Jefferson Howard speaks from the grave, looking back on a life spent fighting to be himself in a town that rejected him. Raised with old Virginia ideals—opposing slavery but also opposing war—he never fit into Spoon River’s New England, Republican, Calvinist, business-minded culture. He was proud, passionate, and combative; the town disliked him, yet feared his strength. He loved bodily pleasures, the warmth of the tavern, and his family, even as those loves cost him respect and brought troubles he felt he didn’t deserve. The mood is both defiant and weary: he sees his life as a “valiant fight” against hostile forces, but also as a lonely one. By the end, even his children have drifted into “stranger gardens,” leaving him as alone as when he began. He dies standing, facing silence, knowing no one may remember the fight he made.
Jefferson Howard — Summary
My valiant fight! For I call it valiant, With my father’s beliefs from old Virginia: Hating slavery, but no less war. I, full of spirit, audacity, courage Thrown into life here in Spoon River, With its dominant forces drawn from New England, Republicans, Calvinists, merchants, bankers, Hating me, yet fearing my arm. With wife and children heavy to carry— Yet fruits of my very zest of life. Stealing odd pleasures that cost me prestige, And reaping evils I had not sown; Foe of the church with its charnel dankness, Friend of the human touch of the tavern; Tangled with fates all alien to me, Deserted by hands I called my own. Then just as I felt my giant strength Short of breath, behold my children Had wound their lives in stranger gardens— And I stood alone, as I started alone My valiant life! I died on my feet, Facing the silence—facing the prospect That no one would know of the fight I made.