Vrgabond Editorials

By Jack Dionne

I have entirely ceased to marvel at the sticking quality of good stories, well told. There seems no limit to their long life.

***

More than fifteen years ago I made a speech to a business organization in a certain city. I hadn't been back there since until the other day, when I went back and spoke to ttrat same organizatio'rr. Thete were dozens of men in that room who were there on my last visit.

,t** r have known, ""a a"lr"Jd, for years and years that good stories, well told, last longer and make a far greater impression than any af,nount of logic regardless of how well delivered. Frequently I have gone back to some city to make another speech after a Iapse of several years to find that my stories are all remembered while the subject I preached had been long forgotten. But the experience the other day of having eight or nine stories clearly remembered after fifteen years was to me a remarkable demonstration.

On that fifteen year ago occasion I, naturally, illustrated my speech with a lot of stories in various dialects. When I talked there the other day I had requests from men in all parts of the room to tell them over again some of the stories I had told them so long ago, and they remembered perfectly what the stories were.

There was no one in an", tJ"*, including myself, who could remember even the subject of the talk I made at that time. But the stories stuck. I could have quoted Scripture, or faked the golden words and thoughts of all the great orators from Demosthenes to Daniel Webster; and three days later every word would have been erased from the minds of those present. But the Swede, and French, and Scotch, and nigger stories remained as permanent reminders of that little talk so long ago.

A newspaper reporter t*"*a-"U me not long ago on the subject of story-telling, and he asked me WHY I had years ago decided to specialize particularly on story-telling. I told him it was because story-telling is practically a non-competitive business. All the world loves stories. All the world tells stories. Every newsboy and bootblack on the streets, and from them up to the captains of industry-they al,l tell stories.

BUT THERE ARE ALMOST NO REAL STORY TELLERS. By real story tellers I mean men who can tell all or practically all dialects; who can handle high-powered declamation and oratory, emotion, pathos, or what have you -vocally. There aren't as many of those kind of story tellers in the entire country as you can count on the fingers of one hand. Ever think of that? Fact.

.*:k*

A man going around the country making speeches meets red-hot competition everywhere. The world is full of men who can make a speech. But how often do you find a first class storr5r-teller? Every torurn and district has its well known story-tellers. Some of them are mighty good. But almost invariably they specialize in some one sort of story, or two or three at the most. You find marvelous tellers of negro stories, or country stories, of French, or Swede, or English (there are half a dozen different British Isle dialects that some men specialize in), or stammering, or hairlip, or some o'th,en type of stories. But the guy that can handle them all is mighty scarce. ***

The world loves to laugh. And undoubtedly the most dependable laugh producer known is a good story, well told. There isn't anything much you can do for the other fellow that helps him rnore than to give him something to laugh a! to chuckle at as he goes ibout his daily job. ,f**

I think the way this country has laughed itself through the depression has been one of the best safe-guards against tragedy. The fellow who couldn't laugh off his troubles had on additional burden to carry. The ability to laugh at his troubles has kept many a man from high window jumping. Seeing the bright side of a situation, helps a lot. The old negro story of the little colored boy who went coon hunting with his father, fell out of a tree and was killed, is a good illustration. A friend expressed his sympathy to the father. "Yassuh," said the old man. "Hit wuz mighty bad. But hit coulda bin wuss." "flow you rnean, hit coulda bin wuss?" asked the other. "lfe coulda fell on one of de houn's," said the old man' *

Speaking of stories, I was talking the other day to Henry Stude, President of the American Bakers Association. We were discussing the screwy sort of thinking going on in this country today, and Henry was reminded of a high-brow

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