Henry George, A Son's Remembrance
Henry George, Jr.
[The Introduction to a booklet of the Addresses
at the Funeral of Henry George, compiled by Edmund Yardley and
published by The Public Publishing Company, Chicago, 1905]
On Sunday, October 31, 1897, police in outlying streets had to
restrain the throng desiring to enter the Grand Central Palace, on
Lexington avenue, between Forty-fifth and Forty-sixth streets. From an
early hour in the morning two continuous columns of people moved
through the main entrance, up the wide staircase, into the great hall
of the building, and slowly passed a bier. The bier was simple, low
and black draped. It stood at the head of a wide, central aisle, in
front of a great platform hung with folds of black and ornamented with
greens.
In front of the foliage and looking down upon the bier was a bronze
bust of the dead man. It had been made by his second son and finished
only a few months before. On one occasion during the work on that bust
the father had remarked to his two sons: "When I am dead, you
boys will have this bust to carry in my funeral procession, as was the
custom with the Romans." And so the words had come to pass, for,
without knowledge of this incident, some one had gone to the home at
Fort Hamilton, brought the bust and set it up over the casket.
Why did Henry George speak of a funeral procession? Why did he
suggest a matter so out of keeping with his accustomed retirement and
modesty? Why should he think there would be any demonstration at his
funeral? The reason was the same as that which caused him years
earlier suddenly to halt in the middle of Broadway while in the act of
crossing the street with one of his sons and, with entire irrelevancy
to the topic about which they had last talked, exclaim: "Yes, I
could die now." When his son asked him what his words meant, he
roused as from a reverie, and walking to the sidewalk, answered: "I
was thinking that I could die now and the work would go on. It no
longer depends upon one man. It is no longer a 'Henry George' movement
- a one-man movement. It is the movement of many men in many lands. I
can help it while I live; but my death could not stop it. The Great
Revolution has begun."
In like spirit he had said to his wife a few weeks before his death,
as she sat beside him in his work room: "The great, the very
great advancement of our ideas may not show now, but it will. And it
will show more after my death than during my life. Men who are now
holding back will then acknowledge that I have been speaking the
truth. Neither of us can tell which of us will die first. But I shall
be greatly disappointed if you precede me, for I have set my heart on
having you hear what men will say of me and our cause when I am gone."
These incidents explain why this uniformly modest man referred to a
funeral procession for himself. He believed, with all his soul
believed, that he had found the way and the only way to rid
civilization of its cancer - its extremes of wealth and want, that
lead some to the madness and destruction of vanity, and multitudes
into the suffering and brutishness of poverty. He believed the remedy
lay in making all men equal before nature by the simple process of
letting any who would, hold land, but compelling him to pay its entire
rental value in the form of a tax into the public treasury. Each
paying the full value of all the land he held, there would be no
object in holding land not at once to be used, or in not using land to
its highest capacity. On the contrary, all land, used or unused, being
compelled to yield to the state its full annual value, the man who
held valuable land idle would find that he had to pay as heavily on it
as if the land were put to its highest use, since the value of the
land itself, not its produce, would be the thing taxed. The land value
tax would discourage - would kill - land monopoly. Enormous quantities
of valuable land, in cities, towns and villages, in agricultural,
timber, mining and grazing regions, would be thrown open to users.
That is, land - good, accessible, valuable land - now held out of use
in the expectation that increasing population will be compelled to pay
a large advance for it, would become cheaper and easier to get.
And since all men are land users in some form, this would be a common
benefit. Land being at the base of all production, all production
would be wonderfully stimulated; and doubly stimulated when, the
revenue received from ground rents being sufficient to satisfy the
needs of government, all other taxes could be remitted. This would
remove a mountain of taxation from the shoulders of labor. It would
concentrate the revenue burden in a single tax resting upon land
values. It would, in effect, give to the producer the full measure of
that which he produced, while he that would not work, neither should
he eat.
There then would be no spectacle of some men rioting in
superabundance and other men, willing and anxious to work, unable to
find opportunity to work. Then some would not be landlords and others
landless. Then all would be equal before nature; all would have the
same right to land. Present titles could remain, but the value would
be shared by all. Such as possessed land having any advantage would
pay the equivalent of that advantage in the shape of a tax into the
common coffer.
This order of things would bring forth a race of free, independent,
self-respecting, generous, high-spirited men, who would advance to new
and undreamed of heights of civilization. With greater and greater
ease they would satisfy the animal wants, and give more and more play
to the development of the men-tat and moral natures.
This was the great idea that filled the soul of Henry George. It was
the redemption of the world from involuntary poverty and from its grim
daughters, suffering and sin. He had, he believed, pointed the way of
salvation, and he was confident that the world would sooner or later
come to believe with him. And with this conviction he went to his
death.
Twenty-seven years before, Henry George, as a young newspaper
correspondent, fresh from the "open West," had walked the
streets of New York "sick at heart" at the depths of poverty
he beheld in this proudest city on the continent. Moses had heard a
voice from the bush calling him to lead the people out of the land of
bondage. So this unknown young newspaper writer from San Francisco
suddenly, there in the daylight, as he walked in the open street, felt
a great spirit fill and thrill him, and a cry come within him to lead
a new exodus - to lead the poor and oppressed out of their industrial
bondage into a condition of peace and plenty. For surely, he reasoned,
the Almighty, who has so beautifully adapted means to ends even to the
tiniest atom, has not intended civilized men to be degraded to a
station lower than beasts! He did not know how to reach the condition
of peace and plenty, nor even where it lay; but he took a solemn vow
that he would not rest until he had found both.
Nor did he rest. This great question "tormented" him and
would not let him rest. And suddenly the answer came. The answer to
the riddle of poverty lay in the monopolization of nature, in land
speculation. Giving some men the land and shutting others away from it
made one class the masters of the others; produced the evil contrast
of riches and poverty. Tax away monopoly; tax the speculators out.
Clear away the dogs in the manger. Cheapen and open land by taxing it
out of the hands of the forestallers. Then all who wanted work would
be able to get it; tramps and beggars would be lost and forgotten in
the past.
And following the discovery came long years of thinking and writing
and speaking. At first they were years of intense and lonely labor,
when the hopelessness of reaching and moving men's minds almost killed
the high purpose and turned effort to the study of self-ease. For the
reception of the first writings had little to encourage and cheer; the
audience for the first speech was only a "beggarly array of empty
benches." But by degrees the audiences increased until multitudes
felt the sincerity of the speaker and the truth of his message.
Quietly the writings extended their sway, until even in England, the
center of civilization, the institutions of privilege were aroused to
take up the battle gage of the man whom one of its spokesmen
scornfully styled "The Prophet of San Francisco." The
movement for the resumption of the land for all the people by the
institution of a single tax falling upon land values irrespective of
improvements had come to be a world-movement, and Henry George's
writings had won a circulation and believers such as no writings of
the kind ever before had had.
The realization of this bore in upon him and filled him with a great
joy that he should be given strength to bring hope into men's lives.
Yet his task was not finished. He must lead to the end. Many came
about him and urged him to be candidate for the Mayoralty of the City
of New York. To his wife he said: "Will you fail to tell me to go
into this campaign? The people want me; they say they have no one else
upon whom they can unite. It is more than a question of good
government. If I enter the field it will be a question of natural
rights, even though as mayor I might not directly be able to do a
great deal for natural rights, New York will become the theater of the
world and my success will plunge our cause into world politics."
And the wife had answered: "You should do your duty at whatever
cost."
At whatever cost! What did that mean? It meant that three of his
medical friends and a number of his intimates had reminded him of his
breaking health, the result of years of enormous, incessant labors,
and had warned him against serious results if he entered the political
struggle. But he brushed the matter of his health and personal welfare
aside as of small moment. To one of his medical friends who ventured
to tell him that if he persisted the strain might prove fatal, he
answered: "But I have got to die. How can I die better than
serving humanity? Besides, so dying will do more for the cause than
anything I am likely to be able to do in the rest of my life."
And so, waving back all warnings from solicitous friends, he entered
the New York City political contest, and became the candidate of the
spontaneous party of Thomas Jefferson for the mayoralty. The opening
meeting was in Cooper Union on the night of October 5. Henry George
lay faint and panting for breath fifteen minutes before he went to the
hall. He had the pallor of death when he stood up before the dense
audience and in simple language explained the importance of the fight
as it appeared to him. And he said respecting the nomination: "I
would not refuse it if I died for it."
Only those close about realized the bravery of his words. But few
others realized the great cost of the campaign. Yet to him there was
no stay. He had heard the voice from the bush. He must lead the people
out of the land of bondage -roust lead them to the last footstep, to
the last breath. And so leading, he died, stricken by apoplexy on the
morning of October 29, four days before the campaign closed - a
campaign marked by intense excitement and feeling. The death stunned
friend and foe. Then poured in the tribute which he had said would
come when he was dead. To the watching world he had fought the
greatest of battles and won the supreme victory: he had risked and met
death to proclaim justice.
The interment was private, from the home at Fort Hamilton, November
1, in the lot on Ocean Hill in Greenwood. "From an early hour the
day before, Sunday, the body lay in state in the Grand Central Palace.
"Never for statesman or soldier," said one of the
newspapers, "was there so remarkable a demonstration of popular
feeling. At least one hundred thousand persons passed before his bier,
and another hundred thousand were prevented from doing so only by the
impossibility of getting near it. Unconsciously they vindicated over
his dead body the truth of the great idea to which his life was
devoted, the brotherhood of man."
In the afternoon the doors of the Grand Central Palace were closed.
As the choir from Plymouth Church opened the public services with a
simple hymn, a hush fell upon the multitude that crowded the great
hall to its utmost. Then the service of the Episcopal church was read
by the Rev. R. Heber Newton, the boyhood and manhood friend-the friend
to whom the dead man had written but a few days before: "Vote for
Low or vote for me, as you may judge best. I shall in any event be
true. What doth it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his
own soul?" Next the Rev. Lyman Abbott and Rabbi Gottheil in order
recounted the peerless courage and the ancient wisdom of the man at
whose bier they stood. And after them arose Dr. McGlynn, who had
suffered years of excommunication from the Catholic church for the
cause for which Henry George had died, and yet who had steadily gone
on preaching the great truth until in the end he was reinstated and
justified, with the ban lifted from his teachings. Henry George had
called him "a Peter the Hermit," and "an army with
banners." The clergymen preceding had spoken with earnestness,
eloquence and power. To these qualities the priest added such moving
passion of faith and hope that the great audience swayed with feeling.
It cast off all funeral restraint and gave vent to emotion in
applause. Nor did the applause cease when Dr. McGlynn had finished and
John S. Crosby, a brother-at-arms in the campaign, arose and extolled
the civic virtues of the dead man. Seldom have men spoken as those men
spoke; seldom has there been such inspiration; seldom has a funeral
gathering applauded with hope instead of melting into the cries and
lamentations of grief. Truly the soul of the dead was marching on.
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