LONELINESS by Gilfillan Scott
from the July 12, 1914 PENSACOLA NEWS JOURNAL
Loneliness is a mental condition.
Psychological and medical research will probably in time recognize it as a triple enemy; a cause of disease, an effect of disease, and a disease in itself. A disease which is curable, but will return for another cure; like some folk's annual visit to a well advertised parish pump for the purpose of drinking water by the thousand gallons. I have never tried these magnesia solutions, but from personal accounts of the incredible ease with which glass after glass can be consumed, I judge it would be cheapest to have one's self connected to a meter, with the service pipe terminating at one's mouth; so that, like Mrs. Gamp's teapot containing gin, one could "put it to one's lips when so disposed."
Loneliness is a kind of recurring decimal. Try how you may along ordinary lines to get rid of it, it insists upon returning. It is a hydra-headed monster which eats like a canker into the brain and produces appalling results. Some natures are more prone to it than others; and usually the more sensitive the nature and therefore the more alive to mental anguish the more of loneliness that nature has to bear. There is an old-fashioned creed that trouble and sorrow and misery and the rest of the gang of joy-killers are to be expected and accepted with pious resignation as part of the Divine intention. Pious fiddlesticks. That may be a convenient excuse for sitting with a long face on a soft couch with your hands meekly folded in your lap. But the best remedy for most troubles. Including loneliness, is ACTION.
It is impossible to be busy and lonely at the same time; unless the job is merely a mechanical one. The brain which has no time to be lonely in the midst of work, hasn't got the right kind of work.
What is needed is work which compels mental concentration, so that loneliness gets shut out. It's no use swatting flies with the doors and windows wide open. The sane remedy is to shut them out by screening.
So loneliness must be shut out systematically, not only during the hours of work but of play. From rising to retiring the day should be filled so full with work as a duty and pleasure equally that there would be no time for loneliness.
It looks as if that settled the matter, doesn't it? Just get busy and there you I are. O. K.
Oh dear, it sounds so easy; yet the facts to be considered are so hard.
I believe that loneliness is one of earth's greatest afflictions and the least recognized and understood. I believe that the entire world suffers from loneliness, more or less; and endures the effects without always realizing the cause. I believe that education will lead to organization for the systematic relief and prevention of loneliness.
I believe that as humanity becomes more and more humane, as it is rapidly doing, loneliness will be classed with tuberculosis and similar scourges of mankind; to be fought scientifically; as a disease inducing almost every other kind of disease. Loneliness is the chief cause of hypochondria, in which the imagination plays havoc with all the vital organs; and imaginary sickness positively induces real sickness.
I want to see the entire world turn doctor in this matter; each individual looking around for evidence of loneliness in the other fellow.
I say again. with added emphasis, that I believe there is an overwhelming amount of loneliness in the world, hidden in the innermost depths of the hearts of men and women and children. I have given ACTION as a remedy. Yes; nothing finer where feasible. but some of the disastrous effects of loneliness are the gradual growth of inertia, incapacity for effort, departure of hope, and a feeling of "I don't care a d(amn)."
Here everyone can p!ay the doctor; and in curing one's neighbor cure one's self.
The greatest remedy for the hopeless kind of loneliness is kindness. Just kindness, or kindliness. That does NOT consist in writing a check; neither for an individual nor for an association; but in personal action; by a personal handshake and a few friendly words.
If we all went searching for loneliness, none of us would be lonely.
I believe it is loneliness which fills the saloons, the pool rooms, the gambling hells and, to an extent, the restricted district. Loneliness demands excitement.
The lonely laborer finds relief from loneliness in beer and 'bacca; and, if he can combine a game of dominoes or checkers, he is cured of loneliness for the time being. Under the stimulating influence of a glass of beer his tongue becomes loosened, his face remembers how to smile, he is inclined for conversation and feels friendly inclined towards his fellow man.
Next comes the army of young men assistants in warehouse, store and office. Lodged in cheap apartment houses, they have no choice between the solitude of the bedroom and the greater solitude of the crowded street. The picture show is a world-wide blessing to these whose wages won't provide six evenings of generous entertainment, to say nothing of Sundays, in return for six days monotonous work.
The pool rooms and cheap gambling houses cater for this class; and. after fleecing them, pass them on to the loan sharks and buyers of salaries for further fleecing.
Then come the merchants and professional men. Most of these are married and have decent homes. Some were fortunate when the life-sentence of marriage was pronounced and are correspondingly free from loneliness. Others were unfortunate, and husband and wife alike are lonely and strangers to each other and happiness.
The sea carries hundreds of thousands of lonely men; fishermen, sailors, stokers, marines; each with his loneliness hidden. Loneliness has made them habitual cursers. Tied to the sea as their only known means of livelihood they develop irascible tempers and a feeling of grievance against the world in general. Their conversation consists principally of discussion of their wrongs, and they say d(amn) a dozen times a minute. These, together with the single men in the army, are the chief victims and mainstay of the restricted district.
Here, for a price, they can purchase female companionship of a kind; any kind rather than none. The seaman who hasn't set eyes on a skirt for months goes straightway for whiskey and woman directly when he gets ashore. He has been suffering a veritable martyrdom of loneliness, and now the pendulum swings madly the other way. Of course there are exceptions, but they only prove the rule.
And now for the other sex.
What are the millions of girls to do six evenings a week, to say nothing of Sundays, who work in factory, office and store? Wages that just maintain life. No money for entertainment, good clothes and healthy amusements. Other girls, superior mortals, lucky in having successful fathers, rolling by in automobiles and fine feathers to fashionable hotels and theatres and ballrooms. Loneliness and despair grips them.
These are the source of supply for the restricted district, where they rot and drop into early graves without ever attaining womanhood. Then there is the old maid class. These have been virtuous with no apparent reward but loneliness. Their number is legion. Their birthright of maternity has been denied them.
When I think of that sorrowful, woebegone, forsaken bunch of loneliness I feel sorry for ever having written a word against any old kind of a dog or cat; for love of some sort an old maid must have, and here is where Fido and Flossie come; of course they do; hang my stupidity. Here's where I take back every word of that confounded article of mine on dogs and cats; only I do wish the dad-burned things wouldn't make love in my garden at fourteen o'clock in the morning.
And who shall describe the loneliness of the wives whose husbands don't love them; or the widows whose husbands did love them? Here is TRAGEDY written in letters of fire. And the mothers whose babies are dead. And the mothers whose daughters are worse than dead.
And the mothers whose boys are in jail or at sea or are gone God knows where. Here is LONELINESS, loneliness, hell, hell, hell, with never a chance of reprieve. Who shall dare to say how or where or when this whole lump of wretchedness can be leavened and helped back to happiness?
The means must be manifold and secret as between heart and heart. The means must spring from sympathy and fellow feeling. No need to seek far.
Sorrow and loneliness are all around us. And the time to begin remedying it is NOW, NOW, NOW. The larger problems arising out of this article are as follows:
1. Bearing in mind the classes of men concerned, what substitutes can organization offer them for the saloons, the pool rooms, the gambling hells and the restricted district? These are at present the playgrounds and refuge from loneliness of millions of men; millions, mind you; and men are but children grown larger and not necessarily wiser. Education can and will influence future generations, but what about the present generation? The best way to kill one attraction is by offering a greater attraction.
2. What remedy can the law offer the millions of unfortunate husbands and wives suffering under a life sentence of marriage without love; millions, mind you, who are lonely, and strangers to each other and happiness?
3. What can organization do for the millions of girls; millions, mind you, who work in factory, office and store for wages that just maintain life; and who require healthy organized amusement six evenings a week, to say nothing of Sundays?
What can organization do for the millions of women who fail to find husbands; millions, mind you who are condemned for no other reason than virtue to lead a sterile, mateless existence; without love or children; and with the added stigma, "Oh, she's an old maid."?
There are millions of men without wives, and there are millions of women without husbands. The world is surely unnecessarily full of loneliness.
What can organization do? I repeat: WHAT CAN ORGANIZATION DO?.
from the May 17, 1914 PENSACOLA NEWS HERALD
HEARTS
by Gilfillan Scott
A heart is a pumping
machine.
The brain is its operator.
Every thought and emotion, fear,
anger, love, emanates from the brain. The brain telegraphs
instantaneously to the heart to pump extra blood to the brain as fuel for
the occasion, and the obedient heart responds promptly. Accordingly
as reason controls, so will the telegram be moderate and wise or hasty
and rash.
The brain ruled by reason will be slow to issue a rush order.
Such a brain can be acquired by habit. The brain not ruled by reason
will be helpless to prevent rush orders, and hence we get what is
called violent temper.
On
account of the heart's busy share in the proceedings and because its
pumping is distinctly noticeable, it is credited with attributes it does
not possess. Isn't it a shame to dispel the popular idea of "a
heart-to-heart talk." does your heart beat true to me? and so on! Of
course It should be "a brain-to-brain talk," and "does your brain
respond truly to mine?" Isn't it a shame to expose the fact that all the
talk about the heart is wrong, and to put it plain and straight that
the heart is only a servant after all; a servant of the brain!
This is
not to be a physiological article but psychological; and these early
premises are but passing reflections before entering upon the real
purpose, it should be said, however, and with a hope of resulting good,
that rush orders are mighty bad for the heart. Something gives way one
day. There has been one rush order too many. The heart collapses.
The
man is dead. Those engaged in the emotional professions, music and the
drama: or in public speaking, elocution, preaching, political oratory,
lecturing; know or should know that, in action, the brain is
telegraphing to the heart with lightning speed for fuel, fuel, fuel; and
hence it is that such public demonstrations are exhausting. This
exhaustion accounts for the craving for stimulants common to such
professions. The heart and brain are tired. Rest is the remedy but over-fatigue sets up a condition of the nervous system which actually
prevents rest until the nerves become normal.
An
actress who draws tears from her audience must herself shed tears; must
feel the emotion she portrays. When the curtain falls, can she go
right away and sleep? Not on your life. Not if she's a truly great
actress. Her's is a strenuous and exhausting life, with penalties of
mental and physical wear. She Is in a class by herself and is not to be
measured as one of the crowd. She is a slave to her art.and
her failings are not understood by the crowd. "Judge not" should be the
crowd's maxim in all such cases.
But it isn't exceptions I want to talk
of: it's man and woman; humans in the lump. I'm almost sorry I spoiled
the word heart, for I want to use it right along. Let's forget that
bothersome boss, the brain and let's talk hearts in spite of it.
In my travels in various parts of the world I have run across a great variety
of men. I have made it a habit to talk with every kind of man and to
note expressions of emotion and thought. I have been I believe peculiarly favored by a certain readiness of some men to open their hearts to me and let me see in; and I have concluded that right
down deep in his heart of hearts every man is GOOD.
I
say EVERY man is good. White, black, blue, red, yellow, any old color
you like; they're ALL good.
Now to qualify that.
They all have a wish to
be good. Every mother's son of them.
If
anyone contradicts that, I tell him to his face he doesn't know his
fellow man.
You shall take the worst criminal that ever disgraced
humanity; and if you know how, you shall find hidden away in him an
ANGEL; a good angel, dominated and spoiled by a bad angel.
The bad man
is what you see and punish; the hard, cold, selfish brute, beast,
animal.
Poor fellow: he can't help it; he was born wrong; he's a victim
of defective construction, heredity and environment.
There
are deformed brains as well as deformed bodies.
We pity a hnnchback and
blame a hunchbrain.
We can see the one and are blind to the other.
The
remedy for criminals of that class is segregation and education; not the
electric chair.
But I have drifted into exceptions again.
Now
to get to the real crowd.
I see them all before me; in caps and hats
and coats and shirtsleeves; in counting room and warehouse; the lawyer,
the doctor, the parson, the merchant, the banker, the laborer, the loan shark, the pickpocket, the drunkard, the prostitute, the tinker, tailor,
soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, apothecary and thief.
Come along
this way. kings and queens and lords and dukes and belted earls (the
belt is to hold the excess of beef and cabbage and beer and things);
come and shake hands. How d'ye do?
What Ho!
Here's one that won't shake
hands.
What's the
matter, my friend? What does he say? Says he's a king, does he. Bless
your heart, don't let that make you shame faced. I don't mind shaking
hands with a king; not the least bit.
Poor fellow; you can't help It; you were born wrong; you're a victim of defective construction, heredity
and environment. That will all be straightened out when you get In your
coffin.
What! another one! My, my! What's he fretting about? Says he's a
banker, and bursting with money? Heavens, man! Mind you don't spill
any! I don't want my new wallpaper splashed over.
Come,
come; hold yourself in long enough to smile and shake hands. You'll
make everyone like you, and your face won't crack. It's all creases now
for want of a smile..
Oh, dear! I'm drifting again; and into exceptions, too.
Let's take a broad look at the crowd.
You're a fisherman, are you? and your hand is hard. I don't give a durn how hard your hand Is, so long as your heart isn't hard. Shake hands again.
I like your strong grasp. What are you looking sad about? Get drunk, do you? cuss and fight; not much at education?
Say, friend, what would you do if that little girl fell overboard?
Jump in after her! What, with sharks about! Damn the sharks, did you say! Oh, send for a parson quick; this poor lost soul is cussing to beat the band! Says he'd be d----d and d----d and ever so many more d's before he'd stand by and see that little girl drown or be chawed up by sharks.
What fearful depravity!
And who's this forlorn looking girl?
A prostitute!
Impossible to shake hands with her, isn't it? Why, she's bad, Isn't she? and all the rest of us are so good, aren't we? so very good!
Worked in a factory at six dollars a week. Six dollars a week! You surely didn't spend all that money in a week!
Hall bedroom cost you three dollars. laundry fifty cents, carfare sixty cents.shoes and clothes a dollar. didn't get enough food, work was hard and hours long; well-dressed gent took you joyriding, promised you marriage, disappeared, you lost your job, and now you're bad! Humph! Do you love your present life?
Wish you were dead, do you?
What would you do if you saw your sister starting a joy-ride with a well-dressed gent? Break his blasted neck. would you? My, my! take this forsaken creature away; she's bad; and we prosperous, well fed archangels mustn't be contaminated.
The heart of man!
The heart of woman!
Every one of us has a heart. Every one of us can feel the touch of sympathy, of sincerity, of kindliness, of humanity. Yes, our hearts grow cold and hard and selfish: yet ONE TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD AKIN.
