Hobart Donald Swiggett

“ We are human peacocks, puffed up, inflated, hushed in the conviction that everything in the universe is made for us. We look down in supercilious lordship on all other life in creation.”
Jim Curwood came to know that a dead stump of a tree still has life and a soul. He voiced his opinion many times on that.
“If I did not believe a tree had a soul I could not believe in a God. If someone convinced me that the life in a flower or the heart in a bird were not as important in the final analysis as these same things in my own body I would no longer have faith in a hereafter.” ”

“ The citizens of Owosso loved him immensely. For his undying love for humanity and his unquenchable love for all nature had indeed made Jim Curwood a patient, kindly and loving personality.
Many of the questions that Jim received in his morning mail ranged from the “ridiculous to the sublime.” “How shall I begin on my writing career?” “How do I construct or build a plot?” “Ought I to go to college for four years?” “How much education is needed to become a successful writer?” These and countless more just like them were Jim’s daily plight. ”

“ Today the city of Owosso has 15,000 residents, and is more beautiful than it was in the days of old. Looking out of the studio windows of a wonderful writing castle which lies along the banks of the waters of the Shiawassee river, there can be seen one place that shall never be shed of the willows that wave so gently in the breeze. It is the little island in the very center of the river which flows through Owosso in a great sweeping bend. ”

“ There on the little farm when his daily chores were over, Jim would sit out under the trees with Jeanne and Skinny, and pore over the contents and the wonderful stories by famous authors. The smouldering flame that was embedded within his heart for adventure stories and the yearning to write them was overpowering.
It is seldom that a boy of young Jim Curwood’s age should take so great an interest in such a mature profession. ”

“ These two stirring dramas of the Canadian Northwest alone brought out the true genius of James Oliver Curwood. At long last the world was beginning to sit up and take notice. The flowering genius of Jim Curwood was at last beginning to bloom. Owosso townspeople were claiming him now more than ever before as their native son. Not only they, but thousands upon thousands of others were hailing James Oliver Curwood as the greatest writer to appear on the literary horizon since the days of Charles Dickens and Anton Tchekov. ”

“ For many days after this wonderful happening Jim was held in the throes of excitement, the likes of which he had never known before in all his life. At last he could call himself a professional writer. The beacons of happiness and earnestness shone bright in the teen-aged youth’s head, for at last his dream was coming true. ”

“ It has often been said that a suppressed thought in the mind of a creative writer is the worst possible thing for him to endure. He may endure all the hardships of life that are thrown in his path, but a suppressed idea or thought germinating in his mind, is fiendish torture. Such must have undoubtedly been the case of Jimmie Curwood at that young age.
Although Amy had returned to Owosso she wrote her brother every week, sending him hope and inspiration. Fred Janette from time to time wrote to the boy urging him to keep at his work. ”

“ The remainder of that winter Jim kept everlastingly at his work, pounding away feverishly on the rebuilt typewriter, with the ever-present desire of having his stories published burning deep within him. His native love for writing, aided by the unceasing encouragement of his parents and Fred Janette, drove him constantly forward. For even when the young boy would grow tired Janette and Jim’s mother saw to it that the boy’s imagination was never led astray or left to linger. They saw to it that his rapidly developing brain was continually at work. ”

“ The rest of the time was given over to his wife, some reading and other activities.
“I had found a wife who was proud of the work by which I earned my living, who looked fearlessly into the future with me, splendidly caring for my little daughters; a mother who later gave me my son, James, the last blessing to our family, now almost ready to go to college.” Indeed he was happy and content.
As the snows blew and the winds howled about the tiny cabin far off in the Canadian wilds, Jim’s log fire would burn cheerfully as he and his wife would sit in front of it and read or talk. ”

“ It was not long before young Jim began to believe many things about himself that as yet were not exactly true. He even felt himself to be on an equal status with his idol, Fred Janette. He also believed that now that fame and glory had taken a quick look at him, he should resume his normal life and turn out still more yarns. Stories which would sell many, many copies of the magazines in which they would appear. Stories that would hold their readers spellbound from beginning to end. Stories that would provide hope, inspiration and ambition to those who might have grown weary of the struggle. ”

“ It was the adventurous Dutchman wandering through the Mohawk region shortly after the Cornwallis surrender who married the Indian princess. This man was Jim Curwood’s phlegmatic great grandfather, an adventurer of the old school who ended up by marrying an Indian chief’s daughter. It is little wonder that young Jimmie became such a carefree, vagabond lover of the deep forests. Indian blood flowed deep within his veins and throughout his entire life the forests, the streams and the lakes were his home despite the fact that he owned a mansion in the very heart of civilization. ”

“ He began to realize more than ever how small and insignificant we human beings are as compared to the mighty nature that surrounds us. In James Oliver Curwood’s last work he brought out the latter fact....
“I have often wished that some power might rise to show us how little and insignificant we are. Only then, I think, could the thorns and brambles be taken from the paths to that peace and contentment which we would find if we were not blinded by our own importance. We are the supreme egotists and monopolists of creation. Our conceit and self-importance are at times blasphemous. ”

“ By seven of the same morning the bride and groom were on board a train headed for the wilderness and God’s Country.
Jim and his wife were as happy as any couple could ever hope to be. Together they fought and loved the wilds. Side by side they worked and built their cabin deep within the heart of the forests surrounding Hudson’s Bay. That autumn Jim began cutting his supply of wood for the winter and storing up provisions. Even though they worked hard in preparation for the long, hard and cold winter, they were gloriously happy. ”

“ As the tired-eyed factor at Fond du Lac once said, while he stood beside the lonely grace under a huge spruce: ‘No country is God’s Country without a woman.’”
One afternoon early in the fall of the year, Jim was on one of his evening strolls down a byway along the very edge of the Huron River as it made its way out of Ann Arbor. It was during the course of this walk that Jim Curwood chanced upon one of the most beautiful creatures of womanhood that he had ever seen. About a mile down this path along the Huron from whence one turns off to follow the course of the river, Jim found her. ”

“ The following morning the boys were up early, and by the time the sun rose they were on their way, their bike racks loaded and their luggage tight.
As any nature lover, any adventurer or any traveler knows, there is no holding back, no barring of the path when one hears the call to nature and wildlife. There is no one to bar your path and say that you cannot go here and you cannot go there. You are free to go where you please and when you please. The passport to adventure is the love of nature. ”

“ But Jim Curwood did not watch them merely for the thrill of it all, but because he studied their every move. Here it was that Jim discovered that he cared for nature almost selfishly. At times it seemed as if he could not break away from his wanderings in the forests and along the lakes long enough to accomplish anything else. The birds, the trees and the rippling waters entranced the young man. The many squirrels and rabbits that infested the places that man did not go held constant fascination for him. ”

“ All this Jim Curwood enjoyed to the fullest extent. He loved to have his old friends around him.
Many residents of Owosso and of other parts of the country have told that regardless of how famous James Oliver Curwood ever grew to be, he always remained “Jim” to everyone. He might be walking down the street or be riding in an automobile and still he would throw up his hand to those people he knew and even speak to those who were strangers. He considered everyone a human being and felt that all men and women should act as “brother humans,” and not try to appear superior. ”

“ For four unforgettable weeks James Oliver Curwood lived the life of a swamp Indian, doing everything, and eating the same things that swamp Indians do and eat. He paddled an old dug-out canoe that had been carved from the trunk of a huge tree and ate what food the Indian offered him. Many of the dishes that the mysterious and picturesque “Muskrat” Joe cooked, most men would turn from in horror. This was not the case with Jim, however, for he ate everything. He felt that what Joe ate was good enough for him. ”

“ Any and all times are good times to seek nature in all of her wondrous glory, and that was precisely what he believed.
Jim Curwood believed that even a twig from off a tree, or a blade of grass have souls. ”

“ Fortunately, Jim Curwood had the ambition and the determination to be a writer and no one on the face of God’s green earth could stop him. The youngster actually prayed for the opportunity to go to great schools. He prayed for the one chance, the lone chance, of really becoming a “somebody.”
“I knew with God beside me that my goal could not be too far off. Hard work, and hard work alone, with confidence in the Great Arbiter, are the keys to success.” ”

“ Today Jim Curwood stands as a typical example of righteousness in the halls of the State Conservation Department of Michigan. Even though many have felt that his work for the preservation of our natural resources was in vain, his work alone speaks for itself.
“One’s work is the voice that is heard most clearly and is most enduring.” Jim proved his belief that “it is the work that counts” only too well. ”

“ For with those words of encouragement the boy firmly planted his feet and vowed earnestly that nothing save death could ever keep him from becoming a great author. An author whose works would give to the people of the world hope and courage to push onward. Today, nearly fifty-seven years later, those works which he spoke about at the age of thirteen have given hope and courage to many millions of people throughout the entire world.
There is little doubt but that those early childhood days on the farm down in Ohio were the days which proved invaluable in the shaping of Jim Curwood’s destiny. ”

“ For, in what he terms his religion, Jim believed that the wild creatures understood him and believed in him as their friend. This understanding and belief was eventually written into the volume entitled “God’s Country—The Trail to Happiness.” This was James Oliver Curwood’s worldly confession as a “killer.” At the time and for years after, Jim vowed that he was far more happier writing this particular book than any others he had ever penned.
“Nature is my religion; and my desire, my ambition, the great goal I wish to achieve, is to take my readers with me into the heart of this nature. ”

“ He loved nature and wildlife with a savage love, and hated those who dared to disrupt their silent, peaceful and happy abodes.
Jim Curwood fought for those animals throughout all his life and was even waging a valiant battle for them up until the time he died. Ed marvelled at his younger brother’s devotion for wildlife, and he, too, grew to love the wilderness and all it stood for with an undying love during the first trip of theirs together into “God’s Country.” ”

“ It seemed at that time that James Oliver Curwood had reached his prime and the top rung of the ladder of success. Immediately after the publication of “God’s Country and the Woman,” Jim wrote “The Hunted Woman,” in 1916, and a year later the grand animal story, “The Grizzly King.” The latter was the story of Thor, one of the largest grizzlies ever known to mankind in all the wilds of British Columbia. Over 300,000 out of all the millions of Curwood fans chose “The Grizzly King” as Jim’s outstanding book on wildlife and nature. ”

“ I have learned to understand the voice of Nature, and in doing so have obtained health, developed faith, and partaken of the glory of living. In that voice there is inspiration, and it whispers to me the hope that all shall soon understand.”
Jim lived a life wherein he had found the true joy of living and consequently his habits were of the best type. ”

“ Jim Curwood did not remain in Owosso as long as he had expected. For he now had the money to travel to and from his beloved wilderness at his own choosing. Jim went back into the forests and wilds at least once a year, often spending five to six months at a time. Usually Mrs. Curwood accompanied him, but on a few of his exploration and writing trips, she did not go. Each year when he returned to upper Canada, he went back with all the happiness and love one man can possibly have for any one particular spot. ”

“ Once again, after much coaxing, the bully took him in hand. In order to increase his prestige in the younger boy’s eyes, the older and larger lad proceeded to thoroughly trounce a big, strapping German boy. All of this occurred just a few days after the first escapade. Once more the light of adoration began to shine in Jimmie’s eyes. This reoccurrence of the friendship fortunately led to one of the greatest turning points in Jim Curwood’s entire life.
Many adventures take place in the life of a young boy, but seldom do they come as thick and fast as they did to Jimmie. ”