Evening Star Newspaper, January 18, 1931, Page 74

B 12 ¥WE SUNDAY STAR, WASHING TON, D. €, JANUARY 18 1981, “What Is a Home With Music?”’ —_ Zsks Richard Connell HEN I was more of a sapling and less of a sturdy oak, the bright boys who sold musical instru- ments coined slogans to aid their art, to wit: “Make America Music-Conscious.” “A Piano for Every Parlor.” And, especially the cry ran round these States: “What Is a Home Without Music.?” So well did these stout lads do their work that today there is, practically speaking, & piano in every parlor, and probably a radio and phonograph as well. Also there’s a uke in Susie’s room, and a sax in Junior's room, and Father practices a crooning tenor in the bath room against the day when he may have a chance to broadcast and become overnight America’s sweetheart (No. 16). So now the qguestion has become: “What is a home with music?” T Let us face it like men and women. At this point it might be well to insert a short but zippy history of music in the Amer- ican home to impart to this article a cultural aspect. In the earliest American country homes— the only ones which never had a plumbing problem—the musical equipment was simple, consisting of a tom-tom, perchance a rude flute, and an indefinite number of papooses. There are some who hold the view that primitive Indian music is a very charming form of music, but as far as I am concerned they can go on holding this view till their fingers fall asleep. All the Indian music I have heard, and in gathering material for this exegesis I ‘gave ear to every type of tom-tom and fiute from the Seminoles of the South to the Flat- heads of the Northwest, sounds as if it had been written by the same man, and he a fel- #-low of few, if any, ideas. To me Indian music is all— Pom¢pom-tootle. Pom-pom-tootle. pom-tootle. Pom- wz now move briskly to the era of the spin- i net, flute, harpsichord and zither. That the early history of these instruments is fasci- nating I do not doubt, but as I am not fa- miliar with it, suppose we skip a century or s0 and come to the parlor organ. This dulcet instrument, which, unhappily, ~was prone to asthma and other bronchial ail- ments, was particularly effective as an accom- paniment to the sweetly sad songs our grand- parents seemed so morbidly to enjoy, such as, - *Willie, We Have Missed You.” I have ofttimes wondered who Willie was, why he left home, why he came back, and why they made such a fuss about him, but even my best friends cannot tell me. ‘The parior organ furnished a nice sticky background of sound for songs dealing with young men lost at sea, and tender maidens pining away on their true love's bier. Some varieties of it were called melodeons or har- moniums. Whatever they were called, we owe them, I think, a debt, for if it were not for them many of us would not be here today, enjoy- ing this piece. This novel theory I'll now elucidate. Our male forebears were hardy souls and many of them undoubtedly as evening, of skittles, they passed an ivy-clad cottage and through an open window they saw a girl seated at the organ, quavering in her pretty (if uncertain) soprano, “In the Gloam- ing,” or “Love’s Old Sweet Song.” That girl was your grandmother, although she did not know it at the time. If the man hesitated and listened to the song and the sentimental sounds which seeped from the organ, he was done for. His granite was soon melted to molasses, one word to another, soon they were singing duets— you are. So if you have an old parlor your attic, go and gaze at it grate- fully once a year. Or oftener, if you want to. Back in those dear, dead days beyond recall, a more virile type was furnished by the local Fife, Drum and Bugle Corps. Strictly , I suppose this does not come under head of music in the home, and there be some who will take the position that not come under the head of music 3 an ardent music lover myself, am fond of every sort, except possibly solos with triple tonguing, and I lke good Fife and Drum Corps, or would if there were such a thing, but I grant that its brief but dashing jackets of purple velvet . trimmed with silver frogs and spaniel fur, as they marched proudly down the street, com- mitting cheerful assault and battery omn “Yankee Doodle.” My young ears forgave every last blue and sour note, if indeed they noticed them at all, so bedazzled were my eyes by the splendor of those uniforms. Who can say how many men who are today mere SBenators, bank presidents and glue kings first felt the prick of ambition when they beheld Big Ed, the village barber, strutting along, all dressed up like the King of Roottootania, brandishing and juggling his flashing baton, & majestic figure as drum major? More ambitious musically, if no more pro- ficient, was the Silver Cornet Band. We had one in our town, I Meed next door % the second trombone. In his non-musical moments, Albert, for such was his name, was an able and highly thought-of glass blower. His spe- elalty was demijohns. Albert certainly blew s lovely demijohn. His one difficulty was that he did not know where demijohn-blowing ended and trombone-playing began. At its very best, the trombone is not my idea of the perfect sols Instrument, and Al- The Humorist Gives a Short History of American Music and Shows Hozw the Art Has Developed During the Past Few “I can hark back to the time when the piano in the parlor—all right, living room, if you insist—was actually played on.” bert, though he had a noble pair of lungs, was not exactly a virtuoso, for he played not by note, nor yet by ear, but by sheer willpower. He practiced every morning in his room, some 20 feet from mine, from 6 to 7, and every evening from 9 to 10 o'clock. Such persever- ance 18 popularly supposed to bring success, but Albert, to the very end, remained a glass blower. He could do more strange things to the “Rippling Water Gavotte” (No. 8 in the Myrs. Henderson Upholds Victorian Era Continued From First Page. graces that is largely the trouble today. Women are the very foundation of our social structure; she is the heart and soul of the home and the family and the happy family is the unit that makes up the perfect State and Nation. We are drifting away from the ideal home life so characteristic of the Victorian era. There are very few Victorians in these days. I fear there are more flappers than Victorians. “Our public schools in Washington and in the several States have, during the last half of my lifetime, established for girls elaborate courses in domestic science. The equipments for teaching cooking, the needle arts and home making are, perhaps, more of an expense to the taxpayers than any other department for girls in our public schools. But what of the expense if the girls taking these courses use them in after life. It is claimed authoritatively that a very small percentage of the girls tak- ing these courses ever become home makers. If they get married they live in a room or small apartment and buy their meals at restau- rants and cafeterias, send their washing to the laundry and prefer a salaried position in an office, a store or a factory to keeping house or being & home maker and rearing healthy chil- dren. I have always favored the teaching of domestic science in our schools, but it seems to me that our boards of education would do well to make an investigation and let us know what percentage of girls who have majored in do- mestic science are actually using the knowl- edge they gained. Observation indicates that after girls have been taught domestic science for from one to four years they accept an office or store position, never become home makers and, therefore, never use their knowledge of domestic science. If our educational authori- ties should go carefully over their lists of stu- dents in domestic science during the past 20 years, what percentage of these girls and wom- en would be located as home makers? I be- lieve that such a research would develop an astonishing revelation to the school faculties and the public. Perhaps if only one girl out of each ten so0 educated is making use of it, the ocontinued- teaching of domestic science would be worth while. But if it is much less than 10 per cent, the faculties and the board of educa- tion might decide that the domestic science branches of our schools be dismantled in the interests of saving the students’ time to devote to something they can use, and relieving the taxpayers of a very expensive department of the public schools.” “Are you & believer in woman suffrage?” Mrs. Henderson was asked. »I certainly am, and woman suffrage is no longer a controversial subject; everybody seems to believe in it. The nineteenth amendment was adopted in the same manner as the eight- eenth, but no one has yet set up the cry that the former is ‘unconstitutional’ as every once in a while they do regarding the eighteenth amendment.” #you have no wine cellar, Mrs. Henderson?” “There was a time when we had a wine cellar stored with all kinds of liquors, but person- ally I did not think much of it. When the time came so I could do so I had every drop of intoxicating liquor in our cellar taken out and poured into the sewer; no matter what it cost, I wanted to put any liquor I might be re- sponsible for out of existence. Some people seem to be impatient because our prohibition Bas not in 10 or 11 years fully banished liquor trom our fair land. Alcoholic beverages have 'een the curse of the human race for centuries and centuries. Reasonable people will not ex- pect a complete reform in a decade, but in that time prohibition has modified the habits of the people for the better very much. The eighteenth amendment and the enforcement act is here to stay, and as the years and decades go by Amer- ica will be completely a sober Nation. And the girls and women of this country, with admit- tedly some disgraceful exceptions, are standing like a rock back of the prohibition law. And I want to praise those splendid and patriotic men who are supporting prohibition.” “There are other forms of intemperance, many people think, Mrs. Henderson?” “Overeating and wrong eating are, sad to say, almost universal forms of intemperance in this country and throughout the so-called civilized world. Man is still discussing whether he is frugivorous or carnivorous as those of us who give the subject, as related to health, any thought at all, view the question. The late “Cit- izen’ George Prancis Train when asked at a social dinner: ‘Mr. Train, would you like a cut of roast beef?” ‘No, thank you, I never eat corpse of any kind,’ replied this brilliant man, a strict vegetarian during the last half of his life. For several years I have not eaten meat of any kind. My diet consists of vegetables, fruit, nuts and bread of whole grain. “I'l‘utuhionsble for men and women to stuff themselves, as late as midnighs, on lobster, that scavenger of the sea. To wash that filth into their stomaches they generally require some Besides these there are many, many much vinegar, sugar, salt, etc., that ‘civlized’ rested by the prohibition officers as portable or walking distilleries or breweries, or both. Then these barbarous gormands wonder why it is they have heart disease, or a ‘stroke,’ or rheumatism. In my later years I am trying to practice tem- perance, not only as regards intexicating liquors, but in every way. “Prof. Weiner of Harvard University says: ‘Looking at vegetarianism in the light of com- parative anatomy, it is self-evident that man was designed to be a vegetarian and nothing else. Quadrupeds are divided into classes ac- cording to their foods, and with the single ex- ception of man no animal, as a class, has ever varied from the design of nature. Man has artificially become an omnivorous animal in spite of the fact that anatomically he is a fruit-eating animal. It is an amusing and sig- nificant fact that the only typical omnivorous animal is the pig. Man is trying hard to be a pig,’” as Mrs. Henderson quotes Prof. Wiener. “Wives and mothers have a responsibility hardly second to none in getting right them- selves on the matter of the food placed on the family table each meal and training their hus- bands, sons and daughters to right eating and health,” sald Mrs. Henderson, author of the 772-page book entitled “The Aristocracy of Health,” in conclusion. Beginner’'s Band Book) than you would believe possible. Bad boys of the neighborhood—yes, I was ome—would steal beneath his window and when Albert rested between rounds, they would “Hey, Albert, give that calf more rope!” shout: This never failed to bring the artist boiling out of his studio, hurt and irate, and his trom- bone bore more than one dent made by being applied vigorously to the persons of his fieeing annoyers. His reward, his day of glory, came on the Fourth of July when he and his mates gave a concert in the base ball park, very natty im white duck pants and scarlet coats with caps to match. Before an enraptured populace the band blew and thumped the everlasting stuff- ings out of the Beginner’s Band Book. It may not have been the apex of art, but it was fun. Once the leader gave the signal it was a case of every man for himself. Bets were freely laid before each selection as to which instrument would finish first. The clarinet usually won. But he cheated. To make better time he ecut corners, played two notes at once and even skipped a bar here and there. Poor ethical Albert never finished better than third. We consoled him by telling him that if he did not play as fast as some of the others he certainly played louder than any of them, FLUSHED with triumph, the band would swagger about the streets in their uniforms after the concert, and it was deemed no small honor to be permitted to buy one of them a chocolate nut sundae or a banana split. Next morning, punctually at 6, Albert resumed his attack on the “Rippling Water Gavotte.” By easy stages we have reached one of the more important points of this paper, namely, the decline of home-made music. Home-made music is like home cooking in this respect: It is probably not as good technically as the dishes served to you in restaurants, but some- l:;" you enjoy it more—part of the time any- Today America has more music than ever before, and in another sense it has less music. Though not yet a greybeard, I can hark back to the time when the piano in the parlor—all right, living room, if you insist—was actually played on. It was something alive in those days, not just a piece of furniture which came in handy for filling in the space between the rosewood phonograph and the teak radio cabinet. I can remember when the streets of every town were filled each day with small boys and girls, newly washed and more or less resentful, each toting an imitation alligator-skin music roll. More than one torrid base ball game in which I took part was broken up—in the ninth inning with the score a tie,, too—because “Brickie” Brown, who owned the only bat, was called home in stern tones by his mother to practice finger exercises. As you went down any residential street in those days there came w your ears the tick-tock of the metronome and the tinkle of sharps and flats, as countless small clumsy fingers did their best with “The Happy Farmer.” It was a great day in many homes when Susie was promoted from “The Happy Farmer™ to “Narcissus.” TUltimately she might attain to “The Burning of Rome” or even the “William Tell Overture.” How many Susies are taking music lessons today? Not knowing, can’t say. But I venture the guess that most modern Susies, when they yearn for music, either strum out something on their uke about a red-headed mamma, or else push a button and listen to some porpoise with a voice like cheap perfume whimper out a soulful invitation to meet him in the moonlight, the acceptance of which I confidentially would not advise. Let us look this issue squarely in the loud speaker: Are we lusty pioneers to become a race of button-pushers? Maybe. Will it be a bad thing if we do? Well, you have me there. This, as some lynx-eyed observer has pointed out, is a mechanical age. Now, mind you, I am all for making life easier. I believe firmly in the self-winding watch, the self-milking cow, the self-answering telephone, the non-skid watermelon, the automatic toothbrush, and any device which will save labor, especially mine. There are many things which I'd be glad to have somebody else do for me. But I want to do my own singing—or some of it, anyhow. ‘We must be on our guard, we lovers of home= made music, be it ever so terrible. The day is not far off when we shall be able to lie in our own little white beds and gaze up at the ceil- ing, on which sight-cnd-sound waves will por- tray the news of the day, including, of course, all the battleship launchings and statue unveil- ings. If we wish it, there will flicker across our wallpaper the latest stirring drama, with theme song, about the clown who went on with his comic act although his heart was breaking, or about the estranged couple reunited by the prattle of little feet. And we can see and listen to every sort of musical performer, even the chap who plays on a saw, if you like that sort of thing. This will be dandy—but dangerous. We must not lead entirely canned lives. (Copyright, 1931.) Dyeing and Cleaning. NIW YORK, which takes a bow so frequently for leading in this thing and that thing, stays modestly in the background when the statistics concerning the number of dyeing and cleaning establishments are produced. Cali- fornia is in the forefront with 409, Nlinois sec- ond, and New York third, hard pressed by ‘Texas. New York led, however, in number of em- ployes, wages paid and total work done. The District of Columbia, with 16 establishments listed, led 15 States in wages paid and 13 in receipts for work done. Delaware, with six establishments, wxs lowest in that class, while Wyoming, with $168,000 in work, was at the bottom of the list in returns.