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Updated: May 5, 2025
You do not know what you have memorized, you know what you have vitalized, what you have written in the book of experience. Gussie says, "I have read it in a book." Bill Whackem says, "I know!" Reading and Knowing All of us are Christopher Columbuses, discovering the same new-old continents of Truth. That is the true happiness of life discovering Truth.
The monument of a father's lifetime was wrecked in two years and seven months by the boy who had all the "advantages." So the mill was shut down the third time on a week day. It looked as tho it never could open. But it did open, and when it opened it had a new kind of boss. If I were to give the new boss a descriptive name, I would call him "Bill Whackem." He was an orphan. He had little chance.
They "canned" Gussie. He had a man hired to study for him. He rode from department to department. They upholstered him, enameled him, manicured him, sugar-cured him, embalmed him. Finally Gussie was done and the paint was dry. He was a thing of beauty. Gussie and Bill Whackem Gussie came back home with his education in the baggage-car. It was checked.
So when the courts were looking for somebody big enough to take charge of the wrecked mill, they simply had to appoint Hon. William Whackem. It was Hon. William Whackem who put the wreckage together and made the wheels go round, and finally got the hungry town back to work. Colleges Give Us Tools After that a good many people said it was the college that made a fool of Gussie.
They do all this and the children rattle. They have had no chance to grow great enough for the places. The child gets the blame for making the wreck, even as Gussie was blamed for wrecking his father's plant, when the child is the victim. A man heard me telling the story of Gussie and Bill Whackem, and he went out of my audience very indignant.
The story of Gussie and Bill Whackem is being written in every community in tears, failure and heartache. It is peculiarly a tragedy of our American civilization today. These fathers and mothers who toil and save, who get great farms, fine homes and large bank accounts, so often think they can give greatness to their children they can make great places for them in life and put them into them.
That night a woman sang in the same tent "The Last Rose of Summer." She had never been to Berlin, but she had lived that song. She didn't dress the notes half so beautifully as Jessie did, but she sang it with the tremendous feeling it demands. The audience went wild. It was a case of Gussie and Bill Whackem. All this was gall and wormwood to Jessie.
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