Mrs. Elizabeth Claridge McCune

MRS. ELIZABETH CLARIDGE McCUNE Artist, Architect, Philanthropist: born, Feb. 19, 1852, Leighton-Buzzard, England, Bedfordshire; died Aug. 1, 1924, Salt Lake City. Utah A TRIBUTE By Susa Young Gates All women love beauty. So do all men. The love of beauty lies sleeping within the soul awaiting the call of parents, guardian, teacher or circumstance. The power to express in material terms, that innate human reaction to beauty and harmony is given to but few favored mortals. Such are called artists by their admiring and understanding fellows. The artist may handle clay, paints, words, voice or music symbols, or brick and stone; may direct and inspire others; may use as tools only such domestic factors as four walls, selected furniture, and chosen view-points. If the artistic, creative instinct is there, those who know how to see quickly, react to the surroundings, whether they be found in palace or cottage, on public platforms or private walls. Given great wealth, which means unlimited opportunity for self- expression, many beauty-lovers place their home-making resources in the hands of paid artisans and go their way in more or less blind acceptance of the consequences. When a brave, yet unschooled, genius

1176 IMPROVEMENT ERA possesses the riches of opportunity, and refuses to copy or allow others to spoil her own dreams, of words, of colors, or of marble, bricks, woods, draperies and furniture, the result may be a work of art, or it may only be a conglomerate assembling of inharmonious human self-expression. At least, it will have personality gemmed within its awkward or its lovely results to shine upon the eyes of those who have eyes to see and hearts to understand. A real artist was Elizabeth C. McCune. She builded upon a heaven-kissing hill her dream of spacious rooms, shadowed vistas, and sweeping stairs. She used as her materials satins and tooled leathers, woods laid down in rare South American forests for long months of seasoned worth; from Scottish, African and velvet-smoothed Italian Carrara quarries, came marbles of rose-bloom or pearl-finished; artists from far-off eastern cities painted in her ceiled and panelled walls scenes from Sherwood forests and Watteau, figures frolicking in gay abandon; priceless weaves from Persian looms lay on the floors or hung from archways; she gave her responsive young architect a liberal education in the three-year process. Given unlimited resources by her princely husband, she used them to create a monument to harmony and gracious architectural loveliness. Mirrors from Germany made special cars a necessity even for transportation, while Italy sent three marble statues of unusual choice. All of this became to her, like all creative work does to those who once create, a task completed, an incident closed. She and her loved family enjoyed the home; until change, the marriage of her children, travel and absence of her husband on his pressing New York business life, left her alone for long periods. Then came removal to California. Mrs. McCune was a philanthropist. Why should she leave such a finished dream to be vacant and unused for long periods? In 1919, the McCune home, as it was modestly called, was presented by its owners to the Church. The struggling Latter-day Saints School of Music was permitted to take over the million-dollar mansion, and here it houses eager pupils, gifted teachers, who study harmony of sound in an atmosphere of harmony of line and color. What a rare tribute to creative power! Mrs. McCune was a long-time Temple and a Genealogical So- ciety worker; had been on the General Board Y. L. M. I. A., and the Relief Society; she served on the State Agricultural College Board, first as a member, then as vice-president; she has attended women's congresses, in Washington, New York, London and Rome. Her inspiring words have been heard not only in these centers of learning and culture, but on the bleakest plains where pioneers made harsh beginnings; in the lowly homes of struggling women; in the tiny meeting houses; as well as in the big tabernacle in Salt Lake City; in all places she has aroused in her hearers the embers of righteousness, fanning into flame with her native eloquence and wit quick resolve and high purpose.

A TRIBUTE 1177 Nor did her public labors rob her home, her family, or her friends. To them all her endearing qualities gave abundant joy. With all her wealth, possessions, and opportunities she was a Latter-day Saint to the core. She liked plain ways, plain speech, and plain life. She not only loved to give, to share, she also craved human compan- ionship, human sympathy and understanding. Her inherent dignity and social grace were consistent with her simple modes of dress and manner. A sparkle of fun played on the surface of her natural earnestness like phosphorescent sparkles in a great ship's path. Her steadfast faithfulness to duty never prevented her from enjoying life, social or official, in all its modern manifestations. Re- fined by nature and cultured by her own training she has won her place in public and private life through the influence of her own poised personality. To associate with her, intimately, was a precious privilege. THEIR MONEY MOON By Caroline Westover "I can't make it any different," sighed Louise, as she laid down her fountain pen. "The coal is necessary, and, of course, we need flour, so I can't get any money from that section." Louise Gregory was a little woman of the "fluffy" type, who had kept her youthful vigor, even though she had been married ten years. She had taught the Domestic Art courses at the Granger high school before she was married. It was at this time she had met Walter Gregory, who was just starting his law practice. The future seemed bright enough at the time, but as the years had passed little Walter, Jr., and Mary, had come to bless their home and Louise's cares and anxieties were increased. The modest income was stretched until it had nearly reached the breaking point. Like all happy couples there had been air castles and dreams of the future time when they would own their own "modern home" and maybe a "fliv," but it had finally been a dream of just home and maybe a second-hand car, but of late the dreams hadn't even been discussed. On this particular day, Louise was working on her budget, scheming and planning over every cent as every home-making wife does. "Yes, Mary must have new shoes, and I — no, I can wait a little longer for my new suit. If Walter's cases would only be paying ones." She studied the row of figures and then got up with a look of mingled despair and disgust on her face. "This will never do," she scolded herself, "I waste more time on

1178 IMPROVEMENT ERA that old budget than it deserves, and the living room needs dusting. But all the polish is gone so it will be a dry dusting this time. I wonder if every housewife has troubles like mine?" While she went about her dusting, a frown grew on her face. Her soft brown eyes were pensive in heavy thoughts, when all-of-a- sudden she stopped. "I wonder if I could really do it? Oh, wouldn't it be fun, and wouldn't Walt be surprised!" Louise's face had undergone a wonderful change. With the smile in her eyes and her chin squared with determination to accomplish something, she looked like her old self. "Yes, I will try it. But if I do, I must go shopping imme- diately and get things started." Louise hurriedly put on her little gingham street dress and started for the down-town shopping district. At the neighbor's she asked a young girl to run over and look after the children until she returned. At the department store she entered and, going to the dry goods department, she made a small purchase. Going to another store she made another and soon she had her list of articles in her arms. Her smile and determined attitude attracted the attention of more than one clerk that day. When Walter, Sr., arrived at his home that evening he greeted his wife with the usual, "How goes it, Kitten?" But his attention was drawn to a new trick of Walter, Jr's., and he failed to notice the bright color in his wife's cheeks or the note of excitement in her voice. He adored his wife and kiddies and his every effort was made for them. So many years of medium success in his profession had helped to dampen his youthful enthusiasm. What clients he had had was of the middle working classes who could not afford to pay their lawyers "handsome prices." That evening passed as usual, the children were put to bed, Louise sat with her basket of weekly mending, her fingers kept busy but her eyes darted to the corner cupboard where the purchases of the day lay concealed. Walter was studying his law books, in hopes that some day he could use his knowledge and advance himself by his own merits in the estimation of the public. The next day after the morning duties were over, and the chil- dren at play on the front porch, Louise took her packages from their hiding place. She snipped and sewed all morning, working in fever- ish haste. That afternoon she had as a result a neat pile of cylindrical bundles. From each came a pleasing odor that one always associates with dustless rooms. Louise surveyed her work with ill-concealed pride, then slipped them all into her shopping bag. She was look- ing forward with keen appreciation for the next day. Tom Pierce, manager of the five-and-ten-cent notion store was known as the "cub bear," grizzly-looking but harmless. He was a