THE International Organization of Boosters' Clubs has be come a world-force
for optimism, manly pleasantry, and good business. Chapters are to be found
now in thirty countries. Nine hundred and twenty of the thousand chapters,
however, are in the United States.
None of these is more ardent than the Zenith Boosters' Club.
The second March lunch of the Zenith Boosters was the most important of the
year, as it was to be followed by the annual election of officers. There was
agitation abroad. The lunch was held in the ballroom of the O'Hearn House.
As each of the four hundred Boosters entered he took from a wall-board a huge
celluloid button announcing his name, his nick name, and his business. There
was a fine of ten cents for calling a Fellow Booster by anything but his
nickname at a lunch, and as Babbitt jovially checked his hat the air was
radiant with shouts of "Hello, Chet!" and "How're you, Shorty!" and "Top o'
the mornin', Mac!"
They sat at friendly tables for eight, choosing places by lot. Babbitt was
with Albert Boos the merchant tailor, Hector Seybolt of the Little Sweetheart
Condensed Milk Company, Emil Wengert the jeweler, Professor Pumphrey of the
Riteway Business College, Dr. Walter Gorbutt, Roy Teegarten the photographer,
and Ben Berkey the photo-engraver. One of the merits of the Boosters' Club was
that only two persons from each department of business were permitted to join,
so that you at once encountered the Ideals of other occupations, and realized
the metaphysical oneness of all occupations--plumbing and portait-painting,
medicine and the manufacture of chewing-gum.
Babbitt's table was particularly happy to-day, because Professor Pumphrey had
just had a birthday, and was therefore open to teasing.
"Let's pump Pump about how old he is!" said Emil Wengert.
"No, let's paddle him with a dancing-pump!" said Ben Berkey.
But it was Babbitt who had the applause, with "Don't talk about pumps to that
guy! The only pump he knows is a bottle! Honest, they tell me he's starting a
class in home-brewing at the ole college!"
At each place was the Boosters' Club booklet, listing the members. Though the
object of the club was good-fellowship, yet they never lost sight of the
importance of doing a little more business. After each name was the member's
occupation. There were scores of advertisements in the booklet, and on one
page the admonition: "There's no rule that you have to trade with your Fellow
Boosters, but get wise, boy--what's the use of letting all this good money get
outside of our happy fambly?" And at each place, to-day, there was a present;
a card printed in artistic red and black:
SERVICE AND BOOSTERISM
Service finds its finest opportunity and development only in its broadest and
deepest application and the consideration of its perpetual action upon
reaction. I believe the highest type of Service, like the most progressive
tenets of ethics, senses unceasingly and is motived by active adherence and
loyalty to that which is the essential principle of Boosterism--Good
Citizenship in all its factors and aspects.
DAD PETERSEN.
Compliments of Dadbury Petersen Advertising Corp.
"Ads, not Fads, at Dad's"
The Boosters all read Mr. Peterson's aphorism and said they understood it
perfectly.
The meeting opened with the regular weekly "stunts." Retiring President Vergil
Gunch was in the chair, his stiff hair like a hedge, his voice like a brazen
gong of festival. Members who had brought guests introduced them publicly.
"This tall red-headed piece of misinformation is the sporting editor of the
Press," said Willis Ijams; and H. H. Hazen, the druggist, chanted, "Boys, when
you're on a long motor tour and finally get to a romantic spot or scene and
draw up and remark to the wife, 'This is certainly a romantic place,' it sends
a glow right up and down your vertebrae. Well, my guest to-day is from such a
place, Harper's Ferry, Virginia, in the beautiful Southland, with memories of
good old General Robert E. Lee and of that brave soul, John Brown who, like
every good Booster, goes marching on--"
There were two especially distinguished guests: the leading man of the "Bird
of Paradise" company, playing this week at the Dodsworth Theater, and the
mayor of Zenith, the Hon. Lucas Prout.
Vergil Gunch thundered, "When we manage to grab this celebrated Thespian off
his lovely aggregation of beautiful actresses--and I got to admit I butted
right into his dressing-room and told him how the Boosters appreciated the
high-class artistic performance he's giving us--and don't forget that the
treasurer of the Dodsworth is a Booster and will appreciate our patronage--and
when on top of that we yank Hizzonor out of his multifarious duties at City
Hall, then I feel we've done ourselves proud, and Mr. Prout will now say a few
words about the problems and duties--"
By rising vote the Boosters decided which was the handsomest and which the
ugliest guest, and to each of them was given a bunch of carnations, donated,
President Gunch noted, by Brother Booster H. G. Yeager, the Jennifer Avenue
florist.
Each week, in rotation, four Boosters were privileged to obtain the pleasures
of generosity and of publicity by donating goods or services to four
fellow-members, chosen by lot. There was laughter, this week, when it was
announced that one of the contributors was Barnabas Joy, the undertaker.
Everybody whispered, "I can think of a coupla good guys to be buried if his
donation is a free funeral!"
Through all these diversions the Boosters were lunching on chicken croquettes,
peas, fried potatoes, coffee, apple pie, and American cheese. Gunch did not
lump the speeches. Presently he called on the visiting secretary of the
Zenith Rotary Club, a rival organization. The secretary had the distinction
of possessing State Motor Car License Number 5.
The Rotary secretary laughingly admitted that wherever he drove in the state
so low a number created a sensation, and "though it was pretty nice to have
the honor, yet traffic cops remembered it only too darn well, and sometimes he
didn't know but what he'd almost as soon have just plain B56,876 or something
like that. Only let any doggone Booster try to get Number 5 away from a live
Rotarian next year, and watch the fur fly! And if they'd permit him, he'd wind
up by calling for a cheer for the Boosters and Rotarians and the Kiwanis all
together!"
Babbitt sighed to Professor Pumphrey, "Be pretty nice to have as low a number
as that! Everybody 'd say, 'He must be an important guy!' Wonder how he got
it? I'll bet he wined and dined the superintendent of the Motor License
Bureau to a fare-you-well!"
Then Chum Frink addressed them:
"Some of you may feel that it's out of place here to talk on a strictly
highbrow and artistic subject, but I want to come out flatfooted and ask you
boys to O.K. the proposition of a Symphony Orchestra for Zenith. Now, where a
lot of you make your mistake is in assuming that if you don't like classical
music and all that junk, you ought to oppose it. Now, I want to confess that,
though I'm a literary guy by profession, I don't care a rap for all this
long-haired music. I'd rather listen to a good jazz band any time than to some
piece by Beethoven that hasn't any more tune to it than a bunch of fighting
cats, and you couldn't whistle it to save your life! But that isn't the point.
Culture has become as necessary an adornment and advertisement for a city
to-day as pavements or bank-clearances. It's Culture, in theaters and
art-galleries and so on, that brings thousands of visitors to New York every
year and, to be frank, for all our splendid attainments we haven't yet got the
Culture of a New York or Chicago or Boston--or at least we don't get the
credit for it. The thing to do then, as a live bunch of go-getters, is to
CAPITALIZE CULTURE; to go right out and grab it.
"Pictures and books are fine for those that have the time to study 'em, but
they don't shoot out on the road and holler 'This is what little old Zenith
can put up in the way of Culture.' That's precisely what a Symphony Orchestra
does do. Look at the credit Minneapolis and Cincinnati get. An orchestra with
first-class musickers and a swell conductor--and I believe we ought to do the
thing up brown and get one of the highest-paid conductors on the market,
providing he ain't a Hun--it goes right into Beantown and New York and
Washington; it plays at the best theaters to the most cultured and moneyed
people; it gives such class-advertising as a town can get in no other way; and
the guy who is so short-sighted as to crab this orchestra proposition is
passing up the chance to impress the glorious name of Zenith on some big New
York millionaire that might-that might establish a branch factory here!
"I could also go into the fact that for our daughters who show an interest in
highbrow music and may want to teach it, having an A1 local organization is of
great benefit, but let's keep this on a practical basis, and I call on you
good brothers to whoop it up for Culture and a World-beating Symphony
Orchestra!"
They applauded.
To a rustle of excitement President Gunch proclaimed, "Gentlemen, we will now
proceed to the annual election of officers." For each of the six offices,
three candidates had been chosen by a committee. The second name among the
candidates for vice-president was Babbitt's.
He was surprised. He looked self-conscious. His heart pounded. He was still
more agitated when the ballots were counted and Gunch said, "It's a pleasure
to announce that Georgie Babbitt will be the next assistant gavel-wielder. I
know of no man who stands more stanchly for common sense and enterprise than
good old George. Come on, let's give him our best long yell!"
As they adjourned, a hundred men crushed in to slap his back. He had never
known a higher moment. He drove away in a blur of wonder. He lunged into his
office, chuckling to Miss McGoun, "Well, I guess you better congratulate your
boss! Been elected vice-president of the Boosters!"
He was disappointed. She answered only, "Yes--Oh, Mrs. Babbitt's been trying
to get you on the 'phone." But the new salesman, Fritz Weilinger, said, "By
golly, chief, say, that's great, that's perfectly great! I'm tickled to death!
Congratulations!"
Babbitt called the house, and crowed to his wife, "Heard you were trying to
get me, Myra. Say, you got to hand it to little Georgie, this time! Better
talk careful! You are now addressing the vice-president of the Boosters'
Club!"
"Oh, Georgie--"
"Pretty nice, huh? Willis Ijams is the new president, but when he's away,
little ole Georgie takes the gavel and whoops 'em up and introduces the
speakers--no matter if they're the governor himself--and--"
"George! Listen!"
"--It puts him in solid with big men like Doc Dilling and--"
"George! Paul Riesling--"
"Yes, sure, I'll 'phone Paul and let him know about it right away."
"Georgie! LISTEN! Paul's in jail. He shot his wife, he shot Zilla, this
noon. She may not live."
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