Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 107, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 May 1916 — Kin Hubbard Essays [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Kin Hubbard Essays

NOISES

By KIN HUBBARD.

Oh, fer th' ole restful noiseless days when nothin’ disturbed th’ peace an’ quiet o’ th’ community but th’ milkman’s bell, or an occasional grind organ! Oh, fer th’ Joy o’ livin’ agin through that blissful period precedin’ th’ advent o’ th’ raspin’ phonergraph! When It comes t’ din th’ blatant notes o’ a minstrel pe-rade are as soft an’ soothin’ as a summer zephyr compared t’ th’ turmoil an’ clatter o’ th’ marsh o’ progress, with its player planners, typewriters, automobiles, addin’ machines, belchin’ motorcycles, nickel the ater hawkers, flat wheeled street cars, hospital ambulances, chautauquas, well dressed promoters, rumblin’ lnterurbans an’ other noise producers. With th’ possible exception o’ th’ rubber heeLalL o’ our modern inventions an’ innovations aTe accompanied some nerve rackin’ noise. Wherever we turn we run lnt’ some brand new kind of a noise. The quiet Sunday at home passed out with th’ cornin’ o’ th’ player planner. Th* whizzin’ graphophone has drowned out th’ ole enjoyable conversations around th’ cheerful grate, while th’ impatient ring o’ the telephone bell destroys one silent meditation after another. If we seek th’ lonesome seclusion o’ th’ country lane we’re startled out o’ our boots by th’ coarse notes o' th’ tourin’ car fog horn, or th’ shrill "whistle o’ th’ thunderin’ interurban special. In th’ case th’ low necked cabaret nightingale sings "You Made Me Love You” as she wabbles aimlessly among th’ tables scatterin’ talcum dust o’er th’ steaks an’ caviar sandwiches. Ever’where Is noise. In ever’ town that’s

flourishin’ enough t’ support a "Pearl” laundry or a “Weekly Banner” we find th’ fussy little gasoline engine puffin’ an’ snortin’ like an enraged wart hog brought t’ bay. Ever’where thro’ August an’ September th’ oratorical eruptions o’ th’ Chautauqua stage drive our feathered songsters from th’ sylvan grove on th’ edge o’ town t’ remote an’ distant thickets. Thro’ th’ turmoil an’ bustle o’ traffic we cross th’ downtown street with our life in one hand an’ a cane or a mackerel or somethin' In th’ other. In th’ evenin’ when we git ready t’ retire some kind neighbor decides t’ try out a new grand opery record on th’ Victroly, or th’ blushin’ debutante next door grows tired o’ holdin’ hands an’ concludes t’ do a little foot work on th’ player planner. At intervals thro’ th’ night we're aroused by th’ milkman as he whistles his way jf th’ window sill t’ keep up his courage, or by th’ rough voice o’ th’ street sweeper as he curses his mules. How glad we are when th’ wide open muffler o’ some early riser proclaims th’ breakin' day. Once back In th’ city streets we hear th’ constant rumble o’ heavy trucks an’ th’ terrific explosions o’ countless tires an’ our thoughts revert t’ th’ siege o’ Vicksburg. We are surrounded by th’ artillery o’ traffic. Nothin' seems t’ succeed these days without a noise. Th’ prosperity o’ our towns an’ cities Is measured by Iher noise producin’ facilities. Even a feller’s prominence In every walk In life Is reckoned by th’ noise he makes. If a feller quietly buys a nickel sogar these days th’ bang o’ th’ cash register destroys his whole line o’ thought.

“In th’ Case th' Low Necked Cabaret Nightingale Sings ‘You Made Me Love You’ as She Wabbles Aimlessly Among th’ Tables Scatterin' Talcum Dust Over th’ Steaks an’ Caviar Sandwiches.”