Philosophical View of Death Taken by Lane

1921

Writes Before Operation That "Lead Kindly Light" is His Gospel

SAN FRANCISCO, May 18. — Franklin K. Lane viewed death philosophically, and during the period of his apparent convalescence he embodied his thoughts on the subject in a letter he wrote to a few personal friends, among them being Isadore Dockweiller of Los Angeles, Democratic national committeeman. Before going on the operating table at Rochester, Lane said in his letter, he had "come to the conclusion that perhaps the best statement of my creed could be fitted into the words, 'I accept,' which to me meant that if in the law of nature my individual spirit was to go back into the great ocean of spirits, my one duty was to conform. 'Lead, kindly light,' was all the gospel I had. I accepted. I made pretense to put out my hand in submission and lay there."

"I need not tell you that the whole performance was managed with considerable eclat," his letter continued, "and Dr. Will Mayo was to use the knife. * * * On the whole, it was what the society reporter would call a 'recherche' affair. * * *

"I have seen death come to men in various ways, some rather novel and western. I once saw a man hanged. And I have seen several men shot, and came very near going out that way myself two or three times, but always the other fellow aimed poorly. I was being shot at because I was a newspaperman, and I should have been shot at. There must be public be concern in what is printed, as well as its truth to justify it. That is something that newspapers should get to know in this country. After the earthquake in San Francisco, I saw walls topple out upon a man, and I have more intimate glimpses still of the picturesque and of the prosaic ways by which men come to their taking off.

"But never before have I been called upon to deliberately walk into the valley of the shadow, and, say what you will, it is a great act. * * *

"There was a long ray of light leading from my bed to my door. I had opened my eyes. I had not died — I had come through the valley. In the broad part of the ray was my wife smiling, and stretching out to that unreachable door were others whom I recognized, all smiling. Things were dim, but the mind seemed definite."

—Oakland Tribune, Oakland, California, May 18, 1921, page 2.