And then, most wonderful of all, came the day when the June-Bug was born, the daughter who was to be the very light of her adoring father's eyes. (Her real name is Alice Lee.) "Mother, there never really _was_ such a baby, _was_ there?" he would ask ten times a day. She was not born up on the hill; but in ten days we were back from the hospital and out day and night through that glorious July, on some one of the porches overlooking the bay and the hills. And we added our adored Nurse Balch as a friend of the family forever.

I always think of Nurse Balch as the person who more than any other, perhaps, understood to some degree just what happiness filled our lives day in and day out. No one a.s.sumes anything before a trained nurse--they are around too constantly for that. They see the misery in homes, they see what joy there is. And Nurse Balch saw, because she was around practically all the time for six weeks, that there was nothing but joy every minute of the day in our home. I do not know how I can make people understand, who are used to just ordinary happiness, what sort of a life Carl and I led. It was not just that we got along. It was an active, not a pa.s.sive state. There was never a home-coming, say at lunch-time, that did not seem an event--when our curve of happiness abruptly rose. Meals were joyous occasions always; perhaps too scant attention paid to the manners of the young, but much gurglings, and "Tell some more, daddy,"

and always detailed accounts of every little happening during the last few hours of separation.

Then there was ever the difficulty of good-byes, though it meant only for a few hours, until supper. And at supper-time he would come up the front stairs, I waiting for him at the top, perhaps limping. That was his little joke--we had many little family jokes. Limping meant that I was to look in every pocket until I unearthed a bag of peanut candy.

Usually he was laden with bundles--provisions, shoes from the cobbler, a tennis-racket restrung, and an armful of books. After greetings, always the question, "How's my June-Bug?" and a family procession upstairs to peer over a crib at a fat gurgler. And "Mother, there never really _was_ such a baby, _was_ there?" No, nor such a father.

It was that first summer back in Berkeley, the year before the June-Bug was born, when Carl was teaching in Summer School, that we had our definite enthusiasm over labor-psychology aroused. Will Ogburn, who was also teaching at Summer School that year, and whose lectures I attended, introduced us to Hart's "Psychology of Insanity," several books by Freud, McDougall's "Social Psychology," etc. I remember Carl's seminar the following spring--his last seminar at the University of California.

He had started with nine seminar students three years before; now there were thirty-three. They were all such a superior picked lot, some seniors, mostly graduates, that he felt there was no one he could ask to stay out. I visited it all the term, and I am sure that nowhere else on the campus could quite such heated and excited discussions have been heard--Carl simply sitting at the head of the table, directing here, leading there.

The general subject was Labor-Problems. The students had to read one book a week--such books as Hart's "Psychology of Insanity," Keller's "Societal Evolution," Holt's "Freudian Wish," McDougall's "Social Psychology,"--two weeks to that,--Lippmann's "Preface to Politics,"

Veblen's "Instinct of Workmanship," Wallas's "Great Society,"

Thorndike's "Educational Psychology," Hoxie's "Scientific Management,"

Ware's "The Worker and his Country," G.H. Parker's "Biology and Social Problems," and so forth--and ending, as a concession to the idealists, with Royce's "Philosophy of Loyalty."

One of the graduate students of the seminar wrote me: "For three years I sat in his seminar on Labor-Problems, and had we both been there ten years longer, each season would have found me in his cla.s.s. His influence on my intellectual life was by far the most stimulating and helpful of all the men I have known... . But his spirit and influence will live on in the lives of those who sat at his feet and learned."

The seminar was too large, really, for intimate discussion, so after a few weeks several of the boys asked Carl if they could have a little sub-seminar. It was a very rushed time for him, but he said that, if they would arrange all the details, he would save them Tuesday evenings.

So every Tuesday night about a dozen boys climbed our hill to rediscuss the subject of the seminar of that afternoon--and everything else under the heavens and beyond. I laid out ham sandwiches, or sausages, or some edible dear to the male heart, and coffee to be warmed, and about midnight could be heard the sounds of banqueting from the kitchen. Three students told me on graduation that those Tuesday nights at our house had meant more intellectual stimulus than anything that ever came into their lives.

One of these boys wrote to me after Carl's death:--

"When I heard that Doc had gone, one of the finest and cleanest men I have ever had the privilege of a.s.sociating with, I seemed to have stopped thinking. It didn't seem possible to me, and I can remember very clearly of thinking what a rotten world this is when we have to live and lose a man like Doc. I have talked to two men who were a.s.sociated with him in somewhat the same manner as I was, and we simply looked at one another after the first sentences, and then I guess the thoughts of a man who had made so much of an impression on our minds drove coherent speech away... . I have had the opportunity since leaving college of experiencing something real besides college life and I can't remember during all that period of not having wondered how Dr. Parker would handle this or that situation. He was simply immense to me at all times, and if love of a man-to-man kind does exist, then I truthfully can say that I had that love for him."

Of the letters received from students of those years I should like to quote a pa.s.sage here and there.

An aviator in France writes: "There was no man like him in my college life. Believe me, he has been a figure in all we do over here,--we who knew him,--and a reason for our doing, too. His loss is so great to all of us! ... He was so fine he will always push us on to finding the truth about things. That was his great spark, wasn't it?"

From a second lieutenant in France: "I loved Carl. He was far more to me than just a friend--he was father, brother, and friend all in one. He influenced, as you know, everything I have done since I knew him--for it was his enthusiasm which has been the force which determined the direction of my work. And the bottom seemed to have fallen out of my whole scheme of things when the word just came to me."

From one of the young officers at Camp Lewis: "When E---- told me about Carl's illness last Wednesday, I resolved to go and see him the coming week-end. I carried out my resolution, only to find that I could see neither him nor you. [This was the day before Carl's death.] It was a great disappointment to me, so I left some flowers and went away... . I simply could not leave Seattle without seeing Carl once more, so I made up my mind to go out to the undertaker's. The friends I was with discouraged the idea, but it was too strong within me. There was a void within me which could only be filled by seeing my friend once more. I went out there and stood by his side for quite a while. I recalled the happy days spent with him on the campus. I thought of his kindliness, his loyalty, his devotion. Carl Parker shall always occupy a place in the recesses of my memory as a true example of n.o.bility. It was hard for me to leave, but I felt much better."

From one of his women students: "Always from the first day when I knew him he seemed to give me a joy of life and an inspiration to work which no other person or thing has ever given me. And it is a joy and an inspiration I shall always keep. I seldom come to a stumbling-block in my work that I don't stop to wonder what Carl Parker would do were he solving that problem."

Another letter I have chosen to quote from was written by a former student now in Paris:--

"We could not do without him. He meant too much to us... . I come now as a young friend to put myself by your side a moment and to try to share a great sorrow which is mine almost as much as it is yours. For I am sure that, after you, there were few indeed who loved Carl as much as I.

"Oh, I am remembering a hundred things!--the first day I found you both in the little house on Hearst Avenue--the dinners we used to have ...

the times I used to come on Sunday morning to find you both, and the youngsters--the day just before I graduated when mother and I had lunch at your house ... and, finally, that day I left you, and you said, both of you, 'Don't come back without seeing some of the cities of Europe.'

I'd have missed some of the cities to have come back and found you both.

"Some of him we can't keep. The quaint old gray twinkle--the quiet, half-impudent, wholly confident poise with which he defied all comers--that inexhaustible and incorrigible fund of humor--those we lose. No use to whine--we lose it; write it off, gulp, go on.

"But other things we keep, none the less. The stimulus and impetus and inspiration are not lost, and shall not be. No one has counted the youngsters he has hauled, by the scruff of the neck as often as not, out of a slough of middle-cla.s.s mediocrity, and sent careering off into some welter or current of ideas and conjecture. Carl didn't know where they would end, and no more do any of the rest of us. He knew he loathed stagnation. And he stirred things and stirred people. And the end of the stirring is far from being yet known or realized."

I like, too, a story one of the Regents told me. He ran into a student from his home town and asked how his work at the University was going.

The boy looked at him eagerly and said, "Mr. M----, I've been born again! ["Born again"--those were his very words.] I entered college thinking of it as a preparation for making more money when I got out.

I've come across a man named Parker in the faculty and am taking everything he gives. Now I know I'd be selling out my life to make money the goal. I know now, too, that whatever money I do make can never be at the expense of the happiness and welfare of any other human being."

CHAPTER XI

About this time we had a friend come into our lives who was destined to mean great things to the Parkers--Max Rosenberg. He had heard Carl lecture once or twice, had met him through our good friend Dr. Brown, and a warm friendship had developed. In the spring of 1916 we were somewhat tempted by a call to another University--$1700 was really not a fortune to live on, and to make both ends meet and prepare for the June-Bug's coming, Carl had to use every spare minute lecturing outside.

It discouraged him, for he had no time left to read and study. So when a call came that appealed to us in several ways, besides paying a much larger salary, we seriously considered it. About then "Uncle Max" rang up from San Francisco and asked Carl to see him before answering this other University, and an appointment was made for that afternoon.

I was to be at a formal luncheon, but told Carl to be sure to call me up the minute he left Max--we wondered so hard what he might mean. And what he did mean was the most wonderful idea that ever entered a friend's head. He felt that Carl had a real message to give the world, and that he should write a book. He also realized that it was impossible to find time for a book under the circ.u.mstances. Therefore he proposed that Carl should take a year's leave of absence and let Max finance him--not only just finance him, but allow for a trip throughout the East for him to get the inspiration of contact with other men in his field; and enough withal, so that there should be no skimping anywhere and the little family at home should have everything they needed.

It seemed to us something too wonderful to believe. I remember going back to that lunch-table, after Carl had telephoned me only the broadest details, wondering if it were the same world. That Book--we had dreamed of writing that book for so many years--the material to be in it changed continually, but always the longing to write, and no time, no hopes of any chance to do it. And the June-Bug coming, and more need for money--hence more outside lectures than ever. I have no love for the University of California when I think of that $1700. (I quote from an article that came out in New York: "It is an astounding fact which his University must explain, that he, with his great abilities as teacher and leader, his wide travel and experience and training, received from the University in his last year of service there a salary of $1700 a year! The West does not repay commercial genius like that.") For days after Max's offer we hardly knew we were on earth. It was so very much the most wonderful thing that could have happened to us. Our friends had long ago adopted the phrase "just Parker luck," and here was an example if there ever was one. "Parker luck" indeed it was!

This all meant, to get the fulness out of it, that Carl must make a trip of at least four months in the East. At first he planned to return in the middle of it and then go back again; but somehow four months spent as we planned it out for him seemed so absolutely marvelous,--an opportunity of a lifetime,--that joy for him was greater in my soul than the dread of a separation. It was different from any other parting we had ever had. I was bound that I would not shed a single tear when I saw him off, even though it meant the longest time apart we had experienced.

Three nights before he left, being a bit blue about things, for all our fine talk, we prowled down our hillside and found our way to our first Charlie Chaplin film. We laughed until we cried--we really did. So that night, seeing Carl off, we went over that Charlie Chaplin film in detail and let ourselves think and talk of nothing else. We laughed all over again, and Carl went off laughing, and I waved good-bye laughing. Bless that Charlie Chaplin film!

It would not take much imagination to realize what that trip meant to Carl--and through him to me. From the time he first felt the importance of the application of modern psychology to the study of economics, he became more and more intellectually isolated from his colleagues. They had no interest in, no sympathy for, no understanding of, what he was driving at. From May, when college closed, to October, when he left for the East, he read prodigiously. He had a mind for a.s.similation--he knew where to store every new piece of knowledge he acquired, and kept thereby an orderly brain. He read more than a book a week: everything he could lay hands on in psychology, anthropology, biology, philosophy, psycho-a.n.a.lysis--every field which he felt contributed to his own growing conviction that orthodox economics had served its day. And how he gloried in that reading! It had been years since he had been able to do anything but just keep up with his daily lectures, such was the pressure he was working under. Bless his heart, he was always coming across something that was just too good to hold in, and I would hear him come upstairs two steps at a time, bolt into the kitchen, and say: "Just listen to this!" And he would read an extract from some new-found treasure that would make him glow.

But outside of myself,--and I was only able to keep up with him by the merest skimmings,--and one or two others at most, there was no one who understood what he was driving at. As his reading and convictions grew, he waxed more and more outraged at the way Economics was handled in his own University. He saw student after student having every ounce of intellectual curiosity ground out of them by a process of economic education that would stultify a genius. Any student who continued his economic studies did so in spite of the introductory work, not because he had had one little ounce of enthusiasm aroused in his soul. Carl would walk the floor with his hands in his pockets when kindred spirits--especially students who had gone through the mill, and as seniors or graduates looked back outraged at certain courses they had had to flounder through--brought up the subject of Economics at the University of California.

Off he went then on his pilgrimage,--his Research Magnificent,--absolutely unknown to almost every man he hoped to see before his return. The first stop he made was at Columbia, Missouri, to see his idol Veblen. He quaked a bit beforehand,--had heard Veblen might not see him,--but the second letter from Missouri began, "Just got in after thirteen hours with Veblen. It went wonderfully and I am tickled to death. He O.K.s my idea entirely and said I could not go wrong... .

Gee, but it is some grand experience to go up against him."

In the next letter he told of a graduate student who came out to get his advice regarding a thesis-subject in labor. "I told him to go to his New England home and study the reaction of machine-industry on the life of the town. That is a typical Veblen subject. It scared the student to death, and Veblen chuckled over my advice." In Wisconsin he was especially anxious to see Guyer. Of his visit with him he wrote: "It was a whiz of a session. He is just my meat." At Yale he saw Keller. "He is a wonder and is going to do a lot for me in criticism."

Then began the daily letters from New York, and every single letter--not only from New York but from every other place he happened to be in: Baltimore, Philadelphia, Cambridge--told of at least one intellectual Event--with a capital E--a day. No one ever lived who had a more stimulating experience. Friends would ask me: "What is the news from Carl?" And I would just gasp. Every letter was so full of the new influences coming into his life, that it was impossible to give even an idea of the history in the making that was going on with the Parkers.

In the first days in New York he saw T.H. Morgan. "I just walked in on him and introduced myself baldly, and he is a corker. A remarkable talker, with a mind like a flash. I am to see him again. To-morrow will be a big day for me--I'll see Hollingworth, and very probably Thorndike, and I'll know then something of what I'll get out of New York." Next day: "Called on Hollingworth to-day. He gave me some invaluable data and opinions... . To-morrow I see Thorndike." And the next day: "I'm so joyful and excited over Thorndike. He was so enthusiastic over my work... . He at once had bra.s.s-tack ideas. Said I was right--that strikes usually started because of small and very human violations of man's innate dispositions."

Later he called on Professor W.C. Mitch.e.l.l. "He went into my thesis very fully and is all for it. Professor Mitch.e.l.l knows more than any one the importance of psychology to economics and he is all for my study. Gee, but I get excited after such a session. I bet I'll get out a real book, my girl!"

After one week in New York he wrote: "The trip has paid for itself now, and I'm dead eager to view the time when I begin my writing." Later: "Just got in from a six-hour session with the most important group of employers in New York. I sat in on a meeting of the Building Trades Board where labor delegates and employers appeared. After two hours of it (awfully interesting) the Board took me to dinner and we talked labor stuff till ten-thirty. Gee, it was fine, and I got oceans of stuff."

Then came Boas, and more visits with Thorndike. "To-night I put in six hours with Thorndike, and am pleased plum to death... . Under his friendly stimulus I developed a heap of new ideas; and say, wait till I begin writing! I'll have ten volumes at the present rate... . This visit with Thorndike was worth the whole trip." (And in turn Thorndike wrote me: "The days that he and I spent together in New York talking of these things are one of my finest memories and I appreciate the chance that let me meet him.") He wrote from the Harvard Club, where Walter Lippmann put him up: "The Dad is a 'prominent clubman.' Just lolled back at lunch, in a room with animals (stuffed) all around the walls, and waiters flying about, and a ceiling up a mile. Gee!" Later: "I just had a most wonderful visit with the Director of the National Committee for Mental Hygiene, Dr. Solman, and he is a wiz, a wiz!"

Next day: "Had a remarkable visit with Dr. Gregory this A.M. He is one of the greatest psychiatrists in New York and up on balkings, business tension, and the mental effect of monotonous work. He was so worked up over my explanation of unrest (a mental status) through instinct-balkings other than s.e.x, that he asked if I would consider using his big psychopathic ward as a laboratory field for my own work.

Then he dated me up for a luncheon at which three of the biggest mental specialists in New York will be present, to talk over the manner in which psychiatry will aid my research! I can't say how tickled I am over his att.i.tude." Next letter: "At ten reached Dr. Pierce Bailey's, the big psychiatrist, and for an hour and a half we talked, and I was simply tickled to death. He is really a wonder and I was very enthused... . Before leaving he said: 'You come to dinner Friday night here and I will have Dr. Paton from Princeton and I'll get in some more to meet you.' ... Then I beat it to the 'New Republic' offices, and sat down to dinner with the staff plus Robert Bruere, and the subject became 'What is a labor policy?' The Dad, he did his share, he did, and had a great row with Walter Lippmann and Bruere. Walter Lippmann said: 'This won't do--you have made me doubt a lot of things. You come to lunch with me Friday at the Harvard Club and we'll thrash it all out.' Says I, 'All right!' Then says Croly, 'This won't do; we'll have a dinner here the following Monday night, and I'll get Felix Frankfurter down from Boston, and we'll thrash it out some more!' Says I, 'All right!' And says Mr.

Croly, private, 'You come to dinner with us on Sunday!'--'All right,'

sez Dad. Dr. Gregory has me with Dr. Solman on Monday, and Harry Overstreet on Wednesday, Thorndike on Sat.u.r.day, and gee, but I'll beat it for New Haven on Thursday, or I'll die of up-torn brain."

Are you realizing what this all meant to my Carl--until recently reading and pegging away unencouraged in his bas.e.m.e.nt study up on the Berkeley hills?

The next day he heard Roosevelt at the Ritz-Carton. "Then I watched that remarkable man wind the crowd almost around his finger. It was great, and pure psychology; and say, fool women and some fool men; but T.R.

went on blithely as if every one was an intellectual giant." That night a dinner with Winston Churchill. Next letter: "Had a simply superb talk with Hollingworth for two and a half hours this afternoon... . The dinner was the four biggest psychiatrists in New York and Dad. Made me simply yell, it did... . It was for my book simply superb. All is going so wonderfully." Next day: "Now about the Thorndike dinner: it was grand... . I can't tell you how much these talks are maturing my ideas about the book. I think in a different plane and am certain that my ideas are surer. There have come up a lot of odd problems touching the conflict, so-called, between intelligence and instinct, and these I'm getting thrashed out grandly." After the second "New Republic" dinner he wrote: "Lots of important people there ... Felix Frankfurter, two judges, and the two Goldmarks, Pierce Bailey, etc., and the whole staff... . Had been all day with Dr. Gregory and other psychiatrists and had met Police Commissioner Woods ... a wonderfully rich day... . I must run for a date with Professor Robinson and then to meet Howe, the Immigration Commissioner."

Then a trip to Ellis Island, and at midnight that same date he wrote: "Just had a most truly remarkable--eight-thirty to twelve--visit with Professor Robinson, he who wrote that European history we bought in Germany." Then a trip to Philadelphia, being dined and entertained by various members of the Wharton School faculty. Then the Yale-Harvard game, followed by three days and two nights in the psychopathic ward at Sing Sing. "I found in the psychiatrist at the prison a true wonder--Dr.

Glueck. He has a viewpoint on instincts which differs from any one that I have met." The next day, back in New York: "Just had a most remarkable visit with Thomas Mott Osborne." Later in the same day: "Just had an absolutely grand visit and lunch with Walter Lippmann ... it was about the best talk with regard to my book that I have had in the East. He is an intellectual wonder and a big, good-looking, friendly boy. I'm for him a million."