Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 62, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 March 1915 — HOW AMBITION LED YOUNG GIRL [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HOW AMBITION LED YOUNG GIRL

Mis* Fannie Hurst’s Long and Hard Apprenticeship in Story-Writing. PERSISTENCY WON AT LAST Interesting But Not Always Pleasant Experiences Working In Stores* Restaurants and Sweatshops to Gathe r Mate ri a I for Yarns. By RICHARD SPILLANE. (Copyright, McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Usually it la poverty that gives spur to ambition and plenty that dulls it. Money, ease and recognition are the beacons that crown the heights of success. The more distant they may be, the more brilliant they seem. There was no spur of poverty In the case of Fannie Hurst. She had money and she had ease. Her father was wealthy. Her home was charming. , Tens of thousands of young girls would have thought themselves blest if they were In her place. She probably would have been perfectly happy and never been heard of had not ambition somehow taken root In her brain and started her to do things wealthy girls rarely attempt. ' , r - : Fannie Hurst’s home- is St Louis. Her parents gave her every educational advantage. After her regular schooling she went to Washington university, and then in 1909 she went to New York to take a postgraduate course at Columbia. While she was in Washington university she had two desires that are not unusual with girls. She wanted to be an actress and she wanted to be a great writer. Her parents smiled at her talk of the stage and smiled when she' talked of writing. She dreamed of the day when she would be an actress, but contented herself for the time being with writing things which she thought would set the world afire. She had lots of ideas. She had a keen and observant eye. There is a publication in St. Louis to which she sent some of her productions. She sent others to the newspapers. At first most of them came back. A few were printed. She never has known greater joy than she felt the first time she saw in print something she had written. There was an added joy when she got money, real money, In payment for it. She went and saw the editor. He was more than kind to her. He made suggestions that were of great value., He explained wherein some of her work was crude, pointed the way to good, writing, and cheered her with the statement that she had promise. Then he gave $lO to her for one of her yarns. x She wrote and she wrote knd she wrote. The editor printed some of these stories, and when the spirit moved him he put some bills in an envelope and sent the money to her through the mall. Even the newspapers paid her for what they accepted. She made enough out of her writings in six months to almost pay her candy bill.

New York Editors Were Chilly. In New York she found the editors colder than in St. Louis. She was to put in two years in Columbia. She was to attend three lectures a week. She had to devote a good many hours to study but she had some spar® time. She Improved the opportunity by doing a little writing. Most of the stuff she wrote was short, the sort of matter that is called fillers. She seat this stuff to the Sunday newspapers. Most of it came back. A little of it- was printed. She thought If she could see one of the editors and talk with him she could’make him understand the value of what she was writings and possibly open the columns to her. She went to the office nine times and sat In an anteroom until even the office boy felt sorry for her. It is hard for a newcomer to get audience. It is not the editors’ fault Most of the editors. are overrun with visitors. If they saw all the people who go to newspaper offices they would have no time for their work. _ She lost hope about this time of ever making an impression as* a writer and her thoughts were turned toward the stage. As a matter of fact the stage always had been uppermost In her mind. Writing was only a secondary consideration. She determined on a theatrical career. After a lot of trouble, she got an engagement It was a small part in “The Concert,” which play was put on by David Belasco. She was to get |IS a week. She appeared in two consecutive performances. The second night after the show was over and she was leaving the theater, a gentleman met her at the stage door. He was her father. He had come to New York on 'business and had gone to see the play. When his daughter appeared in the cast he was astounded- He hurried out of the house, and when the show was over he talked to her as only a father raw- Then he took her to St. Louis. She remained there for two months, and was permitted to return to New York only on her promise that she would give up all thoughts of the stage. She resumed her studies at Columbia. and “again took up writing. Most of the stories she turned out were fiction. Nearly all of her productions came tack. Everytime the postman

nag tar Mh» heart sank. The maid would come in with a bulky envelope in her hand and with the announcement: “Here’s another one come back. Miss Fannie," would hand it to her. But one day the postman brought, not a rejected manuscript, but a check for S3O. A second or third-class magar Sine had accepted one of her stories, entitled "The Seventh Day." She was SO joyous that she kissed the check, figuratively hugged herself, danced about the room and acted as only a girl can act when greatly excited. That one acceptance revived all her hopes. One of her friends who knew the editor of a magazine took her down to that gentleman's office and introduced her. He was very kind, but didn’t waste words. "What have you to submit?" he asked. She had gone to him emptyu&Ducu. "Go home and write something and bring it in," he told her. MB «d- He read the manuscript Then he gave it back to her. “Young lady," he said, “you can write, but you do not know how to handle a story yet” Then he made a lot of rapid-fire suggestions. She rewrote* that story three times. The third time the editor accepted it. He accepted two other stories, but he made her rewrite them, and rewrite them and rewrite them, " Going After Material. — To get material for stories she did some astonishing things. She wanted to develop a field of her own. She did. She wanted to know at first hand about the shop girls. She applied for a job in a big department store. It took her six weeks to get an engagement. She had her heart set on being assigned to the ribbon counter. Aa luck would have it, that is the work to which she was assigned. She was to get $6.50 a week. If anyone thinks the girl at the ribbon counter has an easy thing of it, he will be disillusionized by Miss Hurst. With all her education she never has mastered mathematics. The first day at the ribbon counter was one of terror to -her. Some of the stores pell their ribbons at all sorts of odd prices. Some of it is ten cents a yard, some 17%, some 22%, and so on.

Women are queer creatures. They buy ribbons of odd lengths. Sometimes they want 7% yards, sometimes 12% yards. When a lady would order 7% yards of 17%-cent ribbon, Miss Hurst would have a terrible time. She couldn’t figure out 7% times 17% In less than half an hour, and then nine chances out of ten the result would be wrong. All the salesgirls keep a book of their sales. Miss Hurst was short In her accounts that first day. She was short in her accounts the second day, and the third day, and the fourth day, and the fifth day. At the end of the fifth day the floor manager called her aside and Informed her that she was discharged. When she got home she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. She believes she never would have been discharged if it were not for the abominable custom of selling things on the fractional plan. She made a lot of acquaintances in the store. None of the girls had an idea of what she was there for. Some of them are her friends today. They do not know she is a writer.

After her ignominious dismissal she sought some more experience. She got a job in a popular cheap restaurant She was to get seven dollars and a half a week: Incidentally, there was a chance for tips. She wasn’t a success as a waitress. She tried to do as the other girls did, but she didn’t have the ability. She never could master the art of racking up plates, saucers, cups, knives, forks and spoons in great pyramids on her left arm and marching serenely down the aisle. She did the best she could, , but her best was very poor. Several times the load was tod much for her, for she had not been skillful in stacking the stuff up, and she let the pile fall. She served men and she served women. She never got a tip from a Woman. Maybe It was because »he was such a bad waitress. She got tips from the men, however, Maybe they sympathised with her. In that restaurant she met a man whom she considers the kindest, politest and most generous human she has

ever met His clothes were shabby and his linen was frayed. It was worse whe.. he departed than when he came in, for she spilled coffee down his left arm, onto his collar and onto his neck. The poor man didn’t scold her, or didn’t even frown. He mopped the coffee off his coat sleeve and oft his collar, and he wiped hla neck. And after that b n gave her • five-cent tip. She didn’t remain in that reetaurar.'; long. It was not her fault She was fired. She went out then and looked for another job. So far as she knows, no one had recognized her, but In the department store two or three persons from St. Louis looked at her sharply, and she believes they recognized her, or thought they did. In a Sweat Shop. Her third job came through an advertisement. The ad called for rippers. That is a trade term in the tailoring business. She got an engagement in a sweat shop in Allen street. Of all the congested sections of New York there is none that is worse than Allen street. The shop in which she got employment was a wretched one. Most of the employees knew no English. Nearly all spoke Yiddish or a Polish dialect She went to work by the piece. A good ripper could earn 50 cents a day. Miss Hurst was no better as a ripper than she was as a ribbon .girl or waitress. She earned her car fare and a little over. She probably was considered as a hopeless subject The boss discharged her. After leaving the sweat shop she plunged into writing. She had gathered a lot of material. She had kept her eyes and her ears open, not only in the department store, the restaurant and the sweat shop, but on the streets, in the- subway, in the “L” trains, everywhere. She was gathering impressions, studying life, thinking of people, creating situations. She wrote story after story, and sent the articles out. She sent various manuscripts to a publication that has the largest circulation of any in America. They came back regularly. She sent them elsewhere. Occasionally she sold one. She was sure that she was going to succeed sooner or later. One day she got a letter from this publication of great circulation. It asked her to call

at its New York office. It also informed her that one of her stories which she had called “Power and Horse Power** had been accepted.- She went' to the office considerable exercised. She had made up her mind that she would ask a big price for that story. She would insist on getting a hundred dollars. The gentleman was very polite. He told her the editor was very much impressed with her work, that he had been watching her for a long time and that she had been showing steady improvement. The publication wanted her to submit all her stories from that time forward, he said. “Now, what do you think your work is worth?** the gentleman inquired. She tried to say one hundred dollars, but the words would not come. She hesitated, and hesitated, and finally said: “I'll leave it to you.” “Well,” he said, “suppose we start at three hundred dollars an article.” , She nearly fainted. . That was two years ago. She has been writing, writing, writing ever since. She gets far more than three huhdred dollars a story now. She is one of the highest-priced story writers in America. If she keeps on as she is doing at present, she is in danger of becoming disgracefully rich on her own account Half adozen magazines have offered more money tocher than she is getting from the one to which she contributes regularly. Play producers have been after her to dramatize various of her stories. Book publishers have wanted to put her stories in book form. She has turned a deaf ear to all nf them. She works harder now than she did at the beginning. Writing to her is hot easy. Some days she works five or six or eight hours over a paragraph. She has written and rewritten a story twice or three times; has put it in an envelope ready for mailing, and then has torn it.up and rewritten Hag#*,, She is not altogether convinced that she would not have been a success as an actress. But she is pretty well satisfied with her success as a writer.

The Load Was Too Much for Her.