Why He Kept His Temper

1895

In the Midst of a Blockade This Truckman Refrained From Swearing.

"My Darling."

Those tender words were painted in large letters on the dashboard of a big truck in the street. The thoroughfare was jammed with vehicles, and drivers were filling the air with profanity. But the driver of this particular truck sat silent and motionless. No word of his offended the ears of the patient, plodding beast over which he held the reins. During the din of curses a curious man stepped forward and inquired:

"You seem to take things very easy in this blockade."

"Yes, mister. I'm used to 'em," was the laconic reply. "Besides," he added, "it don't do any good or help a bit to swear,"

"I noticed that you have a name for your truck."

"Yes," and the stoical man's face brightened and assumed an expression born of a tender heart. "'My darling' was my dear little daughter. She's dead now. Just before she died — but you don't care to hear any part of this" —

"Indeed I do," interrupted the listener.

"Well, you see, it was this way: Nellie, my darling, took sick, and we couldn't save her, but just before she died she put her thin little arms around my neck and whispered in my ear: 'Papa, your Nellie is going to die. Please promise me that you will be kind to good old Dexter and don't swear at him. Will you do that for me?' Well, sir, I used to be pretty tough and rough, and I could curse with the best of 'em, but," and the man's voice trembled, "I loved my Nellie, and — and I promised her that I would do what she asked.

"Yes, sir, I've kept my word. That's going on three years now, but I haven't cussed once since. That's why I've named my truck 'My Darling.' It always reminds me of my Nellie and her sweet blue eyes."

Just then the blockade was raised, and "My Darling" rumbled on. — Philadelphia Times.

The Combustible Clive

1910

As long ago as the middle of the eighteenth century, a famous Georgian actress, Mrs. Kitty Clive, felt the call of the nerves commonly associated with modern women. The whole green room, according to the author of "Garrick and his Circle," feared her tantrums.

Her character stood high, but her clean, wholesome nature and honest heart scarcely offset her temper. She was the one player Garrick feared, and he did everything he could to disperse her nerve storms, or, if they broke, assuage them. It is among the legends of the English stage that he said to her:

"I have heard of tartar and brimstone, but you are the cream of one and the flower of the other!" — Youth's Companion.

A Prima Donna's Triumph

1878

Patti had a stirring time of it at Naples. When she arrived they declined to receive her at the Hotel Royal, and she had to go to the Nobile.

She was in high dudgeon, refused to rehearse, and in consequence found an audience as cold as stone. In less than an hour she sang the whole house into warmth, enthusiasm, frantic delight — it was the "Traviata" — and the next morning the papers made positive excuses. Nay more, the committee of the theater came to pay her the unusual honor of a visit in state. She refused to see them.

Expectation was on tiptoe as to her reception the next night. It was feared she would be hissed. Not at all. She sang the "Barbier," and with the same effect as before, her voice acting on their premeditated sulkiness like the rising sun on mists. In the scene in which she has to spell the name of Rosina she kept one high note so long that the unhappy baritone who accompanied her — and not a bad one either — had to stop three times for breath, she mocking him with a look the while.

Naples gave up all idea of resistance and took up its old position at her feet. She received $1,900 a night, with a right to half the surplus when the receipts exceed $3,900. On the night of the "Barbier" they took $5,700 at the doors; she therefore received an extra $950, or a total of about $2,850 for the night's work, not counting her bonus of revenge!

Sinclair Lewis Warns Writers About Bad Temper

1937

Writers Warned Against Ill Temper By Sinclair Lewis

New London, Conn., June 1 (UP).— Sinclair Lewis thinks it's a sign of bad temper when a writer, having become dissatisfied with a paragraph, tears it off the top of his typewriter.

"When I don't like what I've started to write," said Lewis, "I unroll the entire sheet and put in a fresh one.

"I don't think it's good practice to tear a partly written sheet out of a typewriter, it's a sign of bad temper. When you write you are your own master. A display of temper means you are quarreling with yourself — quarreling with your master. It isn't good to do that."

The novelist, touring New England by motor, recalled his first writing job on a Midwestern newspaper.

"I was fired from that job," he grinned, "but not until my boss was prepared to announce that my successor was already on a train heading for town."

—The Syracuse Herald, Syracuse, NY, June 1, 1937, page 19.