JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
On one of the more modest streets of Indianapolis there lived, in 1916, an invalid. He was a man sixty-two years of age, with a genial face that had not been hardened by his years of suffering. This man, though living in a modest home and a confirmed invalid, had the rare distinction of being the most beloved man in America. While all classes loved him, the children loved him most; and fortunately they did not wait until he was dead to show their love. One of the nice things they used to do was to send him post cards on his birthdays. Sometimes he would get, on a single birthday, as many as a thousand cards from school children in all parts of the country.
While he could not answer all these cards, he did his best to let them know that he appreciated their kindly attention, as the following letter shows:
“To the School Children of Indianapolis:
“You are conspirators––every one of you, that’s what you are! You have conspired to inform the general public of my birthday, and I am already so old that I want to forget all about it. But I will be magnanimous and forgive you, for I know that your intent is really friendly, and to have such friends as you are makes me––don’t care how old I am! In fact it makes me so glad and happy that I feel as absolutely young and spry as a very schoolboy––even as one of you––and so to all intents I am.
“Therefore let me be with you throughout the long, lovely day, and share your mingled joys and blessings with your parents and your teachers, and, in the words of little Tim Cratchit: ‘God bless us, every one.’
Ever gratefully and faithfully
Your old friend,
James Whitcomb Riley.”
Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
The “Hoosier” Poet