Baltimore Evening Sun (8 February 1912): 6.

Proposed design for a white satin banner to be carried down the centre aisle of the convention hall by the Hon. Jacobus Hook, Garter King-of-Arms:

{illustration}

Now comes the unveiling of another hero! By name, the Hon. Samuel Gompers, president of the American Federation of Labor. Do you recall Sam’s late defiances of the courts? Do you recall his brave declaration that injunctions were no more to him than puffs of air? Do you recall his specific message to a court that had presumed to tackle him? To wit: “Go to hell with your injunction!”

Behold now the hero on his knees! See the valiant tyrannicide in tears! Thus:

I like Shakespeare, and had in mind some some of his expressions when I wrote that, such as “avaunt” and “Go to with thy prattle.” It was in the Shakespearean sense that I used it, and I meant no disrespect to this court or its decree. I meant “go to,” “wait” or “stop” with your injunction.

Let us hope that the court shows a sense of humor. Let us hope that it promptly turns this martyr loose, as one too ridiculous and disgusting to be capable of contempt. And let us also hope that the union men of the United States will grasp at last the true character of the fellow who has been misrepresenting them.

Now that the stuffers have got away with it and Murray has put the Corrupt Practices law on the bum, you don’t need to be surprised none if the next election in Baltimore turns out to be a bird.

Gentle reminder from some febrile but anonymous correspondent:

If you are the same Mencken who was lately denounced in public as the worst dramatic critic unhung, isn’t it about time for you to make your answer? Or am I to assume that you have no answer?

Could the devil himself resist such sweet solicitude? As for me, I can’t--and so I answer without further delay. That is to say, I take judicial notice of the opinion quoted, inscribe it upon my tablets, lament it as probably erroneous, and go about my business. Who am I to protest against the honest opinion of any honest man? My own livelihood is gained by expressing opinions, often unfavorable, about the acts and characters of others, and so I am forced, whether I like it or not, to stand as well as deliver. If, for example, I attack a play offered by a theatrical manager on the ground that it is not worth seeing, then I obviously give him the right to attack me in turn on the ground that I am not worth heeding. To deny him that right would be to presume to a bogus and ridiculous infallibility, to throw away all fairness and common decency. I refuse to do it--and on the frank ground that it would be more costly for me to do it than it is for me not to do it.

Ten years’ experience as a dramatic reviewer in this town has brought me into frequent conflict with the local theatrical managers. With a single exception, every one of them, at some time or other, has denounced me as a false witness and an ignoramus. Going further, more than one has accused me, more or less openly, of downright corruption. On many occasions written protests against my habits and ideas have been lodged with my employers, and on at least three occasions my discharge has been demanded, and the withdrawal of advertising named as the penalty of refusal. And more than once, when a manager himself has tired of abusing me, he has called in outside help. Within the last two weeks, for example, one manager has solemnly informed the editor of The Evening Sun that I am utterly ignorant of the drama, and another has sent a bravo to make faces at me.

But do not get the notion, beloved, that I rehearse all of these facts in an endeavor to gain pity as a martyr. Far from it, indeed. Not only do I make no protest against such attacks, but I actually welcome them, as impressive evidence that the theatrical managers of Baltimore, whatever their failings otherwise, are at least not poltroons and sychophants. If they received unfavorable reviews in silence, if they constantly turned the other cheek, then it would quickly become necessary, in sheer shame, to make all reviews favorable, however silly the play. But when they meet my occasional opinion that a given play is silly with the counter opinion, loudly and manfully expressed, that I myself am a buffoon and a numskull, then I feel that the game is perfectly fair, and that I can afford, without loss of self-respect, to continue to tell the truth as I see it. So far, true enough, they have not done me much damage, but the fact remains that they may get my goat at any minute, and so my conscience remains clear.

The truth is, of course, that there is always something to be said for the manager’s ire, however unpleasantly it may be manifested. In all things human, opinions differ--and especially in all things artistic. My own opinion that a given play--say “Maggie Pepper” or “As a Man Thinks,” for example–is cheap claptrap remains, after all, a mere opinion, and the manager who dissents from it, personally or by bravo, may have very good grounds for his dissent. What is more, he may--and usually does--have very good grounds for his accompanying rage and invective, for my unfavorable opinion, by keeping some of those who read my review away from his theatre, costs him money. In brief, he is always in the disagreeable position of having his livelihood, or at least a part of it, at the mercy of some person or persons whom he holds in utter contempt, as obviously ignorant and probably corrupt, and so it is no wonder that he occasionally flies off the handle and begins bawling for blood.

But what is to be done about it? I, for one, confess frankly that I don’t know. I have thought about it often and long, and have listened pa-

[Probably continued tomorrow.]