If you thought it was imperative to change your name and you had access to all the Literature—Ancient and Modern—to be found in a Carnegie Library, would you select for yourself the name “Sullivan?”
Evidently our Irish Lad agreed with Cohan—that “it is a d—n fine name”—for when I recognized in him one of my Family of Homeless Men as he walked aimlessly along the city streets, and asked him rather abruptly, what his name might be, his reply—too long considered to be truthful—was, “Frank Sullivan.”
“Pardon me,” I said, immediately realizing that I had no right to ask of him the question and that my thoughtlessness had caused the boy to answer falsely. The outcast, distrustful of his fellow, frequently seeks safety in falsehood until friendship disarms suspicion and Love calls forth the Truth for which it has not asked.
“Frank Sullivan,” I said. “I, too, like the name.”
So upon my invitation he came gladly into our little Family to share the happy freedom of a peaceful home, where others like himself give honest work and receive—not in the spirit of organized charity, but in the true warmth of fraternal love—the hospitality of a welcome guest.
His Irish heart soon caught the meaning of the work, and responded readily in thoughtful service.... If our Self Master Colony attracted the attention of some broad-minded man well known in humanitarian work so that encouraged, it carried me and my dreams of uplift higher and higher until the stars were our near neighbors—Sullivan, silent and attentive, followed me in my dreams.
If my work was misunderstood and my best efforts discredited, Sullivan was at my side silently consoling me with his loyalty and friendship.