From: Arden Town (1913; Unpublished MS)
Author: Scott Nearing
Published:
“On the first Monday in each month,” explained Will Evans, as they walked toward the Club House, “the Arden folk hold a town meeting to transact Arden business. As far as possible, we make the place a true democracy. These meetings are the final authority in all town matters.”
“Then this is your form of government?”
“Exactly,” Will Evans answered. “You see this town is founded in accordance with the principles laid down by Henry George. The land is held in trust for the Arden folk by three trustees. Then it is rented on continuing ninety-nine-year leases to the people who hold the land, the rental being placed at a figure that will be equal to the full value of the land.”
“You have some difficulty in coming to a decision as to what the full value of the land is, do you not?” asked Fred Allen.
“Of course. A board of assessors fixes the rates, and the ir decisions are final, unless an appeal is taken to the town meeting.”
“I see,” Fred Allen put in, “your government is carried on by trustees, assessors, and town meetings.”
“And townsmen,” added Will Evans, “The actual administration of town affairs is in the hands of three townsmen, who do the will of the Arden folk as expressed in town meetings. Well, here we are,” and Will Evans broke off abruptly as they entered the hall of the Club House, in which perhaps a hundred people had already taken their seats.
The chairman was nominated and elected (Will Evans explained that autocracy was prevented by having a chairman chosen a t each meeting); the minutes were read; the reports of committees were accepted; and unfinished business was disposed of with great dispatch and little comment; then the meeting turned to new business.
Up to that point Fred Allen heard little enough of what was passing. Will Evans had turned him over to Ruth Wade at the beginning of the meeting. She was surrounded by the inevitable crowd of youngsters, and by two or three of the older boys, who looked somewhat askance as Fred Allen joined the party. The captain, in particular, seemed disturbed by the newcomer’s presence, for he left the group a moment after Fred Allen joined it, to spend the remainder of the evening standing by the door with his hands in his pockets, and a look of feigned indifference to the proceedings.
Meanwhile, Fred Allen, oblivious of the disturbance which he had so innocently occasioned, sat beside Ruth Wade, listening to her comments on the people scattered in easy groups around them. The spell of her presence charmed him. He lost a sense of everything except the strong grip of her friendship for all of this motley crowd, and the keen ability which she displayed in the characterization of their lives and thoughts. With the introduction of new business their public tete-a-tete ended abruptly.
“It’s all over except the fireworks,” said Ruth Wade.
“Fireworks?” queried Fred Allen.
“Yes,” she answered, “we will now proceed to celebrate our liberation from the demon ignorance by a display of intellectual color pieces, explosives, Greek fire, and cannon crackers that would put an ordinary Fourth of July to shame. As one of the performers puts it, ‘Let me now set off in your midst that deadliest of all explosives—an intellectual bomb!’ And he does it quite frequently.”
“Does this performance happen at every town meeting?” asked Fred Allen.
“Do not misunderstand me,” Ruth Wade replied, earnestly. “My poor powers of description can convey but a faint idea of the real situation. You see, there are in our midst, so to speak, all kinds of intellectual freaks, from college professors to anarchists. Each one thinks he has the Simon pure remedy for every ill that flesh is heir to neatly tucked away in the space under his hat-band, and in order to avoid any appearance of selfishness, he avails himself of every occasion to expound his principles. They are all like the single taxer—and I speak the word reverently, as I am somewhat of a single taxer myself—dropped in on a country funeral. After listening for a while to the eulogies of neighbors and friends of the deceased, the single taxer availed himself of the first opening to rise to his feet. ‘Friends,’ he said, “since I know nothing at all about him who has gone from your midst, I will just give you a little explanation of the single tax.’ That story is told on socialists, anarchists, and all of the rest with equal effect. They are irrepressible. The world is to be reformed; they want to do it before breakfast—early breakfast at that.” She glanced mischievously at Fred Allen, with the remark, “Half-past-six breakfast.”
“Cruel! Cruel!” he rebuked.
“Hush,” Ruth Wade interrupted, “here it goes.”
“You have heard the resolution,” said the chairman, “Is it seconded?”
“I second it,” came from half a dozen places at once.
“The clerk will read the resolution.”
“Resolved,” began the clerk, “that the sum of eighty-six dollars be paid to William Wallace for the well located on the town road at the corner of—” so the resolution continued.
“That well,” declared the mover of the resolution, “is virtually town property. It is used by a score of people in the neighborhood, as well as by people traveling along the road. Wallace put the improvements on it out of his own pocket. If the town is going to use the well, the town ought to pay for it.”
“Mister Chairman,—”
“That’s a single taxer,” Ruth Wade whispered.
“Mister Chairman, I am opposed to this resolution. The functions of government are clearly defined. A government should not interfere with private initiative any more than is absolutely necessary for the well-being of the community. If Wallace wishes to put his money in a well, or a swimming-hole, or a mill pond, that is his affair. If every Tom, Dick and Harry in the countryside comes to use the water in the well, or swim in the swimming-hole, or fish in the mill pond, that is their affair, and is not a community affair in any sense of that term.”
“Mister Chairman!” A half dozen men and women were on their feet.
“It is plain enough, Mr. Chairman,” began the woman who was recognized by the chair, “that the provision and care of wells come under the ordinary and legitimate functions of government. We must have water, each person cannot dig a well; therefore, since the wells must be used collectively, they should be owned collectively. Of course we do not want a dozen individuals taking water out of a private well. When that happens it has ceased to be a private well. in fact. Why not recognize the fact? It is the business of government to supply the needs of the community. When the previous speaker said that the less government there was, the better,—”
“I never said that,” interrupted the previous speaker. “What I did say—”
“Order,” pounded the chair, with its official gavel.
“Excuse me if I misquote you, but this was what I understood. When you say that the less government there is, the better,—”
“But I didn’t say it. You socialists—”
“Order,” and the chairman’s gavel fell again.
“Well, Mister Chairman,” the woman concluded, “it isn’t a question of one thing. This well is only a petty case. It’s the principle of the thing that I am after. Governments ought to serve the people. The people need a well. Then I say let them have it.”
The single taxer was on his feet again in in an instant.
“You socialists always twist things to suit your own principles,” he vociferated. “You are about a—”
“Order,” cried the chairman, rising. “Does any one else wish to speak on this motion?”
“They surely do,” purred a stocky man, rising in the back of the room, “they surely do. Pardon me if I refer to myself as ‘they’. It was an oversight.”
Ruth Wade leaned over toward Fred Allen. “He is an anarchist,” she commented.
“Of course, Mister Chairman,” the man began, “I believe in the individual. But in my belief I am logical. My friend over there,” pointing to the first speaker, “says the less government the better.”
“I never did,” shouted the first speaker, springing to his feet.
“You anarchists—”
“Order, order,” called the chairman, rapping vigorously, while the anarchist, smiling a genial smile, waited for the disturbance to subside.
“Mister Chairman,” he began at last, “if the less government we have the better why not the least government the best? Then zero government would yield a maximum of joy, happiness, and well-being. You can easily understand, after listening to this kind of a debate for a few minutes, why sane, logical men become anarchists. There is really nothing else for them to do. Those who favor government cannot agree as to the kind of government they want. Then why not join forces with us and want no government at all?”
“But you,—” exclaimed a red-haired individual.
“Order!” thumped the chairman.
“I rose for information,” cried the red-haired individual.
“Well?” asked the chairman.
“I should like to ask the gentleman a question.”
“Will the gentleman be interrogated?” queried the chair.
“With the greatest pleasure in life,” replied the anarchist, beaming.
“As a matter of fact,” began he of the red hair, “do you anarchists agree among yourselves? Don’t you know that there isn’t a crowd anywhere in the wide universe who come farther from agreeing than the anarchists? Why only last month—”
“Order—the gentleman has finished his question.”
“As I understand the question,” began the anarchist again, “the gentleman wishes to know whether we anarchists agree. Of course we don’t agree. We wouldn’t be anarchists if we did. What we demand is a free and untrammeled right to disagree with everyone and everything. That is why anarchy makes such a strong appeal to sane, logical minds.”
“Mister Chairman,” cried a vigorous, middle-aged man who stood by the door, “I rise to a point of order.”
“State your point of order,” said the chair.
“The gentleman is not talking to the question.”
“The point of order is well taken,” said the chair. “The gentleman who has the floor will confine himself to the question before the meeting.”
“What is the question?” asked the anarchist, a little at a loss.
“We were talking—” the chair began.
“Oh, yes, I remember, we were talking about a well. Of course I know nothing in particular about the well, and I don’t care anything in particular about it. What I stand for is the principle that every man should be free from the enslaving bonds of majority rule.” And without more ado the anarchist sat down.
In the medley of voices that ensued, one rang out high and clear in a strong falsetto.
“Mister Chairman,” cried the owner, a big man with a heavy ‘black beard. “Mister Chairman, I don’t believe in single tax. I don’t believe in socialism. I don’t believe in anarchy. Mister Chairman, I believe with the greatest of all American prophets, Walt Whitman. I believe with him in freedom. Mister Chairman, we want freedom—freedom from the church, freedom from the State, freedom from society. Freedom! This talk about the well is all nonsense, Mister Chairman. I care nothing about the well. With me it is a matter of principle—a matter of freedom. It doesn’t matter whether we have a well or not, so long as we have freedom!”
“Mister Chairman, Mister Chairman,—”
“Mister Schaefer.”
“What I say is,” began Mr. Schaefer, who spoke with a strong German accent, “that it don’t make so much difference how we get a well so long as we get it.”
“Excuse me, Mister Schaefer,” interrupted the chairman, “the well is dug. The only question is, who shall pay for it—the town, or the man who dug it?”
“That’s just it,” Mr. Schaefer continued, “that’s what I was coming to next. Now the anarchist says, ‘Down with them: Down with it!’ Another man says, ‘Freedom, freedom!’ I say, let’s have a well. Now I am a socialist, and I believe—”
“Mister Chairman, I rise to a point of personal privilege.”
“Well, Mr. James.”
“Mister Chairman, we have wandered so far afield that I think we can best be brought back by a concrete illustration. If you will allow me, I should like to tell you a little incident.”
“Mister Chairman,” cried a voice, “I protest. We have heard that bull-frog story too many times already.”
“Question,” “question,” “question,” sounded from all sides.
The chairman rose. “The question has been called for,” said he. “You have heard the motion. All those—”
“Mr. Chairman,” said Will Evans, “I rise to move that this resolution be laid upon the table until the next regular meeting of the Arden folk. The discussion has been enlightening, but rather far afield. I for one would like to think it over for a month and take another look at the well. Judging by the remarks made this evening, there are a number of others much in need of a similar opportunity.”
The motion having passed, and there being no further business, the meeting adjourned.
“Does all of your town business rest upon the several fundamental principles which have been so ably championed this evening?” asked Fred Allen, turning to Will Evans.
The latter laughed.
“No, we get some business done. The fact is there is nothing vitally important on hand to-night. Under those circumstances, we descend to trivialities, or ‘fundamental principles,’ as they are usually called.”
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