worth that a poet who could sing
American ideals and dreams was needed by them.... Ray Stannard Baker,
Peter Finley Dunne, Upton Sinclair, were all to write for them....

I saw clearly that their revolution was a backward-working one. That the
country's business could never again be broken up into a multitude of
small shops and individual competitors.

Of course, I was at that time a Socialist of the violent, fiery
type--with a strong cast toward the anarchism of Emma Goldman.

But it flattered me to be taken, as it were, into the inner councils of
such great folk....

"Send us some of your poetry, with the right American ring to it,
Johnnie," suggested Miss Martin, "and we will make you the poet of the
group."

I think that Ally Merton's clothes on me, and his correct tie, made my
good impression, as much as my after-talk around the fireplace, where I
spun yarns of my strange life and adventures.

* * * * *

"You made a hit," commented Ally, as he conducted me back to his house,
"it's a great opening for you. Follow it up!"

"I will!"

* * * * *

That night I could not sleep. My blood made a tumult through my body.
Before dawn I had written two poems on national themes; didactic verses,
each with a moral of democracy tagged to it, and much about the worth of
simplicity in it, and the dignity of honest labour.

Yes, I would be their poet. And America's poet....

And visions of a comfortable, bourgeois success took me ... interminable
Chautauquas, with rows of women listening to my inspiring verses ...
visits as honoured guest to the homes of great popular leaders like
Roosevelt ... dignity and rides in parlour cars, instead of dusty, dirty
box cars ... interviews of weight and speeches of consequence ... and
the newspapers would drop their undercurrent of levity when I was
written about in them, and treat me with consideration.

Finally, I would possess a home like Mackworth's, set back amid shade
trees, a house not too large, not too small ... a cook and maid ... a
pretty, unobtrusive wife devoted to me....

And I would wear white linen collars every day, tie the ends of my tie
even ... and each year would see a new book of mine out, published by
some bookseller of repute ... and I could afford Red Seal records ...
and have my largest room for a library....

Middle-class comfort was upon me ... good plumbing ... electric light
... laundry