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Dearborn independent. [volume] (Dearborn, Mich.) 1901-1927, June 26, 1920, Image 1

Image and text provided by Central Michigan University, Clark Historical Library

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/2013218776/1920-06-26/ed-1/seq-1/

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ft One Dollar
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
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
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
"Why," exclaims the interviewer
viewing this pile of correspondence,
"these letters have never been
"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
"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
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
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."

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