11. Harry Carey Goodhue
There is nothing quite so noble as a man willing to put himself on the line for others or for a cause: Socrates willing to die for his beliefs, Mahatma Gandhi’s non-violent movement for the independence of India, Dietrich Bonhoeffer consistently outspoken against the Nazis, Martin Luther King’s stand for civil rights. Such men stand as inspiration for the generations who come after them and an admonition to those of us not of their stature.
Does Harry Carey Goodhue have a place among this pantheon of nobel men? He tells us that he fought the good fight, standing against the “bank and the courthouse ring” who would pocket the “interest on public funds”, the “leading citizens” who made “the poor the pack-horses of the taxes”, and the “water works” for “stealing streets and raising rates”. Certainly, these are fights in need of fighting! Somehow, though, we are left with the feeling that, despite his struggles, Goodhue fails to earn his place in history.
There is just something not right about the speaker of this epitaph.
As is not uncommon in the Anthology, this speaker’s name is not without significance. Harry Carey was one of the first stars of the Hollywood western, a genre built upon stereotypes and black ’n’ white morality. This simple approach to right and wrong is depicted in the name ‘Goodhue’ or the colour of good, symbolised in Westerns by the white hat of the good guy. Ironically, however, Harry Carey is far more often seen wearing a black hat, indicating that he was as likely to play a villain as a hero. The ambiguity of Harry Carey’s screen persona throws the identity of this speaker into doubt, adding to our sense of unease at his apparent good intentions.
Even if we find this Hollywood connections a bit of a stretch, there is evidence within the poem itself of Harry Carey Goodhue’s lack of moral stature. Firstly, it is he himself who is telling us of his own good deeds; not a characteristic we look for in the great men of history, who we expect to be as humble as they are heroic.
Then there is, in the poem, the anaphora and polysyndeton adding an air of self-pitying to the beseeching litany of good deeds. A technique used in the Psalms, the anaphora in use here serves less to focus our devotion and more to echo the sheer desperation of a man trying to be heard and recognised for a greatness he feels he deserves but which has never been bestowed upon him. Anaphora is used to appeal to the emotions of the reader, especially to persuade or inspire them and, certainly, Harry Carey Goodhue would hope to persuade us of his greatness. Goodhue’s problem is that his fights seem to have had no lasting benefits to anyone.
Indeed, as we can see from the incidences of which he makes us aware, the import of the fight was never really about anyone other than himself. He asks if anyone remembers when he fought the bank, “And when I fought our leading citizens…”, “And when I fought the water works…”, “And when I fought the business men…”. It is this last reiteration of the question that reveals the underlying egocentrism of Harry Carey Goodhue, for, though having achieved nothing of consequence, he must continue to fight, even if all that’s left to fight are those men who fought against him in all his earlier bouts.
This is a man who sees himself as the “spiritual brother” of Chase Henry, the “town drunkard” who voted to close the bars of Spoon River because they refused to serve him. As Chase Henry’s vote was self-serving and spiteful, so we should see the fights of Harry Carey Goodhue. As we follow the polysyndeton - the repetitions of the conjunction ‘and’ - to the end of the poem, we are left in no doubt that this is a man serving no purpose other than his own selfish need to see himself as more than he actually is.
Harry Carey Goodhue belongs nowhere other than where we find him - lying forgotten in his grave, crying out in self-pity, to be heard only as a voice in an Anthology of dead voices.
Does Harry Carey Goodhue have a place among this pantheon of nobel men? He tells us that he fought the good fight, standing against the “bank and the courthouse ring” who would pocket the “interest on public funds”, the “leading citizens” who made “the poor the pack-horses of the taxes”, and the “water works” for “stealing streets and raising rates”. Certainly, these are fights in need of fighting! Somehow, though, we are left with the feeling that, despite his struggles, Goodhue fails to earn his place in history.
There is just something not right about the speaker of this epitaph.
As is not uncommon in the Anthology, this speaker’s name is not without significance. Harry Carey was one of the first stars of the Hollywood western, a genre built upon stereotypes and black ’n’ white morality. This simple approach to right and wrong is depicted in the name ‘Goodhue’ or the colour of good, symbolised in Westerns by the white hat of the good guy. Ironically, however, Harry Carey is far more often seen wearing a black hat, indicating that he was as likely to play a villain as a hero. The ambiguity of Harry Carey’s screen persona throws the identity of this speaker into doubt, adding to our sense of unease at his apparent good intentions.
Even if we find this Hollywood connections a bit of a stretch, there is evidence within the poem itself of Harry Carey Goodhue’s lack of moral stature. Firstly, it is he himself who is telling us of his own good deeds; not a characteristic we look for in the great men of history, who we expect to be as humble as they are heroic.
Then there is, in the poem, the anaphora and polysyndeton adding an air of self-pitying to the beseeching litany of good deeds. A technique used in the Psalms, the anaphora in use here serves less to focus our devotion and more to echo the sheer desperation of a man trying to be heard and recognised for a greatness he feels he deserves but which has never been bestowed upon him. Anaphora is used to appeal to the emotions of the reader, especially to persuade or inspire them and, certainly, Harry Carey Goodhue would hope to persuade us of his greatness. Goodhue’s problem is that his fights seem to have had no lasting benefits to anyone.
Indeed, as we can see from the incidences of which he makes us aware, the import of the fight was never really about anyone other than himself. He asks if anyone remembers when he fought the bank, “And when I fought our leading citizens…”, “And when I fought the water works…”, “And when I fought the business men…”. It is this last reiteration of the question that reveals the underlying egocentrism of Harry Carey Goodhue, for, though having achieved nothing of consequence, he must continue to fight, even if all that’s left to fight are those men who fought against him in all his earlier bouts.
This is a man who sees himself as the “spiritual brother” of Chase Henry, the “town drunkard” who voted to close the bars of Spoon River because they refused to serve him. As Chase Henry’s vote was self-serving and spiteful, so we should see the fights of Harry Carey Goodhue. As we follow the polysyndeton - the repetitions of the conjunction ‘and’ - to the end of the poem, we are left in no doubt that this is a man serving no purpose other than his own selfish need to see himself as more than he actually is.
Harry Carey Goodhue belongs nowhere other than where we find him - lying forgotten in his grave, crying out in self-pity, to be heard only as a voice in an Anthology of dead voices.
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