TrnrBRe WnnsrDR & JonusoNe INC"

I i{ontgomcry Slreef sAN FRANCISCO 4, CAIIF. DOuglor 2-2060

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Brilliant Eulogy To A Gambler

(Scvcrd ycarl ago crccr?tr from thc following frrnour fiulcrel oration wcrc printcd in thir rpecc. Sincc thcn rnany requcrtr hevc comi for thc cntirc tcxt of thc rpccch. Hcre it ic. Thir thrllling oration wrr delivcred at thc grave of a vcry famour gamblcr ud horrcrace plungcr, Riley Grannan, at Rawhidc, Nevada, on April 3rd, 190E. Thc rpcahcr war H. W. Knickcrboclcr, later a Mcthodirt minirtcr, of Hourton, Torar. It ir a rcrapbook picce of thc highcrt ordcr, and thrillr every lovcr of humen cloqucncc, which fact justificg itc printing hcrc.)

I fecl that it is incumbcnt on mc to ttatc that in standing hcrc I occupy no minigterial or prelatic poaition. I am dmply a protpector. I makc no claimr whatcvcr to moral merit or religion Gxcept the rcligion of humanity, tfic brothcrhood of man I stand among you todly rimply as a man arnong men, fceling that I can rhake hands and lay "brother" to thc vilcst man or woman that ever lived. If therc rhpuld comc to you anything of moral admonition through what I ray, it comes not from any !cn8e of moral supcriority, but from the depth of my expccicncc.

Riley Grannan war born in Paris, Kentucky, about forty yea;r ago. I suppole he drcamcd all the dreams of boytlood. They blossomcd into phenomenal succers dong financial linee at timcs during his life. I am told that from the position of bellboy in a hotel he rose to be a celebrity of world-wide fame. He was one of the greatest plungerr, probably, that t$e continent has ever produced. He died day before yesterday in Rawhidc. This is a very brief statement. You have thc birth and the period of the 8rave. Who can fill in the interim? Who can speak of his hopce and fcars? Who can solve ifie mystery of his quiet hours that only himself knew? I can not, fle was born in the Sunny Southland, where brooks and rivers run musically through thc luxuriant soil; where the magnolia grandifora like white stare grow in a firmament of green; where crystal lakes dot the gleensward, and the Boftbet summer breezet dimple the wave-lips into kisseg for the lilies of the ehore; where the air is resonant with the warbled melody of a thousand sweet-voiced birds and rcdolent of the perfume of many fowers. This wae the beginning. He died in Rawhide, where in winter thc shoulders of the m'ountains are wrapped in garments of ice, and in summer the blistering rays of the sun beat down upon the skeleton ribs of the desert.

When I see the ambitions of man defeated; when I see him struggling with mind and body in the only legitimate prayet he can make to accomplish some end; when I rce his aim and purpose frustrated by some fortuitous combination of circumstances over which he has no control; when I see the out-stretched hand just about to grasp the flag of victory, take instead the emblem of dcfeat, I ask: What is Life? Dreams, awakening, and death; a pendulum 'twixt a smile and a tear; a momentary halt within the waste and then the nothing we set out from; a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more; a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing; a child-blown bubble that but refects the light and shadow of its environment and is gone; a mockery, a lie, a fool's vision; its happiness but Dead Sea apples; its pain the crunching of a tyrant's heel?

He was a man whose €xterior was as placid and gentle as I have ever known; and yet, when we look back over his meteoric past we can readily understand that he was absolutely invincible in spirit. If you will allow me I will use a phrase most of you are acquainted with: he was "a dead game sport." I say it not irreverently, but fill the phrase as full of practical human philosophy as it will hold, and I believe that when you say one is "a dead game sport" you have reached the climax of human philosophy.

I know there are those who will condemn him. There are those who believe today that he is reaping the reward of a missoent life. They are those who ar- dominated by medieval creeds. To those I have no words to say in regard to him. They are ruled by the skeleton hand of the past, and fail to see the moral beauty of a character lived outside their own puritanical ideas. His goodness was not thc typc that reachcd thc highclt manifeetation in any cercmonial piciy-. Hie goodncrs, I ray,-wal not of that. typ€, bu! of the type lhat findg cxlrecion in a word of cheer- to a dhcouraged brotheri -thc rypc tlrat hndr cxprersiron in fricndship, the sweet-clt flowcr ihat gro-ws along thc durty highway of life; the type that finds expreraion in manhood.

He lived in a world of sport. I do rrot mincc rny wordg' -I am telling what I belicve to bc true. In the world of -sport-- hilarity somclimes and maybc wors+hc left the imprcre of hir charactcr on this wodd, and through thc mcdium of hie financial power he was able with his money to brightcn the livce of its inhabitants' He waated it, so the world rayr. But, did it evcr occur to "ou thet the most rinful men and women who livc in this world are still men and women? A little happinesr brought into their liveg means ae much to them as happineeJ brought into the livee o! t-he gtr'aiglt and the sood. If you can take one ray of sunlight into their night-life and thereby bring them one single hour of happiness, I belicve you are a bcnefactor.

Riley Grannan may have "wasted" some of his money in this way. Did you ever stop to think how God dbes not put all His sunbeams into corn, potatoeE, and flour? Did you ever notice the prodigality with which He scattets these sunbeams over the universe? Contemplatet Grod fings the auroral beautiee round the cold ehoulders of the North; hangs the quivering picture of the mirage above the palpitating heart of the desert; scatters the gunbeams like lamellated gold upon the booms of myriad lakes that gem the verdant robe of nature; spangles the canopy of night with star-jewels, and silvers the world with the refected beams from Cynthias mellow face; hangs thc gorgeous crimson curtain of the Occident across tfie sleeping-room of the eun; wakes the coy maid of dawn to step timidly from the boudoir to climb the stepa of the Oricnt and fing wide-open the gates of the morning. Then' tripping o'er the landscapg kissing the flowers in- het fight, s_tre wakes ihe-birds to herdd with their music the coming of her King' who floods the world with refulgent gold.

Wasted sunbeams these? I 8ay to you that the man who by the use of his money is able to smoooth one wrinkle from the brow of care, is able to change one moan or sob into a song, is able to wipe away one tear and in its place put a jewel of joy-that man is a public benefactor. I beteve that some of ,Riley Grannan's money was "wasted" in this waY.

As we stand in the presence of death, we have no knowledge, but always, no matter how dark the gloomy clouds hang before me, there gleams the star of hope. Let us hope, therl that it may be the moining star of eternal day. It is dawning somewhere all the time. Did you ever stop to think that this old world of ours is constantly swinging into the dawn? Down the grooves of time, flung by the hand of God, with every revolution it is dawning somewhero all the time. Let this be an illustration of our hope. Let us believe that in the developmerrt of the human soul as it swings forward toward its destiny, it is constantly swinging nearer and nearer to the sun.

And now the time has come to say goodbye. The word "farewell" is the saddest in our language. And yet there are sentimerrts sometimes that refuse to be confined in that word. I will say "good-bye, old man." We will try to exemplify the spirit manifested in your life in bearing the grief at our parting. Words fail me here. Let these flowers, Riley, with their petaled lips and pcrfumed breath, speak in beauty and fragrance the sentiments that are too tender for words.