A
Messge to Garcia |
Entire Contents Copyright © 1999
All rights are reserved to the creators
At the time Mr. Daniels was distributing A Message To Garcia, Prince
Hilakoff, Director of Russian Railways, was in this country. He was the guest of the
New York Central, and made a tour of the country under the personal direction of Mr.
Daniels. The Prince saw the little book and was interested in it, more because Mr. Daniels
was putting it out in big numbers, probably, than otherwise. In any event, when he
got home he had the matter translated into Russian, and a copy of the booklet given to
every railroad employee in Russia.
Other countries then took it up, and from Russia it passed into Germany, France, Spain,
Turkey, Hindustan and China. During the war between Russia and Japan, every Russian
soldier who went to the front was given a copy of A Message To Garcia.
The Japanese, finding the booklets in possession of the Russian prisoners,
concluded it must be a good thing, and accordingly translated it into Japanese.
And on an order of the Mikado, a copy was given to every man in the employ of the Japanese
Government, soldier or civilian. Over forty million copies of A Message To Garcia
have been printed. This is said to be a larger circulation than any other literary
venture has ever attained during the lifetime of an author, in all history - thanks to a
series of lucky accidents.
"A Message To Garcia"
by Elbert Hubbard 1899
In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory
like Mars at perihelion.
When war broke out between Spain and the United States it was very necessary to
communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the
mountain vastness of Cuba - no one knew where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach
him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly. What to do!
Some one said to the President, "There's a fellow by the name of Rowan will find
Garcia for you, if anybody can."
Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by
the name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it
over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat,
disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island,
having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia - are
things I have no special desire now to tell in detail. The point that I wish to make is
this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and
did not ask, "Where is he at?"
By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the
statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor
instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them
to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing -
"Carry a
message to Garcia!"
General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcias. No man who has endeavored
to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, but has been well-nigh appalled
at times by the imbecility of the average man - the inability or unwillingness to
concentrate on a thing and do it.
Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem
the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook or threat he forces or bribes other
men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, and sends him an
Angel of Light for an assistant.
You, reader, put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office - six clerks
are within call. Summon any one and make this request: "Please look in the
encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Correggio."
Will the clerk quietly say, "Yes, sir," and go do the task?
On your life, he will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of
the following questions: Who was he? Which encyclopedia?
Where is the encyclopedia? Was I
hired for that? Don't you mean Bismarck? What's the matter with
Charlie doing it? Is he dead? Is there any hurry?
Sha'n't I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?
What do you want to know for?
And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia - and then come back and tell you there is no such man. Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Average, I will not.
Now, if you are wise, you will not bother to explain to your "assistant" that Correggio is indexed under the C's, not in the K's, but you will smile very sweetly and say, "Never mind," and go look it up yourself. And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift - these are the things that put pure Socialism so far into the future.
If men will not act for themselves,
what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all?
A first-mate with knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting "the
bounce" Saturday night holds many a worker to his place. Advertise for a
stenographer, and nine out of ten who apply can neither spell nor punctuate - and do not
think it necessary to.
Can such a one write a letter to Garcia?
"You see that bookkeeper," said the foreman to me in a large factory.
"Yes, what about him?"
"Well he's a fine accountant, but if I'd send him up town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street would forget what he had been sent for."
Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?
We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the "downtrodden
denizens of the sweat-shop" and the "homeless wanderer searching for honest
employment," and with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.
Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get
frowsy ne'er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long, patient striving after
"help" that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned.
In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer
is constantly sending away "help" that have shown their incapacity to further
the interests of the business, and others are being taken on. No matter how good times
are, this sorting continues: only, if times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is
done finer - but out and forever out the incompetent and unworthy go. It is the survival
of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best - those who can
carry a message to Garcia.
I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of
his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him
constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress,
him. He cannot give orders; and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to
take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, "Take it yourself!"
Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his
threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular firebrand of
discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe
of a thick-soled Number Nine boot.
Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical
cripple; but in our pitying, let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to
carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose
hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference,
slipshod
imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude which, but for their enterprise, would be both
hungry and homeless.
Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has
gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds - the man who,
against great odds, has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds
there's nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes. I have carried a dinner pail
and worked for day's wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is
something to be said on both sides.
There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; and all employers
are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous. My heart goes
out to the man who does his work when the "boss" is away, as well as when he is
at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the missive,
without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into
the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never gets "laid off"
nor has to go on a strike for higher wages.
Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man
asks shall be granted. He is wanted in every city, town and village - in every office,
shop, store and factory. The world cries out for such: he is needed and needed badly - the
man who can "Carry a Message to Garcia."
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