1444 
7h*  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
November  24,  1923 
Seventy  Years  of  Reputation 
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Organized  Co-operation 
A  NEW  BOOK 
By  JOHN  J.  DILLON 
This  book  is  written  in  three 
parts. 
PART  ONE.— The  Develop¬ 
ment  of  the  Agricultural  Indus¬ 
try.  In  five  chapters. 
PART  TWO.  —  Fundamental 
Principles  and  Adaptable  Forms 
of  Co-operative  Organization.  In 
ten  chapters. 
PART  THREE.  —  Application 
of  Co-operation  to  Efficient  and 
Economic  Distribution  of  Farm 
Products.  In  seven  chapters. 
This  is  a  new  treatment  of  the 
co-operative  subject.  Heretofore 
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operative  work  where  established. 
It  has  been  mostly  propaganda 
and  exhortation.  This  was  all 
good  in  its  time.  But  we  have 
grown  beyond  it.  Farmers  are 
now  committed  to  co-operation. 
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seriously  treating  the  subject  of 
organized  co-operation. 
Bound  in  Cloth  Price  $1.00 
The  Rural  New-Yorker,  333  West  30th  St.,  New  York 
i 
Notes  from  a  Sagebrush  Schoolma’am 
A  Return  to  the  Schoolroom. — At 
first  sight  you  will  judge  that  someone  is 
plagiarizing  the  sagebrush  farmer’s  wife, 
but  I  hasten  to  assure  you  that  the  afore¬ 
said  wife  and  the  schoolma’am  are  one 
and  the  same  person.  After  an  intermis¬ 
sion  of  10  years  I  am  again  back  in  the 
schoolroom — not  a  city  schoolroom,  for  I 
am  teaching  in  a  school  which  is  still  sur* 
rounded  by  sagebrush,  and  I  am  teaching 
the  children  of  nobody  but  sagebrush 
farmers  and  their  wives.  When  a  stone 
is  cast  into  a  pond,  we  know  that  the 
ripples  will  end  when  they  reach  the 
banks.  When  an  act  is  cast  into  the 
pond  of  human  experience,  the  ripples 
may  never  end,  but  may  pass  on  through 
generations,  though  we  may  not  recognize 
them  as  such.  Something  happened  last 
Winter,  and  because  of  that,  here  I  am, 
teaching  in  the  Acequia  high  school.  I 
believe  the  story  of  this  event  may  interest 
farm  people,  because  it  is  about  a  farm 
boy,  and  the  farm  boy  in  general  often 
presents  a  problem  to  us  parents.  For 
the  first  two  years  of  his  high-school  ca¬ 
reer  my  boy  Walter  received  nothing  but 
A  and  A-plus  on  his  report  card,  except 
in  deportment,  and  since  he  was  neither 
asleep  nor  dead,  but  just  a  boy,  I  had  to 
be  satisfied  with  less  than  A  in  deport¬ 
ment.  Then  came  a  change.  Our  splen¬ 
did  young  principal  went  away  to  Stan¬ 
ford  University  to  take  his  master’s  de¬ 
gree,  and  the  majority  of  the  high  school 
boys  and  girls  suffered  an  “off  year.”  In 
other  words,  nearly  all  were  failing  to 
make  the  grades  they  should  have  done. 
One  teacher  alone  was  to  blame.  All  the 
pupils  made  good  grades  under  the  other 
teachers.  This  young  woman  was  re¬ 
fined,  well  educated,  but  no  teacher  at  all. 
I  visited  the  school  to  try  to  discover 
what  was  wrong.  Before  I  had  been  in 
her  classes  10  minutes  I  felt  like  spank¬ 
ing  every  one  of  those  young  people.  I 
could  see  why  she  could  not  control  them. 
It  wasn’t  in  her  to  do  it.  But  I  con¬ 
demned  the  young  people  just  the  same. 
A  Family  Problem. — 'When  I  returned 
home  I  said  to  my  husband,  “Something 
must  be  done  about  Walter.  It  is  true 
that  he  is  doing  as  the  majority  are  do¬ 
ing,  developing  the  worst  habits  of  insub¬ 
ordination  and  idleness  at  high  school, 
but  because  the  rest  are  doing  it  is  no 
excuse  for  him.  He  should  think,  not 
whether  he  likes  that  teacher,  but  his 
thoughts  should  be  as  to  what  kind  of 
young  man  he  considers  himself.  He 
should  have  too  high  an  opinion  of  him¬ 
self  to  act  as  he  is  doing.” 
“I  have  done  everything  I  can  think  of 
to  wake  him  to  that  fact,”  replied  my 
husband.  “Now  I  turn  him  over  to  you. 
What  will  you  do  about  it?” 
“Very  well,  Walter ;  your  father  has 
turned  you  over  to  me.  You  have  been 
doing  very  well  in  chemistry  under  the 
principal,  who  says  you  lead  the  class, 
but  you  must  bring  a  report  card  home 
next  time  with  nothing  lower  than  B  un¬ 
der  Miss  Smith  or  I  shall  take  you  out 
of  school.  Only  those  who  value  an  edu¬ 
cation  should  have  it.” 
A  Young  Ruffian. — Just  before  time 
for  the  next  report  card  an  unfortunate 
incident  occurred.  All  the  pupils  in  the 
Hazelton  high  school  from  our  district 
ride  back  and  forth  the  six  miles  in  a 
horse-drawn  school  wagon.  We  have  a 
very  dear  young  girl  friend  who  was 
walking  along  the  country  road  as  the 
school  wagon  passed.  In  the  school  wag¬ 
on  was  a  young  fellow  of  whom  she  had 
made  an  enemy  by  not  disguising  the  fact 
thta  he  had  her  disapproval.  This  boy 
called  her  a  vile  name  as  the  wagon 
passed.  It  was  no  sooner  out  of  his 
mouth  than  Walter  sprang  from  his  seat 
and  delivered  a  well-aimed  blow  at  the 
offender’s  head.  “Rusty”  sprang  from 
his  seat  at  Walter,  pressing  him  back¬ 
ward  over  the  driver’s  seat,  and  breaking 
two  of  Walter’s  ribs.  The  boys  then  con¬ 
cluded  to  fight  it  out  at  the  schoolhouse 
on  the  corner  below  our  farm,  which  they 
did,  the  result  being  that  their  faces  were 
too  hideous  to  be  publicly  exposed  for 
over  a  week.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
Walter  thought  it  safe  to  take  his  broken 
ribs  to  school.  That  night  he  returned 
downcast.  “Well,  mother,”  he  said,  “I 
quit  school  today.  It  is  only  a  week  un¬ 
til  the  report  cards  are  out  again,  and  I 
know  what  mine  will  be.  The  principal 
called  ‘Rusty’  and  me  into  his  office  and 
asked  us  to  tell  the  whole  story  of  the 
fight.  “Rusty”  began  before  I  could  say 
anything,  and  be  told  the  principal  that 
I  had  called  Miss  Smith  that  vile  name 
that  he  called  Catherine.  The  principal 
has  known  for  a  long  time  that  we  boys 
do  not  like  Miss  Smith,  and  it  made  no 
difference  that  I  told  him  what  ‘Rusty’ 
had  called  Catherine.  Mother,  he  be¬ 
lieved  ‘Rusty.’  I’m  ready  to  quit.” 
Back  to  the  Farm. — So  all  that  long 
Spring  my  boy  worked  in  the  fields  and 
never  saw  his  school  friends,  and  all  that 
Summer  he  worked  without  companion¬ 
ship  or  recreation  except  his  beloved 
radio.  He  spent  all  his  spare  time  build¬ 
ing  himself  a  set,  and  was  so  successful 
that  we  heard  not  only  Los  Angeles,  San 
Francisco,  Yellowstone  Park,  but  also 
Canada,  Oklahoma  City  and,  most  mar¬ 
velous  of  all,  Memphis,  Tenn.  Pretty 
good  work  for  a  15-year-old  boy,  I  think. 
But  I  could  see  that  he  was  not  content¬ 
ed.  He  was  getting  tired  of  the  work;  he 
was  getting  tired  of  the  everlasting  same¬ 
ness  of  things;  he  was  not  a  genius,  and 
the  radio  could  not  satisfy  him  entirely. 
And  strangely  enough,  or  rather  naturally 
enough,  the  same  thing  was  happening  to 
the  other  boys  on  the  farms  in  our  dis¬ 
trict.  Their  fathers  needed  their  work 
desperately,  and  they  could  not  see  why 
the  boys  were  not  responding  more  will¬ 
ingly. 
A  Serious  Problem. — I  was  worried 
about  this  state  of  affairs.  I  knew  Wal¬ 
ter  was  to  blame,  but  I  hated  to  hear 
him  scolded.  Besides,  there  was  the  prob-^ 
lem  that  was  as  yet  unsolved.;  what  to  do 
about  his  high  school  course.  He  could 
not  go  to  the  Hazelton  high  school  be¬ 
cause  the  same  principal  was  to  be  re¬ 
tained.  Of  course  he  had  the  right  to  go, 
but  I  knew  he  would  never  again  be  will¬ 
ing  to  work  under  that  principal.  I  was 
talking  the  matter  over  with  Catherine’s 
mother,  a  widow  school  teacher.  “If  I 
had  the  training  you  have  it  would  be  no 
problem  to  me,”  she  said.  “I  think  it  is 
your  duty  to  get  back  into  high  school 
work  yourself,  and  take  Walter  with 
you.”  I  thought  it  over,  and  I  prayed 
over  it.  That  was  last  August.  The 
teaching  profession  is  overcrowded  in 
Idaho,  and  the  West  generally,  and  I  had 
little  hope  of  getting  a  position.  But  the 
more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  it  seemed 
to  me  that  since  we  had  not  the  money 
to  place  Walter  where  he  could  go  to 
school,  I  must  make  that  event  a  possibil¬ 
ity.  And  perhaps  I  could  do  something 
for  Rhoda,  who  has  been  begging  for 
music  lessons  for  the  last  two  years.  I 
had  begun  to  despair  of  ever  being  able 
to  do  anything  for  my  children  in  the 
way  of  opportunities,  but  I  resolved  that 
if  God  saw  fit  to  give  me  something  to  do, 
I  would  do  it. 
A  Boy’s  Resolve. — It  is  too  long  a 
story  to  tell  how  I  got  this  school  at 
Acequia,  but  it  came  about  in  an  almost 
miraculous  manner.  Just  one  week  be¬ 
fore  I  was  to  come,  Walter  drew  me  into 
the  bedroom  and  shut  the  door.  “Do  you 
see  those  horses  tied  up  at  the  school- 
house  gate,  mother?” 
“Yes,  they  hve  been  there  all  morning.” 
“Mother,  Johnny  Britten  tied  them 
there,  and  he  has  run  away  from  home.  I 
promised  him  I  would  follow  him  at  this 
time,  and  I  am  all  packed  to  go.  Father 
and  I  can’t  get  along,  and  it’s  time  for 
me  to  beat  it,  and  Johnny  and  his  father 
are  the  same.” 
What  would  you  have  done?  My  mind 
flew  back  to  an  act  of  my  dear  grand¬ 
mother’s  50  years  before.  Her  son  Char¬ 
ley  came  to  her  and  announced  that 
he  wanted  to  leave  home.  “All  right, 
Charley,”  she  said,  “let  me  fix  your 
clothes  and  give  you  some  blankets.”  So 
Charley  left. home  and  never  afterward 
could  grandmother  turn  a  hungry  man 
from  her  door.  Charley  came  back  in 
three  weeks. 
The  Parting. — There  was  hay  to 
stack,  there  were  sugar  beets  to  cultivate, 
there  was  so  much  that  needed  doing, 
and  I  knew  that  Walter  should  stay  to 
help.  I  needed  him,  also,  to  help  me  to 
move  to  Acequia.  I  stated  these  facts  to 
him.  He  was  sorry,  but  he  must  go.  He 
had  promised  Johnny.  The  thought  came 
to  me  that  I  could  thwart  him  this  time, 
but  if  I  did  he  would  evade  me  the  next 
time,  and  never  let  me  know  where  lie 
had  gone.  So  I  packed  him  an  enormous 
lunch,  kissed  him  goodby  and  made  him 
promise  to  write.  “And  whatever  you 
do,  Walter,  don’t  forget  this:  God  is  the 
most  real  fact  in  the  universe.  You 
can’t  get  away  from  God,  and  when  you 
need  Him,  just  call  and  He’ll  answer.” 
So  my  boy  went  out,  and  my  nights  of  en¬ 
tire  sleep  went  with  him.  He  had  $1.50 
(I  had  no  money  in  the  house),  and  he 
was  15  years  old,  but  looked  20.  He  got 
many  rides  from  automobile  drivers,  and 
he  walked  much,  went  without  eating 
many  times,  slept  in  barns,  rode  on 
freight  cars,  narrowly  escaped  death  in 
a  coal-car  wreck,  was  in  the  floods  which 
devastated  the  northern  part  of  Utah,  and 
finally  fell  into  the  hands  of  Christian 
Scientists  in  Colorado.  “Mother,”  he 
wrote,  “they  believe  God  is  love,  and  they 
sure  practice  it.”  God’s  blessing  on  those 
good  people!  They  took  my  boy  in 
as  though  he  were  their  son,  and  were 
about  to  put  him  in  high  school  there,  but 
the  chance  came  to  place  him  with  his 
aunt,  a  woman  of  superior  ability  with 
young  people,  with  the  understanding 
that  he  was  to  go  to  the  high  school 
where  she  lives,  a  very  good  institution. 
Here  in  Acequia  I  keep  house  for 
Rhoda  and  Joe,  while  young  Charles  re¬ 
mains  on  the  farm  with  his  father.  We 
have  an  attractive  cottage,  and  feel  very 
much,  at  home  in  it. 
ANNIE  PIKE  GREENWOOD. 
Wants  to  Make  an  Auto  Trip 
My  wife  and  I  are  contemplating  and 
planning  our  next  Summer  vacation.  We 
hope  to  tour  either  New  England  or  make 
the  trip  by  auto  to  California,  and  would 
like  to  hear  from  some  of  your  readers 
who  have  made  the  trip;  how  they  went, 
the  route,  equipment,  time  consumed,  etc. 
I  think  this  information  through  your  col¬ 
umns  would  be  interesting  reading. 
New  York.  J.  s.  w. 
R.  N.-Y. — Such  notes  wall  interest 
many  of  our  people,  for  the  auto-trip 
habit  is  gaining  and  fixing  itself  upon 
people,  who,  10  years  ago,  thought  they 
could  never  leave  home.  Practical  details 
about  such,  trips  will  be  useful. 
