Looking back over the record of those years, one can’t but figure them the most disheartening in all of Borglum’s life. The sculptor himself hadn’t changed much--except for the better. He was still motivated by his love for the big things--for the projects that would give more joy, more comfort or more safety to humankind. But somehow none of the plans was working out well. Stone Mountain, as he must have known in his heart, was finished. The head of Lee would presently be an outrageous blot on a tall cliff. He had had no part in the Texas Four-City Centennial celebration; he had been thrust out of any plans to beautify Texas highways. He had been thwarted in his effort to provide a sea-front development and bridge for Corpus Christi. He had lost the job of designing the San Antonio open-air theater, which he would have enjoyed doing. Five times in a row he had put out his best effort and finished nowhere. He might have been saved a lot of trouble had he known that few outsiders ever succeed in getting anything out of the preserves of Texas politicians--especially those busy keeping happy a Texas tenor. But those who knew him in San Antonio say that he showed no consciousness of his reverses. He was gracious to the people he thought deserved his kind words. He blasted the louts that he thought needed blasting. And on the whole all went well. He continued to be Gutzon Borglum. His art work was by no means neglected because of his apparent absorption in civic improvements and expositions and music festivals. Nor had ill repute deriving from the Stone Mountain Association’s adverse publicity given him any lack of employment. He had not quite finished the Trail Drivers’ memorial when he was given a commission for the memorial to Alexander Stephens. The armchair in which Stephens is seated was made in the San Antonio studio and cut out of marble at a local stoneyard. The marble was the gift of the Georgia Marble Company at Marietta. The place of this model in the studio was immediately taken by a memorial to General John Greenway, of Rough Rider and earlier Yale football fame. He was a resident of Arizona, engaged in copper mining when the First World War broke out. Though past the age limit, he bought a uniform and, with the aid of Washington friends, got into the army. His widow, Isabella Greenway, one of the most distinguished women in the country, came to the Stamford studio, bringing with her a request for the statue by the state of Arizona. Greenway had been honored as a favorite son and chosen for a place in Statuary Hall, Washington.