Dr. Bateman's Address at Opening of Alexander Memorial Building
Following is the address of Dr. R.
J. Bateman, of Asheville, at the ded
ication exercises of the Alexander
Memorial Building, Forest City,
Tuesday, March 15.
When John Lord came to the
great hour in life when he felt like
writing a history of Europe, he said
every period in the history of Europe
moves around a personality. In every
volume of that most interesting his
tory, John Lord summons, to credit
or discredit, that dominating individ
ual which created the center around
which history and social experiences
of every page of European history
were of necessity made.
I am not at all sure but that there
we have the genius of history—the
great, human dynamic, dominating
the periods of time, in the making of
worlds.
If John Lord had written American
history, he would have made one per
iod around Washington—another
period, particular section with Alex
ander Hamilton on one side and a
fair-haired Virginian, Thomas Jeff
erson on another.
In the life of North Carolina, such
periods would center around Zebulon
Vance and Charles Brantley Aycock
who carried the torch of education
on as it had never been carried.
So, on and on, history came by
those who have made it.
So, this evening, you have invited
me back to this spot, which by the
association of one individual, makes
my memory of Forest City eternal so
long as I live. When I first heard
of Forest City, it meant nothing to
me. One day, one of my deacons
brought into my office, a tall, fair
haired, pleasing man, whom he said
would bring his own request and
whatever he asks you to do, he will
see it through, he will back you. This
fair-haired man, with the determin
ation of a woman, said, "I have come
to ask you to Forest City to held a
meeting." I had not heard of Forest
City before —that doesn't reflect on
you; it was a want of education on
my part. So, I began an association
with your community, with a person
ality, which tonight, is more than
sacred, a place which occupied the
center of the center of his heart. A
memory which easily moves my emo
tion —from that moment until the
last breath left his body, in Jake
Alexander I never knew a truer
friend. He was a man of pure heart
—I never knew a finer, more fortu
nate Christian manhood, than found
in him.
So, when the time comes for me
to pronounce a word in memory up
on an auspicious occasion like this,
I stand with humble pride, as a humb
le friend. It is no moment for elo
quence; it is one for honesty and
sincerity—that kind that moves from
the center of the deepest emotion,
in an honest effort to appraise the
virtues of those who have won their
place by toil and sacrifice. It is not
a moment for fulminating praise but
the praise of character that is made
more beautiful than human tongues
can describe. It would be unbecoming
language to summons whatever imag
ery I might to tie praisful phrases
into long and colorful paragraphs and
when through, pronounce that the
pronouncement of my memorial to
Jake Alexander.
You and I knew him —you knew
him better than I. Yet, sometimes it
seems hard to realize the splendor
that rests upon the crest of such a
beautiful soul—hard to find the rad-
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iance, even by those standing at a
greater distance than those nearby.
I venture and presume only to
come in the presence of his fellow cit
izens or brothers, not that you do not
have his memory but as a friend, who
stands about the. bier to add a fad
ed flower, which you might offer the
more splendidly. Accept it, not be
cause of its intrinsic value but be
cause of the desire of which it is
born.'
If I started in here to mention the
outstanding characteristics of this
man, I would carry you far into the
night. Such does not fit the occasion;
it would not be pleasing to you nor
to me.
I shall only mention a few which
suffices the necessity of this occas
ion.
First, I would remind you having
been born within three or four miles
of where I now stand, he loved his
native country-side. A man who ould
have lived and adorned any city,
ehose to live here, beneath these
mountains, where he first saw the
light—the undulating plains and in
the midst of the hills, here, he
learned to love the scenes of living.
He had a most marvelous devotion
for this specific community. When I
think of him and of Forest City, I
think of Brutas' attack on Caesar. It
wasn't that he loved Caesar less, he
loved Rome more. That Caesar was
ambitious and lived and looked to the
day when he would wear the immort
al crown and be master of Home. In
answer to that friend Anthony
stood before the dead form and spirit
of the lifeless body and summons
Rome that three times he offered
him a crown and three times did Cae
sar decline it. He reminds them as
he lifts the robe so splendidly wov
en, calls to them and will have them
remember that he wore that first
on the day he overcame the Nervi.
When he had overcome, he gather
ed from their fields their booty—he
did it that their coffers might be bet
ter filled. He reminds them that he
had another ambition, other than
that. He reminds them of the weari
ness of days and points yonder amid
the parks, which he would have them
remember that they were the gifts
of Caesar —call them to remember
that when Rome had been in want,
Caesar had suffered. When Rome
grieved, Caesar had wept and called
them to testify that ambition should
be made of -sterner stuff than that.
When the great climatic oration was
pronounced over the ashes of Caesar,
it brightens with the brilliance of
sacrifice, it is the grave of a great
servant.
When I see these friends of his
come to hear me say in these poor
words this memorial, above it all, he
loved this physical spot as no spot
beneath the stars. He never heard a
preacher whose great, marvelous
power enraptured his soul, enthralled
his spirit's imagination but that he
thought of you and laid plans to
bring that star out of the galaxy —
he thought you were worthy of the
best. He never had a great exper
ience, thrill, joy, that he did not wish
that it might be shared at home. And,
whoever met him, received always a
hearty, cheery invitation to come to
Forest City, perhaps unknown to the
visitor but known and loved by him.
Your areas may increase till square
miles are included but the mastery
and growth of this town can never
go beyond this, the head of its ambi
tions by a plain, calm man, who lived
in and was ambitious for the social
life of the community in which he
THE FOREST CITY COURIER, THURSDAY, MARCH 24, 1927.
lived and loved above all others.
When the fame of wealth and busi
ness genius, followed his commercial
hand, courageously and sacrificmlly,
he came back to share it in the home
he built and maintained and enjoy
,ed in this community and had but |
one inspiration—that he loved it. 11
i wonder if there are not many flow- |
| ers blooming in life's hearts ap-!
1 preciation now for the success that
would not have been realized but
for the kindly man who dreamed of
schools and church buildings. You
know well how that bare-foot boy
on your hillsides, was to you boys
who grew up with him, you who are
nearer his age, an inspiration, yet
could you realize he would grow and
pass; that such a character was grow
ing and giving; that he* was passing
and repassing without a proper appre
ciation? Stand in this temple, and
remember this man, he who sat just
across the way, he who
pain and pass without a general ap
praisal and abounding appreciation,
then the tragedy is yours. I say, he
loved you as few men ever love their
home community. He never outgrew
you. There never came a time when
he wanted to build a finer palace in
another town. He loved the country
people—he was one of them. He loved
the country churches.
As you plant that memorial, over
looking the highway, proclaiming his
name, befittingly in letters large, that
even those who read poorly shall read
plainly, touched with gold as of his
very soul, that may be out of which
the spirits of the eternal are made—
as you read that memorial, so fitting
it is, it represents his talent, his ac
complishments, his impulses. If we
were to emphasize one of these which
meant most to him, it would be what
it meant to me—his personal relation
ship to me. Jake Alexander deserved
a memorial built in this place. There
may others arise, in other places—
monuments —but you have built for
him the most perfect one, expressing
the genius and joy of the man, whose
memory I am proud to stand and call
him my friend as I proclaim and
pronounce him to be yours.
Second: I would have you re
member, his family and associates,
could have never contributed a more
gloriously fitting monument to his
memory than in this way.
One of the last conferences I had
with him, was sitting yonder in the
sick chambers, with the doors closed,
the tears running like streamlets ov
er his emaciated face, as he talked
that this building should be built. My
visit was about over. I felt it our last
talk in this world. There were two
or three things, he wanted to have
eternally ,closed in my mind—his idea
as to this building program, which
was thoroughly centered there in his
soul; when its cap-stone should be
laid (I do not know if he felt he
wouldn't be here) it swept his soul
as we talked about it. I felt whether
he is in Heaven or on earth, that
would go and it has. You, whoever,
put one penny in it have in it the sig
nificance that that great heart did
break in it, that this programme
might go on. It was his purpose.
There never could have been a more
fitting memorial to Jake Alexander.
You might have built a bank —and he
was a banker of no mean degree.
You might have built a mill—for he
was a man of a great textile mind.
In fact, any commercial building and
| pronounced it his genius and it
wouldn't have been misplaced nor
not unfitting; but when you touch
the highest thrill, picked for him the
ambition dominant, you did it when
you put it into a Church, dedicated
to the teaching of the Word of God.
Friends, I never knew a more
healthy Christian man than Jake
Alexander. I have no respect for the
pietistic in face only; no respect for
pious tears, that go no deeper, dom
inating human life. I love healthy
contact in a virile and dynamic way.
I never knew a finer type of real
Christian manhood, nor a more
natural, honest to God Christian.
There wasn't anything that would
sicken you, becloud you, but there
was radiance—l never knew a more
happier man.
The first time Mr. Easom and I
were here, the Church was without
a pastor. A group met in Roy Blan
ton's office ( I think I could call the
names of the men present) and call
ed me to come up. Dr. Bostic, Roy
Blanton and several other were there.
They said we should have the best
pastor we can secure; we want you
to tell us where we can get the best.
More portended in this one thing than
this Church ever imagined. When I
called Dr. Ayers and told him it had
to be done, called him from New
Bern, the Committee was conferring
as to whether he was interested in
becoming pastor of the most dynamic
and aggressive group I ever knew.
That great Christian had that thing
first. Do you remember what he
did? Mrs. Alexander will remember, i
|
he said I will not permit any en
gagement to take me out of the city
during the meeting—tell them my
Church is having a meeting and I
cannot go. He said, I am going to
stay with you boys until this is over.
I baptized 65 right there, in a short
while I would go and I turned the
Church loose and have seen it come
to magnitude, to the marvelous things
taking place, under this virile Bible
man who has lead you. The Lord
guides that type of Christians. He
said, the Church, —I believe we
ought to have the best. He thought
that. He was virile to the center.
He loved a good fox hunt as well
as any man I ever saw. There was
something in the ring over the hills
when the red fox was going from
hill-top to hill-top,—good hounds
found great cheer in following that
group. He was as hilarious in his
seat in the grand stand at the ball
park. Of course, it mattered not
what side—he was for Asheville, as
a courtesy to his guest—for I was
always his guest where there was
anything to pay. There he was in
full zest. When the High School
teams were here, his best interest
was always in his own home group.
He could come back from a fox hunt
and aid in a meeting without even
changing clothes. Religion was natur
al—l never saw it more becomingly
or effectually worn than he wore it.
There wasn't a bit of "can't" in him.
He had a marvelous spirit. I never
knew a more finely spirited man.
I didn't know there was any differ
ence in our ages. He was the same
age with any group. When with a
group of boys, he immediately be
came thrilled with interest, and they
caught fire on the altar of his own
spirit. He as always dynamically in
terested in whatever was on. Chris
tianity blends in manhood, in the
social instinct—harmonizes with
ideals of friendship—Christianity
harmonizes with ideals of brother
hood and fellowship. He was a normal
Christian. No man ever turned back
from the Cross by a soul, a life, like
J. F. Alexander's. Never! I never
saw a pietism there, hypocrisy there.
He had steel—iron in his personality.
You wouldn't love him if he didn't.
I loved him for his fire, virility—
the strength in his make-up. He was
a Christian not only in a distant
country but more effectually where
better known.
There is a scene in my memory—
out at Golden Valley. We were meet
ing a group of mountain boys and
girls. We drove out. This big, busy
man, taking time to go out for an
interview in these hills, in a little
way-side house. It was an evidence,
that he might stand and aid me as
I preached the cause of Christ to
those boys, young men. I stood to do
the best I could. When I gave the
invitation to those interested, I
shall never forget that scene, that
man went from boy to boy, young
man to young man and gave him
personally the message that was made
personal. I do not know how many
were converted that morning but in
I the quiet hush of that morning, lock
ed away from the world, with noth
| ing but the Spirit and the contact
of a great heart, I never saw a man
in greater Christian contact than I
saw, there in that mountain school.
He was most effectual right here. I
said you did not have a pastor when
I held this meeting but you had a
friend. Mr. Easom, with me, and he
himself an effectual worker—togeth
er they went from office to office,
plant to plant, wherever men were
found, talked to them, until, some
one hundred men came and dedicat
ed their lives to the service of the
Son of God. I say, more real serious
credit for whatever happened in those
days, more than any one other thing
was his laboring during those days.
I believe more prayer, more love,
came from his heart than from mine
or Mr. Easom's or any other.
So, tonight, I want to explain that
2. man can be a man and at thte same
time be a great Christian. When
Harold Bell Wright wrote the first
lines to one of his books, he said
"There is a land, where for man to
live, he must be a man." So, tonight,
this is the hour and this has been
exemplified in a man that to be
verily a Christian, he has to be a man
and if he is going to be truly a man
and realize the biggest and best, he
must also be a Christian. It work the
same —aggressively—on one side and
on the other. Lest, I detain you, and
I shouldn't allow sentiment to lead
me on, yet not because much more
might not be said, for immortality
cannot be exhausted, the essence of
character cannot be over extolled, I
mention the last thing. The great
silent voices are those that speak
with greatest importance. When
Eugene Thyran painted the picture
of the Maid of Orleans, who you re
member, when France was longing
for a leader, led France back to life
and victory. England was driving
against her, you recall, when this
marvelous picture was made by that
wonderful Franchman, Eugen6 Thy
rand. He draws the picture, down
yonder by the Spring, sitting, spin
ning always, as the peasant maiden,
she was. He makes her great, marve
lous eyes look away. Yonder, the
i messengers seem compelling upon her
a flood of messages in glory, hidden
in the clouds, pointing to the fields
of France, telling Joan of Arc, that
men had lost their position; soldiers
had lost their courage; statesmen had
lost their leadership—must France
die? and she listens to the voices—
O, the voices, she could never get
away from them. Friends, I remove
my hat and take off my shoes for
those who listen to the voices that
sing higher than I. Whether peasant
or royalty, here are the voices for
higher and more glorious appeal.
Eugene Thyron paints the picture—
history starts there. A girl arises,
finds her way over a thousand bar
riers, until in armour white as snow,
the Maid of Orleans, leads France
to victory. That explains the immort
al one reason—she learned to listen
to and interpret the voices—the
thousand silent voices. She couldn't
get France to hear. If her army had
heard, France would have dominated
Europe and never lost it. Thank God
for those who hear the voices, those
whose lives are dominated under
God. It can be done; it should be
done. Such voices moved Jake Alex
ander. He recognized, I've got to meet
this money, face to face with God.
I tell you the days a man is marching
through when he is making his will,
in those terrible hours, if they could
be known, would have been a bene
' diction to any business man. I have
j got to meet this money before God.
j A man whose life was dominated by
a great conviction, that I've got to
I stand before God and give an ac
count. Those voices.
One more thing—Mrs. Alexander
j will pardon my libei'ty with the in
i timacies of that home. The last great
I sacrifice that man made for God, the
! day he died, believed it would hap
pen, that God would take that baby
boy of his and make him a preach
er of the Gospel of Christ. He said, I
do not want him to make money—
I want him to preach the Gospel.
With tears speaking pages as if pen
ned by a great writer—l want that
boy to preach the Gospel! When a
man lays his flesh and blood on the
altar, I say the voice everlasting has
spoken. It make life worthwhile,
hereafter. You have followed through
—you have built a living building
that shall never die. When stones,
brick, cover, turn to dust, if time
lasts so long, yet in these days and
actions, you bring these dynamic
words into reality into the lives of
thousands, ten thousands and ten
times ten thousands. You have done
it well, properly. I feel he is mighty
close to us tonight, knows what we
are doing. I do not believe we need
Old Fellow!"
"Clothes may not make the man, but they do
make his appearance. That's why I make sure that
my suits are dry cleaned and pressed regularly.
"Besides, it makes one feel kind of prepared and
on the alert."
Occasional dry cleaning and semi-weekly or
weekly pressings help to keep clothes new.
Bring your clothes to us for dry cleaning and
pressing. We guarantee to keep them in good con
dition for you. Phone No. 3 and we will call.
Our service charge is very reasonable.
J. M. PRICE & SON
Rutherford County's Oldest Cleaners and Dyers
Phone No. 3 Forest City, N. C.
to use a long instrument of speech
as you might think. If he could walk
those halls, he would walk them with
pride, stand with head uncovered,
with reverent love, and presently
stand about that altar. If he were
here, you would know what he would
be doing—sitting over there, some
where, tears flowing down his cheek,
thanking God, that He had so glor
iously blessed in giving that build
ing to this community for the teach
ing of God's Word.
So, tonight, you have done well,
| with becoming friendship, built accu-
I rately, more fittingly than you might
| truly realize. When I came, I chose
jto walk alone. As I entered the ves
tibule, I saw the speaking likeness
( of the kindest man you ever knew.
It is fitting that you hung his pic
ture in that building, dedicated to
, the teaching of the Word of God. He
| wouldn't take one word out of it for
j Christ, but it is fitting that you did
; it. I began in the Social Hall—he
loved the social life—you have built
( a place where social contacts can be
1 enjoyed. I saw how the Bible Class
could be assembled there. I went on
through, saw how the children would
grow to manhood and womanhood.
As I came out to the care-taker and
stood only to say, if they could have
spent without stint and modeled af
ter the artists of the land, stone from
the greatest quarry of the earth,
• some splendid mausoleum, if Jake
j Alexander cfy>se between such a
1 memorial tonight, left only to speak
to him, without a mission, I believe
the man would come again and place
his life against that great offering
, (Pointing to Educational Building)
and say—that is my soul's ideal.
! So, my message is done tonight. I
wish I could do better, do more. So,
with all my soul, I congratulate you
—more, I rejoice with you in this
great, glorious day. Forest City has
never seen such a day in her history,
all past gifts had their part. I con
gratulate your pastor who has stood
by through these months, years, un
til this has yielded to the dearest of
fering of his hand. So, the lay mem
bers of the Church, whom Jake Alex
ander knew from childhood—his old
associates. I express my appreciation
to the city wide, which shows such
earnest religious feeling and appre
ciation to the beautiful tribute on
this highway, your main street. God
carry you to greater service as the
beckoning years may come. May you
rise to service with unstinted passion;
lead to Christ, those who cross your
path.
The last time we rode together,
until coming to the train at Spartan
burg, the last ride in his machine, I
drove, returning to a filling station,
he said "Doctor, turn in here a min
ute —I don't believe these boys are
Christians." He called them to the car
with voice already weak and tremu
lous and urged them to come to the
meeting, give their hearts to Christ
—one promised to come, the other
might. I drove the car away, because
the ministering spirit was too weak.
I would that another would rise
in your world and that you might
claim him in such glorious sacrific
ial service as this. God bless you."