Adventures in American Bookshops, Antique Stores and Auction RoomsBruno, Guido
General
Adventures in American Bookshops, Antique Stores and Auction Rooms
Bruno, Guido
Antiquarian booksellers -- United States; Booksellers and bookselling -- United States
1918
Small Town Stuff
What is the mysterious power directing the fates of small town
inhabitants? Who is it who sells them the same style of clothes, induces
them to furnish their homes so that they resemble one the other like one
egg resembles another egg? Who is it who makes the people talk and think
alike? Never permitting an individual thought, or an expression of
individual opinion?
Everything and everybody seem to be cut after the same pattern.
Unessentials are the important things in their lives, and they miss the
joy of living. They have not learned to be their real selves. They have
not been given a chance. Someone told me once: “America is a young
nation. We are about a hundred years behind Europe. Our people have not
developed yet the sense for beauty and art.” It is not so. America of
the fifties of the last century knew the best in life, letters and art.
But with the first great fortunes made during the early railroad boom
some mysterious powers perverted the minds of America systematically;
created in them the lust for sensation, for things of the minute. And
today people are being fed with theatres and newspapers and libraries
and music and styles, that they really do not want.
They are not given a chance. They must take what these mysterious powers
somewhere on Wall Street think good for them, or they can stay at home,
lose prestige among their fellow-townsmen, suffer in business and be
decried ultimately as “bolsheviks,” or “reds.”
A few weeks in Milwaukee or any other town of its size will open your
eyes. Milwaukee has grown incredibly since 1914, produced several
hundreds of war-millionaires and has the aspects of a most thriving,
prosperous city.
The people crave for good entertainment, good reading, a glimpse of art.
There is an Art Institute heavily subsidized by the city. Its permanent
exhibition is not worth while talking of. Any third-rate dealer in New
York can produce such masterpieces from his stockroom. They are hung on
the staircases and kept in boxes in the cellar of this Art Institute.
The traveling exhibitions are displayed on walls that need cleaning.
There is not the atmosphere of appreciation in this building. The main
space is occupied by a sort of “rummage exhibit” consisting of all sorts
of souvenirs lent by Milwaukeeans, who became members of the Institute.
Articles that can be purchased often in ten-cent stores are here on
exhibition with a card of the proprietor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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