Saturday, May 1, 2010

Yale Class of 1899 - 50th Reunion, 1949

He graduated from Yale in 1899, at age 26. He seems to have spent some time earlier at Ohio State.

On the occasion of the fiftieth reunion of his class he wrote a poem. (There were other poems for other reunions - I'll have to gather them all eventually)

Those Hopeful Oldsters

So now it's full two score and ten
Of episodic years since when
The gallant crew of Ninety-nine
Did sally forth to rise and shine.
To battle on the fields of strife
And learn the mystery of life.
Full armed with crackling parchment each
Did look for things within his reach,
For what to seize and what to do
And what ambition to pursue.
Full armed with Prexy Timothy is homily,
With Irvie Fisher's fancy formulae,
With Billy Sumner's pregnant facts,
And Billy Phelps's lively tracts,
Full stocked with academic lore
They gazed upon the distant shore
Where hung the plume of light and win,
To combat evil, conquer sin.
Full armed with varied erudition
In the best old Yale tradition.
And as the rapid years rolled on
Two wars have come and two have gone
(Or nearly so, I dare to say,
I haven't read the news today.)
One war to stop the next that came
Another war to do the same.
And now of course we're better off,
A fact at which some cynics scoff.
We've learned to hate a lot since then.
We've learned to hate and love again.
We've learned to ride in motor cars.
We've learned the way of cocktail bars.
We've learned to soar the atmosphere.
Without a doubt or single fear.
We've weathered Prohibition's joke.
Our women folks have learned to smoke.
We've mastered bridge, likewise gin rummy,
And all the joys of double dummy.
We've witnessed pictures start to move
And talk and teach the art of love,
And then from Hollywood of course
We've learned the value of divorce.
We've learned to golf, we've learned to ski.
We've learned about the fickle she.
We've learned to foxtrot, learned to jive.
We've seen the radio come alive.
We've met a lot of varied jerks.
We've gone the limit, shot the works.
We've had a lot of great adventures,
Such as getting our new dentures.
And some are here and some are there
And some have left this scene of care.
And some are thin and some are stout,
And all are gray as all get out.
Arteriosclerosis grim
Has slowed the pace of many a limb.
We've looped the loop, we've fed the kitty.
We've tried the country, tried the city.
When the teeth fall out and the cheeks fall in,
When the nose grows down to meet the chin,
When wrinkled phiz looks like a griddle,
And comes a bulge in the old south middle,
When the old pump lags with weakened beat
And skimps the blood to hands and feet,
When bladders, kidneys, livers, lights
Disturb the days and vex the nights,
When sundry things like these and those
Demand attention, swell our woes,
Why then to all it doth occur
We're not as young as we once were.
But even so, you'll all agree
We're not as old as we hope to be.

(Presented by the author at the 50th Reunion of the Yale Class of 1899. June 1949)


This was the same year and month as the wedding of Anna and Ollie Jones.

Friday, April 30, 2010

"From the Boys"

Here is the inscription on the the gold-handled walking stick

New Year 1884
E. O. Jones
From the Boys

Given the date, I suppose this was given to Ellis Oliver Jones (1833 - 1894), rather than to Ellis Oliver Jones (1873 - 1967), who would have been about ten years old in 1884. I've always assumed that the boys were his three sons.

Click to Embiggen

Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Testament of Henry Miller

Among the documents I have is a typescript of a testament written by one Henry Miller. This man was born February 23, 1819 in Mount Vernon, Ohio. He is the paternal great-uncle of the Ellis Oliver Jones who is the subject here. That man's mother, Eugenia Miller Jones was the daughter of Jonathan Miller, the eldest brother of Henry Miller. In this document, dated in 1884, a year before his death, and when my great-grandfather was about eleven years old, he recounts what he remembers of his family history.

You may click on each of the following pages to make them readable. I've tried this weekend -- unsuccessfully -- to abstract the data here into the family tree I'm building at Geni.com. Go, if you care to http://www.geni.com/people/Ellis-Jones/384809866210013734 . If you can't see it, let me know. I'll find a way to let you in.

There are redactions made after the fact (see the * notes on some pages, and the final page is directed to "my" branch of the family. I guess by the typing style that these are the work of our Ellis Oliver Jones.

Click and then click again on the following image to make it readable










Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Reading about the Sedition Trial of 1944

I have begin to read the historical and legal literature on the sedition trial of 1944. It's very interesting. It seems to be the general consensus that whatever the merits of the case against the extraordinary collection of defendants might have been, the process was mishandled by the prosecutor and the judge, and was manipulated by political forces at the highest level.

Very early among the legal analyses seems to be:
The Sedition Trial: A Study in Delay and Obstruction
The University of Chicago Law Review
, Vol. 15, No. 3 (Spring, 1948), pp. 691-702
(article consists of 12 pages)
Published by: The University of Chicago Law Review
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1597541
There is a great deal more for me to read.

I can scarcely imagine what it must have been like to observe this process during war time. I can imagine even less what it must have been like to have been related to one of the defendants - one identified as one of the crackpots among them, let alone to have shared a name with him as my father and grandfather did. Dad was in secondary school during the war. Grandad was a safety officer in the Ethyl Corporation and from 1943 to 1945 was a Special Assistant to the Director of the Petroleum Administration for War.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Uncertainties

Life is earnest. Life is real.
As we go from meal to meal,
Searching for the rightful diet.
When we find it, we must try it,
Doubting if we can digest it
For at best we've only guessed it.
Whether patriarch or pope
We can only grope and hope.
Whether commoner or king,
Never sure of anything.

Life Begins At --

Life begins before you're one
When first you gaze upon the sun.
Life begins with book and rule
When first you toddle off to school.
Life begins at seventeen
When you behold a stunning queen.

Life begins at twenty-three -
You get your coveted degree.
Then life begins at twenty-four
Youe cease to be a bachelor.
And life begins at twenty-eight -
You enter the parental state.

Life begins at thirty-two -
You've found the job that suited you.
Life begins at forty-nine -
You're going strong and feeling fine.
Then life begins at sixty-five
And you retire much alive.

And then you reach three score and ten
To find that life begins again.
Life begins each morning bright
On waking from the dead of night.
Yes, life begins from day to day
As you go trudging on your way.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

In 2008, California State University, Northridge produced an exhibition:

Museum

In our Own Backyard: Resisting Nazi Propaganda in Southern California, 1933-1945

[n.b. The exvibition documents are no longer online at Northridge, but have been preserved in the Internet archive]

This exhibition has a couple of images of him, as well as a number of documents relating to his activities with the America First and the Friend of Progress organizations and the sedition trial.

Museum





Museum

Adagios

The more the haste the less the speed.
A fried in need is a friend indeed.
Prevention ounce is pound of cure.
What can't be cured you must endure.
Always look before you leap.
Blessed is restoring sleep.
Naught but death the sinner's wage.
All the world is but a stage.
Dollars come from hoarded pence.
Get thee, Satan; Get the hence.
The exception proves the rule.
Experience is a bitter tool.

Adagios

Time invariably cures.
Change and change alone endures.
Easy come and easy go.
Always, son, hoe out your row.
No good comes from ill-won pelf.
Every doc should heal himself.
Dolts cannot be made to think.
Horses can't be made to drink.
Faint heart never won fair maid.
Winces, doth the galled jade.
One good turn another earns.
Long the lane that never turns.
Armed well, he whose cause is just.
Busy needles do not rust.
Words of wisdom such as those
Can be used in fighting foes.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Adagios

Fool and money soon are parted.
Victory's not for chicken-hearted.
Easy won is dearly bought.
Quickly learned is soon forgot.
Stick, O cobbler, to your last.
Things to come their shadows cast.
Save your breath to cool your broth.
Sacred is the plighted troth.
Ye shall garner as you sow.
Great oaks from small acorns grow.
Silver lines the darkest cloud.
Two is company - three's a crowd.
Making haste is making waste.
Do not argue over taste.
So say sages of the past.
Ponder well and hold them fast.

September 11, 1919

Adagios

All that glitters is not gold.
O joy when sheep are in the fold.
Smite the iron when it's hot.
The wish is father to the thought.
Early the bird that gets the worm.
Until you're hurt you should not squirm.
Do not kick against the bricks.
And never count the unhatched chicks.
Time and tide for no man wait.
Never is much worse than late.
Shed no tears about spilled milk.
Sows' ears can't make purse of silk.
Cross no bridge until it's reached
Always practice what you've preached.
These few saws and many another.
Should receive your homage brother.

September 11, 1919

Monday, April 12, 2010

Adagios

Halfway done that well is started.
Roads are short to cheery-hearted.
Pennies saved are pennies earned.
Fire frights the child that's burned.
You can't eat the cake that's eaten.
Faint of heart is quickly beaten.
You can't tell until you try.
No water's missed till well is dry.
There are no pockets in a shroud.
Falls are waiting for the proud.
No man lives by bread alone.
Every sinner must atone.
Silence if you'd evil speak.
He will not find who does not seek.
These are maxims tried and true.
And they all apply to you.

Adagios

Uneasy lies the head that's crowned.
It's love that makes the world go round.
A daily apple cheat's the doc.
Like-plumed together flock.
Dead men have no tales to tell.
It's worth doing, do it well.
Opportunity knocks but once.
Words are wasted on the dunce.
A stitch in time saves many a stitch.
Spoil the child and spare the switch.
Make your hay while sun is shining.
Waste no time in vain repining.
The chain is strong as the weakest link.
Evil to them who evil think.
Thus say sages through the ages.
Pasted 'em in your scrapbook pages.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

What did he look like?

His papers include a small group of photographs

At the wedding of this nice young couple! Three generations of Ellis Oliver Jones'
June 1949, New Haven CT.
1949 was the date also of his 50th reunion of Yale Class of 1899, for which he wrote a poem.
there os also a photograph of the attending members of that class which will appear here in due course.



Unknown location and unknown date. Presumably the place he lived in Washington DC, and quite possibly the same day as the next on, taken at our house in McLean, Virginia about 1960.




There are other pictures of him here, and here.

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Impatient Patricia

Patricia possessed a propensity
For showing a hyperintensity.
She avered: "I can't say
Why I struggle this way.
Perhaps it is due to my density."

Chronic

A husband from East Pennsylvania
Declared to his wive: "It is plain ya
Have nagged me so long
With your ceaseless sing-song
It's become an incurable mania."

Couldn't Make It

There once was a big Texas leaguer
Who wanted to be an intriguer,
But in spite of his pains
The sum of his gains
Was always excessively meager.

Slight Offhand

There was a bookkeeper named Jane
Who struggled for illicit gain,
So she juggled accounts
In substantial amounts
And called it mere legerdemain.

Illegal Beagle

There was a finagling beagle
That scented a real regal eagle.
When he got squared away
His owner yelled "Hey!
To inveigle an eagle's illegal."

Friday, April 2, 2010

The Cure Consumer: January 16, 1910

[Click below to enlarge. If it's still too small to read, click again]

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Department of Defence

There was a sweet amanuensis
So careful about her defenses
That when her employer
Began to annoy her
She soon brought him back to his senses.

Warning

Said a man from the Lesser Antilles
"Wifie darling, you give me the willies.
If you don't stop that carping
And nagging and harping
You'll find yourself under the lilies".

Ages, Rages, and Cages

Sneer not at the buggy-and-horse age
There surely was many a worse age
We've come quite a way
Since that fast fading day
And now we have reached the divorce age.

Harry T. Soliloquy

Happy days are here again.
Here's that poor old Vaughn again
And smuggled events
In plain evidence
Involving Maragon again.

Temperance

Aunt Jane was a total abstainer
Except on a plane or a train or
At home in a flat
And places like that
When'ere she could find a container.

Pill Swallower

There was a dumb dame named Adele
Who wished to be better than well
So she bought all the pills
And the tonics and swills
That anyone offered to sell.

Sesquipedalia

There once was an abcedarian
Who married a totalitarian
There was no estrangement
In this strange arrangement
And now he's an octogenarian

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Free For All

You may talk about the weather
Morning, noon or night or whether
When in company together
Or conversing with yourself.
It's a universal topic
Touching matters magniscopic
In the arctic or the tropic
For the Arab, Scot or Guelph.

Though you talk with Sue or Tommy
When it's rough or when it's calmy,
When it's stormy, when it's balmy
Be it rain or be it shine.
It's a subject mighty meaty,
Very handy as a greetie,
Be it cold or gray or sleety,
Be it nasty or benign.

Though thermometers are soaring,
Though old Pluvius is pouring,
Though the thunder clouds are roaring,
Do not fear to speak your mind.
You may praise it, you may flout it,
But (O never, never doubt it)
You've a right to talk about it
To whomever you may find.

What you say can little matter
As you join the current chatter
Mid the flashing and the clatter.
You've a right to have your say.
Never have the slightest fear or
Doubt you will not have a hearer
When you're holding up the mirror
To old nature's antic way.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Attention Shoppers

Consult the ads
For scads and scads
Of things for dads
And mothers,
For bales and bales
Of bargain sales
For needy males
And others.

For rows and rows
Of fancy bows
And furbelows
And feathers,
For miles and miles
Of stunning styles
In linens, lisles,
And leathers.

Regale yourselves
From teeming shelves
Of books on elves
And riddles.
See latest hats
And bright cravats
For slims and fats
And middles.

See cunning toys
And other joys
For little boys
And sisters.
See natty suits
and shiny boots
And milt cheroots
For misters.

So join the throng
And come along
With mirth and song -
And money.
Do not delay
What though the day
Be cold and gray
Or sunny.

(March 3, 1953.
New York Times - February 16, 1954)

Monday, March 22, 2010

So to Speak

Be it worsting, be it besting
Live is very interesting.
Babies breasting, birdies nesting
Laddies jesting, girls protesting,
Lovers trysting, maids hope-chesting,
Elders resting, youngers zesting,
Cops arresting, kine ingesting,
Bakers yeasting, rovers westing,
Scholars testing, thugs molesting,
Trusts investing, pests infesting,
Earnest poets anapesting,
Priests behesting, hunters questing,
Blossoms bursting, bibbers thirsting,
Be it lasting, be it firsting
Be it worsting, be it besting,
Life is very interesting.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Advice to the Sloven

De ever alert to the dirt on your shirt
In you want to look trim and attractive.
It's well to look swell when you're wooing a belle
Especially if she's exactive.

And zealously care for the wear of you hair
If you want to look princely and charming
While easy enough any stuff on your cuff
Could suggest a condition alarming.

Remember a sir is average to a her
Who appears to be seedy and shabby.
And the lure of a boor is distressingly poor
Whose manner is flabby and crabby.

It's clear that a tearful appearance is drear
And fills all around you with anguish.
So it's best to beguile with a smile all the while
Nor allow your gay spirit to languish.

Not high is the guy with a tie that's awry
In the eye of the maid he's pursuing.
If he's neat, head and feet, she would deem it a treat
If not, it could be his undoing.

You see a proud she can't agree with a he
Who doesn't play up to her fancy.
But a mien that is clean e'er a Jean or a Queen
Casts a spell like that old necromancy.

So dour and gray is the way of the jay
Who thinks all these warnings don't matter.
It's opined he will find if he isn't too blind
That they're much more than piffling patter.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Her Highness

She seemed as she swept down the aisle,
Her countenance wreathed in a smaisle
And the confident mien
Of the manner-born Queen
The personification of staisle

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

It's a Good Day

It's a good day for eating in bed.
It's a good day to stand on your head.
It's a good day for munching your prunes.
It's a good day for orbiting moons.
It's a good day for sipping your juice.
It's a good day for cooking your goose.
It's a good day to laugh up your sleeve.
It's a good day form morn until eve.

It's a good day for living the life.
It's a good day for kissing your wife.
It's a good day slurping your soup.
It's a good day for looping the loop.
It's a good day kicking the cat.
It's a good day to go on a bat.
It's a good day for hunting the snark.
It's a good day from dawn until dark.

It's a good day for paring your nails.
It's a good day trimming your sails.
It's a good day wearing your clothes.
It's a good day blowing your nose.
It's a good day for mixing your drinks.
It's a good day for buying your minks.
It's a good day for going in debt.
It's a good day from sunrise to set.

It's a good day for airing a gripe.
It's a good day for uttering tripe.
It's a good day for singing the blues.
It's a good day for shining your shoes
It's a good day for eating your hat.
It's a good day for chewing the fat.
It's a good day for picking a fight
It's a good day from morning till night.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Horrorscope

Monday's child is an awful mess.
Tuesday's child is something less
Wednesday's child is a total loss
Thursday's child is mean and cross
Friday's child is a nasty brat.
Saturday's child is worse than that
Sunday's child is a little sneak
Quite the worst of all the week.

Confession

I haven't always been as wise
As you may deem me now
I may be wise as other guys.
I don't know. Anyhow.
Tho I was never called a dunce
I might have been because
I well remember that I once
Believed in Santa Claus.

Cureal

A real panacea
Most certainly can be a
highly-prized medicament
In every predicament

The Air

The air, merry periwinkle
Loves to hear the bluebells tinkle
Loves to hear the heifer mooing
Loves to hear the pigeons cooing
Loves to hear the rooster crowing
Loves to hear the cattle lowing
Loves to hear the donkey braying
Loves to hear the filly neighing
Loves to hear the lambkin bleating
Loves to hear the raven cawing
Loves to hear the ass hee-hawing
Loves to hear the bees adroning.
Loves to hear the zephyr moaning
Loces to hear the calf abawling,
Loves to hear the raindrops falling
Maybe periwinkles ears
Hear the music of the spheres.

Conversation Aid

A Geek by the name of Anchises
Who always put spices in ices,
Declared: "Now I don't say it nice is -
Not even so tasty as rice is.
It began as a sort of a hunch
That at dinner or luncheon or brunch,
It would help me to start conversations
In the interest of public relations.
As such it entirely suffices.
Beyond price is this type of devices
In many and many a crisis.

Perfectly Ridiculous

Don't tell me I'm excited.
I've never been excited.
I've not been even cited
So if I've not been cited,
How can I be ex-cited?
Huh?

Off The Record

Smut for smut's sake
Makes our butts ache,
Makes our guts ache,
Makes our nuts ache
Smut for smut's sake
Is a mistake.

[Trib. 12/29/50]

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Thus She Spaketh

He loves me. He loves me not.
It's all a lot of tommyrot.
If he does he'd tell me so.
If he doesn't let him go.
Eeny meeny miny mo.

THE WOMEN [After Kipling]

And so I went down to the book shop
Where hundreds were waiting about
To purchase a volume of Kinsey's
Which that very day had come out.
This Kinsey had all of the answers
As told by the fat and the slim.
I opened and read
Now it's all in my head.
And I learned abut woman from him.

A Vision

Beyond compare her golden hair
And radiant her complexion fair
With other features here and there
Far greater than her proper share,
She carried with a regal air,
A certian most engaging flair,
Which made the people stop and stare.
As loftily she crossed the square.

One a Minute

Words of Barnum oft remind us
Suckers are a fertile folk
So with ease the slickers blind us
In a way that's not a joke.

Surefire

In winter I get up at night
And prowl around without a light.
In summertime I do the same.
It's not a very pleasant game.
And also in the fall & spring,
I do the very selfsame thing.
Throughout the year it never misses.
Yours sincerely,
Papa Pisses.

[Line 10/1/55]

Could I But Remember

Could I but remember!
Alas, I've forgotten.
Now was it September?
Could I but remember!

Or was it December?
My memory's rotten
Could I but remember!
Alas, I've forgotten

A Dear Old Couple

There was a dear old couple who were on
their way to heaven.
She was only ninety-three, but he was
ninety-seven.
She held him tightly by the hand. lest
he should try to leave her.
For they had told her long ago he was
a gay deceiver.

[Written in 1966 - at age 93]

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Upton Sinclair's Helicon Hall

Upton Sinclair used the income from The Jungle to found a socialist utopian colony known as Helicon Hall in Englewood, New Jersey. Ellis O. Jones was a Trustee of the venture.

On Sunday, March 7, 1907 Helicon Hall burned to the ground. The New York Times covered the story ten days later.

[Click on the images to make them readable]




Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Raven. An Epitome

Late one evening I was looking over some old papers when I heard a rapping at the door.

On looking out I could see nothing, but after I sat down the rapping was repeated. Then I went to the window and opened the casement when, believe it or not, in stalked a large raven and flew up to perch on the top of a bust of Pallas over the door. To say that I was flabbergasted would be expressing it mildly.

"What's the idea?" I demanded, but the raven quoth "nevermore" in an accent I could not identify. Something between Tagalog and Swahili. That was all. Repeated efforts to get it to come clean brought only the same quoths as if it were acting on the advice of its attorney and hiding behind the fifth amendment.

That was quite a while ago and the creature is still sitting there. What in the world keeps it alive I haven't the least notion as I've never even given it a cracker.

It's rather messy to have it up there all the time, but I've sort of gotten used to it.

P.S.
Still is shitting, still is shitting
On the door and on the floor.
Only that and nothing more.
Goodness gracious what a bore!

To People

People are creatures of many professions
Who busily strive to increase their possessions.
People are found in the widest assortment
Though some may be careless about their deportment.
But people are people wherever you find them
With intricate interrelations to bind them.
And people will always be people forever
Despite any adverse endeavor whatever.
So here's to the people, their sons and their daughters
Who live on the shores of terrestrial waters.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The Humors of Home Life

The Humors of Home Life As Depicted by the Comic Weeklies of the World
By Thomas L. Masson and Ellis O. Jones of the Editorial Staff of "Life"
Good housekeeping: Volume 49, Number 4 (October 1909), p. 353 ff.
From Cornell University Library's HEARTH (Home Economics Archive: Research, Tradition, History) a core electronic collection of books and journals in Home Economics and related disciplines.

[Click on these images to read them at a reasonable size]












Saturday, March 6, 2010

Tragedy

I had a girl
Her name was Shaster.
I wished to be
Her lord and master.
I was fast but
She was faster.
She said "yes"
Before I ast her.
So we journeyed
To the pastor.
But it proved
A great disaster.
No disaster
Could be vaster.
Three weeks afterward
I gassed here.
That was quite
Enough of Shaster

Dictum

One who's illiterate
Is wholly unfiterate
To rightly distinguish
Twixt good and bad English.

To Be And Not To Be

Be a wheel,
Don't be a cog.
Be a stream,
But not a log.
Be a factor,
Not a pawn
Be a comer -
Not a gone.
Be a something,
Not a dud.
Be a blossom,
Not a bud.
Be a figure,
Not a blank.
Be a motor,
Not a crank.
Be a worker,
Not a drone.
Be the meat,
But not the bone.
Be the real thing,
Not a dummy.
Be alive
And not a mummy.

Girl Meets Boy

Way down south in Tallahassee
Where the girls are fat and sassy
Once there dwelt a little lassie
Who was classed as rather classy

Then a most engaging fellow
Playing sweetly on his cello
From the wilds of Pocatello
Haled her with a hearty "Hello"

Followed then a fervent wooing
And there soon was something doing
With its billing and its cooing
With the wedding bells ensuing.

Lives of miscreants remind us

Lives of miscreants remind us
We can do a lot of time
If by chance we leave behind us
Thumbprints at the scene of crime

Friday, March 5, 2010

What did he look like?

That's him, criminal, behind bars, in a perp photo, with co-defendant Robert Noble. The photo that made my dad's life difficult for a time in high school, sharing the name.

Women [and man] of the far right

Women of the far right : the mothers' movement and World War II
Author: Glen Jeansonne
Publisher: Chicago, Ill. : University of Chicago Press, 1996.
Edition/Format: Book : English View all editions and formats
Summary:
The majority of American women supported the Allied cause during World War II and made sacrifices on the home front to benefit the war effort. But U.S. intervention was opposed by a movement led by ultraright women whose professed desire to keep their sons out of combat was mixed with militant Christianity, anticommunism, and anti-Semitism. This book is the first history of the self-styled "mothers' movement," so Read more...

On page 67 [links added]:
Dilling's personal life remained turbulent. After the divorce, Albert lived with her briefly before moving out for good. (He continued to serve as her attorney, however.) Following his departure, Ellis O. Jones, a codefendant in the sedition trial, moved in with her. She said their relationship was platonic and he was only her editorial assistant, despite rumors that they were lovers. Then in January 1948, Dilling, fifty-three, married Jeremiah Stokes, seventy, a lawyer from Salt Lake City who had succeeded Jones as her live-in companion. Stokes came highly recommended by other nationalists, and she feared she could not live up to the expectations of such a good man. A close friend of Smith, Stokes won a libel suit against John Roy Carlson, author of Under Cover, although the decision was overturned. He helped Dilling revise her books and write the Bulletin, and joined Albert's and Kirk's law firm.

A Short Carreer in Politics

According to The Political Graveyard, Ellis O. Jones was a Socialist Party Candidate for U.S. Representative from Ohio 12th District, 1908. He lost to Edward Livingston Taylor, Jr., Republican, who represented that district from 1905-13.

Museum

Geneologies

Ellis O. Jones's page at Hanes Teulu
This website contains family history and ancestry information for more than 3,000 individuals mainly located in Mid Wales and North Wales. Among the many surnames represented are Jones, Roberts, Bynner, Roberts, Ellis, Vaughan, Lloyd, Bell and Waistnedge.
His biographical sketch there reads:
Ellis O. Jones (1874 - August 2, 1967) was a journalist, socialist and pacifist. He was born in Columbus Ohio. Jones attended Yale University and majored in political economy.

He headed the National Copperheads, an isolationist organization closely associated with the American First Committee. National Copperheads of America was founded by Ellis O. Jones shortly after President Roosevelt called Charles A. Lindbergh a “Copperhead”. During the American Civil War a Copperhead was a Northerner who sympathized with the Southern cause. The National Copperheads was formed in May 1941 was supportive of Lindbergh and his famous Des Moines speech in which he said Jews were one of the main groups pushing for war with National Socialist Germany.

Ellis Jones supported Robert Noble’s organization Friends of Progress and became its co-director. The Friends of Progress was a antiwar organization formed in August 1941 by Robert Noble. Later Ellis O. Jones became a co-director. Noble in testimony to a California un-American activities committee said the organization was an the offspring of the Humanist Society.

A few weeks after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Jones reportedly said, "The Japanese have a right to Hawaii. I would rather be in this war on the side of Germany than on the side of the British." Shortly thereafter Jones and Noble held a series of mock trials calling for the impeachment of President Franklin Roosevelt. For this they were quickly arrested along with German American Bund leader Franz K. Ferenz. Charges were later dropped by U.S. Attorney General Biddle over concerns of violation of the right of free speech.

Local Jews angry over their release, began to apply pressure to state and federal agencies eventually winning convictions for violation of the California Subversive Organization Registration Act and the Federal Espionage Act of 1917.

Ellis Jones was defendant in the Great Sedition Trial of 1944 and acted as his own attorney.Jones and Noble were convicted under the California statue of sedition on August 11, 1942 brought by California Attorney General Earl Warren Jones was sentenced to ten years in prison. The California convention was later overturned and Jones was released in August 1945 after serving four years.

After his release Ellis Jones worked with Elizabeth Dilling and her organization Patriotic Research Bureau. He also wrote articles for Elmer J. Garner's publication Publicity and helped its distribution.
Ellis O. Jones's page at Geni.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Mals and Mals

Mal de tete and mal de mer
Are animals I cannot bear.
Or anamaculae perhaps --
At any rate unpleasant chaps.
Such maleficent afflications
Rate severest maledictions
Maladies and maladose
Sorely multiply our woes.
At least they are malicious sprites
That make a hell of days & nights.
Malajustments in the strife
Of our normal formal life,
Malappropriate to all
That's good upon this earthly ball.

[Below the poem, which is typed on a fragment of envelope is written in black ink what looks like: R+R 7/3/58 LIFE 8/27 R+R Peck 10/15/58]

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The Parlor Socialists

The following essay was originally published The International Socialist Review [Chicago], v. 8, no. 4 (Oct. 1907), pp. 204-212. It was later edited by Tim Davenport and published by 1000 Flowers Publishing, Corvallis, OR, 2006. • Non-commercial reproduction permitted. It appears online in The Marxists Internet Archive where it is described as:
...one of the most thoughtful and well-crafted essays of the Debsian period of the Socialist Party of America—a defense of the so-called “parlor socialists,” published in the pages of the International Socialist Review. Jones, a rank-and-file socialist from Columbus, Ohio, states that up until as few as 5 years previously socialism had received scant attention in America, dismissed as an idiosyncratic preoccupation of peculiar European immigrants. The Socialist Party, founded in 1901, had at last struck root in the ranks of the native American population, Jones indicates...


The Parlor Socialists
by Ellis O. Jones
Published in The International Socialist Review [Chicago], v. 8, no. 4 (Oct. 1907), pp. 204-212.

The designation “parlor” has been attached to the Socialists who are of sufficient importance in the financial and social world to attract to themselves and their movements a considerable degree of publicity. As ordinarily used in the public prints, the phrase carries with it an insinuation of dilettantism or faddism or often times of downright insincerity.

But there is a deeper significance to the Parlor Socialist, a meaning vastly more profound than the daily newspaper, whose editorials and headlines are written in a hurry to catch the edition, is accustomed to go, even if the average newspaper reader, who is essentially a hasty skimmer, demanded expositions more penetrating and consistent. That is to say, for various complex reasons, more or less familiar, the attitude of the average newspaper, as such, towards current topics is apt to accord very closely with the attitude of the general public toward the same topics. The very existence of a newspaper depends upon an approximate agreement between its vies and the views of its reading or advertising patrons, or both.

I.

The general conception of Socialists in this country has been that they are a body of malcontent agitators, with a great preponderance of good-for-nothing aliens, advocating a highly-colored exceedingly fanciful and totally impractical governmental, economic, or industrial scheme. This conception only the most superficial examination can justify. It is not the purpose here however to enter upon an exposition and defense of the principles of Socialism; only insofar as it may be necessary to throw light upon the particular phenomenon indicated by the title hereof.

Socialism, as the natural and logical evolutionary successor of capitalism, attracts attention most readily where capitalism has given the greatest evidence of its ill effects and therefore of its decadence; where tyrannous industrial and commercial aristocracies have unmistakably been formed and where class lines are most sharply and indelibly defined. These beginnings are found in the commercial and industrial countries of the old world, most conspicuously in Germany, England, France, and Italy. In these countries, class lines have, to be sure, long existed but within the century there has been a change in the color of the chalk with which they were drawn. Formerly in England, merchants and others “in trade” belonged to the lower classes and were generally looked down upon by the landed and hereditary aristocracy. Now however the aristocracy has become largely industrialized while the lower classes consist almost exclusively of the proletariat, with an admixture of pseudo-bourgeois, leading ever a more precarious and dependent existence, the slaves of the wages system. The temporal power has tended to follow the possessors of wealth, transferring itself to these from the hereditary kinds and potentates,. The reference is to England because its social fabric is more familiar to American readers. The same is true of the other countries, any difference being one of degree and not of kind.

The industrial development of the United States was no less rapid in the absolute than in those countries but our country, being vast in extent, was able to absorb it, and no pressure was felt. Furthermore class lines in this country had to be formed anew rather than merely transformed as in the older countries,. But class lines were forming insidiously, even if they were not an easily discernible phenomenon. During the greater part of a half century therefore, while Socialism in Germany was rife, while it was there a leading question exerting an appreciable influence on the government and the laws which all historians recognize, it was in this country taken practically no notice of. When considered at all, it was summarily dismissed as something peculiarly foreign, a product probably of monarchies, to disappear with the establishment of a democracy or a republic. This indeed was more than a hasty or superficial view. Even such careful analysts as Henry George and Herbert Spencer speak of Socialism as comparable to the autocracy of Russia. How they reached that conclusion is not clear although it is likely that they mistook for real Socialism the efforts of Bismarck to forestall and impede real Socialism by instituting a modicum of state socialism. They possibly noticed that state socialism was of no benefit to the proletariat and accordingly uttered their comprehensive disapprobation.

At any rate, until the last 5 years, Socialism received scant notice in this country. News items, much less editorial comment, pro or con, were rare. Magazine articles were rarer, if not entirely absent. During this time and before, there were however the beginnings which were made largely by immigrants who, being already familiar with the tenets of Socialism, had no difficulty in recognizing its applicability to all countries. Many of our cities had German or Italian Socialist organizations, where a native American Socialist could hardly be found. Even these organizations were few in number and in membership and the average editor passed them by as not worthy of serious academic consideration and as too insignificant to consider from a circulation standpoint. They touched neither his mind, his heart, nor his pocketbook.

But what, you ask, has this to do with the Parlor Socialist? From the standpoint of America, it has everything to do with him, for the phenomenon which the paragrapher lightly dubs Parlor Socialism is nothing more or less than an unmistakable sign of the Americanization of Socialism, leading the paragrapher gently but powerfully and relentlessly past the point where he can define Socialism as the unintelligible ravings of a handful of unnatural and unnaturalized bomb-throwing aliens plotting against duly constituted authority. The paragraphers finds plenty of satisfactory reasons for the socialistic product of the German revolution or the German military system without abating one jot or tittle his own intense jingoism, but when he finds men advocating Socialism for this country, men who were born in American soil, bred in American homes, enriched by American methods, and educated at American universities, then he grows a little more serious about it, ceases for a moment his strenuous waving of the flag, ponders and possibly evolves a derisive epithet.

II.

Opponents of Socialism frequently say as an objection that there are different kinds of Socialists and different kinds of Socialism. Let them use the following statement as ammunition if they can. There are as many different kinds of Socialists as there are different Socialists. In using that statement however, let them take notice that it is necessarily inconsistent with the “equality of men” theory, an impossible condition which Socialists are often charged with attempting to bring about. There are also varying expressions of the details and ramifications of Socialism, but they all rest on one fundamental principle, the collective ownership and democratic administration of the social tools of production and distribution of wealth. State ownership of railroads in Germany or Russia, for instance, is therefore not considered as collectively owned, that is, not privately owned, they are certainly not democratically administered.

Socialists who are sincere (for we even recognize that such a thing is possible as an insincere or self-seeking Socialist) are striving for the same goal, their methods, powers, opportunities may and do differ. They may be classified according to any arbitrary standard — color of eyes, mental caliber, material possessions, etc. For the purposes of this paper, it is convenient to divide them, not invidiously, into two classes: the ordinary workman and the “intellectual.”

Bearing in mind that no classification is absolute, it may be said in general that the former, the ordinary workman, who is a Socialist is so because his own immediate economic necessities forced him to give it attention. The struggle for existence, in its most virulent form, lies at his very door and he is ready to give ear to any propaganda that promises alleviation. His is the inductive method. That he is likely to be relatively unintelligent goes without saying. Manifestly he has not had the advantage of a college education, often not even of common schooling. Even the skilled workman has acquired his skill at the neglect of wider intellectual pursuits. Obedient to a specialized brain, his hand performs the work assigned, but he has not been trained to think, to think widely and profoundly, to generalize, to deduce, to follow a consistent and logical abstract mental process. The unskilled workman is still more incompetent mentally. Being an unskilled workman, he often hasn’t even the social advantages of the labor union. He must work long hours for small pay. His time, even if he had the inclination to study and the mental capacity to learn rapidly, will not permit him to do much more than follow the dull and tedious daily round of toiling, eating, and sleeping. His whole time, like that of a chicken, is spent in getting a living. To get out of a job is to him often a blessing in disguise, for it gives him time to think.

On the other hand, the intellectuals are Socialists deductively. They are men, not necessarily better men in the absolute, who have had the opportunity to pause for a general prospective and retrospective view, as the traveller pauses at the crest of the hill and contemplates in a large way the road he has just seen in detail as he journeyed over it, and maps out the course ahead of him; or as the traveller lost in the forest climbs a tree to widen his horizon and reestablish his bearings. They have had the advantage of the mental discipline and the introduction to knowledge afforded by the universities. They have had the advantage of access to books, and they have had, most of all, the advantage of leisure, advantages which they have used to their profit. All these advantages presuppose a certain degree of economic security. Although there are men who possess a high degree of knowledge on social and economic subjects and who are yet wage-earning proletarians, they are but the exception which proves the rule. It has been said indeed that many a wage-earner in the slums of New York or Chicago knows more about political economy and sociology than the average college professor. However that may be, the purpose is not to prove that there are not intellectuals among the proletarians, but rather to differentiate the Parlor Socialists as distinctly intellectuals, a differentiation which is obvious. Nor is it by any means contended that all intellectuals are Socialists. Let us examine the Parlor Socialist a little more closely.

He is usually a collect graduate. The average college graduate is a hopeful, ambitious lad. If he have sufficient vigor and earnestness of purpose to secure a place among the commencement day orators, he talks about big affairs and electrifies his applauding fellows with glowing idealisms. His gaze is intently fixed upon the future and in fancy he carves his career and writes his name in bold face type upon the indelible pages of history. He wants to do something. He wants to be something. He has, he thinks, fitted himself for law, journalism, business, politics, or whatnot. He is ready to take hold.

He knows the Greek and Latin and French verbs. In these languages he has read a few books which he does not remember for their literary or historic value as a whole, but merely fragmentarily as a collection of daily tasks. In the realm of history, he has been dragged through volumes about kings and dynasties and ages which, whether dry-as-dust or served like fiction, have at best but a passing interest for him as no attempt is made to apply this knowledge to his daily life and present problems. He studies political economy and sociology and possibly becomes familiar with a few detached laws like the laws of Gresham and Malthus, but he does not carry away with him a comprehensive grasp of the laws of society, a grasp that in any way will guide him in his daily life. These statements refer of course to the literary or academic institutions. The technological institutions are in a separate category, although it may be remarked in passing that no man is properly educated unless he has a working knowledge of the fundamental laws governing the society in which he lives.

By implication at least, most colleges teach the conservative gospel of things-as-they-are, with respect to politics and economics. At any rate, they do not intimate that a substitute for capitalism is possible or advisable. They do not eve recognize capitalism categorically, and Socialism is a matter to be treated in 1 page out of 400 in the average economics textbook. It is clear, therefore, that while Parlor Socialists are college graduates, the colleges are no directly responsible.

Referring again to the average college graduate, it may be said that he leaves college firm in the determination to “make money,” which he frequently confounds with “making a living.” And often times he has an additional mental twist to the effect that some ways of making money are more honorable than other. If he is a rich man’s son, he goes to college because it is the proper thing to have an unimpeachable certificate of education and, neglecting those sons of rich men who do not make even a pretense of being useful members of society, the majority after graduation proceed in the ways recognized as “proper.” If a lawyer, he waits for his client and takes orders whether to stand upon the law or circumvent it; if a minister, he preaches established doctrine; if in mercantile business, he racks his braid to keep up the selling price and down the cost price; if a doctor, he humors his patients and gives them what they think they ought to have rather than to lose them; if a journalist, he seeks to discover what the people want him to say and says it; if in public utilities, he contrives to buy legislative bodies and secure franchises as cheaply as possible; if a politician, he joins the more likely of the two dominant political parties and seeks office in the old vote-buying, boss-ridden methods. All these things are eminently proper according to the standards of the day and according to the interests of the class to which he belongs.

He sets about accumulating his automobiles and yachts and town and country houses with as much zeal and energy, yes with as much self-justification, as the proletarian does about getting and holding a job which will yield him hardly sufficient to keep body and soul together. It is the gospel of cutthroat competition. His only limit is “what the traffic will bear.” Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. It is the recognized gospel and hence eminently proper. The man who sets about to carve his career in any of these fashions stands little chance of being successfully assailed, for the average critic and molder of public opinion is struck from the same die.

III.

But the Parlor Socialists are different. Their view of life is somewhat more broad. Their methods deviate from the standards called proper. To be called a Parlor Socialist one must of course have large and increasing material possessions. But such a one, although going through the motions of properly taking care of these interests, does not make it his whole business or look upon it as the chief desideratum of life. He wants enough, but he does not want too much and, unlike many of our present-day commercial barons, he conceives that it is possible for an individual to have too much wealth. He pauses to examine the general manner of money-making and weigh it in ethical scales, asking the question as to why he, young and inexperienced, should possess so much without effort while thousands whom he sees about him possess but little or nothing with the maximum of effort. He is led into investigating the sources of wealth and soon comes to the obvious conclusion that wealth is produced by labor and that therefore he is living on the labor of others.

Although he may love ease and comfort, nay although he may be excessively sybaritic, he pauses to witness the despair and wretchedness of those about him and wonders whether it is not possible for all to live in ease and comfort. Although he may love ease and comfort, he does not consider it the part of true luxury to have a half dozen automobiles, to have several different domestic establishments in various parts of the country, to languish at the club or join in the social whirl of gaiety and conventional amusement. On the contrary, he reaches the conclusion that true luxury is impossible so long as a large majority of his fellow beings live in squalor and destitution. He is like the good, old-fashioned housewife who would disdain to sit in a sumptuous parlor so long as the rest of the house was unkempt. He is a little bit different from the rest of his class. He lives more deeply and thoughtfully than those who are in the conventional rut. He learns more of real life in a year than the goggled speeder can learn in a decade at the automobile lever. But he is not yet a Socialist, except in embryo. He is only a questioner. He has merely become conscious that he is the beneficiary or, if he is particularly harassed by his excessive material possessions, the victim of widespread inequalities.

If he is a man of parts, dauntless, persevering, he will not stop until he gets to the bottom of the question. He examines first this explanation, then another; now this remedy, now that one. Beginning with the general prejudicial contempt for Socialists and Socialism, he finally recognizes that the social disease he is fighting is systemic and organic and that Socialism and Socialists offer the only systematic remedy.

At this point, another and entirely different quality is requisite. The recognition of the fact is one thing. To make public that recognition is quite another, requiring a kind of nerve or heroism of which story books are wont to prate, a heroism more traditional than historical, more desired than possessed. He has found that society is divided into two classes, one small one preying on the large one. He has found that he belongs to the preying class, which is as jealous of its prey as the dog of its meager bone. To announce his conviction involves the possible disseverance of the social ties of a lifetime and even of the family ties. He must place himself in opposition to the views of his entire class and attract to himself the heedless bark of every feist that turns a stilted phrase or wields a dogmatic pen. Having become conscious of the existence of classes, he is opposed to class lines and becomes a traitor, so-called, to his own class. He believes that society should be a homogeneous, harmonious whole, instead of two opposing forces deployed in battle array upon the industrial arena. So believing and having the courage of his convictions, he joins hands with those of the other class who are likewise class-conscious and protestant.

IV.

We have been taught to sing of “Hands Across the Sea.” This is hands across the social chasm in an attempt to heal the breach made by the unsocial ravages of capitalism. A slight recapitulation will clarify the figure. The proletariat, the exploited wage slave, becomes conscious of the chasm, makes his examination, and espouses Socialism. This after a time attracts the attention of now and then a truth-seeking member of the other class. He looks and “lo, it is good” and they join hands, marking the advent of the intellectuals into the movement.

The introduction of the Parlor Socialist into the American movement therefore is truly and deeply significant. It is a critical moment calling for more serious consideration and discussion than contemptuous or derisive innuendo in the form of fantastic epithet can satisfy. Nor can it be satisfied in the way of which the following is a fair example: “Millionaire Socialist So-and-so To Live in a Hut,” says a newspaper headline. The statement not being true, we may assume an ulterior motive besides the mere desire to give the news. We may assume that the headliner believes that Socialists should live in huts and he is anxious to disseminate Socialist So-and-so’s apparent sanction of that belief. To tell him in general that Socialists, far from desiring to live in huts, however better they may be than some tenements, believe that with an equitable distribution of wealth no man would need to live in a hut, makes no impression upon him. To tell him specifically that his story is untrue elicits the charge that Socialist So-and-so therefore is not sincere. If Socialist So-and-so is not going to live in a hut, wear rags, and dine with the Barmecides, he is not a true and faithful Socialist, the newspaper headliner’s conception being so vague that he confuses the desire to relieve the destitution of the proletariat with the desire to share his destitution and privations. He believes that Socialist So-and-so should sell all he has and give it to the poor. In vain does the Socialist protest that such a proceeding is utterly futile, that charity is but a poor substitute for justice, that to give to the poor reduces them to the state of mental dependence, lowers their wages, and offers another source of gain to some capitalist leech. And so the newspaper headliner merely corrects himself in some subsequent issue by the derisive declaration that Socialist So-andso has decided that he will forego hut-living and other asceticisms.

Or perhaps the newspaper headliners is merely reasoning by analogy, always a most dangerous logical process. Perhaps, consciously or otherwise, he draws an analogy from the two dominant parties, formed of leaders and followers, parlor officeholders and kitchen voters, leaders who promise nothing but buncombe and give nothing but excuses, sympathetic plutocrats who give just enough “to the cause” to get the required votes and protect their vested interests, their followers riding in carriages on election day to walk the rest of the year. Perhaps he cannot conceive how a party can be organized on any other basis, how a man with money could have any other reason for dabbling in active politics at all, much less in a form of politics where all are on equality and the leader is but a follower.

V.

The story of the man who was arrested for keeping a vicious dog is a familiar one. He defended himself on three grounds: in the first place, his dog was not vicious; in the second place, he always kept his dog muzzled; and in the third place, he didn’t have any dog in the first place. Our case is similar. The Parlor Socialist as a class after all does not exist. A Socialist is one who believes that the wage system is slavery; that competition is wasteful; that special statutory privilege of any kind is unsocial and immoral. He believes he has found a definite, simple remedy in the collective ownership of the social tools of production and distribution of wealth. He denies governmental favors to others and asks them not for himself. The Parlor Socialist advocates these things to his own material disadvantage, thus refusing sustenance to the popular gospel that a plethora of material wealth is the sum-mum bonum. But he does not advocate them to his own economic insecurity for, of the economic security he seeks to obtain for all, he will himself partake.

Parlor Socialism as a characterization is ephemeral. It will disappear when the Socialist movement is thoroughly Americanized, that is, when the Parlor Socialists are sufficiently numerous to cease to invite individual comment and when, through the lapse of time, they have given unmistakable evidence that they are not merely victims of a passing fad or fancy.
Ellis O. Jones,

950 Madison Ave., Columbus, O.

Edited by Tim Davenport. Published by 1000 Flowers Publishing, Corvallis, OR, 2006. • Non-commercial reproduction permitted.

http://www.marxisthistory.org

Philosofically Speaking

I wot what I wis
And consider that this
When treated reflectively,
Calmly, objectively,
Fully, connectively,
And introspectively,
Make me autonomous
(That's not synonymous
With epicene)
If you know what I mean
Which I can't say I do
Tho it seem so to you
But philosofers might
If they study all night,
And psychiatrists too
With a hullabaloo,
Which remains to be seen,
But the notion, I ween,
And the realization
Of such ideation
Should fill one with bliss.
I wot what I wis.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Ah, Who Can Tell?

I wonder if Somerset Maugham
Were hit by a hydrogen bomb
Would it shatter his nerve?
Or would he preserve
A cool imperturbable caugham?

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Bolsheviki in Bellvue

[Click on the image for a readable version]


How did this happen you say? It seems he led a demonstration in Central Park, in the rain.


And ten days later...

An authors evening for suffrage


January 1914: An authors evening for suffrage. Sitting left to right: Will Irwin, Edwin Markham, Lincoln Steffens, Arturo Giovannitti, Percy MacKay, W.E. Burghardt Du Bois. Standing left to right: Mrs. Flora Gaitlin, Ellis O. Jones, Elizabeth Freeman, William Hard, Mrs. Paula Jakobi, Frederick Howe, and Mrs. Frederick Howe. Photo by Paul Thompson.

From Me To Me

There once was a reckless recluse,
Who said to himself: "What's the Use?"
The answer he got
From himself on the spot
"Get back in your grave you old goose!"