| Page One | Contents | La Honda | The Author | Webmaster | Larger Type |
I think I can claim to have distinguished myself among my fellows at that 600 student high school with my literary accomplishments. It had been announced that a story I had submitted in the annual contest for the school annual called Echo had won first prize and would be printed. (Recently I felt obliged to read it before submital to the "Clar Papers" in the California State Library. It was pretty awful--yet "different" from most high school efforts.) Also in the 1922 Echo , two small poems of mine and several pen sketches were featured. This means little unless you understand that I was an "outlander" from this notoriously self-centered little community of 13,00, Santa Rosa. I commuted by steam train one hour each way every school day, and walked a mile from Santa Rosa Railroad NWP Station to the school.
My greatest handicap was a painful personal shyness which did not leave me until I had finished college and became a responsible state official, and especially when I was appointed Chief Deputy State Forester in mid-1941, where I had to assume heavy responsibility in political administration.
At high school I became a teacher's pet, so to speak--especially of an influential English teacher.
As I remember, I had no intention at that date of writing any particular poem--or anything else for the Echo. And I barely remember having read the poem Thanatopsis--thought s on Death. My high school days were ending very soon.
I was asleep on a screened porch in a house in the center of little Guerneville town (population 800). It was late fall and quiet. At about 6 AM I must arise, cook my breakfast and board the upriver train for Santa Rosa. But I awoke near the middle of the night and the idea for my complete poem seemed to fill my mind. I arose from my sleeping porch bed and entered the house, found a pencil and some kind of paper. Afterward I estimated that I had spent twelve minutes on the project. Then I returned to bed.
Next morning I boarded the train, reached Santa Rosa and started walking up Fourth Street to the Sonoma County Court House for a left turn on Mendicino Avenue. Generally there were eight or ten of us commuters joined in the walk. Near the school I met my classmate and good friend, Francis Piazzi, who was a student editor of the annual Echo. I said, "Francis, I wrote a little poem last night which I wish to show you."
He read it quickly and turned to walk away. I said, "Where are you going with my poem?"
He replied, "To the printer. Today is deadline."
I said, "You can't do that! Faculty advisor has not approved."
"Not this poem," he said and kept walking.
I quote from memory what I had written during the night:
To a Mummy
(after
reading Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant)
Why, Grim Relic of a bygone day, Hast thou stopped the trend of Nature's Way? Why hast striven to be a Better Dust? When unswerving Nature says, Thou must return to Earth, Why disobey? Though the Fool may think That thou hast gained When the Mask of Life Thou hast retained, Thou art yet a Stone in Nature's Care. Dust of mine may live in flowers fair. |
© Raymond Clar
| Page One | Contents | La Honda | The Author | Webmaster | Top |
I think I can claim to have distinguished myself among my fellows at that 600 student high school with my literary accomplishments. It had been announced that a story I had submitted in the annual contest for the school annual called Echo had won first prize and would be printed. (Recently I felt obliged to read it before submital to the "Clar Papers" in the California State Library. It was pretty awful--yet "different" from most high school efforts.) Also in the 1922 Echo , two small poems of mine and several pen sketches were featured. This means little unless you understand that I was an "outlander" from this notoriously self-centered little community of 13,00, Santa Rosa. I commuted by steam train one hour each way every school day, and walked a mile from Santa Rosa Railroad NWP Station to the school.
My greatest handicap was a painful personal shyness which did not leave me until I had finished college and became a responsible state official, and especially when I was appointed Chief Deputy State Forester in mid-1941, where I had to assume heavy responsibility in political administration.
At high school I became a teacher's pet, so to speak--especially of an influential English teacher.
As I remember, I had no intention at that date of writing any particular poem--or anything else for the Echo. And I barely remember having read the poem Thanatopsis--thought s on Death. My high school days were ending very soon.
I was asleep on a screened porch in a house in the center of little Guerneville town (population 800). It was late fall and quiet. At about 6 AM I must arise, cook my breakfast and board the upriver train for Santa Rosa. But I awoke near the middle of the night and the idea for my complete poem seemed to fill my mind. I arose from my sleeping porch bed and entered the house, found a pencil and some kind of paper. Afterward I estimated that I had spent twelve minutes on the project. Then I returned to bed.
Next morning I boarded the train, reached Santa Rosa and started walking up Fourth Street to the Sonoma County Court House for a left turn on Mendicino Avenue. Generally there were eight or ten of us commuters joined in the walk. Near the school I met my classmate and good friend, Francis Piazzi, who was a student editor of the annual Echo. I said, "Francis, I wrote a little poem last night which I wish to show you."
He read it quickly and turned to walk away. I said, "Where are you going with my poem?"
He replied, "To the printer. Today is deadline."
I said, "You can't do that! Faculty advisor has not approved."
"Not this poem," he said and kept walking.
I quote from memory what I had written during the night:
To a Mummy
(after
reading Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant)
Why, Grim Relic of a bygone day, Hast thou stopped the trend of Nature's Way? Why hast striven to be a Better Dust? When unswerving Nature says, Thou must return to Earth, Why disobey? Though the Fool may think That thou hast gained When the Mask of Life Thou hast retained, Thou art yet a Stone in Nature's Care. Dust of mine may live in flowers fair. |
© Raymond Clar
| Page One | Contents | La Honda | The Author | Webmaster | Top |
for a short time when he was young
he worked in the area while recording the natural vegetation
of California for the government. As he once reminisced, "We moved from place to place, trying to take advantage of seasonal
weather conditions. When it became really cold or rainy we took shelter in one of the commercial auto courts
of that day, or in a Forest Service warehouse when available. Strangely, among
the hundreds of unusual places I rested my weary head during four
years of that job assignment, I distinctly
remember sleeping under a bridge at or near San Gregorio on the original
Coast Highway now called the Old Stage Road." Mr. Clar eventually
became Chief Deputy State Forester for the State of California. During his busy life he still managed to write
books and articles about forestry and California
history. He passed away in 1996 at the age of 92. A daughter, a grandson, their spouses, and two
great-grandsons still
reside in La Honda.
| Page One | Contents | La Honda | The Author | Webmaster | Top |