Mary Bassett’s Bomb

Mary Bassett's Bomb By Libbie M. Travers Mary Bassett was a platform man- ager for one of the largest Chautauqua bureaus in the country. Since early May she had been going from town to town on their longest circuit. Now, the third week in August, she. was head over heels in work and obstacles, in the last but one of her engagements. Among her many duties, the chief one was to secure contracts in her towns for return dates the next year — called "rebooking" in the lingo of the tent. Time was when the assets most sought in a manager were dignity, per- sonality, platform presence, and the ability to make telling announcements and graceful introductions. In these latter days of the Chautauqua, the one outstanding question has become: "Can be put it over — can he rebook the towns?" Fortunately, Mary Bassett had all these characteristics. She combined in her fresh, wholesome, keenly alert young person every quality that could possibly be asked by the most fastidi- ous management. She was effective, too. It was said of her that she had rebooked every town she had visited during the summer. But Bradley was different. Mary had made friends as usual with the committee and had formed a speaking or smiling acquaintance with every man, woman and child who came near the tent, but for some reason the con- tract was not forthcoming. The com- mittee were obdurate. They were tired of guaranteeing the business of a Chautauqua bureau. Who guaranteed their business? Nobody. They took chances, and if they lost, they met their losses like men. Besides, they were tired of the work and responsi- bility of ticket sales, and hunting lo- cation for the tent, and putting up advertising — oh, everything connected with the enterprise. They were even tired of the programs — dragging out on hot summer afternoons and even- ings to hear music they couldn't ap- preciate, plays they didn't enjoy, and lectures that bored them to extinction. Mary skillfully countered every such argument, but to no avail. The last day arrived and the contract was still a blank. Worst of all, the speaker of the afternoon, a man of note who was the star attraction of the whole week, was sick in bed at the hotel and could not possibly appear. But Mary was game — and resource- ful. She arranged with the music company for a fifteen-minute extension of their time, and then went to the platform herself for half an hour of what she called a "pep" talk. Home, school, church, Chautauqua, and other educational, uplifting agencies — all came in for a share in Mary's eulogy. Even the victrola and the radio, which she knew are partially responsible for the decline of the Chautauqua spirit, were extolled. Appreciation of edu- cational values — that was her emphasis. The audience was held spell-bound, for Mary's whole captivating self was in the talk. She closed with an appeal to the elder members of the assembly to provide for "these youngsters, who are looking eagerly into my face as I talk" the best of everything you can bring to them — the best music, the best information, the highest ideals, the cleanest entertainment, the most wholesome amusement. Nothing new or startling in the talk, nothing especially profound or eloquent. Just truth, and just Mary. When she finished, the chairman of the Chautauqua committee arose from

Oct., 1929 MARY BASSETT'S BOMB 1009 his seat in the audience and said: "Folks, we've been saying we don't want a Chautauqua, and I confess I've been a leader against it, but I'm wrong. We do want a Chautauqua. They say Miss Bassett has rebooked every town she has been in this sum- mer, and we don't want to be behind other communities. If Chautauqua's good for them, it's good for us, and I'm ready to be the first man to sign the contract. How many men here will join me?" The six other members of the com- mittee arose instantly, then others, singly, by two's, by three's all over the audience, until the chairman said: "That will do. There are 20 or more of you, and that's enough. That number insures little loss to each. Here, Miss Bassett, let me have that blank." In less than ten minutes the thing was done. Twenty men had signed, and the document had been turned over to Miss Bassett, whose flaming, cheeks and sparkling eyes gave em- phasis to her words of thanks. At the close of the session, a number of people gathered about the platform manager to commend her speech and to express the hope that she could be with them the next year. Among the number was a minister, who grasped her hand as he said earnestly: "Miss Bassett, you have done this community more good in half an hour than we ministers can do in a month of sermons." "Oh' you praise me too highly, Reverend Smith," she urged. "No, I'm not flattering you. I am sincere," the minister returned. Then in a tone half apologetic, "May I ask, Miss Bassett, to what denomination you belong?" There was an instant's hesitation as Miss Bassett flashed a quick glance over the assembled group, but it was only an instant. Looking Reverend Smith squarely, courageously, appeal- ingly in .the eye, she said simply: "I am a Mormon." A stir, like an electric shock, ran through the people who heard. They tried to seem natural and unchanged, but their enthusiasm was gone. They made their adieus and slipped away as quietly and quickly as was seemly. Soon Miss Bassett stood alone, looking curiously after her retreating admirers. She heaved a sigh — or something as near like a sigh as her sunny nature ever perpetrated. "It's a funny world," she said in an undertone, as she gathered up her note books and papers and prepared to leave the platform. At the top of the steps she paused a moment, a gleeful look swept over her face, and she uttered a triumphant "Ha!" as she flourished aloft her con- tract with the twenty responsible names on the dotted line. Now to say that I do not enjoy the volition of my own will just as much when I pray as when I swear is a false principle. It is false ground. The man who swears has no more freedom and acts no more on his own will than the man who prays. The man who yields strict obedience to the will of heaven acts upon the volition of his own will and exercises his own freedom just as much as when he was a slave to passion; and I think it is much better and more honorable for us, whether children or adults, youthful, middle- aged or old, it is better to live by and better to die by, to have our hearts pure, and to yield strict obedience to the principles of life which the Lord has revealed than to be a slave to sin and wickedness. All that the Lord requires of us is strict obedience to the laws of life. — Brigham Young.