When the barracks of the Czecho-Slovak volunteers were vacated the Borglum part of the community was enlarged to care for casual visitors and studio staff. In looking after all these tides of people Banks, the chauffeur, became an invaluable help and seemed so much like one of the family that Mrs. Borglum’s nieces and nephews referred to him in their prayers as “Uncle Banks.” Another indispensable person came to Stamford in those early days--James Reilley, the Irishman who has now been there for thirty years. His children grew up with Gutzon’s, and one of them reached a position of importance at Rushmore. Old Reilley is still there, still keeping count of the empty acres. The sculptor was likewise a dutiful son and brother. Very often some member of his family was living with him. With the first large amount of money he received for a monument commission he sent his father and others on a six-month trip to Denmark. Again he brought to New York a younger brother and his family, to keep them for a whole year while the brother was taking a medical course. There are many letters to show that moments of crisis were not infrequent in the Borglum family and that Gutzon was always ready to aid. When his son Lincoln was born Gutzon’s happiness was touching. This was his miracle, he virtually announced, and his alone. Within a week he was quarreling with the trained nurse because she would not let him pick up the baby when he pleased, day or night. There was also some resentment about the timing of the boy’s appearance. He had arrived on April 9, 1912, and, in keeping with the name the sculptor had in mind for him, his birth date should have been Lincoln’s birthday. Some friend fixed up this worrisome situation by mentioning that April 9 was Appomattox Day. In due course the baby was taken to Bridgeport to pose for the baby faces spouting water from the rim of the Wheeler Fountain. In that same fountain he was christened by his uncle, Rev. Marshall Montgomery, after which he was registered in near-by St. John’s Church, for which Gutzon had made the reredos. The child, apparently, was the most important thing that had yet come into the sculptor’s life. He took him everywhere he was allowed to, presented him to friends up and down the Atlantic coast, and presumably was grateful that the child’s mother was a calm and tolerant woman. Once, when Lincoln was four years old, Gutzon picked him up suddenly and said they were going to Boston on a two-day trip. But they weren’t back in two days--or in thirty days. By that time the anxious mother was telegraphing to every place where she thought Gutzon might have chanced to go. And from Atlanta she got an answering wire: “Don’t worry. Both boys here. And well.”