Only let any doggone Booster try to get Number 5 away from a live Rotarian next year, and watch the fur fly!
And if they’d permit him, he’d wind up by calling for a cheer for the Boosters and Rotarians and the Kiwanis all together!”
Babbitt sighed to Professor Pumphrey,
“Be pretty nice to have as low a number as that!
Everybody ‘d say,
‘He must be an important guy!’
Wonder how he got it?
I’ll bet he wined and dined the superintendent of the Motor License Bureau to a fare-you-well!”
Then Chum Frink addressed them:
“Some of you may feel that it’s out of place here to talk on a strictly highbrow and artistic subject, but I want to come out flatfooted and ask you boys to O.K. the proposition of a Symphony Orchestra for Zenith.
Now, where a lot of you make your mistake is in assuming that if you don’t like classical music and all that junk, you ought to oppose it.
Now, I want to confess that, though I’m a literary guy by profession, I don’t care a rap for all this long-haired music.
I’d rather listen to a good jazz band any time than to some piece by Beethoven that hasn’t any more tune to it than a bunch of fighting cats, and you couldn’t whistle it to save your life!
But that isn’t the point.
Culture has become as necessary an adornment and advertisement for a city to-day as pavements or bank-clearances.
It’s Culture, in theaters and art-galleries and so on, that brings thousands of visitors to New York every year and, to be frank, for all our splendid attainments we haven’t yet got the Culture of a New York or Chicago or Boston—or at least we don’t get the credit for it.
The thing to do then, as a live bunch of go-getters, is to CAPITALIZE CULTURE; to go right out and grab it.
“Pictures and books are fine for those that have the time to study ‘em, but they don’t shoot out on the road and holler
‘This is what little old Zenith can put up in the way of Culture.’
That’s precisely what a Symphony Orchestra does do.
Look at the credit Minneapolis and Cincinnati get.
An orchestra with first-class musickers and a swell conductor—and I believe we ought to do the thing up brown and get one of the highest-paid conductors on the market, providing he ain’t a Hun—it goes right into Beantown and New York and Washington; it plays at the best theaters to the most cultured and moneyed people; it gives such class-advertising as a town can get in no other way; and the guy who is so short-sighted as to crab this orchestra proposition is passing up the chance to impress the glorious name of Zenith on some big New York millionaire that might-that might establish a branch factory here!
“I could also go into the fact that for our daughters who show an interest in highbrow music and may want to teach it, having an A1 local organization is of great benefit, but let’s keep this on a practical basis, and I call on you good brothers to whoop it up for Culture and a World-beating Symphony Orchestra!”
They applauded.
To a rustle of excitement President Gunch proclaimed,
“Gentlemen, we will now proceed to the annual election of officers.”
For each of the six offices, three candidates had been chosen by a committee.
The second name among the candidates for vice-president was Babbitt’s.
He was surprised.
He looked self-conscious.
His heart pounded.
He was still more agitated when the ballots were counted and Gunch said,
“It’s a pleasure to announce that Georgie Babbitt will be the next assistant gavel-wielder.
I know of no man who stands more stanchly for common sense and enterprise than good old George.
Come on, let’s give him our best long yell!”
As they adjourned, a hundred men crushed in to slap his back.
He had never known a higher moment.
He drove away in a blur of wonder.
He lunged into his office, chuckling to Miss McGoun,
“Well, I guess you better congratulate your boss!
Been elected vice-president of the Boosters!”
He was disappointed.
She answered only, “Yes—Oh, Mrs. Babbitt’s been trying to get you on the ‘phone.”
But the new salesman, Fritz Weilinger, said,
“By golly, chief, say, that’s great, that’s perfectly great!
I’m tickled to death!
Congratulations!”
Babbitt called the house, and crowed to his wife,
“Heard you were trying to get me, Myra.
Say, you got to hand it to little Georgie, this time!