Library Collections: Document: Full Text

Foreword

I have been living for some months in The Village of Happiness. These stories of its life have been written in its atmosphere. Daily contacts with the children and those in charge have made me feel that I, too, "belong." To be made one of themselves by these children, to be taken in as one who "belongs," is no mean honor.

The attempt to interpret them, their possibilities, their accomplishments, their values, their everyday lives, is a privilege. It is my hope that the stories may contribute to a better understanding of them and bring comfort to the homes where there are children-who-never-grow-up.

-- Joseph P. Byers

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ITS SOUL 1
HISTORY 6
HOW IT STARTED 11
THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 16
ASSEMBLY 28
THE VILLAGE STORE 30
CHRISTMAS AT THE VILLAGE OF HAPPINESS 36
THE PAIDOLOGICAL STAFF 39
THE SUMMER SCHOOL FOR TEACHERS 45
THE COLONY 53
THE RESEARCH LABORATORY 66
COMMITTEE ON PROVISION AND EXTENSION DEPARTMENT 75V

The Village of Happiness

ITS SOUL

I got the story as we sat -- three intimate friends -- in the light and warmth and confidence of a camp fire.

When Mary, good to look at, better to hear, and best of all to know, had finished, the fire somehow seemed blurred, shining through a mist. I wiped my eyes. Then I told her I must have the story just as she had told it; and that I should like to read the letter from her sister. She sent me the letter which is the story. Here it is:

-I am indebted to Miss Helen T. Keeves, of Bridgeton, N. J., for the spirit and substance of this, the first of the stories.-

The Village of Happiness
June 15, 19 --

Dear Sister:

Yes, I am actually in The Village of Happiness. You'll be surprised at the new name I've given it for ever since the day you left little Roger here I've fervently declared to myself that this is the one place on earth I would never have courage to visit.

I've kept to myself just what Roger meant to me, for, being the first one, he seemed to have a place in my heart that none of the others could ever hope to fill.

What ambitions I had for him! In my dreams I followed him through school and college. Roger would be such an alert, charming lad, I thought, finding at last some sphere of endeavor that would spell success and fame. And then the slow, terrible conviction that this could never be.

You'll remember that I was the only one of the family who thought you were doing right in placing him in a school. I can say now what I couldn't then -- that I was glad the child would be where I'd be spared the sight of him. It seemed as if all my love had soured into a sort of heart-sick loathing, not only toward him but also toward any form of abnormality that would even remotely remind me of the poor little Roger-that-is, as contrasted with the brilliant, glorious Roger-that-should-have-been.

Yet here I am -- 'led by the Spirit,' I suppose -- in this instance my Principal, Miss Preston. She is mightily interested in special education and engineered this visit for a group of her teachers. She insisted that I come along. I didn't want to. Roger was the reason but I could not tell her that; so I came. Besides, I knew you would be glad to have a report as to Roger's life here which would be all the more worth while since I didn't intend to let a soul know I was especially interested.

I have seen Roger several times so far. I'll tell you all about that when I see you. Will merely say now that you couldn't imagine a busier, happier little boy. What I am most eager to tell you concerns an incident of today's happening.

We were all listening to the Director lecture on certain types of handicapped children. He had several brought in to illustrate what he had to say. It seemed, then, a shameful thing to parade their pitiful afflictions in anyone's sight. Then I began to realize that my feelings about the affair weren't justified. As he talked you could see that each child was proud of having been chosen to be present and, somehow, in the pleasantest, most natural way, deformities were shown to be distinctions, and limitations assets; so that the children left the room glowing with happiness at being allowed to show how they differ from the rest of us. I was interested in spite of everything, though my mind was wrestling with all sorts of revolutionary thoughts.

"Finally," I heard him say, "I want you to see one of a rather numerous and interesting type of children." And there, coming across the floor, was our little Roger!

I'll admit I was torn between anger and dismay. It was different with our boy. And what if the child should recognize me?

I heard little of what was said until one of our party plunged into the discussion. She was a thin, overbearing woman with a mouth like a poorly sewed buttonhole. Earlier I had heard her talking volubly about "social efficiency" and it seemed the idea was still worrying her. She maintained the argument that it was a sheer waste of time and effort on the part of intelligent people to devote their lives to the care of such unfortunate individuals, and, looking at the proposition scientifically, wouldn't it be the part of wisdom to employ a lethal chamber to erase these biological mistakes of nature?