanded or wore thin leather gloves that resembled work gloves more than sporting equipment. Baseballs arrived hard and fast, stinging palms and splitting knuckles.

Into that situation stepped George Rawlings, a St. Louis businessman whose company would become one of the most recognizable names in the sport.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗮𝘄𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀

Biographical information about George Rawlings (1855–1909) is surprisingly limited. Unlike sporting entrepreneur Albert Spalding, Rawlings left behind little personal documentation. The company he co-founded with his brother Alfred in 1887, however, became one of the dominant manufacturers of baseball gloves, game balls, and athletic equipment in America.

The Rawlings opened their business during a difficult economic period in the United States. Early catalogs advertised fishing tackle, football supplies, golf equipment, hunting gear, and baseball products. Like many sporting goods stores of the era, the Rawlings business catered to a growing American market for recreation and organized athletics. Stacks of leather gloves, wooden bats, canvas equipment bags, and hunting gear crowded the store as organized sports gained popularity nationwide.

The brothers initially operated as retailers, but ambition and necessity gradually pushed them into manufacturing. After a fire damaged the business during the 1890s, the company reorganized and expanded production. The setback might have ruined a smaller enterprise, but Rawlings endured, positioning itself for the exploding popularity of organized sports in the early 20th century.

Baseball came to define the company. At the turn of the 20th century, gloves were flat and lightly padded, difficult to close, and often stiff as saddle leather, offering limited control of the ball. Infields were uneven and dusty, and errors were common. Fielders relied heavily on two-handed catches. As pitchers threw increasingly harder and hitters swung more aggressively, equipment innovation became increasingly important.

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𝘌𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘔𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.

The story of the American Revolution has long been framed as a quest for political and economic liberty. But historian Eric Metaxas argues there is a profound undercurrent to this story that is frequently overlooked.

In “Revolution: The Birth of the Greatest Nation in the History of the World,” Metaxas views the conflict through the spectrum of a culture war. According to the author, the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t the only thing separating Britain and its American colonies. Indeed, the cultural differences grew so severe that it became impossible for those starkly different worlds to coexist.

𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗹𝗲

Metaxas begins his tale in a manner that feels closer in spirit to Mel Brooks than David McCullough. He flippantly recalls the abrupt death in 1760 of the aged King George II after relieving himself following the ingestion of a laxative. The monarch’s heir was his 22-year-old grandson, who took the name George III. He was ill-advised and ill-prepared to deal with the disaster that awaited him.

Metaxas points out there was always a degree of tension between the British establishment and its American subjects. After all, the colonies were settled by Britons seeking to escape religious and political intolerance.

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𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 ‘𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘺,’ 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯’𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘴.

Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790) has been called the “First American” for his impressive variety of skills and talents, his developments in many colonial industries, and his role in the founding of the new democracy.

In his day, Franklin’s claim to fame was the influence he had on his community through his pen, though it was written under a different name. He was a printer by trade and read voraciously. This inspired him to write books and pamphlets or essays to educate, amuse, and enlighten his fellow citizens.

His most famous written work is “Poor Richard’s Almanack” (almanac). Franklin published the annual journals continuously for 26 years in the later years of America’s time as a British colony.

Why were these almanacs so popular? What was the inspiration behind the name “Poor Richard”? Most importantly, what do these books offer us today?

𝗣𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗥𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱

Franklin published “Poor Richard’s Almanack” annually from 1732 to 1758. When he started, he was a humble, young printer. When he stopped, he’d become one of the most influential writers in the American colonies.

Each year, this volume sold around 10,000 copies, a wide distribution in those days. The average reader believed Franklin only printed these clever writings, not that he was their author.

The almanac was written from the viewpoint of Richard Saunders, or “Poor Richard.” In the earliest almanacs’ prefaces, this narrator identified himself as a poor astrologer or “stargazer” who turned to writing almanacs as a way to make money from his otherwise unprofitable tools of the trade. After all, he had a wife, Bridget, to support.

Later, the more tangible character of the hapless Saunders gave way to the sage Poor Richard with wise words of advice.

Neither the character of Saunders nor the sly means Franklin used to drum up attention were his original inventions. John F. Ross explained in his 1940 essay “The Character of Poor Richard” that Saunders was heavily based on a similar character created by English satirist Jonathan Swift (of “Gulliver’s Travels” fame).

Swift’s Isaac Bickerstaff was likewise an astrologer who achieved fame by predicting the death of a respected real-life astrologer of the day. Franklin copied this sensational stunt by predicting the death of almanac-writer Titan Leeds. Despite Leeds's protests that he was very much alive, Saunders emphatically insisted that later works his competitor penned were ghostwritten.

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𝘉𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘢 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘵𝘴 ‘𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴’ 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

On July 2, 1881, Charles Guiteau, a crazed and disgruntled office seeker who believed President James Garfield (1831–1881) owed him a position in the government, fired two shots from a British Bulldog revolver into the president, grazing his shoulder with the first bullet and striking him in the back with the second. Garfield lived for another 79 days.

During this time, Lucretia Garfield (1832–1918), often called “Crete” by family and friends, remained constantly at his side, consulting the doctors and doing what she could to help her husband of 22 years fight the horrific pain brought by infection. She herself was only just recovering from life-threatening malaria when news of the shooting reached her, yet she raced to be with James in the White House.

That ordeal and her composure at what some then called “the funeral of the century” won the first lady the admiration of the American people. Tributes appeared in the papers, and hundreds of notes of condolence arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Only a few of her contemporaries were aware of the backstory to the Garfield marriage, details that only polish Lucretia’s reputation of grace and character.

‘𝗧𝗼 𝗧𝗿𝘆 𝗮 𝗟𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻’

Lucretia was the oldest of four children of Zeb and Arabella Rudolph. Three influences from her upbringing on the family’s farm near Garrettsville, Ohio, would deeply affect her personality and her life. Her mother taught Lucretia the practice of “self-government,” the importance of control and doing one’s duty. And, although it was clear to the children that their mother and father loved them, they were not at all affectionate parents. Lucretia would later remember rarely being kissed by her mother and never by her father. Finally, she was an inveterate reader, once writing, “It would be of about as much use to stop breathing as to let books alone if they are anywhere in the region about me. I have to read ... as I have to live.”

After Lucretia had finished with the local school, this thirst for reading along with her keen intelligence prompted her parents to send her at age 15 to the Geauga Seminary, a boarding school for boys and girls about 20 miles from the farm. There, she met James Garfield, whom she first considered “an overgrown, uncombed, unwashed boy.”

Yet they became friends. In 1850, Lucretia enrolled in the Western Reserve Eclectic Institute, a new educational college that Zeb had helped found. When James entered that school a year later, their friendship evolved into a romance. In 1854, they exchanged a kiss in the college chapel and commenced a long and bumpy courtship.

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𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴, 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯.

In his new book “Rage and the Republic: The Unfinished Story of the American Revolution,” law professor and media presence Jonathan Turley again and again echoes this question first raised by Frenchman Michel Guillaume de Crèvecoeur. In 1765, de Crèvecoeur became a citizen of colonial New York, and to symbolize his new status, he changed his name to J. Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur. He won renown both at home and abroad for his book of essays, “Letters From an American Farmer.”

In one essay, de Crèvecoeur asks, “What then is the American, this new man?” He responds with answers like this one: “Here individuals of all nations are melted into a new race of men, whose labors and posterity will one day cause great changes in the world.”

De Crèvecoeur concludes his essays with this comparison of the old world and the new:

“The American is a new man who acts upon new principles; he must therefore entertain new ideas and form new opinions. From involuntary idleness, servile dependence, penury, and useless labor, he has passed to toils of a very different nature, rewarded by ample subsistence. This is an American.”

With the 250th celebration of the signing of the Declaration of Independence at hand, now is a fine time to look back at our ancestors, near and far, and listen to what they had to say about being an American.

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𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭-𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱: 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 ‘𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭-𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥’ 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤-𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢’𝘴 250𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺.

The largest patriotic poetry contest to be held in decades, if not ever, is going on right now. There is only a month left to submit. The deadline is July 4. Poets can receive prizes in several categories totaling nearly $5,000.

The Great American Poetry Competition (GAPC) is an official event of the White House’s Freedom 250 initiative, celebrating America’s 250th anniversary. Hosted by the Society of Classical Poets, it calls on writers to submit poems reflecting on the American spirit, history, heroes, and enduring ideals.

It is a competition that is unique in the current cultural landscape. In contrast to almost all other poetry contests, which favor formless free verse, this one focuses on traditional craftsmanship in the form of rhyme and meter. It also emphasizes the positive events and ideals that went into the country’s founding and have made America what it is.

This second point needs to be emphasized, as it has become fashionable to bash America in poetry contests. Organizations like the Poetry Foundation and the Academy of American Poets—once pillars of the literary community—have been subject to elite capture by Marxist intellectuals. They espouse un-American communist ideals and offer enormous cash prizes to those who parrot these ersatz virtues. Often these prizes are not held as competitions in the democratic sense of the term, where people submit poems to be judged. Instead, they are awarded by committees to poets who are already a part of their elite club.

The Society of Classical Poets seeks to break that mold. Most of those who submit to our online journal are not “professional” poets from academic backgrounds, but people with normal jobs who write verse in their spare time. Likewise, anyone may enter the GAPC. Entrants retain ownership of their work. Winning poems and finalists receive publication in Society of Classical Poets print and online venues, giving poets the opportunity to reach a wide audience beyond the contest itself.

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𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 ‘𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺,’ 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 20𝘵𝘩-𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦.

Twelve-year-old August Vollmer boarded a train with his mother, Philippine. They were moving to San Francisco. New Orleans’s police chief had just been murdered by mobsters. Crime, however, was not the motivating factor for moving from Louisiana’s major port city.

Philippine’s health had been deteriorating for several years after she was forced to take over the family grocery store following her husband’s death. She had finally succumbed to selling the business and moving the family to a better climate. Interestingly, the wife of the deceased police chief was aboard the same train. There was no way for Vollmer to know it, but he was heading straight toward a lifetime of policing. In fact, he would become arguably America’s most important law enforcement officer.

August Vollmer’s (1876–1955) arrival in California not only ended his time in Louisiana, but also ended his formal education. In 1888, with the family now in a new town and a mother whose health restricted her capacity to work, Vollmer was forced to take up employment. He worked for a firm in San Francisco for several years, though he had his sights set on opening his own business.

Despite his educational shortcomings, he was a voracious reader and consistently sought ways to learn. He attended lectures at the local university, frequented the library, requested reading recommendations from local professors, and maintained a stance of being a lifelong learner.

Vollmer established a strong network of friends in San Francisco and in Berkeley, where the family moved in 1890. As a teenager, he and his friends hunted, fished, sailed, and camped. He and a friend agreed to form a business partnership, and together they opened a fuel and feed store, which became quite successful. During this period, he also helped found the North Berkeley Fire Department.

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