“‘My lecture!’ he shrieked, ‘whose lecture? What lecture? My subject! Whose subject? Why, sir,’ said he, trying to control himself, ‘my subject is ‘Irish Humor,’ while this is ‘Just Human,’ and he put on his spectacles and glared into space as if he were determined to wring from that source some solution of this cruel joke.”
By an error of transmission, “Irish Humor” had become “Just Human.” Mr. Grady does not relate the sequel, but what followed was as characteristic of him as anything in his unique career.
“Well,” said he, turning to Mr. Cox, his bright eyes full of laughter, “you stick to your subject, and I’ll take this ready-made one; you lecture on ‘Irish Humor’ and I’ll lecture on ‘Just Human.’”
And he did. He took the telegraphic error for a subject, and delivered in Atlanta one of the most beautiful lectures ever heard here. There was humor in it and laughter, but he handled his theme with such grace and tenderness that the vast audience that sat entranced under his magnetic oratory went home in tears.
The lecture course that Mr. Grady instituted was never followed up, although it was a successful one. It was his way, when he had organized an enterprise and placed it on its feet, to turn his attention to something else. Sometimes his successors were equal to the emergency, and sometimes they were not. The Young Men’s Library has been in good hands, and it is what may be termed a successful institution, but it is not what it was when Mr. Grady was booming the town in its behalf. When he put his hand to any enterprise or to any movement the effect seemed to be magical. It was not his personal influence, for there were some enterprises beyond the range of that, that responded promptly to his touch. It was not his enthusiasm, for there have been thousands of men quite as enthusiastic. Was it his methods? Perhaps the secret lies hidden there; but I have often thought, while witnessing the results he brought about, that he had at his command some new element, or quality, or gift not vouchsafed to other men. Whatever it was, he employed it only for the good of his city, his State, his section, and his country. His patriotism was as prominent and as permanent as his unselfishness. His public spirit was unbounded, and, above all things, restless and eager.
I have mentioned only a few of the more important enterprises in Atlanta that owe their success to Mr. Grady. He was identified with every public movement that took shape in Atlanta, and the people were always sure that his interest and his influence were on the side of honesty and justice. But his energies took a wider range. He was the very embodiment of the spirit that he aptly named “the New South,”—the New South that, reverently remembering and emulating the virtues of the old, and striving to forget the bitterness of the past, turns its face to the future and seeks to adapt itself to the conditions with which an unsuccessful struggle has environed it, and to turn them to its profit. Of the New South Mr. Grady was the prophet, if not the pioneer. He was never tired of preaching about the rehabilitation of his section. Much of the marvelous development that has taken place in the South during the past ten years has been due to his eager and persistent efforts to call the attention of the world to her vast resources. In his newspaper, in his speeches, in his contributions to Northern periodicals, this was his theme. No industry was too small to command his attention and his aid, and none were larger than his expectations. His was the pen that first drew attention to the iron fields of Alabama, and to the wonderful marble beds and mineral wealth of Georgia. Other writers had preceded him, perhaps, but it is due to his unique methods of advertising that the material resources of the two States are in their present stage of development. He had no individual interest in the development of the material wealth of the South. During the past ten years there was not a day when he was alive that he could not have made thousands of dollars by placing his pen at the disposal of men interested in speculative schemes. He had hundreds of opportunities to write himself rich, but he never fell below the high level of unselfishness that marked his career as boy and man.
There was no limit to his interest in Southern development. The development of the hidden wealth of the hills and valleys, while it appealed strongly to an imagination that had its practical and common-sense side, but not more strongly than the desperate struggle of the farmers of the South in their efforts to recover from the disastrous results of the war while facing new problems of labor and conditions wholly strange. Mr. Grady gave them the encouragement of his voice and pen, striving to teach them the lessons of hope and patience. He was something more than an optimist. He was the embodiment, the very essence, as it seemed—of that smiling faith in the future that brings happiness and contentment, and he had the faculty of imparting his faith to other people. For him the sun was always shining, and he tried to make it shine for other men. At one period, when the farmers of Georgia seemed to be in despair, and while there was a notable movement from this State to Georgia, Mr. Grady caused the correspondents of the Constitution to make an investigation into the agricultural situation in Georgia. The result was highly gratifying in every respect. The correspondents did their work well, as, indeed, they could hardly fail to do under the instructions of Mr. Grady. The farmers who had been despondent took heart, and from that time to the present there has been a steady improvement in the status of agriculture in Georgia.
It would be difficult to describe or to give an adequate idea of the work—remarkable in its extent as well as in its character—that Mr. Grady did for Georgia and for the South. It was his keen and hopeful eyes that first saw the fortunes that were to be made in Florida oranges. He wrote for the Constitution in 1877 a series of glowing letters that were full of predictions and figures based on them. The matter was so new at that time, and Mr. Grady’s predictions and estimates seemed to be so extravagant, that some of the editors, irritated by his optimism, as well as by his success as a journalist, alluded to his figures as “Grady’s facts,” and this expression had quite a vogue, even among those who were not unfriendly.
Nevertheless there is not a prediction to be found in Mr. Grady’s Florida letters that has not been fulfilled, and his figures appear to be tame enough when compared with the real results that have been brought about by the orange-growers. Long afterwards he alluded publicly to “Grady’s facts,” accepted its application, and said he was proud that his facts always turned out to be facts.
It would be impossible to enumerate the practical subjects with which Mr. Grady dealt in the Constitution. In the editorial rooms he was continually suggesting the exhaustive treatment of some matter of real public interest, and in the majority of instances, after making the suggestion to one of his writers, he would treat the subject himself in his own inimitable style. His pleasure trips were often itineraries in behalf of the section he was visiting. He went on a pleasure trip to Southern Georgia on one occasion, and here are the headlines of a few of the letters he sent back: “Berries and Politics,” “The Savings of the Georgia Farmers,” “The Largest Strawberry Farm in the State,” “A Wandering Bee, and How it Made the LeConte Pear,” “The Turpentine Industries.” All these are suggestive. Each letter bore some definite relation to the development of the resources of the State.