Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in sight…of the end of the world. Just look around you: the two Koreas at each other’s throats with world-destroying weapons, Israel attacking activist relief ships bound for Gaza, an oil company poisoning the Gulf of Mexico, in various locations, Mother Nature showing her vicious side. etc.
In keeping with the nastiness of the times, in this blog, I will plagiarize…myself.
You’ll be happy to know that I am celebrating my 10th year as an Internet correspondent. Brian W. Myers, a Wilmette librarian, was the instigator of moving my newspaper column to the Internet. He once served as a clever stagehand at Culver Academies. Lewis Kopp and Fairlie Firari, two more dedicated Culver thespians, succeeded Brian as my first class Web technicians.
One of the first articles to appear was “The Singer, and the Flood, and the Gate,” in May of 2000. I hope you enjoy this resurrected article to make your life more cheerful and more Memorable on this special day for those who sacrificed their lives for our country!
The Singer, the Flood, and the Gate
This strange tale of diverse events sweeps across the world from Austria to Hoosier Dom. The year is 1913. The town of Logansport seems to have mysteriously moved a gate about forty miles as the crow flies. The gate winds up on the doorstep of a famous military academy located on the edge of Small Town, USA, both school and village resting on the shores of Lake Maxinkuckee. The mystery deepens: What does a flamboyant opera singer have to do with that gate? And if that's not enough to whet the appetite, your writer known as Dusty Rogue will throw in a devastating flood, a world war, and deaths during U-boat encounters.
At the height of her fame and glory during the first half of the 20th century, Madame Ernestine Schumann-Heink was hailed by critics as "the world's outstanding contralto." In her heyday, she was as important in operatic circles as Beverly Sills would be later during the last half of the century. Singers can't get much more illustrious than that.
Mme. Schumann-Heink - Click on or copy and paste the link to hear the Yodeling operatic contralto
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-693sNKI3iM
Ernestine Roessler was born in Prague, June 13, 1861. Her father, an impoverished soldier in the Austrian army, abused and made fun of his plump daughter. To escape the "real old roughneck," she found teachers who admired her voice and provided lessons. At the age of 15, she began singing important operatic roles at the Dresden Court Opera. Later her appearances in Berlin and London opera houses made her internationally famous and brought her at the beginning of the 20th century to the Metropolitan Opera House.
In 1905, she was sworn in as an American citizen. With war clouds on the horizon, she would soon discover that her new citizenship papers would have an impact on her extended families, pitting brother against brother in combat on the high seas.
Meantime, while gradually mastering 150 operatic roles, she increased her fame by making concert appearances from coast to coast. Often, when a crowd gathered to greet her, the ever-gracious contralto would give an impromptu recital. In Small Town, she gave a preview of the performance on the hotel porch by delivering a rendition of the drinking song from "La Traviata," acting out the dual roles of Violetta and Alfredo.
A favorite entertainer of servicemen during World War I, Madame Schumann-Heink, who possessed a stout matronly figure, maintained that she was a mother first, then a singer. On one occasion, after she charged through an orchestra knocking over music stands and musicians, the conductor asked why she didn't come in sideways. She answered: "With Mme. Schumann-Heink there is no sideways." No one will deny that on the stage she possessed a regal and impressive bearing.
She spread out three husbands over two continents, the first a German whom she divorced, the second died, and a third deserted her for another woman. She ended up supporting a total of eight children, including the two left behind in Germany.
Her youngest son, George Washington Schumann, was the main reason for her interest in Small Town. A member of the Black Horse Troop, winner of the Horsemanship Medal, George did not graduate with his class, but his presence inspired his famous mother to entertain the cadet corps of the Culver Military Academy and play the role of surrogate mother, a perfect Mother's Day icon.
On one of these occasions, a rainy Easter Sunday, March 20, 1913, she sang up a storm. As a reviewer of the school paper wrote: "The halls of the academy have never been filled with such wonderful melodies as those which this extremely distinguished contralto showered in golden profusion upon her audience." The shower outside was turning into a deluge. Strong winds toppled trees, not just on the campus, but in Small Town as well.
The Logansport Flood and Rescue
For 48 hours the downpour continued throughout Indiana and Ohio, submerging huge areas of these states. Eventually the loss of life from drowning and other violent acts of nature would reach into the thousands. After another four days, the Wabash and Eel Rivers, which converged in the nearby city of Logansport, rushed over their banks. The swift waters with dangerous currents flooded the business district five-feet deep. Trapped residents moved to the upper stories or out on roofs, many of the women and children crying and begging for help.
Mr. D. D. Fickle, mayor of Logansport, requested help from Col. L. R. Gignilliat, superintendent of the Culver Military Academy, and the next day four cutters and Cadets were on a train to rescue the stranded citizens. The story of how they saved about l500 is too well-known to retell here, but the legend on Logansport Gate at the entrance of the academies speaks eloquently: "Our citizens are loud in their praise of the heroic and magnanimous service rendered our citizens by the Culver Cadets during the flood of March 26, 27, 1913." Praise also came in from many high officials, including Franklin D. Roosevelt, then acting Secretary of the Navy.
In the aftermath of the rescue operation, cadets enjoyed sharing some of their adventures. One elderly lady was informed that she would have to leave her dog behind. When they returned later, she had a small child dressed in baby clothes by the name of Fido. Near another cutter, a circus elephant stretched out its trunk and tried to get into the boat. One rescued damsel kept her arms around her savior, a rather naive cadet, who didn't know she made her living in the notorious district along the railroad tracks.
Townspeople also offered many helping hands. Capt. Morris lent his boats to search the dangerous flood waters. Thirty men hurried to Logansport, and two of them--Phil McLane and Ed Washburn--almost lost their lives when their boat overturned. Women's clubs and the Pocahontas tribe sent huge quantities of food and clothes.
Many of the Midwestern cadets were worried about their families. Marched to a church service, they were greeted by their adopted mother. She lifted morale by singing "Oh Rest in the Lord " and "The Lord Is Mindful of His Own," reminding them that "God's in his heaven/All's right with the world."
Not confining her visitations in this area to Small Town, Mme. Schumann-Heink had close friends in Plymouth, among them the Fife family and the Fred Kuhn family. As a young man, Fred Kuhn was a violinist with the Fife Brothers Evangelistic group. Madame Schumann-Heink had begun to record songs and gave Fred a copy of Brahms' "Lullaby." Her recorded duet with Caruso (‘Ai nostri monti') from "Il Trovatore" created a sensation among music lovers worldwide. Enrico Caruso, Jr. later attended the academy.
Seldom was there a flare up of the traditional prima-donna temperament. A South Bend evangelist made the mistake of accusing the opera star of being "a cheap skate." Her stinging rebuke: "That is not religion. My religion is love. Never was my reputation gained by an unkind act toward my neighbor. You, sir, do not preach the teachings of Christ."
She had promised to sing at the academy during commencement week, but for once she failed to fulfill her commitment to the cadets she loved so much. She said she had a terrible cold, but the main reason was a disturbing decision made by her son. George Washington Schumann had resigned from the academy shortly before graduation and enlisted to fight for his country. That was a terrible blow to his mother. George would join other brothers already in the service, and they would be fighting against a brother and an uncle serving in the German Navy. In real life, she was caught in the web of a Greek tragedy, a mother weeping for her endangered children, offspring dedicated to killing one another.
An American destroyer rammed the German submarine that the oldest son was on and caused his death. George, the youngest son and former cadet, survived the sinking of a transport torpedoed by a German submarine off the coast of France. After the war, he became an accountant and later managed his mother's financial affairs.
She remained true to her adopted country, a doughboy favorite, giving many concerts for the Red Cross and providing entertainment in United States Army camps. Later, in 1922, she would return to Small Town to give a benefit performance for the William Alexander Fleet Post of the American Legion. With her accompanist Arthur Loesser, she presented at least two songs that must have torn at her heart: "Have You Seen Him in France?" and the "Flanders Requiem" by La Forge.
She gave her final operatic performance in l932 and moved to Hollywood, but continued to give benefit concerts. "I could not retire unless I lost my voice," she said. "I love America and all Americans, and I want to work."
Her decision is in contrast to Beverly Sills' early retirement. During a recent speaking engagement at the academies, Sills said, "My voice had a long, nonstop career. It deserves to be put to bed with quiet and dignity, not yanked out every once in a while to see if it can still do what it used to do. It can't."
Seemingly indefatigable, Mme. Schumann-Heink was given a role in a movie as a singing instructor to Nino Martini. She caught the attention of two producers who battled for the right to star her. Too late, for she was close to death, which she faced "without fear or regret" on November 17, 1936 at the age of 75.
"It is very comical," she said just before dying, "this quarreling among motion picture men who call me terrific, colossal."
And that's exactly what she was: terrific and colossal, and with a voice strong enough to sing up a storm and flood listeners with great passion.
I now ask those readers who have survived the length of this blog, to scroll back to her picture and click where indicated. After all, this won’t be over until the fabulous lady sings.
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