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Sunday, February 26, 2017

SUNDAY REVIEW / APOLOGIA & “A MESSAGE TO GARCIA”



The Messenger
From the Public Domain by Elbert G. Hubbard, 1899.

Apologia:

Horse Sense
If you work for a man, in Heaven's name work for him. If he pays wages that supply you your bread and butter, work for him, speak well of him, think well of him, and stand by him, and stand by the institution he represents. I think if I worked for a man, I would work for him. I would not work for him a part of
his time, but all of his time. I would give an undivided service or none.

If put to the pinch, an ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness. If you must vilify, condemn, and eternally disparage, why, resign your position, and when you are outside, damn to your heart's content.

But, I pray you, so long as you are a part of an institution, do not condemn it. Not that you will injure the institution—not that—but when you disparage the concern of which you are a
part, you disparage yourself. And don't forget—“I forgot” won't do in business.

Capital 'T' in 'This' his literary trifle, “A Message to Garcia,” was written one evening after supper, in a single hour. It was on the Twenty-second of February, Eighteen Hundred Ninety-nine, Washington's Birthday, and we were just going to press with the March “Philistine.”

The thing leaped hot from my heart, written after a trying day, when I had been endeavoring to train some rather delinquent villagers to abjure the comatose state and get radio-active. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Elbert Green Hubbard (1856-1915) was an American writer, publisher, artist, founder of the Roycroft Movement in the Arts & Crafts architectural vernacular and philosopher.

The immediate suggestion, though, came from a little argument over the teacups, when my boy Bert suggested that Rowan was the real hero of the Cuban War. Rowan had gone alone and done the thing—carried the message to Garcia.

It came to me like a flash! Yes, the boy is right, the hero is the man who does his work—who carries the message to Garcia. I got up from the table, and wrote “A Message to Garcia.” I thought so little of it that we ran it in the Magazine without a heading. The edition went out, and soon orders began to come for extra copies of the March “Philistine,” a dozen, fifty, a hundred; and when the American News Company ordered a thousand, I asked one of my staff which article it was that had stirred up the cosmic dust.

“It's the stuff about Garcia,” he said.

The next day a telegram came from George H. Daniels, of the New York Central Railroad, thus: “Give price on one hundred thousand Rowan article in pamphlet form—Empire State Express advertisement on back—also how soon
can ship.”

I replied giving price, and stated we could supply the pamphlets in two years.

Our facilities were small and a hundred thousand booklets looked like an awful undertaking.

The result was that I gave Mr. Daniels permission to reprint the article in his own way. He issued it in booklet form in editions of half a million. Two or three of these half-million lots were sent out by Mr. Daniels, and in addition the article was reprinted in over two hundred magazines and newspapers. It has been translated into all written languages.

At the time Mr. Daniels was distributing the “Message to Garcia,” Prince Hilakoff, Director of Russian Railways, was in this country. He was the guest of the New York Central, and made a tour of the country under the personal direction of Mr. Daniels. The Prince saw the little book and was interested in
it, more because Mr. Daniels was putting it out in such big numbers, probably, than otherwise.

In any event, when he got home he had the matter translated into Russian, and a copy of the booklet given to every railroad employee in Russia.

Other countries then took it up, and from Russia it passed into Germany, France, Spain, Turkey, Hindustan and China. During the war between Russia and Japan, every Russian soldier who went to the front was given a copy of the “Message to Garcia.”

The Japanese, finding the booklets in possession of the Russian prisoners, concluded that it must be a good thing, and accordingly translated it into Japanese.

And on an order of the Mikado, a copy was given to every man in the employ of the Japanese Government, soldier or civilian. Over forty million copies of “A Message to Garcia” have been printed.

This is said to be a larger circulation than any other literary venture has ever attained during the lifetime of the author, in all history—thanks to a series of lucky accidents!
— E.H.


A Message To Garcia
As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to them that send him: for he refresheth the soul of his masters. — Proverbs xxv: 13

Capital 'In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion.

When war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents.

Cuban General Calixto Garcia
Gen. Calixto Garcia was somewhere in the mountain fastnesses of Cuba—no one knew where. No mail or telegraph message could reach him.

The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly. What to do!

Some one said to the President, “There is a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can.”

Rowan was sent for and was given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How “the fellow by the name of Rowan” took the letter, sealed it up in an oilskin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks
came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia—are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail.

The point that I wish to make is this: McKinley gave
Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, “Where is he at?”

By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing—“Carry a message to Garcia.”

General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcias.
No man who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many handswere needed, but has been well-nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man—the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it.

Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook or threat he forces or bribes other men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, and sends him an Angel of Light for an assistant.

You, reader, put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office—six clerks are within call. Summon any one and make this request: “Please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Correggio.”

Will the clerk quietly say, “Yes, sir,” and go do the task?
On your life he will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions:
         --Who was he?
         --Which encyclopedia?
         --Where is the encyclopedia?
         --Was I hired for that?
         --Don't you mean Bismarck?
         --What's the matter with Charlie doing it?
         --Is he dead?
         --Is there any hurry?
         --Shall I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?
         --What do you want to know for?

And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia—and then come back and tell you there is no such man.

Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Average I will not.

Now, if you are wise, you will not bother to explain to your “assistant” that Correggio is indexed under the C's, not in the K's, but you will smile verysweetly and say, “Never mind,” and go look it up yourself.

And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift—these are the things that put pure Socialism so far into the future. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all?

U.S. Army Lt. Andrew Summers Rowan

A first mate with knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting “the bounce” Saturday night holds many a worker to his place.

Advertise for a stenographer, and nine out of ten who apply can neither spell nor punctuate—and do not think it necessary to.

Can such a one write a letter to Garcia?

 “You see that bookkeeper,” said a foreman to me in a large factory.

“Yes; what about him?”

“Well, he's a fine accountant, but if I'd send him up-town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street would forget what he had been sent for.”

Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?

We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the “downtrodden denizens of the sweat-shop” and the “homeless wanderer searching for honest employment,” and with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.

Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy ne'er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long, patient striving with “help” that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on.

The employer is continually sending away “help” that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being taken on.

No matter how good times are, this sorting continues: only if times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer—but out and forever out the incompetent and unworthy go. It is the survival of the fittest.

Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best—those who can carry a message to Garcia.

I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress, him. He can not give orders; and he will not receive them.

Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, “Take it yourself!”

Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular firebrand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled Number Nine boot.

Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple; but in our pitying let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference, slipshod imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry and homeless.

Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds—the man who, against great odds, has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there's nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes. I have carried a dinner-pail and worked for day's wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides.

There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no
recommendation; and all employers are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous.

My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the “boss” is away, as well as when he is at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never gets “laid off,” nor has to go on a strike for higher wages.

Civilization is one long, anxious search for just such individuals.
Anything such a man asks shall be granted. His kind is so rare that no employer can afford to let him go. He is wanted in every city, town and village—in every office, shop, store and factory.

The world cries out for such: he is needed, and needed badly—the man who can carry: A Message To Garcia.

Afterword:
To act in absolute freedom and at the same time know that responsibility is the price of freedom is salvation.

The End.

How Rowan Found Garcia:

In Lt. Andrew Rowan’s own words:
 

Saturday, February 25, 2017

COFFEE BEANS & BEINGS / WHY WIFI SHOULD BE BANNED IN CAFES


Spring Espresso in York, England has no Wifi. Everyone seems content and the owner is happy because customers keep returning.

I love coffee houses—all stripes and sizes—and I’m lucky to live in a city that encourages the opening of new coffee cafes with fond regularity.

When a new place open I try to patronize it as often as I can; order coffee with a bear claw and read a book, magazine or a newspaper. 

But the moment I go to a café and all the tables are taken by the wannabe writers taking up space with their computers, that’s the day I go elsewhere.

The wannabes sit on the tables like crows on a farmer’s fence.  They leave no room for the genuine coffee drinkers.  I feel sorry for the coffee house owners but if they don’t care why should I.

Lately, some coffee house owners are limiting the number of tables the wannabes can sit at and others limit the perch time.

Owners might charge $5 per hour to rent a table and you sign in at the register for the privilege.

I’ve discovered I’m not alone in my distain.  The following is an essay written a few years ago on banning wifi from coffee houses.   It appeared in the October 2013 issue of The Club Magazine, the inflight publication for British Airways:


GUEST BLOG / By Dr. Mariann Hardey, a social media professional, academic and university lecturer.

“I am writing this from Spring Espresso in York, the best independent coffee shop in England. I am one of only two customers with a laptop and triumphantly celebrate this observation. The other customers are doing what you are supposed to do in coffee shops. Drink coffee.

"Two years ago when it opened I told the owner of this place not to have Wi-Fi. Why? Because it only attracts people like me - people who come, sit all day and sit there until closing time while their espresso dregs petrify at the bottom of the cup.

Dr. Hardey
"As seasoned travellers you and I can agree on the critical importance of digital information exchanges. We demand it: everywhere.

"But look at it from the café's viewpoint. They want footfall. Wi-Fi encourages it. But it's the wrong kind of footfall.

"My chosen area of research is the ubiquity of digital technology. You would think that I would applaud Wi-Fi in every setting.

"I don't.

"I see open access as a serious threat to the character of places that are designed to be social - 'social' in the old sense of human beings meeting other human beings, as opposed to a neutral space where you get to access Facebook.

"Our sense of being in the moment leaves us as our consciousness flit around cyberspace. If you are in York, be in York. You don't need Google to locate yourself. You already have state of the art 3-D, multi-sensory equipment: eyes, ears, hands, noses, and brains.

"So how has this radical idea - no Wi-Fi - worked for Spring Espresso? You do hear people voice their outrage. Then, slowly, they appreciate the ambience, the setting and the coffee: and they return. These are unique things. Anyone can have Wi-Fi."


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