TERRE HAUTE — In order to acquaint the readers of the Tribune-Star of my interest in Terre Haute and its famous philosopher/poet Max Ehrmann, I must indulge in a little biography. I decided to apply from Europe for a position as a music director and came to the states for an interview in a place described as the “Queen of the Wabash”, the City of Terre Haute, Indiana.

After my interview, I decided to read a little more about this city of “High Ground,” learning to pronounce those French words of Terre Haute now with a soft American accent.

Terre Haute

Reading a short book on its history as I walked up and down the country lanes near our home, I was surprised to read amid the ebb and flow of the fortunes of this city an amazing fact. I read that the author of the poem “Desiderata,” Max Ehrmann, was a native born son of this city of Western Indiana! I rushed back to our house and declared to my wife that the words of the poem that was hanging in our lounge next to the fire were from a Terre Haute author.

Desiderata

My wife and I had loved these famous words of “Desiderata” (Latin meaning “those things to be desired”) for many years ever since the words had spread — as I was to learn subsequently — from the death of Adlai Stevenson in 1965.

This former governor of Illinois and presidential candidate was an admirer of Ehrmann’s words and had decided to use them in his annual Christmas greeting cards.

When Adlai died before the advent of Christmas, his last offering to friends and family in the words of “Desiderata” became famous.

As many now know the words found their way subsequently into a publication of an Episcopal Church in Baltimore where they were made available for worshippers and visitors.

From here the words gained an air of mystery as they were published on church notepaper which read the “Old Saint Paul’s Church, Baltimore, U.S.A. Dated 1692,” and were thus mistakenly viewed to be authored anonymously in the late 17th century.

However these words were received, they were loved and viewed as fully of wisdom and sympathy, a great antidote to the speed and corruption and the sham of so much modern life. For us the words had found a place of special honor in our living room.

Arriving in Terre Haute

Arriving in Terre Haute, after our long three-day drive from JFK Airport, we had little thought to look for Max’s roots, but we gradually noticed that the City of the Wabash had certainly seemed to have forgotten him. We were not aware of any memorials commemorating his home or his birthplace as we wandered the city, and the words of his famous poem were not written up on any murals or historical signs.

Perhaps I wondered if Max Ehrmann was born in Terre Haute, but had spent his life writing in the big cities of the United States, in New York or Baltimore where his memorials might have been better noted? How wrong I was! Max Ehrmann, I was to discover, was a life-long resident and lover of Terre Haute, a city which he called “the world in miniature.” I decided to try to find out more about him, and to help those who wish to celebrate and remember this famous lover of humanity, and philosopher/poet.

Max Ehrmann

Max Ehrmann was born on Sept. 26, 1872, the fifth and last child of Maximilian Ehrmann and Margaret Barbara Lutz at a small brick house in the 600 block of North Fourth Street. His parents had both fled Bavaria with thousands of other Germans in the wake of the abortive revolution of 1848.

Seeing that Germany would not liberalize and create a country made of modern democratic egalitarian ideals, his parents had decided to immigrate to the New World of the United States, gradually crossing the frontiers before making their respective homes in Terre Haute and Marshall, Ill.

The couple met and made their home in Terre Haute. Though coming from a German background where German was spoken in the home and the works of Shiller and other German classics were recited aloud, Max regarded America as his home, and had a special affection both for Indiana and his city of the Wabash. Of Indiana he wrote:

Indiana

The pioneers lie in their earthen beds,

Still lives their dauntless faith to do and dare

In cities that lift high their lofty heads

In busy towns that prosper everywhere.



For here we know no sections, east or west

Or north or south. Here the people bound

By many sacred ties to all the rest

Here is the heartbeat of the nation sound



Dear Indiana, always, as of old

Keep thou thy soul unsullied as the sea,

Despising tyrants, whether mobs or gold-

Compassionate mother of a people free.

(Indiana Magazine of History September 1938)



Terre Haute, his home city, he described as “the world in miniature.” Unlike Terre Haute’s other famous sons (Dreiser, Dresser and Debs) who spent most of their lives outside the city, Ehrmann wished to abide in his native city all his life, and resided for different periods at houses on South Fifth Street, and South Sixth Street. Of the City he wrote tenderly:

Terre Haute

What place is lovelier than Terre Haute

The foliage of her many trees

That trembles as the cooling breezes float

Across the grain fields yellow seas!



The gentle river that caressing sings

Past shop and mill and waving corn

Each day some happy inspiration brings

Each day a thousand hopes are born.



Here many a youth and maid their faith have kept,

Laboured, lived happily , grown grey,

Here bolder ones with keener eyes have crept

To paths where fame and fortune lay.



What various aspirations man pursues!

It matters not what visions lure

Here may ambition all its talents use;

Here is the world in miniature

Max Ehrmann’s faith

In the latter part of his life Max lived in a small three bedroom flat, almost directly opposite St. Joseph’s University Church. Although in his youth Ehrmann was a devout Christian and attended Calvary Methodist Episcopal Church SW Fifth, the passage of time and perhaps with the role he perceived the churches taking sides in the battles of the world wars, caused him to become disillusioned with orthodox religion.

In the moving soliloquy To the “Beloved Dead” (1940) he wrote:



Let nations cease this begging in prayer for peace

As long as one nation is savage, all must remain savage

We humans are not fallen gods, but rising brutes

The task is ours:

Let us lift ourselves above our jungle origin;

For hate and war substitute understanding and good will

Without these it is the end of the earth.

Science without love will destroy the earth



It was not thus surprising to find he took a little distance from the churches, though always opening to pondering his versions of the great mysteries of life, and what he called “the great enigma.” From his little flat on South Sixth the church bells of St. Joseph’s, barely a block away, made him ponder his own philosophy.

“How many years I have heard this bell marking the evening hour. It is a sweet sound though I have nothing in common with Catholic theology — no, nor Protestant nor Jewish theology! Yet this same Catholic theology has turned out some good products in the way of character. I have known many of these industrious honest folks that go to St. Joseph’s Church. Ring on sweet Angelus! To me you have a meaning, a kind of peace, hope, even faith. You arouse in me my own ponderings on the great enigma.” (Max Ehrmann; A Poet’s Life Bertha K. Ehrmann 1950)

One pastor at the church had impressed him deeply as a child and young man, a priest called Father McEvoy (pastor of St. Joseph’s, 1880-1895). Of him he wrote:

“A prince of men, Father McEvoy, was the priest there. Handsome, with elegant manners, bubbling cheer, a great love of his fellow creatures both in and outside of his church, he impressed me tremendously.”

As he grew, Ehrmann tended to view Jesus more a philosopher than as a divine teacher.

His own deeply religious views were retained and expressed in his poetry which gave him solace in the conflicts of social and commercial life.

For him, poetry was a type of praying. At one period when seriously ill with typhoid, he took some convalescence for several months, a time which brought him to a level of despair and depression.

It was then he penned what was to become his first famous poem, called “A Prayer.” He quickly discarded this poem of despair during illness and threw the composition in the refuse basket. It was rescued by a friend who helped then to bring it to public acclamation:

“Let me do my work each day and if the darkened hours of despair overcome me, may I not forget the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other times. May I still remember the bright hours that found me walking over the silent hills of my childhood, or dreaming on the margin of the quiet river, when a light glowed within me, and I promised my early God to have courage amid the tempests of the changing years. Spare me from bitterness and from the sharp passions of unguarded moments. May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit. Though the world know me not, may my thoughts and actions be such as keep me friendly and myself. Lift my eyes from the earth, and let me not forget the uses of the stars. Forbid that I should judge others lest I condemn myself. Let me not follow the clamour of the world, but walk calmly in my path. Give me a few friends who will love me for what I am; and keep ever burning before my vagrant steps the kindly light of hope. And though age and infirmity overtake me, and I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams, teach me still to be thankful for life, and for time’s olden memories that are good and sweet; and may the evening’s twilight find me gentle still.”

“A Prayer” was an immediate success on publication in 1903 and it was hung at the St. Louis World’s Fair. There it was stolen, which increased its national recognition. Later in 1908 a Chicago judge gave it to every person convicted in his court and in 1909 the “A Prayer” was recited on the floor of Congress and printed in the congressional record.

It was, however, “Desiderata” which finally gave Max’s writings international recognition.

In his journal of 1921 he had written “If, in an hour of noble elation, I could write a bit of glorified prose that would soften the stern ways of life, and bring to our fevered days some courage, dignity and poise I should be well content” (Journal Dec. 17 1921).

His words came to pass for this true son of Terre Haute when, as we have described, the words became popular across the world. A musical version by Les Crane topped all three U.S. charts in 1971 in the midst of competition from Sonny and Cher, Santana, Three Dog night, Sly and the Family Stone, Michael Jackson, the Bee Gees and David Cassidy. As modern popular devotional literature, it remains unsurpassed.

Desiderata

GO PLACIDLY amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.



As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.



Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and ignorant;

They too have their story.



Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

They are vexations to the spirit.



If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

For always there will be greater

and lesser persons than yourself.



Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

It is a real possession

in the changing fortunes of time.



Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.



But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.



Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

It is perennial as the grass.



Take kindly the counsel of the years,

Gracefully surrendering the things of youth.



Nurture strength of spirit

To shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.



Beyond a wholesome discipline,

Be gentle with yourself.



You are a child of the universe,

No less than the trees and the stars;

You have a right to be here.



And whether or not it is clear to you,

No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.



Therefore be at peace with GOD,

whatever you conceive HIM to be,

and whatever your labours and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.



With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,

It is still a beautiful world.

Be careful.

Strive to be happy.



What is most interesting for Terre Haute residents regarding this poem is that its backdrop was Terre Haute. Max lived a long life, with experiences as a lawyer at Vigo County Court on Third Street and as a part of the family business. It was all these experiences that taught him personally to speak his truth, to avoid loud and aggressive people who are a vexation of spirit, and not to compare himself too much with others, and to know, whatever the sham and drudgery and broken dreams of so many lives, one must keep faith that this is indeed a beautiful world.

Consider this the next time you are kicking up leaves in Fairbanks Park down by the Wabash or walking along Ohio Street seeking to attend to your affairs of the moment. It was the same Terre Haute which supplied him the inspiration to put pen to paper and express what he had learned in his long life of searching for purpose and meaning and to come to peace with God, however he perceived Him to be.

It was not in fact the fancy worlds of Central Park in New York or the harbour area of Baltimore, but the small and comparatively insignificant and largely unknown Midwestern city of Terre Haute, Indiana, also beloved by its citizens.

It would seem right to celebrate the timeless work of this Terre Haute idealist and poet in the new Millennium.

In what way should we seek to memorialize the poet of Terre Haute who has cheered and comforted so many hearts?