USA > South Dakota > Who's who in South Dakota, Vol. I > Part 7
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Tired of his limitations, eager to seek a country where a man has a chance to become a leader on his own initiative with- out waiting for the rule of primogeniture, fired with ambition to try the New World, at the age of fifteen he struck out for America. Our Norwegian arrival went direct to Traverse City, Michigan, which he reached in May, 1881. In the fall of that year he moved to New York where for two years he acted as an interpreter at Castle Garden. After this, for about a year, he engaged in business as a ship broker in New York city.
A STREET VAGRANT
Finding that America was not proving to be the immediate Eldorado that he had anticipated, he struck west again in 1884 and settled in Dakota Territory. Rumor has it that he reached the city of Mitchell, which at that time was only a village, pen- niless; that he was set to work on the streets as a vagrant; but that his ability was soon detected by his friends who got him a job as bookkeeper in the Mitchell National bank.
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"Fail! Fail? In the lexicon of youth Which Fate reserves for a bright manhood,
There's no such word as fail."
Does any man think that a fellow of young Richard's deter- mination might fail? Would he get home-sick, give up and go back to the little old ship-building, ship-laden seaport town of his youth ? Not on your life! Our young viking had better blood in his veins than that.
"So close is glory to our dust, So near is God to man,
When duty whispers low, 'Thou Must,' The youth replies, 'I can.' "
"I can! I will!"' said the determined youth who turned his face toward the line of greatest resistance, set his teeth, and buckled in.
BECOMES WEALTHY
Now, here we go! It is 1886. Young Richards is only twenty years of age. Most boys at this period in life still have mamma putting on their collar and ties for them, and are slipping around on the Q. T. asking dad for a little more spending money. Not so with Dick. Our adopted Norwegian youngster was making his own way. He had already demonstrated his ability as an organizer and had become manager of the American Investment Company for Dakota Territory. Then he became president of the National Land & Trust Company, the Consolidated Land & Irrigation Company and at present, the Richard's Trust Company.
Think of it! A poor ship builder's boy, an immigrant, a hod-carrier. Today only forty-four years of age, and one of the richest men in the state and in the northwest; president of a great trust company, owner of several banks, of vast areas of land and of numerous other interests. How did he get it? By application and determination. Jame Lane Allen's new book, entitled "From Poverty to Power," in which he shows that suc- cess is in the man himself, is laid around just such a character as this flaxen-haired personification of the vikings of old, this de- termined son of a Norsk, this born organizer, and leader of men, this uncrowned knight of a sister world, this man whose personal magnetism and whose foresight command the admiration and respect of his friends and foes alike-the Hon. R. O. Richards.
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RICHARD O. RICHARDS
IN POLITICS
Whatever may be said against Mr. Richard's polit- ical views, no man who knows him has ever doubted his sin- cerity as a reformer. He be- lieves that railroad and other corporate domination of pol- itics should cease. He works to this end. It doesn't mat- ter to him what faction or what man or set of men he works with, all he asks is loy - alty to his cause.
Richards is the father of the progressive reform move- ment in South Dakota He began the fight in 1903 at Huron, over the postmaster- ship at that place. He lost. In 1904, he brought out Coe I. Crawford as a candidate for governor on three reform is- sues; anti-pass law, primary RICHARD O. RICHARDS law, and equitable railroad taxation. He lost. What next? Dis- couraged? Never! There is on the statute books of this state an initiative law which provides that the people themselves may pre- sent their own laws to the legislature, by petition. For the next few months Mr. Richards quietly went about the state during his spare time and secured 9,000 signatures to a petition to the legislature to enact a state-wide primary law. What happened ? The legislature turned down the monster petition, on the claim that it was invallid. Discouraged? No! He had our legislators so badly scared that in order to square themselves with the peo- ple they enacted "The Honest Caucus Law." Encouraged? Yes! The fight must never stop till victory came. In 1906, he again backed for governor, his chosen candidate, Coe I. Crawford. This time he won.
Mr. Richards managed the primary campaign for the pro- gressive wing of the party in 1908 and succeeded in nominating Governor Crawford for United States senator, and Mr. Vessey for governor. They were elected. But these gentlemen failed to carry out Mr. Richard's views. He began to scold them. Last February a meeting of the progressive forces was held at Huron.
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Mr. Richards, cognizant of his own strength, immediately an- nounced that he could either "sink their ship or float it." They knew it also. In order to save themselves they made Mr. Rich- ards manager of their primary campaign. He saved all of their former strength, which did not include the two congressmen and the state treasurer, losing to them only one office-that of state auditor. So much for his leadership.
But the end is not yet. Twenty progressive leaders signed at Huron last spring a compact drawn up by Mr. Richards him- self in which they agreed if he would save their new ship at the June primaries they could in turn write into the state republican platform such additional reform measure as Mr. Richards might desire. When the time came they either couldn't or wouldn't "deliver the goods." This set the political pot to boiling. There are some of the progressive leaders in the state who never can again secure Mr. Richard's support. It is now an open secret that irreconcilable differneces have sprung up between them. Without his support in the future, some who won in the past can never win again.
Verily, verily, he can "sink their ship or float it."
Mr. Richards was married to Miss Grace May Durell, for- merly of Mitchell, S. D., on January 8, 1891. Six children have been born to them, of whom four are girls and two are boys. Mrs. Richards is a native of Laconla, New Hampshire, and comes fron old Revolutionary-war ancestry. She is descended on her mother's side from the Sargent-Pierce families, and on her fath- er's side from the Hutchinson-Durell families, all very prominent in the history of New England, since the early days of that section.
Few men in South Dakota have given public questions more or closer attention than has Mr. Richards. He possesses an ex- ceptionally analytical mind. He is quick to perceive selfish in- terests and evil causes, and able to suggest practical remedies. It is said of him that he posseses little or no diplomacy, and is not at all given to compromising on the principles he advocates. He has earned the reputation of being a good fighter for the public welfare, and ever faithful to the interests of friends. Nobody doubts the unselfish genuineness of his attitude on public questions, and because of his intelligence and ability and effort, we have today on the staute books of South Dakota laws like the primary, the anti-pass, the anti-divorce and other progres- sively restrictive measures. Mr. Richards has made himself a force to be seriously dealt with in the politics of South Dakota. His friends feel that he has already done much and is likely to do more.
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G. G. WENZLAFF
POET PHILOSOPHER
He's "all wool and a yard wide." Who? Our poet phil- osopher. Who's he? Now, dont' get in a hurry; wait till we have had time to whisper to you in a deep undertone, Gustav G. Wenzlaff. Doesn't that sound philosophical? Yes, but not altogether Yankefied.
Wenzlaff is president of the Springfield (S. D.) State Normal. He represents the old school of thought and the new. If you multiply the old school by the new, and then extract the square root of the product, you will have a mean proportional-you will have Wenzlaff-a man of poise and forbearance, of culture and refinement, of dignity and justice, of courage and faith, of hope and truth, of kindness and honor.
What a renovation at the Springfield normal when he took charge, a few years since. How the cobwebs fairly tumbled from the walls. How the pigeon holes gave up their mildewed con- tents. How the loose ends of fluttering thought were tied to- gether in an organized whole and made into a cable of strength. With what unanimity the train of thought pulled in off the sid- ing onto the main track and started foward and upward. How soon the school began to take its merited place among the edu- cational institutions of the state.
Germany frequently lays claim to the fact that she is largely directing the educational thought of America. Pointing to her native-born sons whom she is constantly sending to us, as teach- ers, and to our American-born lads whom we send over there to be educated, it is easy to prove her contentions. President Wenz- laff was born in Europe. True, he got his education mostly in this country, but we had to let him go back home to finish it. Very well! He got it just the same, and South Dakota is profiting by it.
His early education was begun in the old country, and was received at the hands of his father who was a successful German teacher. Then he came to America and settled in Yankton
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county, South Dakota. Here's his educational record in a nut- shell, but it's a good one:
Graduated from Yankton high school, 1884.
Graduated from Yankton college, 1888.
Studied in Chicago, 1888-9.
Instructor in Yankton college, 1889-92.
Student, Berlin University and University of Leipzig, Ger- many. 1892.
Professor of philosophy and German in Yankton college, 1893-on.
Student University of Chicago, 1897-8.
Recuperating in California, 1899-1900.
Superintendent Yankton county, 1905-8.
President Springfield normal, 1908-to date.
How's that? Go back and run it over again. "Who's ยท Who?" We guess Wenzlaff is. Here's a record as a stud- ent and as an educator that any man might well be proud of.
(Later .- Since the above was written, Yankton College has honored him with his LL. D.)
PHILOSOPHER
But it is in the field of philosophical thought that Wenzlaff excels. The whole bent of his nature is toward philosophy. He loves to rea- son-and he does it sponta- neously at times. When the ethical committee met in Mitchell a few years since, the discussion over the advisabil- ity of making the ethical out- PRESIDENT G. G. WENZLAFF line for the schools of the state dove-tail into the Bible was grow- ing "warm" when Wenzlaff piped out: "Gentlemen, the Bible did not give us religion; religion gave us the Bible." This hard philosophical morsel, placed on the tongues of some of the the- ological members of the committee, took some time to melt.
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Here was a concept-clearly, positively, definitely formed. It stood.
PROSE WRITER
President Wenzlaff has acquired a style of English prose compositon that is polished, smooth, clear and captivating. We regard his diction as the most perfect of any writer in the state. This is saying considerable for it, but we believe we are right. Think of it! He reads and writes prose and poetry in two dif- ferent languages, and he can read at least three of four more tongues. It is but natural that such an able linquist should be- come literary inclined.
He is the author of one of the best psycholgies on the mar- ket. In addition to its exceptionally fine analysis of the mind and its operations, practically every critic who has commented on it has also referred to its charming diction. He is also the author of "Sketches and Legends of the West."
Last year President Wenzlaff and a friend made a trip down to the old historic settlement of Bon Homme. Upon his return he wrote a sketch for publication in ""The Normal Pulse," a paper issued monthly by the students of the Springfield Normal, which it has been our privilege to preserve, and which we should love to publish herein in full, did space permit. We regard it as one of the tastiest pieces of faultless English composition that we have ever read.
We invite attention to only a few paragraphs of it which we cull out and sandwich together:
"It was a fall day. No frost had yet blighted the vegeta- tion, but already the yellow corn showed through the wilting husks. A longing to get away from the humdrum of routine work and to dream a day-dream took us out toward old Bon Homme on the Missouri.
"Eight miles to the east of the dingy stone walls of the Springfield Normal we look down upon a fair plain dotted with farm buildings in the midst of clustering trees. To the east a white church spire catches our eye, and farther to the south a group of buildings rather too large to be a collection of farm buildings. A little cemetery, well kept after a fashion, enclosed by a weather-beaten fence, overlooks the Bon Homme valley and the wide strecthes of the wild Missouri granite blocks and mar- ble shafts rise above the stubble of the prairie grass. Yes, we read some of the inscribed names and remember those who years ago responded to them.
"A well-traveled road leads to where years ago stood the
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fair little town of Bon Homme. At one place a few buildings are on either side of the road, once a street of the town, and a little farther on the little white school house, once the village school, the successor of the first school house in Dakota Territory. I have seen some of the pupils that were gathered in that first school house in Dakota-not as ruddy faced youngsters, but as serious men and women past midde life.
Yes, this settlement, like others of its kind and persuasion, possesses fields, and mills and barns and machinery and all that goes to make a model farm, and something else -some ancient manuscripts. The young teacher soon brought in several of them for inspection. They are books containing the doctrines of the founder of the Brotherhood, all written by some of the brothers in the days of old, in German 'print,' with the most pleasing exactness. The initial letters would do credit to a Medieval professional scribe. The paper used in these volumes is soft rag paper, such as one finds nowadays only in fancy priced editions de luxe. The title pages show the dates 1509 and 1520. As we sat there waiting for a fall shower to pass by, our host expounded some features of the ancient, pricless volumes.
"Before the day closed we were retracing our way, leaving behind old Bon Homme, but carrying back with us a feeling that we had peered into the past and heard voices of long ago."
POET
What peculiar strains of melody must be concealed in the intellect of a man who can write such ideal prose and who can, in the next instant, transfer himself into another mood and mould his thoughts into perfect rhythm. Only once in a great while- only now and then at great intervals-do you find a man who can burrow into the depths of philosophy and paint his conclusions in deep-colored prosaic images, and who can then climb "Jacob's ladder" and sing beautiful poetic lullabys to the stars. Wenz- laff can. He is an adept at it.
Some poets hibernate in the fall and come back in the spring to sing with the opening of the buds and the return of our winged warblers. Not so with Wenzlaff. He sings through the season. His heart is ever atune with nature. Springtime extracts the poetic nectar from his soul; summer awakens in him a melodious response; fall wells up his great heart until it bursts with joy; and winter's falling snow causes him to become en rapport with nature's God.
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We should like to publish the long list of his poems which we have at various times collected, but lack of space absolutely forbids. We shall use but a few of the shorter ones. To those who would possess themselves of more address to the Educator School Supply Company, Mitchell, S. D., a card asking for terms on the new volume of "Dakota Rhymes," compiled and partially written by President Wenzlaff. It is now completed.
IN THE SPRING TIME
One name-when spring winds whisper softly - I hear amidst the green boughs' leaves;
The creek's low song, the wild dove's crooning- That name to me all nature breathes.
One face I see in every blossom, That meekly hides within the grass;
The evening clouds in hues of sunset Reflect that face before they pass.
One dream so vague, so dreamy, vivid, Like music of a sylvan stream, Like fragrance from the prairie roses- My loved one is my constant dream.
AUTUMN REVERY
Cold are the winds that waft The faded leaves about; Chill are the days that laughed Once through the summer cloud.
Far flies the pinioned fowl To other cheerier lands Touched not by Winter's scowl Nor by his chilling hands.
Ah me! Could I but rise And from chill moods retreat, Dwell would I, too, 'neath skies Where only warm hearts beat.
THE MEADOW-LARK
Before the last of winter's drift has thawed
And run in rills to swell the creek, that glides
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Among the rushes drear and willows gray, The meadow-lark, the herald of the spring, Comes piping in the drowsy life that hides From grim, all-devastating frosts away.
And when the first bold flower-the violet, Or 'tis th' anemone-wide opes its eyes Upon the quiet meads to greet the morn, The prairie's homely bird sings matin lays, That clear and sweet mount swelling to the skies And then on ether wings are softly borne.
When twilight shades come o'er this prairie world In summer's garb, and thousand eyes then close Upon the waning splendor of the evening sky, The meadow-lark's clear roundelay resounds And lulls sun-sated life to cool repose --
Ne'er heard the flowers a sweeter lullaby!
At last the fields, once gay, stand sad and sear, And silent is the cricket's chorus song. The weary blossom drooping on the stem, Now sleeps its long, long sleep, and weary looks The sun. The meadow-lark, of all the throng Of birds, remains to pipe the requiem.
THE BLIND PIPER
Good piper of the Spree, Why pipe so mournfully When brightly smiles the summer day, And sunbeams on the river's way Are dancing lightly to and fro And casting glances from below, Caressing warm the bridge's span,
While zephrys cool your temples fan ?- A mist is gath'ring in my eye, - Good piper, I must hasten by.
Ah! piper of the Spree, Why pipe so merrily When lowering clouds are sailing fast, The swallow, too, is hastening past And scowling looks the rushing tide, Upon whose crest the foam doth ride, And whips the bridge's pillar-stays? How merrily sound your oaten lays!
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I can, thus drawn, not hasten by - But what! is blind my piper's eye?
Many men can translate prose from various languages into our own with ease, but few have ever lived who could success- fully translate poetry and maintain the metre and rhythm. President Wenzlaff has done this repeatedly, and he has given over to us for culture and for pastime some musical translations of foreign ballads that still retain their original charm. Follow- ing is one translated from Uhland:
THE CHAPLET
Yonder stands the mountain chaplet Looking quietly down the vale; There below by mead and brooklet Sings the shepherd boy so hale.
Mournful tolls the bell from yonder, Awful sounds the funeral lay, Hushed is now the merry singer By the chanting far away.
They are borne to graves up yonder Who enjoyed themselves below. Shepherd boy, ah! list young shepherd, 'Twill be sung for thee just so!
Having revealed to the readers of the Argus-Leader, through our theme, the greatness of our SUBJECT, and having in a meas- ure proven our contentions that he is a true poet, a linguist, a translator, a philosopher, a teacher, a man-we are willng to let his case go to the jury-public opinon.
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A SYMMETRICAL MAN
Farmer 10 per cent, teacher 8 per cent, lawyer 14 per cent, editor 18 per cent, poet 22 per cent, historian 28 per cent; total 100 per cent, of symmetrical manhood; such is our analysis of Doane Robinson, our present state historian.
FARMER
He was born on a farm, near Sparta, Wisconsin, October 19, 1856. There he spent his boyhood years and his teens, remaining with his father as hoys of the former generation were wont to do, until he had reached his majority. Then he struck westward and filed on a hometsead in Lyon county, Minnesota. Here again he became a tiller of the soil.
Robinson's experience and observations on the farm, while a boy, ripened his judgment concerning crops, so that today he is regarded as an authority on prospective grain yields, not only in South Dakota but throughout the west; indeed the grain markets of Minneapolis fluctuate according to his forecast.
TEACHER
Our Subject was but five years of age when the Civil war broke out. Facilities in the wilds of Wisconsin at that time were not the best for securing an education. Young Robinson worked on his father's farm, and attended a country school for a few months now and then during the winter. Still, his studious habits found reward, and he finally fitted himself for a teacher. During the five years spent on his Minnesota homestead he taught school during the winter months.
LAWYER
While yet a young man Mr. Robinson saw that if he got ahead in life it would be through strenuous efforts on his own part, owing to the lack of educational advantages in his early
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years Therefore, during the time spent in holding down his homestead, and while he was teaching school he spent his even- ings reading law. In 1882-3, he took the senior year in the Wis- consin law school. Leaving the school he struck west again, going farther than he did the first time, and settled at Watertown, S. D., where he established himself in the practice of law.
EDITOR
After a few years, tiring of his chosen profession-law, he gave it up to enter the editorial field. For several years he edited the "Monthly South Dakotan," a magazine devoted to a spicy review of the early history of the Dakotas. He finally sold the magazine to the Educator School Supply Company of Mitchell.
POET
But Robinson, the poet, is far the most fascinating of all. In this field he launched out more than in any of the others, except history. But the latter is limited by the facts it records, and the for- mer has no limitations what- soever, except in the ability of the author.
His best poetical produc- tions were published in the "Century Magazine;" later they were gathered together and published in a neat little volume called "The Coteaus of Dakota."
In his poetry, Robinson confines himself mostly to var- ious dialects. He is always spicy and entertaining ; always original and terse. His poem entitled "About Sunrise," is DOANE ROBINSON brim full of good things and causes one to live over again the joyous spring mornings in Da- kota when the dew is on the young grasses, and when in the dis- tance you can hear the prairie chicken sounding his solemn notes, "Ding-Dill-Doo." We quote only the last stanza:
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"The soft sunlight Comes flashin' out, And 'fore you know What makes your singer go, You join the happy shout - The song without the words Sung by the mockin'-birds. I ain't got no ear for singin,' So I jest keep on a-flingin' Clods up in the apple-tree, Until I couldn't nowhere see A bird within a mile of me."
His "Plowin' ", "Morning in Galilee", "Helpin' Hay," and several other choice selections are equally refreshing.
Several years ago we remember reading, of cuttng out and preserving, a little ditty of his entitled "Consistency." The thing about it which caught our attention then, and which engages it yet, is the wonderful amount of suggestion contained in those few poetical words. It follows:
CONSISTENCY
Reproach me not, though it appear, While I true doctrines teach, I wholly fail in my career To practice as I preach.
Yon guide-post has through countless days "To London" pointed on, Nor once has quit the angled ways And up to London gone.
When we were young, twenty-seven years ago, we rode a bare-backed, western-fed donkey, and on him herded cattle on Dakota prairies, ten miles south of Huron, along the Jim river. Anything about herding always distresses us, except Doane Rob- inson's poem :
HERDING
No end of rich green medder land Spiked out with ever' kind of poseys. Es fer as I kin understand They's nothin' else on earth so grand Es just a field of prairy roseys. Mixed up with blue, gold-beaded plumes Of shoestring flowers and peavey blooms. Take it a warm, sunshiny day,
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When prairys stretch so far away Ther' lost at last in smoky gray, And hulkin' yoke-worn oxen browse Aroun' the coteaus with the cows, - The tipsy, stag'rin day-old calf, Mumbles a bleat and slabbers a laugh - And yearlin' steers, so round and slick, Wade in the cool and sparklin' creek While cute spring bossies romp and play With Ponto in the tall slough hay. Ye picket out the gentle Roany, Yer knowin,' faithful herdin' pony. And tumblin' down upon yer back Wher' gray sweet-smellin' beauties bide In posey beds, three counties wide, You take a swig of prairy air, With which old speerits ken't compare. And think and plan, and twist and rack Yer brains, to work some scheme aroun' To get a week to spend in town.
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