12 Judge Somers
And so the final poem in the ‘Chase Henry Trilogy’.
Chase Henry accepted his role as "town drunkard" and warned the Protestants, those "prudent and pious souls", of achieving, in a sense, the Devil's own goals for the sake of crossing the Catholics. Harry Carey Goodhue, in like manner to the Protestants, would have his legacy recognised as one thing while, in actual fact, leaving behind something else altogether different. And now we have Judge Somers, the "most erudite of lawyers" and maker of "the greatest speech / The court-house ever heard", lying in an unmarked grave, his life not having produced the rewards he thought it he deserved.
Chase Henry recognises that he benefitted from the rivalry that exists between the Protestants and the Catholics but is not into thinking himself other than he really was. He is well aware that he "lived in shame" and his good fortune was not earned. In answer to Judge Somers' question, "How does it happen...?", we can tell him that it happens out of sheer luck, out of simply being in a position to benefit from the consequences of the Protestants' need to cock-a-snook at the Catholics. Obviously, neither Harry Carey Goodhue nor the Judge were in such a fortunate position and so both lie deprived of the recognition they feel is their due.
One can understand their frustration. Just as one can be frustrated by their lack of understanding.
Judge Somers may be proud of his erudition and, if he really did know "Blackstone and Coke / Almost by heart", then he was a knowledgeable, even learned, person. Knowledge and learning don't, of course, demonstrate understanding. Though vastly different personalities, Judge Somers and Harry Carey Goodhue share a lack of understanding. Neither one of them fully understand Chase Henry's good fortune; that his reward in the grave had nothing to do with the life he had lived.
Judge Somers measures his disappointment by Chase Henry's good fortune - which would seem to draw attention to his extensive book knowledge failing to translate into an understanding of life. The technical - legalese - knowledge one would need to make "the greatest speech / The court-house ever heard" or to write a "brief that won the praise of Justice Breese" is not sufficient to the understanding of Chase Henry's "cross-currents in life". Nor are these undisputed qualities of the Judge worthy of the accolade he would seek for himself. After all, who but those who were present within the exalted environs of the courthouse would have heard his oratory skills? The folks of Spoon River, as we have so clearly seen, are not predisposed to honouring anyone for anything other than what contributes to their own sense of well-being. As we've already seen with Serepta Mason, and will see again with, for instance, Flossie Cabanis, those of a purely artistic bent are rarely idolised for their gifts. A sort of exception could be made for Fiddler Jones, but only because his playing directly contributed to the good times of the community so was not seen as some kind of highfalutin self-aggrandisement.
That Chase Henry's urn serves only to provide a receptacle for Nature's "flowering seed" shows that he too is as much forgotten as Judge Somers - there is, after all, no one attending to his grave. Judge Somers' erudition just isn't enough to help him understand this irony.
Chase Henry accepted his role as "town drunkard" and warned the Protestants, those "prudent and pious souls", of achieving, in a sense, the Devil's own goals for the sake of crossing the Catholics. Harry Carey Goodhue, in like manner to the Protestants, would have his legacy recognised as one thing while, in actual fact, leaving behind something else altogether different. And now we have Judge Somers, the "most erudite of lawyers" and maker of "the greatest speech / The court-house ever heard", lying in an unmarked grave, his life not having produced the rewards he thought it he deserved.
Chase Henry recognises that he benefitted from the rivalry that exists between the Protestants and the Catholics but is not into thinking himself other than he really was. He is well aware that he "lived in shame" and his good fortune was not earned. In answer to Judge Somers' question, "How does it happen...?", we can tell him that it happens out of sheer luck, out of simply being in a position to benefit from the consequences of the Protestants' need to cock-a-snook at the Catholics. Obviously, neither Harry Carey Goodhue nor the Judge were in such a fortunate position and so both lie deprived of the recognition they feel is their due.
One can understand their frustration. Just as one can be frustrated by their lack of understanding.
Judge Somers may be proud of his erudition and, if he really did know "Blackstone and Coke / Almost by heart", then he was a knowledgeable, even learned, person. Knowledge and learning don't, of course, demonstrate understanding. Though vastly different personalities, Judge Somers and Harry Carey Goodhue share a lack of understanding. Neither one of them fully understand Chase Henry's good fortune; that his reward in the grave had nothing to do with the life he had lived.
Judge Somers measures his disappointment by Chase Henry's good fortune - which would seem to draw attention to his extensive book knowledge failing to translate into an understanding of life. The technical - legalese - knowledge one would need to make "the greatest speech / The court-house ever heard" or to write a "brief that won the praise of Justice Breese" is not sufficient to the understanding of Chase Henry's "cross-currents in life". Nor are these undisputed qualities of the Judge worthy of the accolade he would seek for himself. After all, who but those who were present within the exalted environs of the courthouse would have heard his oratory skills? The folks of Spoon River, as we have so clearly seen, are not predisposed to honouring anyone for anything other than what contributes to their own sense of well-being. As we've already seen with Serepta Mason, and will see again with, for instance, Flossie Cabanis, those of a purely artistic bent are rarely idolised for their gifts. A sort of exception could be made for Fiddler Jones, but only because his playing directly contributed to the good times of the community so was not seen as some kind of highfalutin self-aggrandisement.
That Chase Henry's urn serves only to provide a receptacle for Nature's "flowering seed" shows that he too is as much forgotten as Judge Somers - there is, after all, no one attending to his grave. Judge Somers' erudition just isn't enough to help him understand this irony.
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