St. Louis Post-Dispatch
February 25, 1917

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pyright, 1917, by R. L. Goldberg, 90 CAN (Copvright. 1917, by H. C. Fisher. Trade Mark Reg. U. S. Pat. Office.) . f KITTY , KITTY, KITTY, NH, KITTY, Wx, KITTY, KITTY, KITTY, . KiTty, KITTY, err cr KITTY, KIT Ty, KITTY, * — U „ — ö NE. near the palace, where she could em every day. So they found a r and their old ‘age was made by the loving caye of the reai 4 1917, dy the 3 Newspaper Syndicate, New York City.) Seemed Away Off. STYLES: What's the matter ith that tenor tonight? | Styles: Why? geems to be ‘way off.” i, vou were probably looking h the opera glasses the wrong — — — 2 neee Dire rrrrrrrrrrrrre Uniti 4 I sing for myself as a change, as a pot want. 5 agreements about what is good and bad. a Cormack. : public, I suppose I want some credit for it.“ He 5 75 laughed in high amusement. Then he was seri- 5 Fadi B 4 x ; Po . 1 „ a> * 7 27 7 = ene — . 7 2 2 . 2 + 53 771 353 2 N 25 pod 7 77773. ras 2 + ‘ r +e : — 2227 227 771 rer N $24 > 7 2227277 5 se . + — * + 23827 2 2 oes + — oe 2 27 1 2 8 abe + = + 1 2 * 15 — 1 8 “> * — ; * 1 5 * bots 3 — — — wr Pr ene 2 238 . 229471 2 Enn * — > 222 : 75722 8 ee 2 Dre ee —— — — — endian tits 9333 — ä — — _You. 69. NO. 190. “ST. LOUIS, SUNDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 25, 1917. Ther Own Country, says John McCormack | “Native e J Famous Irish Tenor, Who Has Just Taken Out His First American Citizenship Papers, Asks Why We, the Greatest of All Organ- izing N ations, Should Have an Italian in Charge of Our Prin- cipal Operatic Company. By E. H. Smith, A Special Correspondent of the Post-Dispatch. NEW YORK, Feb. 24. T was still somewhat earlier than the rising time of singers. The tepid light of a gray winter morning came through large win- nt the great Irish balledist's roomy studio and timidly illumined it so that the corners were in that fascinating state of half-light and the colors in quite clean, bright Arabic rugs looked aged and dusty. John McCormack himself looked a little older than I had fancied, who had made his acquain- tance previously only by the medium of the lith- c ograph and a long-range concert hall view. The 8 man I saw was a bit tired and showed strain. The merest shiver of frost was on his black hair. But when he smiled or laughed, which he did often, all the expected youth came out through his mouth and eyes. He was then as young as anyone could have wished—and as spontaneous and direct. If you are one of the few who have not seen him, it may be interesting to know that John McCormack is a big man, fully and squarely set up to the measure of his wide shoulders and deep chest. A little too much of the typical singer rotundity has attached itself to the original archi- tectural scheme. He loves to live, evidently. He is impatient of poses and restraints, personal or intellectual. No doubt he is as contemptuous of dietics as of critical pedantry. But we had met to talk. And to talk about John McCormack. s “Your friends say, I am told, that you, who sing | | much popular music to your audientes, like the : vourselft; that when you sint for u ‘own amusement or that of your intimates, 3 92 you invariably choose the more en com- positions.” “Yes, I believe in that,“ the singer replied. My own personal preferences do not matter. What relief, is my own concern, you see. But I don’t think the- public should be forced to listen to what it does I don’t believe the public should or can be*educated in that way. “Who Should Be the Public’s Schoolmaster in Music,” He Asks “Besides, even if we agree that the public needs education and shotild be taught to like better music, who is to appoint the schoolmaster? There are all sorts of tastes in music, all sorts of dis- I don’t know who is fit to appoint the masters or to tell them what to teach.” „Still, a singer must feel a meretricious stuff.” “Sure, he does,” said the singer with spirit, “but the thing is how is he going to correct it? prejudice against You know, there's a mighty false idea abroad, and it’s mainly due to the high-brow musicians and critics. They have been aloof, too snob- bish. The result is that when the ordinary per- son, who instinctively loves music, sees a name like Brahms or Schubert or Schumann on the list, he thinks, ‘Good Lord, this is. going to be tire- Some, and it's mighty hard then to convince him that he isn’t bored. „Mou know, one of the main reasons for this is a that he probably has heard the works of these men in a language he is not acquainted with. He * doesn’t know the music welt enough so that this doesn't count; comparatively few people do. “Now, I havea way of reconciling this antipathy in the public. I try to choose songs that have a the most distinct general appeal and I sing them in a language the public understands—in En- glish. The people see that the story is simple and lovely. Their sentimental and emotional sides are touched. The story helps them to re- alize and appreciate the music. They are not 25 bored by classical composers when they com- p: ehend them.“ “and that,” I remarked, is surely an effective iy ay of 1 ordinary people interested in bet- “It is he only effective way,” said Mr. Me. “Tf that can be called educating the 4 ppreciating Muster Merely a Matter of Being Accustomed to It a hen you think about it a little bit,” he went 1 on, “educating people is nothing more than get- accustomed to something. You take the most simple Irish peasant and play him a ach fugue; he'll wonder what ‘he’s hit. He t understand, but he'd feel he'd struck th all richt. Qn the other hand, you | ke 9 man used to Bach fugues and try one of e strange old Irish airs on him, That man or what he'd hit. And that's just the 1 “ ‘you must get people used to new things things. Then they understand and Siiperior to ‘Foreign Artists” JOHN McOCORMACKE. C¢ 7 * fact is that the American singer is almost a pariah in his own country. Look at the many fine names among. our singers. Every one with discrimination knows that most of them are superior to the foreigners who have their rightful places. Wet they are out in the cold. The real reason is that our opera is in the hands of foreign- ers. Why should we have an Italian at the head of the Metropolitan? He is no doubt an able man, but is he more able than our own? The fact that a man can run La Scala does not indicate that he can do more for us than we can for ourselves. Here we are, the greatest organizers in business, putting our most important mu- sival institution into the hands of foreign- ers. It is pure tradition and all wrong. It is what keeps up the humbug of foreign singers and denies their rightful places to our own. Some day there will be a change, and it will be a blessed day.’’— JOHN McCORMACK. ——— aia eae at nae a a ee ea —ñ——Ä—————— et ee ee appreciate them. That is educating people, from my point of view.“ “You must find little musical sympathy with such heresy ?’’ “True; but what I’m most put out by is the people who are constantly asking me in the most superior way, ‘How do you ever appeal to the common people?’ I say, ‘There are no common people. Because a man doesn’t understand a Bach fugue does not mean that he has no sense of beauty.’ It merely means he isn’t accustomed to severer musical methods and has to be made familiar before he can understand them. ä There are exceptions. I remember the case of the British novelist, Anthony Hope. They say he doesn't understand music at all and can't listen to it. That is different. This is a peculi- arity.” “Tolstoy had strange notions on music, too,” I said, “and it is told of Maeterlinck that music bores him to distraction. He can see nothing in it except discordant nolses.“ “Was that before or after he had heard ‘Pel- leas’?” asked the singer, laughing gleefully. „Fou do not care for De Bussy, eh?” “Not a bit. I can’t get interested, that's all.“ “But we were talking about the public taste. You ought to know better than anyone what your audiences like best of all.“ Sentimental Songs With Direct Appeal Will Always Be Popular “A sentimental song with a very simple, direct appeal—that’s what the public adores. We all do, as a matter of fact. We listen and say, ‘What drivel!’ but underneath we are moved; we like tuem. “When I speak of a sentimental song, I don't mean trash. I don’t mean ‘Down on the Missis- sippi’ or Downsomewhereelse, or In dear old Whatdoyoucallit. I do mean the Foster songs and things like them, though. ‘Old Folks at Home’ is still a‘ beautiful thing and will remain beautiful. The moderns have not been able to drive such out and I doubt if they ever will. But I don't object to the moderns. I said I don't like De Bussy. Neither do I. I think he is insincere. But, on. the other side, I'm very fond of Ravel. I find sincerity in him all the way through.” “And Strauss?” “Decidedly. Strauss is the greatest genius that ever lived, orchestrally speaking. There was never a man with such command of orchestra- tion. I.think he is playing with the public every once in a while. Also I think that when he runs out of true inspiration he falls back on his great technique. But he is the wonder of the age.” “And now.” said I. “that we have got unon your personal tastes, tell me what is the greatest song that has ever been written?” “You know,” said the most eminent of our song interpreters, “I have thought a lot about it. Every now and then I sit down and try to make up my mind, I have.asked lots of people, singers, — — ee, e eee — —— — ——ꝛꝛ —— 2 j⅛60( 7 ——⏑———.—— S e Tells Why He Sings Popular Songs, Though Himself Preferring More Serious Works— Talks of His Purposes and Preferences — „Carmen His Favorite Opera, and He Thinks Strauss Greatest of Orchestral Composers. : critics, musicians, appreciators. Lately I’ve come to a conclusion. I think Schubert’s ‘Allmacht’ is the greatest of all songs.“ (The song is general- ly called Omnipotence, a literal translation.) Schubert Greatest Natural Musician; 8 but He Likes Verdi Best of All „Why?“ “Oh, there are many reasons. The chief, I sup- pose is, that I just like it and think so. It would be great fun to find out what others think. “One other reason I like it so well, perhaps, is because I like Schubert so well. I think he was the greatest natural musician that ever lived. You may remember, Bernard Shaw was once asked who was the greatest musician who ever lived. ‘Beethoven, said he, ‘but the only musician was Mozart.’ Well, Mozart is the mu- sician’s musician. In the same sense Schubert is the people’s musician.” “To go on with the examination,” said I, “who is your favorite opera man, what your opera?“ “Verdi,” said the singer promptly. “I like everything he ever did, from the worst to the best. He never shed his artistic skin, but he always changed it. His things charm me—‘Aida,’ ‘Othello,’ ‘Falstaff!’ But my favorite opera wasn't his. A Frenchman wrote it. I think there is nothing like ‘Carmen.’ Lord knows what that Bizet wouldn’t have done with time. One of my great regrets is that I never heard Calve in his opera.” A great phonograph stood in the corner and I turned his attention to it with a question. “That,” said the singer with enthusiasm, ‘I | think that is the greatest educator in the whole world. I've learned more from it yr) than I red A bat ore . e 1 * N N youn Hive; W to do as well as what hae t to 2 1 ted you it is a mighty influential thing, that music box. Favors Free Distribution of Best Available Graphophone Records “I’ve had a great scheme in mind for that old box,” he continued. “Suppose we could get some of the very wealthy patrons of higher music inter- ested, people like Otto Kahn, to whom the raising of a million or two is no great obstacle. They would then, in my scheme, get together the lead- ing artists and have them make a great many records of the fine music of our world. These records would be distributed free where they would do the most good. Poor people would have them in their homes; people otherwise’ indiffer- ent would take them and play them and become used to them and thus achieve some education in true music. Wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing? Think of the educational value of such propa- ganda?” For the first time McCormack was truly alive with animation. “I think,” he said enthusias- tically, “if that were done all first ‘rate artists would give their services free, so that the talent would cost nothing. I know I would gladly make a lot of records for such a purpose and not ac- cept a cent.” “And now,” said I, critics and criticism?” The singer laughed. “As for the critics,” he said, they are all my friends, even if they pay not much attention to me. I love them all and ad- mire one every now and then. The critics have the general inclination to say: ‘You cannot be popular and be artistic; you cannot be artistic and be successful.’ They apply this attitude indiscrim- inately, I think, even if I leave John McCormack out of the reckoning. Take even such a man as Kreisler. Before he had made his enormous suc- cess, no one questioned his great virtuosity. But now his critics look at each other in wonderment and ask, ‘What is it he has lost? He must have lost something. Is he not popular?’ Critics must get over this formalism. Being a critic does not entitle a man to utterly discard original thought or, observation” America N eglects Her Own Singers Who Are Almost Pariahs at Home “And are you inclined to talk of American singers?” “Indeed I am. Especially since I’ve set out to be an American myself. You know, I took out my first papers Jan. 16 or 17. But our singers! When I say what I do, please remember that I have no operatic aspirations. I do not want an opera career at all; could not accept it if it were offered, so that I speak with complete imper- sonality. “The fact is that the American singer is no- where. He is almost a pariah in his own country. Look at the many fine names among our sing- ers. Everyone with discrimination knows that most of them are superior to the foreigners who / have their rightful places. Yet they are out in the cold. The real reason is that our opera is in the hands of foreigners. Why should we have an Italian at the head of the Metropolitan? He is no doubt an able man, but is he more able than our own? The fact that a man can run La “how do you feel about 2— bescribed by Member of the British Flying Corp PAGES 1 — A lr OE A Fighting in the Air on the Western Battle fel 2 2— 2 2— © eet bie the Army. Intimate First-Hand Stories wa’ a Participant of the Various Phases of Aeroplane Combat and the Hesar 5 Faced Constantly by the Young Daredevils Who Story in a Chance to Become the Aerial Eyes His First Battle, a Struggle Between Fifty English Machines and as Many Germans, Followed a Bombing Expedition Over the German ‘Trenches — Prepared Way for Infantry Charge. (EDITORIAL NOTE.—The author of this article and others that are to follow it in a sertes describing the various phases of air fighting on the Western battle front in France and Belgium, became a Lieutenant in the Im- perial British Flying Corps, Nov. 23, 1915, receiving his commission direct from civilian life from the Duke of. Connaught, uncle of the King of England, and at the time Gover- nor-General of Canada. Lieutenant Faulk- ner is a native of Canada, his home city be- ing Toronto. For over a year he saw active service in England, France and Belgium, and yo following a crash of his machine to the 9 in a flight, he was invalided home. expects shortly to return to his post in the Imperial British Flying Corps. He writes from intimate first-hand knowledge of aero- nautic conditions on the Western battle front. and his articles are vivid, yet accurate, pic- - tures of what an army aviator has to undergo daily, all the while in the face of death in more than one guise.) By Lieut. G. L. Faulkner, Of the British Royal Flying Corps. ARTICLE NO. 1. HE tinkling of the messroom piano, which, T because of exposure to dampness and al- most incessant use, was sadly out of tune, was the last thing I heard as I rolled in a blanket and went to sleep that first night in France. It was five miles in rear of the lines, in one of} the. “Armstrong” | huts, made in which the men of the First Canadian the Royal Flying Corps are housed. Tue nest tnt I known me’ roughly dy the sho alder, tinkling of the baby grand there — the dis- tant boom of .big guns and the closer roar of exploding shells. Our boys had not-yét finished the party they were giving in the mess hall, and a certain German General facing our sector was just starting. a different king of.a party,. which I afterwards learned he invariably did at precise- ly 2 o’clock every morning. | 7 ° It has been said that the Germans are a phlegmatic people. This chap had a sense of humor—a grim one, perhaps, or maybe he was troubled with insomnia and couldn't sleep after that hour anyway. It was my observer who had wakened me. We were ordered to the aerodrome, he said, and it looked as though my first fight was to come be- fore I had had-a single night’s sleep in France. If there is any time when a soldier might be ex- cused for not being keen for a fight, I think it would be at 2 a. m. I shivered in the cold night air and wondered, as I strode along, how I was going to make out—not about whether I would come out with a whole skin, but how I would accomplish my mission, whatever it might be. I didn’t want to fail the first time I tried. Aerial Eye That Never Sleeps I couldn’t help thinking of the peaceful En- gland I had left only a few hours before, where I had been flying over the country made famous by Shakspeare and Tennyson, and where none would have guessed that war with all its horrors was stalking abroad, just across a narrow chan- nel, for, outside the big cities, England shows no signs of war times. One of the British night patrols was out—the eye of the service never closes—and ag we walked toward the aerodrome I could see the flashes as gun occasionally spat. rades were paying a friendly visit to the Boches in appreciation of the General’s 2 a. m. soiree, Suddenly there was a flare of light directly above our aerodrome. I was startled. I’m not ashamed to admit it, but a second later I knew that it was one of our scouts, returned and sig- naling for a landing. in response to his signal, lights showed on the ground and rockets were sent up. Just as we ar- fred at the field his little B-E 2-C plane glided to earth. The wings were slashed in several places, mute witnesses of the effectiveness of German fire even at night. | 4 The pilot staggered from his seat. His face Was seared with a bullet mark and his leather coat was torn in several places, from one of which blood had oozed and congealed: He wasn’t badly hurt, and at any rate he was back. N The Business of Preparation The hospital company was caring for the wounded pilot and my observer and I tested my plane, which mechanictans had rolled out of the aerodrome. For an hour or so we shivered in the cold and then ammunition was distributed. We were going on a bombing expedition over the Ger- map trenches. Continued on Page Ten. 0 ö How did 1 feel? I didp't fee! at all, not in those ; shrapnel exploded near him and as his machine’ He and some of his com- l ot ee Re he 5 T was grim work flying back to quarters after that fret -fght, ‘the wind whistling through the torn planes of my machine and my part- ner leaning against the empty bomb rack—silent. Fifty of us had flown away that morning. Not all of us glided back to earth on that wide table land. They lifted my partner out of the ma- chine and, while I stood there, half dazed, they carried his body away— poor Jack Simpson, he did not fly again. Ambulances were darting here and there. As I walked towards the aero- drome the machine which had been the other side of me glided to earth, but neither the pilot nor his observer got out. Te observer was shot through the head and had been dead half an hour. The pilot was hit in a dozen places, but he made a perfect landing then keeled over, dead. This borders on the mirac- ulous, but it is not infrequent for a ma- chine to come down with both occupanta dead, for mann, e a ped with stabilizers. LIEUT. FAULKNER. first minutes when we were busy in preparation. Itedidn’t seem real yet. That came later. There were 50 of our machines stretched in a line across the flat table lands. Here and there we pilots gathered In little groups, receiving our last instructions and studying maps and photo- graphs which had been made by the reconnaisance service at the expense of many a splendid machine and many a brave fellow. 3 At last a bugle sounded. We scrambled into our machines and all 7a the line engines be- sine, Ie my own, vying with the others in npr tin mapsesh ry It seemed as though the Ger- mans, in their far-away. trenches, must hear us starting. Then there were a swarm of little fel- lows humming and spitting, the Vipers“ or “Maggots,” as they are known in the service. The squadron commander, with his observer, took his place and soared into the air. The other machines, 49 of us, followed him into the heavens and swooped and maneuvered like a flock of swal-“ lows until the formation was right. A crack from the commander’s pistol and we were off, like bees following the queen bee, straight for the enemy’s lines. Enemy Plane for Each of Ours | Dimly there rose to us the cheering of the me- chanics and riggers from the aerodrome, but we rose so swiftly that soon it was lost. Always we climbed higher—six, eight, ten thousand feet. Against the pinkish gray sky the Boches may have seen us then, and to them we were not bees nor swallows nor eagles. We were vultures. It makes a difference—the viewpoint. Then for the first time it came to me—the busi- ness we were engaged in. I had been trained for war, but now I was in war. My business was to kill. At first I was glad that my observer would throw the bombs, not I, but still, if he was to be effective I must handle the plane skilifully. We were over the British trenches. I could make out specks that were men, beneath. The better we did our work, the fewer of those boys down there would be tagged and ticketed and laid in wholesale graves. It made our work seem hu- man again. They were behind us now and we were flying over No-Man's-Land, desolate and waste, a huge earth-face scarred with plague marks. A stone’s throw ahead were the German trenches. A quick look at the map and photo- graphs told us that--those maps and photo- graphs the price of which had been human life. A score of lives for a flimsy paper map perhaps. Tiny specks began to rise far in the rear of the German lines. They were planes coming to meet us. Later I learned that through some strange coincidence there were 50 of them. One for each of ours. We might have fought them, but thilt was not our mission. One cannot always follow one’s inclination in war. We had been sent out to bomb the German front line and support trenches, to smash their morale, shatter their clan before our boys went yelling and stumbling and dying across the pock- marked earth to bayonet them, The mdre of the fear of death or God or Britain that we could put into their hearts the fewer of our boys they would get, and so we were to try to butcher them and not stay to fight the German planes. Our 22 ae Members of the Flying Corps, ‘He alor Daily to Merit the guished Service Medal, but Hear of Them. ’ — — crashing down on the men beneath who find no shelter. ES , We flew lower. Another rack of 8 4 turned loose from our machine, I don’t kn for sure, but it seemed to me that I could our bombs strike and scatter earth and men ey oe ee I was | sick. ii tae Sol Miia 32252000 ĩ5ĩ622 Lower and lower we flew. I found myself ts nr * ing to my machine as one does to a horse on urges to greater and greater effort, We cou use machine guns now. The beautiful w were spewing death and destruction into ae bits below. Their wonderful singing drowned be whirr of the powerful engines. 5 Directly ahead of me a column of flame shot up from one of our machines and I caught a a momentary glance of the pilot's face, ashen gray gray as the sky of dawn under which we WOR fighting. His petrel tank had been hit and w. ploded. 1 Another spurt of flame and his machine earth. I sobbed a prayer that it would 1 itself, e It did not right itself. t zig-zagging crazily, and then it ¢ une a plummet out of my sight and 1 was 7 tormation and — fire and they came. I have read descriptions of e charges, but I do not know whether the below and their anti-aircraft guns bad barki ng at us, for the most part futilely, we had a real enemy, an enemy as strong as fait’ we most ‘ignore him as long es wet and continue to scatter bombs over the t for we must never forget our mission—to the morale of the men in the trenches and tog back behind our lines with as Many machi possible when our ammunition was gone. Just over to the right of me one of their £ dropped out of sight. My partner had another rack of bombs. Suddenly an explo roared directly underneath me. I tightened my grip on the levers as the * “a chine gave a dangerous luroh upward, I know whether the explosion bed sent tt either case it was a narrow. squeak. Death itee now. Next time I must be more careful. I didn’t worry about flying position any Our formation had ceased to exist. All we — about was to dodge the German planes and on pouring explosives and machine-gun fire in | those trenches, while their air patrol knock us out of the sky, and the high angle wa at us. One drum of our machine gun was already spent. My partner whirled arou his little stool, a sort of piano stool—it made me think of that crazy, tinkling, piano back in the mess hall—and grabbed for another slammed it into the machine gun to could not have loosened my grip on those 1 — 8 renn ryan n * 4 8 5 Caps. e ie SOR sate teal 7 95 es. WWW een „%% ͤ œ ůf!!! Meas a” wares Ege oe gh 7 N 8 4 1 . area 1 N : . pr 2 5 took a quick look, but above all, 1 must save th S&S machine. A thin stream of blood trickled f his hair down his face. 5 I headed my machine westward. Just then o the commander’s signal to retire. Along we fi Hike the wind, the German planes spitting at us from behind and those of our chi with observers left alive cracking back at ¢ with what ammunition remainéd unspent. — As we whirred over the British trenches 1 the Scots were clambering out of them and reer with the Boches, who call them the “Ladies N om Hell” because of their kilts. Machine Crew Cams I It was grim work, ing back to quarry ammunition was for the enemy below us. AG Hell Let Loose in the Heavens at My observer was watching — plane. He saw the signal. He let go his first rack of bombs. Forty-nine other observers did the same almost simultaneously. Hell was let loose in the heavens and fell