Many devilish thoughts plagued the eleven year old Jimmie’s mind as he hurriedly made his way across the fields to his home. What was going to happen to him? What would his parents do to him? Jimmie was afraid and he had just cause to be so.

The very thing which he had done led the boy to believe that they hanged people or else shot them for such actions. He did not stop to think that he had not killed anyone, yet his child’s mind told him differently. He had brought disgrace down upon the good name of his family, and forever upon himself. And above all else, he did not want to be hanged. It really seemed to the boy that the end of the world was near for him and that there was nothing that could save him.

He was hardly a hundred yards from home when he almost burst out crying, but he refrained from doing so for he felt that he was too much of a man.

Then Jimmie thought of escape.

Only his sister Cora was in the house. And she did not see Jimmie until he had packed all that he felt he needed for his trip “away from the good old home.”

Among the possessions which he had gathered up were his hunting knife, a butcher knife, fishing tackle and a very small parcel of food. The quantity of food which young Jimmie had packed up was hardly enough for more than two meals at the most. Also it did not occur to him to take more than the clothing upon his back. In his mind he kept telling himself that he never would return. But at this time there was but one thought that stuck in his mind. That thought was to put as much distance as possible between the schoolhouse and himself. Just as he started for the back door, he was confronted by his sister.

“Where are you going, Jimmie?”

“I’m going out for a little hiking trip. Be back before long,” he replied with his head hanging low. “Goodbye.”

Had Cora thought about it at the time, she would have realized that her little brother was home early from school.

Taking one more fond glance at the old home, Jimmie turned and strode out of the door and made for the nearby woods half a mile away. It was with hurried steps too that he fled from his home, for deep in his young and perhaps rather foolish heart Jimmie feared that a posse might be organized to overtake him. Then if he were caught dire consequences might result.

When at last he entered the woods he had little thought of what to do or where to go. He just walked along glancing back occasionally when at last he made up his mind to head for Lake Erie and there board a tramp steamer bound for a foreign port.

Finally he reached the “Old Woman’s Creek” which flowed through the woods.

This proved to be the place for his first stopover; darkness was falling and he was afraid to go further alone into the night. This spot, too, was a favorite of Skinny’s and his. Here he knew a hundred different places to hide away without fear of detection.

Darkness fell quickly and quietly upon the wooded lands and the fear in the youngster’s heart swelled. Out on the surface of the river the splashings of leaping fish were to be heard. Near the banks came the ever-present calling of the frogs, that eerie cry that comes to the solitary traveler usually at this hour of the night.

Jimmie hurried on along the river’s banks to a vacant red barn. He hurried inside the rickety old frame structure and searched in the dark for a suitable place to sleep.

After several minutes of silent and cautious searching, Jimmie stumbled onto a manger half filled with hay. But sleep for the young boy was entirely out of the question at the present. For just outside the barn flowed “Old Woman’s Creek.” Jimmie shuddered at the very thought of the name. And, as if that wasn’t enough, the bull-frogs continued their strange and weird calling in the night, adding still more fears to his whirling brain. It seemed to the young boy that they were saying over and over again:

“You’re a goner! You’re a goner! You’re a goner!”

Try as he might, Jimmie just could not go to sleep. His childish imagination led him to believe that a posse of men were just outside the door waiting for him to come out so that they could pounce upon him. For with a screech owl high on the sagging roof hooting dreadfully and then the dead silence that followed along with the beat of bats’ wings, it is little wonder that the boy ever went to sleep.

With the first streak of dawn Jimmie slipped out of the manger with all the cautiousness of an Indian scout and looked carefully about.

Feeling that perhaps someone had lain in wait for him during the night he took no unnecessary chances. Seeing that no one was in sight he hurried down to the spot along the river where his pal Skinny and he had their log raft cached. He soon found it and without a moment’s hesitation he climbed aboard and with the aid of a long pole pushed himself out into the river’s current. All the terror which had possessed him the night before seemed to have vanished and he once again began to feel very much like a grown man.

The wind was now beginning to churn the river’s waters into a lather, and was actually carrying the small, frail raft out into Lake Erie. Jimmie was yards away from shore and was still going out. He frantically attempted to pole himself back to the bank, but it was useless. Minutes grew into hours and still Jimmie Curwood was seeking some way in which to get back to the fading, distant shore. He was being tossed about upon the little raft just like a piece of cork upon the ocean. Half afraid, he eagerly scanned the fastly fading shoreline in all directions until his eyes fell upon the dim outline of a sailing ship.

“No words in any language could have properly expressed my relief when a sloop with snowy sails appeared on the horizon.”

Instantly the youngster began to yell, scream and wave his arms long before anyone could have possibly heard him. Eventually the ship spotted the drifting raft and picked the boy up. When taken aboard he drew one long sigh of relief, started crying and then collapsed upon the deck.

It was the good ship Sandusky whose white sails Jimmie had seen. Upon being revived the Captain of the sloop began questioning the lad, asking who he was, from where he had come and just what he was doing out on the lake.

It was some time after he had been taken aboard that the Captain could get any information from him. When at last he succeeded they were several miles from shore and could not possibly return to the spot from which Jimmie had embarked. Later on when he had unfolded his story and had answered all the Captain’s questions, the Captain and his men all enjoyed a hearty laugh. He, too, was forced to laugh in a timid manner for it seemed amusing to him now that he had seriously stopped to think about it.

For the next two hours Jimmie leaned over the railing of the ship taking in of the broad expanse of water and the white caps which topped each wave. This was his first experience at sea and the youngster was enjoying every minute of it now that he was safely aboard a ship. This to him was truly thrilling adventure.

Far ahead over the rolling waves Jimmie could see the mainland lined by tall buildings and rows of stately trees. The storm was now beginning to subside and the violent rocking of the ship soon came to an end. He thanked his stars above for this, for he was nearly seasick.

Later in the day when they neared the port of Sandusky, the Captain called Jimmie aside and explained to him in a fatherly manner that the good people of Joppa and Vermillion would neither hang him nor imprison him and that he had nothing whatsoever to fear upon his return as long as he behaved himself. As for his parents, they were surely worried over his absence, and they would without a doubt welcome him back with open arms and warm hearts. After Jimmie had listened to all this talk from the aged Captain the old world began to look bright and rosy once again and he expressed the desire to return as soon as possible.

The ship sailed on past Huron and into the port of Sandusky where the Captain and a handful of “gobs” took Jimmie to show him the town while he waited to embark for home.

As the young boy in his tattered clothing was becoming interested in the sights of Sandusky, the Captain detoured somewhere along the line and sent a telegram to Jimmie’s father telling him where the lad was and to come and get him immediately.

A short while later the Captain rejoined his crew who were showing Jimmie the time of his life, and they all went to a nearby lunchroom where they partook of a hearty meal. This was the first good meal which the boy had had since he had left home the day before.

After having his dinner Jimmie then was taken for a walk through the little lakeside city of Sandusky where he saw his first tall buildings. He simply stood there with his mouth wide open as he gazed in silent adoration and amazement at the towering structures. For Sandusky at that time was a city of some eighteen thousand people and her streets were wide and tapering as they wound their way through the parks and down past beautiful homes.

Most awe-inspiring of all were the beautiful school buildings. Great stone edifices that were as much as three stories tall and usually an entire city block in length. Here the sailors stopped to let him watch the students come out of school. They were all dressed well and seemed to be so much older than those he had known in the schools he had attended. But he realized that he was nearly as old as most of them and that back at the one-room school near his home the people did not dress nearly so well just to go to school. This was entirely different from anything he had ever known.

After all the students had passed from his sight, Jimmie was taken still closer so that he might be able to see the magnificent structure at first hand. The huge building had great, wide halls covered with carpets, and mammoth rooms with many desks. This was truly enchantment of the first class for Jimmie Curwood. He felt certain that all this must be a dream.

As he stood there looking upon the symbols of higher education, he found that he no longer wanted to become a great Indian fighter, a buffalo hunter, or worse yet, a bold pirate. Instead, he now wanted to become a part of schools such as he was now standing before. He wanted to be one of the kings among the beautiful queens. He actually believed that he wanted to study. Until this moment his world had been the forty acre farm back there at Joppa, with all of its stones. Now a great, new world had opened up and Jimmie Curwood was determined to grasp it.

Later that same day his father arrived to take his son back home and away from the beautiful school buildings of Sandusky. En route homeward the boy tried his best to express to his father that which he felt in his heart. He told him of all he had encountered since he had run away from home. He told of the great lake he had sailed upon the first night away, and the magnificent schools he had seen and visited. His father understood.

The night of his return home found Jimmie sitting on the Fisher’s front steps with “Whistling Jeanne.” There was a full moon overhead casting down its beautiful light upon the green, fertile fields and hills. There almost seemed to be a song in the air—a song of happiness. A soft breeze was blowing through the cottonwoods and all about the house the crickets and the katydids gave forth with their serenades.

And once again Jeanne Fisher was comforting Jimmie as she had always done. Between their telling of their dreams of the future, Jimmie told Jeanne of all the wonderful things he had seen while he had been away, and of how he had visited the wonderful school building in Sandusky. He told her how he wanted to attend school there. Jeanne explained in her best manner that Sandusky was very far away and that it would cost a great deal of money for him to go to school in such a place regardless of how beautiful it might be.

But Jimmie vowed that some day, somehow, he would go to that great school to study. “Whistling Jeanne” Fisher realized then that his mind was firmly set and that he would go to any means to gain his objective, as he had proven in the past.

Seriously thinking the matter over Jeanne at last came to the conclusion that there were other schools equally as fine as the ones in Sandusky, and that if he would work hard and save his money and speak to his parents earnestly, he might some day get the opportunity he was looking for.

With the following morning, Jimmie did begin work, at whatever odd jobs he could find during his spare time. Regardless of what the task might be Jimmie was on the job.

With winter’s arrival he hunted and trapped rabbits and continued with this until the arrival of spring. When the snows had passed and winter was no more he managed to get himself a job on an adjoining farm picking up brush, trash and waste at the extremely low rate of twenty-five cents per acre. The boy took this job and did his work without grumbling because it meant a few more dollars toward his potential education. His mind was fired with the ambition to go to school where he could study to be a great writer, and go to school he would.

Spring and summer soon passed, and during this time Jimmie Curwood had beaten carpets, picked up brush and accomplished many other jobs as well as saving his rabbit pelts from the winter before. He now had enough money to buy himself a brand new suit of clothes. But with the arrival of fall Jimmie began to worry about achieving his ambition. Many days of anxious coaxing on his part began to pay off in dividends. For Mr. and Mrs. Curwood decided that if their son was so intent upon attending school and college, they would see to it that he would do so, even if it meant selling the farm.

That was it! That was the solution to their problem. They would sell the farm and move into town where Jimmie’s father could once again set up in the shoe-repair business. Days passed during which time the problem was given much serious thought. It was only after a month of such deep thought that Mr. Curwood at last decided not to sell the farm, but instead to leave Edward behind to take care of it. So, at last, came the day when the family prepared to move into the little town of Wakeman. This happened to be Mrs. Curwood’s girlhood home town.

A great many things were loaded upon the old spring wagon and as the first load began to pull out of the barnyard, Jimmie noticed tears in his mother’s eyes. She hated to leave the farm but it was a great day for her because of the educational desires of her youngest son.

Jimmie did not ride along with the first load of household goods but remained behind to go with the last load. Although of late Jimmie had not spent much of his time with Skinny, his pal remained with him for the duration of his time on the farm. Naturally, lovely Jeanne was with him, too, for it was partially through her pleading that Jimmie was getting the opportunity that he so desired.

The fateful day for departure inevitably came. It was all that Jimmie could do to keep back the tears, but he manfully refrained. He told Skinny that he would see him again soon and then he kissed Jeanne goodbye and climbed aboard the wagon. But hardly had he gotten aboard than he jumped off and proceeded to walk with Skinny as far as Bingham’s old orchard. Several minutes later the two young men saw the end of their last walk together, for ahead lay the end of the long orchard.

It was an orchard that the two boys had played in often and which was surrounded by a tall, six foot fence. Without a moment’s hesitation, merely because he realized that he should, Jimmie Curwood climbed aboard the spring wagon as they reached the end of the orchard with his mother and father, and was on his way to his new home in the city. He was going to a home wherein would come bright new horizons for the future.

Looking back a few minutes later Jimmie saw his boyhood chum standing in the middle of the dusty road waving frantically at him. Skinny was standing just where Jimmie had left him when he had climbed aboard the wagon. Further back on the road in front of the old house stood the Fisher family. There they were, Jeanne and her parents all waving their last goodbyes. A great lump came into Jimmie’s throat as the wagon rounded a bend in the road and his friends faded from sight.

When the Curwood family moved into Wakeman its population consisted of somewhere around one thousand other inhabitants. It was a trading center for a huge farming belt, and it was also a freight center. The Lake Shore and Michigan Southern railroad lines passed through the little community. Wakeman had but one main street and this was a beehive of activity on Saturdays.

There were two large general stores where one could buy anything from soup to nuts and from ploughs to jackasses. Wakeman also housed three nice grocery stores, one blacksmith shop, one poolroom and one small hotel. Therefore it was a very prosperous city for its size.

Wakeman also boasted of a cooperage in which thousands of apple barrels were manufactured daily for consumption by most of the midwest and northwestern states. Despite the number of years that have passed, this cooperage still stands today with the usual output.

Typical of all mid-western cities and villages, Wakeman was always converted into a thriving metropolis on Saturdays. On this day all the farmers from miles around would manage to come into town. They would gather about and talk about their crops, weather conditions, national affairs and always those jokes which simply must be told. They would purchase what they were going to need during the coming week and load their buggies and wagons with their supplies and then head back for the farms around nine-thirty or ten o’clock.

Wakeman had its rows upon rows of hitching rails and posts to which the farmers tied their horses and teams. Today most of those historic relics have vanished.

The first few days in Wakeman proved to be quite different from what Jimmie had expected. He knew the farm people and their ways, but he did not know the townsfolk and their standards and traditions. In fact it was in Wakeman that he attended his first party where the boys and girls were really dressed up in their finest. The boys were of an entirely different type from what he had been used to associating with. Somehow Jimmie managed to become accustomed to them and their mannerisms. It seems that Jimmie possessed that certain quality that enabled him to adapt himself to almost any type of environment.

It was at this first party that he learned many new and startling facts. He heard of how his new friends had been as far away as New York and Cleveland. Jimmie stood with mouth wide open in amazement as they spoke about their travels and adventures. He hardly dared believe them even as they were told, yet he knew they spoke the truth.

As the party went on and the conversation continued Jimmie spoke of his travels and of how he was lost on Lake Erie during a terrible storm. This increased his prestige among the younger set. As the talk continued, it finally drifted onto the subject of books and the best reading on the market. This was more along Jimmie Curwood’s line and so he listened attentively as some young lady led the discussion. At long last he had the opportunity he had been seeking. So he told of his career in writing thus far, and how he so wanted to develop his talent into an advanced study. Many of the others wanted to write but hardly knew how to get started. Jimmie explained in a modest manner his eagerness to write great works some day, too.

It was at this party that Jimmie acquired his new name. He was no longer called Jimmie, but just “Jim.” It was here, also, that the young man attempted to learn to dance with the aid of a very charming little lady. He later admitted that although he felt clumsy and ill at ease, he enjoyed it all immensely. Throughout his later life, however, Jim Curwood had little time for dancing.

Thus began Jim Curwood’s social life in Wakeman, and at first he took full advantage of it, for it was indeed truly social as compared to that which he had heretofore been accustomed.

There were many new things that Jim was going to have to learn if his social and everyday life in Wakeman were to be successful. Throughout his life he had been under the constant guidance of his devoted mother. She had cared for his personal appearance and insisted that he always keep himself as clean as possible. But in this new environment he learned that he must look after his personal appearance himself. He also learned that one’s personal appearance and habits counted first and foremost. He discovered that he must wear a tie. He found that he must wear presentable clothing to school instead of the farm clothes. He had to keep his hair trimmed and his teeth brushed. The things which had before seemed utterly trivial now were of major importance to his new life in the city of Wakeman.

Perhaps the most exasperating discovery which young Jim Curwood made shortly after he had moved into Wakeman with his family, was the fact that he must take more than one bath per week. So instead of the usual Saturday night affair, the young man found himself in the tub as often as three times a week. He hated it all.

As his new life opened before him Jim discovered that there were girls in Wakeman. The startling fact was that he found they were very pretty girls, too. Coincident with this discovery came the necessity for a little spending money from time to time if one were to get along. So, from the first time that he met one of Wakeman’s better type girls, he was constantly in need of nickels or dimes. Soon his financial problems developed to the stage where Jim was asking for quarters instead of nickels and dimes, as is only natural when a young boy begins to get “ideas.”

As Valentine Day approached, Jim met a very pretty girl whom he decided he would like to present with a Valentine. Although the tiny card cost but three cents, Jim was somewhat bashful and backward in giving it to her when the time came. So he mailed it out the day before and signed only his scrawled initials upon the back of it. Somehow the memory of his Jeanne back on the farm seemed to have slipped from his mind, for this new young lady filled his every waking hour.

As he and his new girl friend became better acquainted Jim thought he should take more than three baths a week and in a short time he was to be found in the tub almost every night. Another thing which was called to his attention was that he should always keep his fingernails clean, that a tie should always be worn, and above all that he should keep his shoes blacked every day without fail. Mother Curwood as well as her husband had noticed the tremendous change that had come over their young offspring and were pleased by it. Their coming to Wakeman seemed to be proving itself worthwhile.

In a few short weeks arrived that which young Jim Curwood had been looking forward to with great anticipation—the beginning of the fall term in the school to which he had traveled so far and on which so many of his hopes were based. Here Jim became interested in something which was to remain with him all the days of his life—Astronomy.

Through the teachings of this new subject Jim developed an entirely different conception of God. He came to know and to realize then that God had created this earth as a center of things, and that we were most fortunate to have been chosen to live upon it. He believed then that God had created all this for mankind alone, that man was everything. That the birds, the beasts of the wilds, and the fish of the streams did not matter. He believed then, as so many millions do today, that those creatures were put here just for man to slaughter if he so desired....

Winter came and passed all too soon for Jim and it was not until spring arrived that he learned of his family’s plans to leave Wakeman and return to the farm. He also made the startling discovery at this time that he had not learned much more here than he had back at the little red brick schoolhouse. True, he had learned city life and all of its startling realities, but it was the little red school house back there in the country that he yearned for.

When but one more week was left for the Curwood family to remain in Wakeman, brother Ed came into town with the team and wagon, while Mr. Curwood made all final preparations. Talk of the farm, the fields and the streams had turned Jim’s thoughts entirely to the open spaces once again.

With Ed and his father riding along on the wagon, Mrs. Curwood followed along behind in the buggy. Jim had still other ideas since Ed had brought his dog Jack along. So for most of the eight long, dusty miles, Jim and his faithful hound Jack played and walked behind the caravan.

It has always been said that early impressions in life bear greatly upon one’s future. So it was then in Jim Curwood’s case. His life on the farm as a child taught him more and more the love of the open roads and the forests. For on that day when the family returned to their farm, eight miles distant from Wakeman, Jim exclaimed:

“Gosh Mom, it’s great to be back home again! The woods are so full of wild flowers, and the old pond is crowded with big, old frogs, too.”

Skinny Hill, having heard from Ed that the family was once more going to return to the neighborhood, had been on the watch for his pal Jim since shortly after daybreak. And hardly had the creaky old wagon and buggy rounded the bend in the road than Skinny was running for all he was worth to meet his chum. In his left hand was an old, black felt hat which he was waving wildly above his head, as he shouted and whistled.

“Hello, Slip! Hello there, Slip!”

The two youngsters did not even shake hands or clasp each other in their arms. Instead they both just stood there in the middle of the dusty road with wide grins.

“My gosh, you’re home, ain’t you?” Skinny spoke breathlessly.

“Yep!”

With those few words Jim and Skinny started walking up the road behind the buggy and wagon.

During the following three days Skinny and Jim were running all over the surrounding territory looking over together what they had claimed to be their own several months before. Through the wooded strips and across the fields they went, taking in all the glory of “secret country.”

Through all of the busy and crowded months in Wakeman Jim had almost forgotten the one person who was more important to him in his young life than any other. But hardly had he set foot in the front yard of the old farm than he saw her. Immediately his pulse quickened. It was lovely Jeanne, his “Whistling Jeanne.”

The very first thing which he noticed was how tall she had grown during his absence, and her stunning beauty spun his senses about wildly. He could hardly believe what his eyes revealed.

“Something queer happened to my heart when she caught me up in her arms and kissed me. My Jeanne was changed.”

In a few minutes Jeanne had once again won her old place back in his heart. That feeling of security and comfort was his, as it had been before, now that he had his Jeanne back to console him during those times when things went wrong.

Hardly had the family a chance to really settle down again than Jim was once more beginning to write.

In the town of Wakeman he had become acquainted with a motherly old lady who had thought a great deal of him. So much so, in fact, that when he asked her for some of her old magazines, she not only complied with that request, but also went to the nearest drugstore and purchased a “dozen brand new ones” for him.

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. But he seemed to be able to look into the future and almost say what was going to take place, so confident was he. It seems almost uncanny that a young lad could have such a vivid imagination and at the same time learn to put it into words and story form. But a great deal of Jim’s success can rightfully be credited to Jeanne Fisher. Obviously this is true, for throughout his entire literary career, the character and the beauty of “Whistling Jeanne” was always there.

She used to tell him that he must write harder than ever and then some day he could put her into his stories.

If only she could know how many times, hundreds of times in fact, she really was written into his stories. Who knows? Perhaps she does.

So, as the sun began to set over the two little farms in the peaceful Ohio valley on that first evening of Jim’s return, it once again found Jeanne and Jim together. And as the evening wore itself into the darkness of night time, Jeanne refrained from talking of his future authorship, but upon subjects instead which were more vital to her. She had not stopped to realize that during his stay in Wakeman her Jim had become more and more entrenched in the path of becoming a famous writer of tales. As the night began to grow long Jim at last began pouring out his heart to her, and then Jeanne Fisher realized only too well that to talk of anything else save writing was a hopeless task.

Jim explained to her how he had lingered over the many new magazines that he had seen in Wakeman; how he idolized the printed names of the famous authors whose articles and stories he had read. He told of how his heart beat just a little faster as he completed reading each new story. How he had read and reread every story in every magazine that he could put his hands on. Little did he realize it at the time, but he was developing a style all his own through all this extensive reading that was later to lead him to fame. He even became breathless as he explained how his heart had missed a beat every now and then as he read those adventure stories. Tales of Indian scouts, strong, brave cowboys, and fearless Indian chieftains. Stories of dauntless seamen who sailed the seven seas unafraid in search of gold and silver.

“Whistling Jeanne” Fisher realized to the utmost that night that “literature was the guiding star of his destiny.” She came to realize also that nothing save death would stop the young, yet determined, Jim Curwood. He had it in him to write, he had something to say and to tell about, and she knew that some day he would get his chance to tell it. Either he would get his chance or he would make that chance.

Like most men of literature, a writer must have something to say, something to tell. From the age of eight, Jim Curwood had a story to tell and he always did his best to tell it in an unsurpassed manner. His courage in the face of great odds is indeed commendable.

The character of “Whistling Jeanne” has played the major roles in most of Jim Curwood’s short stories, serials and novels. Her character and her beauty were, above all else, inspirational and courageous.

The character of Melisse in “The Honor of the Big Snows,” Josephine Conniston in “The River’s End,” and Jeanne in “The Flower of the North,” are just a few of the heroines for whom her lovable character has been responsible. These novels have been filmed and flashed on the movie screens throughout the world, and his novels have been translated and written into over fourteen different languages. “Whistling Jeanne” Fisher’s character was truly an important part in Jim Curwood’s childhood days.

With all of the words of hope, courage, inspiration and wisdom which came from those “rareripe lips,” how could Jim go wrong? How could he help but to succeed? For even in his childhood days he was constantly filled with inspiration, hope and above all else, confidence. 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.