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- i r m ft One Dollar HARRY M. POPE UP FIVE flights of dark stairs in a dingy factory building in Jersey City is a little workshop Perseverance is needed to find' it, for there is no sign outside advertising its presence. There is not so much as a number on the entrance of the building Vet men from all over the world hunt out the neigh borhood, locate the building, climb the dark stairs and knock at the door of Harry M. Pope the wizard of the ritle barrel. Lther gruff voice bids visitors come in and when they obey the summons they find themselves in a com binatii bedroom, factory, office and reception room. A leather couch which obviously serves as a bed oc cupies one corner. A broken-down writing desk heaped with correspondence stands against a wall. Lathes, belts, shafting, tools and materials are every where. Xear one machine is a rickety chair where the caller may rest after the long climb. If it were not for the twinkle in his eyes one might take the lone workman he finds here for a misanthrope or, more popularly speaking, a grouch. But because the twinkle persists, even while a gruff voice is announcing that the owner is too busy to talk and doesn't want to talk anyhow, one sees through the brusk manner and ventures to ask a question. Finally a work grimed hand points to the rickety Wception chair. "Take a seat, you might as well be comfortable. I can't stop work but it you can talk while I work I won't mind. "I always loved rifles," says Mr. Pope reaching for a magnifying glass. "For years I used them without finding one that quite satisfied me. Then when a fac tory in which I was superintendent closed down I de cided I would take the time to make a barrel myself. Friends liked my new gun and asked me to duplicate J for them. Before I knew it I was devoting all my time to the work. I thought of expanding the busi ness and believed the Pacific Coast offered possibilities so I moved to San Francisco. I found a shop there, installed my machines and tools and opened one morn i for business. I lasted just one day. That night me earthquake came along and the next morning 1 JM one of the thousands of refugees. I had four dollars in my pocket. My tools, some of which I have never been able to replace, my patterns and my Prospects werc totally destroyed." The twinkle came again to the sharp eyes as Mr. op added: "I CVen lost mv medals and I had more tnan I could pin Qn my coat." One rifle barrel a week is the capacitv of Mr. Pope's Orkshop. "Many a day," he says. "1 spend 18 hours t work. I sleep here, live here, and work here. I I all my time to this little business, yet I can't make f n one barrel and do Kod work' so 1 don,t try " Men come to his door with more demands than he not 82! . fil1, He rciects work constantly and pays lettf s,,ghtcst attention to mail orders. There are crs on the broken-down writing desk from every Tlhe FordL International Weekly Dearborn, Michigan, June 26, 1920 Neither THERE was recently held in Brooklyn a public re ception to honor a modest little woman for whom her best friends could boas-t neither money, nor fame, nor power. "We are giving this reception," said a prominent business man of Brooklyn, "simply be cause Miss Larr is tne salt ot tne eartn. Those who do not believe that modest recognized should consider this little incident, bothered world, busy with business that is and bothered with the grasping proclivities who are in power but not too busy, nor too bothered to stop to pay homage to real worth. Emma J. Carr is a school-teacher. For fifty years she has taught in the one neighborhood in Brooklyn, and in all these years she was never known to be other than gentle and kind. The re ception was attended by two generations of her pu pils. One may never esti mate what a power for good this little woman has been. She began teaching in the public schools, but the methods of ruling by harshnesa did not appeal to her, and after a few terms she sought a posi tion in Lockwood Acad emy, a school owned and taught by John Lockwood, a Quaker. This man was so gentle in his dealings with others that when the end of a term rolled around and the prizes wen given out he found pre texts for giving prizes to others than those who had won them by faithful ap plication to study. Look ing over the rolls he would say, "This boy was always present; we must give him somcthin g." "This girl was always neat and tidy; we can't slight her." "Can't we find some pretext for giv- 77 Frsf 0 0 Series of Neighborhood Stories of Everyday Americans Whose Lives and Works Help to Preserve American Ideals., state in the Union. There are en velopes with the stamps and marks of foreign ports. Some are yellow with age and some are fresh from the mail carrier's pouch. Here they lie, in a disorderly pile, sifting over the edge of the desk to the dusty floor. "Why," exclaims the interviewer viewing this pile of correspondence, "these letters have never been opened." "I haven't time to open them." answers Mr. Pope. "But they might be full of orders." The gunsmith smiles mischievously. Money, Nor Fame, Nor Power worth is A busy, all awry, of those EMMA "That's what I'm afraid of so I don't open em." "But couldn't you capitalize your knowledge of rifle barrels, form a company and increase your production?" "No," said Mr. Pope. "When I'm gone every rifle barrel that bears my name will have been made by my hands. You don't find fault with an artist because he does only one or two great pictures a year, do you? Well, these rifle barrels are works of art I love to make them. I take the time to make them well. If I hurried them, skimped the work on them, they wouldn't be any better than any other rifle barrel. "I'm not getting rich. I don't even make what the world today calls a good living. "But folks say I make the best rifle barrels in the world and there's something more satisfying than money in that." ing this boy something? I wouldn't have his feel ings hurt for the world." Xaturally such a disposition is not of the money making kind and Mr. Lockwood died a beloved but poor man. Miss Carr taught under him twenty-six years, and when he retired she succeeded to the school and the principalship of it. Every day for fifty years her pupils have begun the day in the schoolroom by reciting this little prayer: "I am a link in the Golden Chain of Love that stretches around the J. CARR Five Cents world, and must keep my link bright and strong. So I will try to be kind and gentle to every living thing 1 m Ct and to protect and help all who are weaker than myself. 'And I will try to think pure and beautiful thoughts, to speak pure and beautiful words, and to do pure and beautiful action. May every link in the Golden Chain become bright and strong." Mis Carr never had a vacation. "It has al ways seemed to me." she smiled, "that today's duty came first, and today's duty with me has been so all-absorbing and so great that I have not had time 4o look beyond it, nor to realize that the years have been flying." She will take her first vacation in fifty years thi summer when she and a sister will go to California for two months. It was to wish her joy on the journey, to express, though so feebly, some of the in terest the neighborhood and community felt in her that this farewell recep tion was held. "It quite overpowered me," said the little teachrr, "for I have done nothing that is great."