March 29 Thursday – At the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, Sam told a story at a benefit for the blind. The New York Times, Mar. 30:
TWAIN AND CHOATE TALK AT MEETING FOR BLIND
———
Humorist Sightless Once—in a Vast German Inn.
HIT AT GHOST, BROKE MIRROR
Mr. Choate Urges Liberal Contributions, Mr. Gilder Writes a Poem and Helen Keller a Letter.
A new poem by Richard Watson Gilder, a striking letter from Helen Keller, an appeal for funds by Joseph H. Choate, and a funny story by Mark Twain made up the programme of the meeting held in the ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria last night by the New York State Association for Promoting the Interests of the Blind.
[Gilder’s poem omitted here]
Mr. Clemens presided over the meeting and told the story of when he was hopelessly blind for a space of about two hours.
“I have a mass of statistics here,” he said to the large audience filling the boxes and seats on the ballroom floor, “but I am afraid of them because I was never able to do much with that rugged study, mathematics. I can only figure on the multiplication table up to seven times nine, which is—84. I can’t even figure on the name of the society, it is so long. I would write it out for you to take with you, but I can’t spell it, and Andrew Carnegie is somewhere down in Virginia. This association needs $15,000, and we may be able to collect it here. There is no graft in it or I would not be presiding.
“I know what it is to be blind. I was blind once. It occurred after an excursion from Heidelberg to a mediaeval town about twenty miles away. The Rev. Joe Twitchell of Hartford was with me. He is still living. I always like a minister with me on an excursion. He makes a fine lightning rod for such excursions as the one we made. We went up by rail, and circumstances were such as to bring us back on a raft.
“In this ancient town, which had not altered a building or put up a new one in 1,500 years, we had a room for the night which was as large as the beds were small. We had to sleep on our sides in the beds. Twitchell’s bed was way down south in that room and mine was furthest north. I couldn’t sleep after the light was put out, and finally decided to leave the room and go into the square and sit on the edge of a tinkling fountain.
“Off in the southwest of that room a mouse got busy, and I threw something at it. It pleased the mouse, and it kept on making a noise. I couldn’t stand it with the other occasional noises in the room. The darkness of that room lay in great cakes. I got out of bed and clawed around in an endeavor to accumulate my clothes. I got most of the things in the room in a pile, save one sock. I began to hunt that sock. On hands and knees I crawled for three hours.
“I might have concluded that the sock was in the wash and saved myself some adventures, but I did not think of that. I remembered distinctly that there were six chairs and a table in that room before I went to bed, but I butted thirty-six chairs and enough tables to fill the dining room of the Waldorf.
“Finally I decided to stand up in what clothes I had on me. I saw a shadowy form and I had no intention of letting any ghost bite me without a struggle. I took one of the thirty-six chairs and smashed it. It was a mirror. Then I reflected.
“I got back on my hands and knees and traveled a few more miles of this Oklahoma of a bedroom. Finally I reached a wall, and stood up again. I felt a shelf. I was delighted. It was the first encouragement I had received. I was then certain that I had not passed the city limits.
“On the shelf was a pitcher of water. I groped for it and it fell. It fell on Joe Twitchell’s face. It nearly drowned Twitchell, but it brought me the glad relief of company. When he struck a match I got back to bed.
“I have never found the sock, but the hours of darkness I experienced in the explorations in that room were not empty hours. They served their purpose. The Rev. Joe Twitchell [sic] had longer legs than I, and we both wore pedometers on that trip. As I walk in my sleep, I always wore mine to bed with me. When I got up in the morning I found that I had gained sixteen miles on Twitchell. Again, my reflecting after the mirror incident made me remember to tell the landlord that Twitchell had broken.” [the rest of the article omitted.]
Either before or after the benefit at the Waldorf, Sam had dinner with Mr. George de Forest Brush, a Dublin artist, and his son Barry and Gerald Thayer at the Players Club [Hill 124].
Sam replied to an inquiry from the NY Times, with clippings enclosed concerning the recent death of Captain Alex C. Toncray (Tonkray), who claimed to be Huck Finn:
Dear Sir: / I have no recollection of ever having been acquainted with anyone by the name of Toncray. The original of Huck Finn was a boy of my own age name Tom Blankenship. He had a brother several years older than himself, and a good many sisters. He was a good-hearted boy, and there was no harm in him. He had no education. / Truly yours…[MTP: Watertown Daily Times, Feb. 22, 1919].
Clemens’ A.D. for the day: Clemens as apprentice to Mr. Ament—Wilhelm II’s dinner, and potato incident—The printing of Reverend Alexander Campbell’s sermon—Incident of dropping watermelon on Henry Clemens’ head—Orion buys Hannibal Journal which is a failure—Then he goes to Muscatine, Iowa, and marries—Clemens starts out alone to see the world—Visits, St. Louis, New York, Philadelphia, Washington—Then goes to Muscatine and works in Orion’s office—Finds fifty-dollar bill—Thinks of going to explore the Amazon and collect coca—Gets Horace Bixby to train him as pilot—Starts with Orion for Nevada when Orion is made Secretary to Territory of Nevada [AMT 1: 455-462].
Isabel Lyon’s journal:
Santa Clara ill with sore throat.
This evening Mr. Clemens presided at the meeting for the blind held in the Waldorf ball room. He had never done any presiding before, but it was beautifully & bewitchingly done. Mrs. Gilder & Mrs. “White Violet” Vorse were in the box & a young Jewish girl, Ada Marks. Later Mr. Gilder joined us [MTP TS 60].
Capt. A.J. Forsyth wrote from 330 W. 11 St., N.Y. to ask if Sam, while working on the Mississippi, had ever heard of Thomas McAleer (or Mac Alear) who was Captain of the Steamer Valley Trader sometime during the 1840s. The matter involved an inheritance [MTP]. Note: Isabel Lyon’s reply for Sam is catalogued by the MTP as ca. 31 Mar. “Mr. Clemens has never heard of that boat—was never a captain of a steam boat.”
Harper & Brothers wrote to Sam to ask for a customer where the story “The Stolen White Elephant” first appeared. Was it in some periodical? [MTP]. Note: Sam’s answer is catalogued by the MTP as ca. Mar. 31. See that entry.
R. Scarano wrote from 70 W. 102 St., N.Y. urging Sam to propose buying his “nice small edition of Dante, the so called ‘Dantino’” [MTP]. Note: Sam’s reply is catalogued as ca. 31 Mar. by the MTP. See entry.
March 29 ca. – At 21 Fifth Ave, N.Y. Sam replied to Edward M. Foote’s Mar. 27 invitation: “It isn’t likely that I’ll find a vacancy between this & my going away for the summer—on the 24 of April—but I can tell more about that later on & so I will not let the matter escape, from my mind—” [MTP].