The 21 convention, 2019, the European edition here in Warsaw, Poland, for the past four days, you've been inspired, moved, challenged, we've broken bread together, we clinked wine glasses, we toasted each other. Some people made new commitments to be stronger, more decisive, all because of what you heard and experienced here. I heard conversations in the hallways with renewed commitments to business, to personal life, inter-gender relationships, fitness. I've heard your conversations and I was part of some of them. I am privileged to be able to bring on stage the founder and CEO of the 21 convention and his final address, someone who has inspired me, put your hands together for Anthony Dream Johnson.   Titled my presentation today, closing address and my main presentation at the event, my only one, the Manisphere. It's going to be take two journeys or two paths during this presentation. One will be a personal, one man's journey, which would be my own. You're going to have your own personal journey as well that I think you can relate to. Like you, I'm a man who found the Manisphere. Maybe you found the Red Pill community, maybe you found the PUA community, maybe you found it through the men's rights, all that. We'll get into these little tribes in a second. But it's my personal perspective, we'll look at it, as well as a kind of global view, a bird's eye view of the entire movement that we're seeing emerge. So this is the Manisphere for those of you're not aware of the four distinct tribes that occupy it, as well as the white, which we'll get into in a second. So some people view the Manisphere as just the Pickup Artist community, which is the oldest tribe within it. It's not. It's got four distinct ones at this point. The first one that you might be most familiar with through the game, the VH1 TV show, and the notoriety it's gotten over the years and decades at this point, over 25 years of history, is the seduction slash PUA community. We do call it these days the Pickup Artist community, but really it was known initially and originally as the seduction community. Guys who are more old school would still have been called that. Guys like Ross Jeffries, Alan Roger Curry, Hypnotica, men like that. All speakers at our event. Of course, you have McDow, men going their own way. I'm not as familiar with that one, but it is a distinct tribe. It's got a couple hundred thousand guys in it. There are YouTube channels, Reddit communities, different websites, and all that, and it is distinct. It is distinct from Pickup Artist. It is distinct from the Red Pill community and men's rights. So I get us mentioned that there's another community that is mostly known on Reddit. They've been quarantined like other communities lately about a year ago at this point, I think. That's the red pill at reddit.com slash r slash the red pill. This one actually found years ago in like 2013, because I liked a lot of our speeches from the Pickup Artist and dating coaches. But I didn't really understand what the hell I was looking at.  And I was a guy with some group of dudes like their content. I did not yet recognize it as a distinct tribe in the Manisphere, but it is. When they got quarantined, they had about 300,000 guys involved with it. And it was even a little bit bigger than that. So it's also distinct community and tribe, or sub-tribe, within the larger Manisphere. The last one that's also pretty old is a men's rights activist or activism. I believe they kind of got started in the 1990s. On Reddit, their main community, they also have 300,000 something like that subscribers, members. And they're also known through guys like Paul Elam and different content creators and leaders in their space. These are the four main ones that in totality make up the bulk of the Manisphere. But there's more than that in the white space. That would be guys like Stéphane Molyneux, who we recently interviewed at our Patriarch Edition, Father Hurt Edition convention in Florida, guys like Dr. Jordan Peterson, guys like Myla Yiannopoulos, content creators that are familiar with this space, but they're not involved with it on a day-to-day basis. But they contribute content to men that helps men around the world. So in totality, between the guys in the periphery, the auxiliary, and these four sub-communities, you have an emerging movement that looks like this. This is kind of a little meme that one of our fans made. I find it pretty interesting. So from tail to the head, obviously this comes from the American Revolution a couple hundred years ago. You have J.B.P. Lobsters, the Jordan Peterson fans. You have Pickup Artist, you have McTowell, you have the Tradcons, that's a new emerging. I think it was Richard Grant, I'm talking about that recently here, and other speakers as well. You have the Men's Rights, the Red Pill, you have the Redman Group, you have 21Con. And it's a join or die kind of attitude. And while this is for now just a meme and it's funny, I think in the coming years it might not be quite so funny. As we've seen, and as Richard Grant, for example, stated, you cannot overstate the seriousness of the culture war and the gender war and what we're seeing with feminism and feminists attacking men and fathers in masculinity. It's getting more serious every year. Not just in America, but around the world. So defining the Ministry a little bit further beyond the sub-tribes and the other operators and content creators within it. It's an emerging men's movement. It's been going on for about two and a half decades and maybe a little bit longer, depending on how you view the origin of it. The internet obviously was a huge facilitator of that in the 1990s. I actually found one of the original communities, that was my entry point to the Mansphere, which was all at fast seduction. I found it in 2005 when I was 17 years old. I was scared shitless to go to a homecoming dance my senior year. So like many of you probably went to Google.  And before I knew it, I found the seduction community, therefore the Mansphere. And here I am, 13 something years later.  It is a worldwide community of men. It is not just local to the United States or Canada or Australia or the United Kingdom or Europe. It is all over the world. Our content at 21 Studios and our speakers, it's viewed daily by basically every country on the planet. It consists in total, the Mansphere, millions and millions of men. And it's getting bigger with guys like Stefan Malinu at our event, getting involved, watching it, observing it. Now, Elliot Hulse, who on his own has 2 million YouTube subscribers, who are almost all men and mostly young, 18 about 25 is his biggest demographic. He loves what we're doing. He's been watching it for a couple of years. And he is getting more involved. These are men and content creators and leaders who have serious followings in the millions, just on their own. In total, I don't know the exact number of how big it is, but it's definitely in the millions, possibly over 10 million at this point, of men actively interested and engaged and aware of what's going on, excluding the pickup community's involvement with mainstream media through the book of the game and VH1, things like that. People that aware of those things are not quite as involved usually on a day-to-day basis. So for now, I'm excluding them. It is also a masculine community. Some women get involved. They have interest in different communities, things like that. I'm very critical of it, not a fan.  So women are involved, but by far and large, it's men. And it's a very masculine community, even in spite of that shit, particularly in the red pill and the mixtap communities. There's like no women involved in these things.  It is also online and offline. So we're talking about these websites, these YouTube channels, these Reddit communities and stuff. But it's all some real life. It is flesh and blood. You guys here at this event are an example of that. This event itself, the 21 convention, is the longest running, largest and most powerful conference in the history of the hemisphere. This particular event is not huge in Europe, but we've had events with over 200 men. And we've done 17 now after the conclusion at this event. So we've done a whole bunch of them, way more than anyone else. And there's other groups too. For example, there's workshops done all the time. That's notorious in the pickup community, especially the companies like Mystery Method and Real Social Dynamics. But even nowadays, there's like the cobertate war room meetups they have. There is the, you know, Ed Lattemore, Tanner Guzzi, and Ajit Grotesz Workshop done later this year. And there's emerging movements now, or not just movements, but meetup groups. The pickup artist community was the most notorious for this. That's why I met Socrates and many speakers back in the day in Florida.  But nevertheless, that's what it was called in the pickup artist community. And I met a lot of men through that that are friends to this day.  Florida had a particularly good one. There's a good one in London I heard about that I met a few of the guys at. I think Nick Kraus is probably familiar with them. And you're seeing that reemerge today. Surprise, history is repeating itself. The point of this is the mannispher is both online, digital, and offline analog. And it runs through events like this, as well as a meetup groups and workshops and things like that. Both are extremely important. But I think the most important element of the mannispher as an emerging men's movement, it's that for the first time in history, to my knowledge, men are organizing at this scale in the millions, at this scale in intensity for the interests of all men and now fathers. This is a unique characteristic that we have not seen before. Previously, like Jack Donovan was talking about, there's been fraternal organizations of men, but they were usually local or they were like religious-based or something more specific. And of course, they didn't have the internet if they were older than like 20, 30 years. So we're seeing a unique combination of emerging factors and men and millions of men getting involved with each other for the interests of men. You're coming usually on a personal basis.   Maybe you want to be a better father. Maybe you just got divorce-raped and you find the men's rights community instead of the pickle bars community. Whatever the case may be, you're finding the mannispher.  There's actually a saying in the Red Pill community that I found when I first found it back in 2016, that was kind of funny, coming from the pick-up artist angle.   But then you meet other men. You find brotherhood and camaraderie and you stay and you start to realize that there's 50 men in this room or whatever.  Not just like other men with the same problems, which is interesting, but men just like you who are also involved looking at the same content. Last year alone, 21 Studios did over 10 million views around the world with our videos. If you look at our speaker network on top of that, our own original content, it's over 100 million. This is serious. So it starts with you and it ends with your entire half of the human race. With positive spillover to women incoming.  That'll be coming spring 2020. A.J. Grotesz I've tapped his keynote and he's accepted. We're going to have an entire conference, the man splitting event of the century. All male speakers are women in Orlando, Florida, spring 2020. Some people might call me, I'm sure they will, and I'll gladly accept it. They'll call me like Admiral Sabah or something like that.  I think it's very natural that men eventually want to help women at scale in a way that works. Women have dug themselves into a feminist shithole that they're not going to dig themselves out of. Whatever wisdom that women used to pass down the generations into their children and their sisters and so on, that stopped almost completely at this point.  I think it's time and it's very natural this is bound to happen. It's going to happen in spring 2020 in Orlando, Florida. Tickets are not in sale yet, but if you have a girlfriend away, if you want to train up, that's where you send her. We'll put a pink button on the website.  And if you get a ticket to 21, she can go to that event half off. So there you go. I think it's also important to note that as the mannispher I think is from like a psychological perspective with boundaries like random was talking about at this conference, the mannispher is a response to feminism, particularly the pickup artist community at the beginning like Krauser was talking about. But men are under attack and the mannispher I think is at a huge scale in the millions of men. We're creating new boundaries. We're taking new actions and developing new ideas. In my case, for example, a very specific case that I cooked up just by being a young man in the mannispher, I wanted to get married and build a family in my 20s.  Nevertheless, the functional practical idea I had for doing that, I made up on my own just by looking at the pickup artist community and then looking at the men's rights community. They convinced me through that that A, there's a serious problem of marriage, especially in a legal sense. And this seemed to not have anything to do with the women involved.  So I was like, I am never going to get legally married, but what am I going to do? Well, I had the idea. I was like, well, if it's not illegal, and I looked into it, it's fine.  And men find this fascinating. And I think this is a good specific example of a new idea that a lot of men have been interested in and that many women today will understand if they're in your frame and they're really, really into you and you want to go down that pathway.  You guys probably have friends that have been through that. I know I do. But there's many other ideas and applications and things going on like that. That's just one. It's also the man's fear is men putting ourselves first at a proper and rational point in history. The war on men is real.  It's projection. Grandin was talking about that really well.      I don't know about you guys.    I mean, this is what I've done literally my entire life. I want to take a quick point here and say that the man's fear is just a word. It's a combination of letters. Some people make fun of it. And honestly, it's kind of a goofy name. It's not as bad as Lair, which is like horrible. But it's like the man's fear.  That doesn't matter. The concept in the community is what matters. And as of right now, no one has a better name for it. So the man's fear is the man's fear. And you need to watch out for anyone who's attacking the name, which I think is a covert or indirect attack on the community, which is separate from genuine criticisms. Like Mike Cernovich, for example, who might speak at our event at some point. He just came out and covered his press recently in Orlando. He's known to say the man's fear is like an internet ghetto.  But if someone's attacking it, undermining it, but making fun of the name, that's a lot more suspect.  And you need to question that person's intentions. This is another bird's eye view of the man's fear itself. I did not make this. This came, this full credit to a guy named Deep Thoughts. That's his username on Medium. He's actually, I think he's German. He came to our conference last year in 2018. It's a really cool graphic. It is, I'm going to go through a little bit what it is, I know it's hard to see. But it's a personal graphic and representation of the content creators and leaders in our space that are of personal interest to him. So it's not this perfectly universal thing, which at some point someone should do. I'll do it, or maybe someone else can do it. But for now, it's really good. It's the best I've seen by far. So on the top left, you have foundations. You have rational mail. You have Jack Donovan. You have Roche V. You have Royce. You have Black Labelogic. 21 convention, the fraternity of excellence. All these things, right? Obviously I have some problems with this. I'll probably put Jack Donovan at the top, not rational mail, but whatever. On the right, you have Return to Western Society. It's a little more generalized. He goes, I think, outside the mannispher of the guys like Nason Talib. I love Nason Talib. I think he's a great author. But I don't think he's quite mannispher, as you would call someone like Milo, or Jordan Peterson, or just to find Molly Noom. He's just kind of stretching. That's his personal interest taking place there. But you also see a lot of our speakers. You see Ivan Throne. You see Goldman Elish. You see Jack Murphy. You see Tanner Guzzi. You see AJ Cortez. These are men that are creating positive media for men on their own, as well as with us, or separate from us, in some cases, if they haven't spoken yet, or whatever. So it's a very useful graphic. And it's the best I've seen in terms of content creators. And then along the bottom, you see actually just kind of honorable mentions. Other content creators that don't quite fit into his map that he created here. Guys like George Bruno, Richard Cooper, Dr. Glover, Dr. Sean Smith, Socrates, Tim Ferriss, on and on down the line. I want to switch gears a little bit and say that in 2018, this is a picture of me and my future. The future is still masculine keynote speech I gave at the event, October 2018. And I said that masculinity built America. And I pointed to a painting of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I mean that stand behind that 100%. But thinking more broadly in terms of like Jack Donovan's work, masculinity didn't just build America. It built civilization. It built the world we live in.  Especially facing the issues we face right now, even separate from like politics. I think that the monastery, first of all, is making the West more masculine. It's doing that in things like marriages, sex, dating, relationships. It's doing it for look at men's rights, men navigating, like I did at young age. I was a young millennial kid in America. I wanted to build a family, get married, but I don't want to get fucked in the process.  Or there's a huge chance I'll get fucked, independent of whatever she does.    So I think the monastery is making the West, by the millions of men, more masculine across a variety and a spectrum of topics and parts of life. I think what we're seeing now with the rise of radical feminism to the point of just absolute insanity, like destroying the legal concept of innocent to proven guilty recently we saw in America, or almost dying. The lack of masculinity, because masculinity built civilization, built the West, a lack of it will destroy the world. It'll destroy the West at least. I don't want that to happen. I'm an American. I love my country.  You don't want it to die.  Just like Piero would talk to you about in collapse. But an abundance of masculinity can and will save the world.  Nothing less is going to do it. Period. I talked to you guys about my opening speech and a little bit today in the Redman group, why I chose Warsaw, Poland.  I almost called it off. 45% of registered ticket holders didn't show up to this event, which I've never seen before. Usually you have like one or two guys that buy a ticket a year before the event, and they forget about it, so that's normal.   And there's reasons for that. But at the end of the day, I think it was fate, they would land in Warsaw and that this happened.   And it was very inspiring to me to be here and to be around that. I saw a lot of that when I was here back in March and I was touring the venues. I went to the insurrection museum they have nearby.     And you know what? They died, but the country lived.  So it was extremely inspiring. And I don't think it was fate or I think it was fate and not coincidence that that happened the way this did. At minimum, it's like, holy fuck, I can't believe that this just happened this way.  Because in the end, we won. This event happened. It's now ending. We're here. We got the footage.  It's been 13 years now. I want to also mention that looking at guys like the publisher that's publishing Jack Donovan's book Non-Polish, and he also published Rational Mail recently, the Manisphere is inspiring countries like Poland and the men in it to fight back preemptively.  So they see that coming here and they're like, no, no, no, no, no, boundary enforcement and creation. I think that's why they're looking to men like Jack Donovan and our speakers and all these guys to import that content. We're actually going to have them not translate a lot of our speeches into Polish.   That's interesting. In America, we didn't have that. We have a tidal wave of insane feminism and we did not have a country before us to really look at and say, holy shit, let's not have that happen. They're seeing that and looking to us for leadership to do that. So I love seeing that, that they're importing the books, they're translating them into Polish and the speeches now will have the same effect, I think. That's why we actually have a Polish YouTube channel now too, youtube.com slash 21 convention.  That's smart. Kill the monster while it's little. This is another graphic from Deep Thoughts, the attendee from 2018, the German guy. So full credit to him at Medium. This is interesting because this is like an evolution of the Manusphere over time. So you see it begins with the Pickle Bartos movement. Krauser was talking to you guys a little bit about that today on Red Man Group. So Pickle Bartos that eventually evolved into the Red Pill. This isn't perfect by the way. This is again like his own like little graphic that's making sense to him, but it's really good anyway as you keep, you know, look at it. So you have Pickle Bartos tree that morphed into the Red Pill eventually, which is a much more masculine, that's something eventually I kind of got sick of the Pickle Bartos community building the convention. It kept getting more feminized over time. And you can even see that if you look at the Reddit communities in comparison. There's a seduction Reddit with like 300,000 dudes. There's a Red Pill Reddit with like 300,000 dudes. The seduction one's a lot more feminized. It's a lot less savage, a lot less hardcore, a lot less masculine. I didn't like that and I got away from it.  Keep doing your Pickle Bartos stuff fine, but you're losing sight of like being masculine, which I was becoming more important to me over time. Especially with the rise of insane feminism in America throughout my lifetime. But eventually he has some other things here like he has like the Red Pill going into like Black Pill and to McDowell. I don't know if I agree with that necessarily, but whatever. What's interesting to me is the most important part is the masculine community. And then the Red Dot he puts right here and he says we're here. I think what we're seeing now with the Manisphere is we're seeing this conference in the Red Man Group are a really good example of that. We're seeing the different sub-tribes in the communities in the Manisphere starting to mesh together. And there's still distinct communities, but they're getting along, they're fighting sometimes, there's problems, right? But it's becoming a more cohesive total movement whereas before they were isolated. Like when I found the Red Pill in 2016, or a little bit before 2016, I didn't even understand it was a distinct community in the Manisphere. In fact, sub-tribes in the Manisphere didn't even really make sense to me at that point. I was familiar with the men's rights activism and the pickup artists, but the idea that they were connected somehow in an important way was like that was new to me or would have been new to me at the time. But now we're seeing this come together at this conference. For example, in 2017, our 10 year anniversary, we had guys like all these speakers from the Red Pill community and the pickup artists community. We had Ross Jeffries and then all these guys, Hypnotica and like old school seduction guys, legends out of the game.   They were getting along, they were doing Q and A panels together, podcasts, all these things. 2017 I think was the beginning of these communities coming together. And I think we're gonna see that continue over time. So it's interesting that the manuscript now at this point 2019, 2017, 2018 and 19, it's coming together and that needs to happen. That's important. That's power I think, compressing and accumulating over time like a compound effect. It's stacking on top of each other and we're helping each other. This isn't a big issue I've talked about a few times. I wanted to kind of hammer in on it and my own raging narcissism picture of myself speaking, it's my 2017 keynote with Socrates, the future is masculine. So I went over anti-feminism, so combating feminism as a negative piece of ship movement and being pro-masculinity and pro-man. When I announced this talk or after it, I ended up updating the mission statement of the company to creating positive media for men and destroying the feminist establishment. To me, these are two different things, positive, negative or the two sides of the same coin. I think they're both mutually compatible and mutually important. You could say one is more important than the other and we know whatever the fuck. I don't think the specifics of that argument are too important, like we can go through it some time, but whatever. To me what's important is that they both happen. We're under attack.  I don't think it's gonna work like that.    Richard Grannon mentioned that to you guys today, how dating has changed just over the past seven years. It's changed so radically for me that I used to go and pick up girls in 2009. I'm doing it now in 2018, 2019 and I'm like, is this that fundamentally different or am I just like having some sort of rose colored glasses of the past?  These are factors, the environment's changed, the culture's changed in the West. They'd be not in Poland, but in America, holy fuck. It was way, women in America were more feminine in 2009, more receptive to masculine thrusts like that, like cold approach, like they are here in Poland and now they're not.   So we have to push back and we have to create positive things for men too. They're both very important and so I defend both of them.    He curses almost as much as I do, which is really enjoyable. So he was the chief patriarch, our keynote speaker at our recent first ever patriarch edition event in Orlando, Florida. It was the first ever manuscript event to my knowledge of conference for fathers. Not just fathers, but aspiring fathers, if you wanted to be a father someday and build a family. This is positive media for men but even more specifically, it's positive media for fathers. This is an evolution and a maturation of the manuscript itself.  I'm not a dad myself as far as I know.  And next year we're doing it again, Tanner Guzzi is the official keynote for it. So it keeps going and I think it's a lot of momentum to that. This of course is an example of a negative and this conference allows me to do that. I could not go to TEDx or some TED conference and say feminism is the ultimate hate and supremacist movement.  You're not allowed to do that at this kind of conferences. You can't do that without your own platform. It's really, really hard to do that.  So this is a negative thrust against something that's very negative against us.  Feminism is in my opinion and my judgment, the ultimate hate supremacist movement.  It's hatred against hundreds of millions of men and fathers. We've never seen anything like that.  And the manosphere of my experience, I've seen more than almost anyone. There's a few people have seen more than me perhaps that are older, but I've seen a lot in my 13 years, with the conferences and the pickup layers and traveling all around the world.  The amount of men I've ever, I've met that a genuinely hate women is really low. It's in the single digit percents I'd estimate in the manosphere.  It's my favorite punching bag lately. Shifting gears back a little bit to the personal. The manosphere is a very personal thing for everybody who finds it.  You see that the pain of divorce or the pain of getting rejected by women or you wanna be a better father, whatever the case was. For a lot of you will be a hero's journey. A lot of our speakers has been like that. I would say Socrates, for example, is a cycle, Ray J. Cortez was talking about this too. What's a cycle that you're using this community for? I don't think everyone will do that, but a lot of guys have stayed in it for a long time, more than six months or a year or two years. It'll have a function like this for you. More specifically, though, for all men, I think it'll function as a rite of passage, and that's one of the methods that it's making the West more masculine and making men more masculine. Krauser mentioned this too, so it's not like I went from zero to hero, but baseline, you could call it that, I guess. So in high school in the far left, absolutely sucked with girls. It was horrifying. I really liked them and they wanted nothing to do with me, so that sucked.  They don't want that, they need to change. Finally picked the community to help that. In college, I got a little better. I learned how to go and pick up girls, so I understood pickup, and then eventually I realized I only understood pickup and I did not understand women. I ended up accidentally marrying Hooker Vegas, which is hysterical, also traumatic and all that shit, right?   That was my specific rite of passage in my journey. Other guys might be different. Fixing a marriage, for example, will be a lot different than that in terms of mechanics, but fundamentally it's a rite of passage.  It's not gonna tickle, it's gonna sting, but you can get the job done. For me, this is what I did and I'm still going through it at 30 now. I wanna shift gears again here and get into the man's sphere in terms of long-term survival. This is a quote that was sent to me by a YouTuber who might speak eventually of the convention, but he hasn't spoken yet, but a big YouTuber, I won't say his name. A nation can survive its fools and even the ambitious, but it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable for he is known and he carries his banners openly, but the traitor moves among those within the gates freely. His sly whisper is rustling through the alleys, heard in the valley halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not traitor, he speaks in the accents familiar to his victims and he wears their face in their garments and he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of the nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city. He infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist, a murder is less to be feared. Cicero 42 BC. This is powerful. Well, this is sent to me, the recent ship went down the mannosphere. I didn't really think of it in these terms yet and I was like, holy fuck, this guy's right. Treason and treachery from within the mannosphere is extremely dangerous. Rola Tomasi stood on this stage in 2018 and said, the greatest seminary for the mannosphere will come from within in the future. I fully agree with that statement. So what to watch for in the mannosphere over time? Because it's still aging, right? It's 25 something years old, it's gonna keep going. If the world doesn't fall apart, it's gonna be 35, 45, 55 years old eventually. So some things to watch for men in this space, anybody. Anyone in public that has their face and their reputation known by name, they need to live by example, for better and for worse, right? I've always lived by example and that's what I was known for. Way back in the pickup days, I'd post photos and layer reports and field reports, these things. I lived by example. Men knew me in the community in Florida, you know, good for better and for worse.    But I've always lived by example. When I find out, I woke up one day and realized I had married a prostitute. My hell's like, holy fuck, that just happened. And I didn't wait long to give a speech on it. Like yeah, this is an example of my life.  I married a hooker, oops. Nevertheless, I'm always willing to live by my own example for better and for worse. And everyone should is gonna be out in the open. If they're fully anonymous, that's different. They have to cross that boundary. The minute they do, they need to live by it for better and for worse. And there's no reason good enough to hide the example of your life.  The war on men is too serious.   Any kind of money doublespeak. People say that they're not in it for the money and they're accepting money. Watch these kind of things. This is a good liar's lie. Any kind of manuscript targeted virtue signaling. So virtue signaling specific to the manuscript itself. Be very suspicious of this. No one is above a red pill examination, including me, including the speakers, including your friends, including attendees of this event. Never be afraid of looking for the truth. Never be afraid of facing reality, ever. And not being with the enemy, not identifying with the feminist and being in that camp of SJW douche baggery that doesn't automatically make you an ally. Saying you wanna help men doesn't automatically mean that person wants to help men. All you know is that's what they said.  Richard Grenn and any good psychologist will tell you personality disorders are real. Psychopaths are real. Sociopaths are real. Narcissists are real. And it's not just people ranting in public being arrogant. The real dangerous ones are the traders that hide and they're covert. They're secret.  This is an interesting concept that came up with just a few weeks ago, talking with DDJ from the red med group, if you guys know that guy. He's on YouTube by Ms. Andrew today. Along with some other speakers at this event, this is me, by the way, on the left in 2007 at the first convention in Orlando, Florida. That is the only crowd shot we have at the first convention in July, 2007, in Orlando, Florida at the under 21 convention. I realized that I was among the first generation of men who found the manysphere at a really young age and I grew up with it, period. At from age 17 to now 30, it's been in my life almost every single day.  It's my entire life, top to bottom for the most part.   But there's a lot of men. There's thousands of men that found at a young age and they're not coming of age.  They found at a young age, it helped them and for some degree, they stuck with it. They watch it. They pay attention. Maybe they come back. Maybe they get married and they leave and they come back because something happened, right? Or whatever the case may be. Our photographer for this event in America, the one we use in Florida, he's 21 years old. He found 21 studios in the rep, not the red man group, but the manysphere at 11 years old. He's now 21, filling out a photographing event. He grew up watching manysphere content from 11 years old. So what we're seeing, which is fucking, when I heard this, I was like, holy fuck, that's nuts. Regardless, what we're seeing, I think, for the first time ever is a compound effect. I think this is one of the ways feminism won. The feminism we see today didn't just spring about to nowhere. It compounded after generation and generation and generation to feminism, started way back in the 1800s and then really picked up in the 1900s with the 19th Amendment. We're seeing that now at the manysphere. It's getting older. The internet is a new factor for this because it speeds things up. Nevertheless, we're seeing generations go by. I'm a millennial. That guy, a photographer, is a Gen Z guy. It's gonna continue beyond that in the 2020s and 2030s. So we're now seeing, for the first time ever, multiple generations of men that are not gonna go on and have sons and have little brothers and cousins that find this stuff and they grow up with it. And it's compounding. I think it's a very good thing. That's why I need to survive. This is a quote from Ed Latimore when he spoke at the 2018 convention in Orlando, Florida. He said, this may be the first time in my life, speaking on his experience at the event, but I felt like I was around my tribe. I'm sure you guys can relate. And he's speaking specifically to the conference on his experience at it, but this quote really stuck with me because I was like, I wonder if he's, well, he's being very specific about what he means, but for me, I was looking at it at a much deeper, more fundamental level. He's thinking about the 200 guys that attend the conference or whatever, but I started to think this year a lot more broadly.  It's not just a business for me. It's a personal thing too. This is a tribe for me. It's a home is what I'm starting to realize. And that's why I fought so hard this year for it. This is a meme one of our, you know, that got made. I had a real serious choice to make this year that has cost, that's been a very unpopular stance to take and it nearly cost me my life's work.  And I did, and we're here now and we won. But I did that because I realized the Manusphere is my home, like America is my home. I'm a patriot in my country, and I'm a patriot of this community. And I think I'm one of the first to recognize it like that, because I didn't even think of it that way, even like a year or two ago. It would have been a little bit alien to me at the time, but it adds quote about the tribe and that experience of being at the event really stuck home with me if we're looking at the Manusphere in totality. I don't know everybody. I've met maybe 2,000 guys or something in the Manusphere throughout my lifetime, which is a lot. There's millions I'll never meet. Maybe I'll talk to them on the internet, maybe not. But this community is my home. And I make no apology for that. And it's been really eye-opening to realize that and put my entire life on the line, everything I've ever built to fight for it for what I believe in and what I believe is right, including people think it's the wrong thing to do. That's my talk. That's the Manusphere. I appreciate you guys coming to the conference. It's been held a couple of days, couple of weeks, couple of months, building it, putting it together.  Thank you. I have some time for questions if you guys have them. Okay. All right. Ed's in the back. I know I'm a speaker. I'm not supposed to ask questions, whatever. But my question is, you said some of it has stuck with me, that you had the decision to make and it didn't sound like it was easy. And I guess I never really thought about it, but I'm really curious about what your thought process was when all that I was going down and you had to decide how to respond to the things that were going down. I don't want to talk about them. Everyone wants to know. But yeah, I'm real curious about what made you decide because you could have just as easily looked at it because I've heard a few other opinions and looked at it and it went okay from a financial perspective. This is almost certainly a better choice to not do anything about it. I want to know what made you decide and how you looked at everything. It was the, so I understand what you're asking. I think I know what answer there without getting into too much drama bullshit. When I find out that stuff about Rolo, the hard evidence, I knew about it beforehand, but I was like, maybe I'm wrong. 99% certain, 1% hopefully wrong.  I was like, oh fuck, this is really serious. So I had a choice. I go wait till after Poland to do that or after Orlando, or I could do it before Poland immediately in strike. My gut said strike. And what did that, what made me, I think what made my gut say that is that I realized this was my home. These are my friends and these are my family. I don't really have any family left at this point. I have my sister, that's about it.  These men are beyond my brothers, they're real family to me, like blood basically. I take a bullet for them in heartbeat. I think the same is true in reverse in many cases. So I also saw though, it's specific to your question though, I had an easy route to wait with the money and to not fight $50,000 in charge backs and all this crazy bullshit going on, which I've never had to deal with before in the business, right? Way unusual for us.  And in pain, there's growth.  So I'm feeling it.  I made the harder choice, which I thought would be more productive for my life long-term and the business and the community. And I did that, and I've taken a lot of heat for it more than I've ever had in my life. But I think that's a very good thing and to sign that there's value in it and there's a future in it.  Does that answer your question? Yeah. Okay. Hey Anthony, just curious about, again it's a follow up on the headset. So I mean, the entire incident went down in Orlando in 2018. And just wondering, cause you know, Rollo was at the patriarch version. That's right.  I mean, if it was that serious, why wasn't it occurred earlier? Sure. Well yeah, go ahead. No problem. So like I mentioned with Ed, I didn't have hard evidence until late May of 2019 recently after the patriarch event. So I knew about this beforehand. I was pretty certain I was right. But it was such a big deal that I couldn't act without hard evidence. I got that like May, I could check like May 20th or something. So, you know, we dropped in on June 2nd. We booted Rollo out.  Be on any shadow of a doubt. So up until that time, I knew I could be wrong. And I knew without hard, I'm on top of that too, but I'll be real with you, man. I knew that without hard evidence, that's a battle I'd probably lose.  Rollo was a big player in this field.  He had a lot of pull, a lot of power, a lot of relationships. Even with that, it's been a tough battle. It's been the fight of my life. It's been a fight to the death. So, I'm just curious, because this has been on my mind even before a patriarch in Orlando, but in the long term, is the goal like political or judicial aspirations are changed? Like for example, we can talk about how the laws are basically skewed against us, right? And we basically have a choice, right?  So, is that a goal? Is that something on your mind? I'm just curious what you're thinking about that. My best answer would be referring to DDJ on this.  They've been doing it for a long time. So eventually there has to be political pushback. I don't think that should dominate the man's sphere or the focus, but it's delusional to think that you can help men and support men and just ignore that shit or just hope it works itself out. There is political change going on in America but it's not specific to men and masculinity so much. I think Trump winning, I'm a huge Trump fan obviously, but this is me kind of flirting with politics and I think that's what the man's sphere has to do in a useful, focused and targeted way to help men. I know in America right now, I think in like Alabama or something for example, we're trying to criminalize much more heavily false rape accusations and stuff like that, which is excellent, that needs to happen. But the legal stuff's gonna take a long time. Government laws take time to change. And I do wanna have some of it in the man's sphere though and I think it's important. I think it's as relevant as anything else. Politics and laws are as relevant as fatherhood, as masculinity, as dating, as sex, as marriage and all these things.  Those guys are great, I love what they're doing to the extent they succeed but they don't understand women and I think they fundamentally don't understand women so they're never gonna succeed in what they're doing. That's why the man's sphere has to keep coming together and working together in ways that are useful without compromising, losing important values. The pickup artists letting, I think the female dating coaches for example, that's just like super stupid, you shouldn't do that. Women have no idea how to be a man and they never will. Directly anyway, first hand. So the split was a bit traumatic for the man's sphere. My question to you is why was the conduct on the internet so attacking towards Rolo? Because the split was done and just the behavior was a bit off. Yeah, yeah it was over the top, yeah. That was on purpose. If you can comment on that. Sure, so I can't comment completely but I can comment somewhat on it. So when I get back to America, there's gonna be some major events that are gonna happen that you guys haven't seen yet and so that behavior was strategic and on purpose. People saw me tweeting all this stuff, the cursing and stuff. This was on purpose.  No, this is definitely on purpose. Kinda like Trump does on Twitter.  It's maybe sometimes but I don't think so. He's doing this on purpose with a purpose. He's doing it on purpose with a future plan of action in mind and that's what I've been doing. As you guys know, meeting me at the event, I'm not some unhinged lunatic. I'm pretty focused and calm and driven but on the internet I'll play something else sometimes if I think it's to my benefit and the benefit of my goals and my values and what I wanna do.  Let's give it up for Anthony Dream Johnson. Thank you. All right.


CHAPTER 45 Joy and the Cottage Sometimes you were surprised to learn that Raph and his fro were at the skating race. You would have been more so had you been with them on the evening of that merry 20th of December. To see the Brinker Cottage standing sulkily alone on the frozen marsh, with its bulgy, rheumatic-looking walls and its slouched hat of a roof pulled far over its eyes, one would never suspect that a lively scene was passing within. Without nothing was left of the day but a low line of blaze at the horizon. A few ventures and clouds had already taken fire, and others, with their edges burning, were lost in the gathering smoke. A stray gleam of sunshine slipping down from the willow stump crept stealthily under the cottage. It seemed to feel that the inmates would give it welcome if it could only get near them. The room under which it hid was as clean as clean could be. The very cracks and the rafters were polished. Delicious odors filled the air. A huge peat fire upon the hearth sent flashes of harmless lightning at the somber walls. It played in turn upon the Great Leather Bible, upon Gretel's closet bed, the household things upon their pegs, and the beautiful silver skates and the flowers upon the table. Dame Brinker's honest face shone and twinkled in the changing light. People in Huns, with arms entwined, were leaning against the fireplace, laughing merrily, and Raph Brinker was dancing. I do not mean that he was pirouetting or cutting a pigeon wing, either of which would have been entirely too undignified for the father of a family. I simply affirm that while they were chatting pleasantly together, Raph suddenly sprang from his seat, snapped his fingers, and performed two or three flourishes very much like the climax of a Highland fling. Next he caught his froe and his arms, and fairly lifted her from the ground in his delight. Huzzah! he cried, I have it! I have it! It's Thomas Higgs. That's the name. It came upon me like a flash. Write it down, lad. Write it down. Someone knocked at the door. It's the Meister! cried the delighted Dame. God, a goonst! How things come to pass! Mother and children came in merry collision as they rushed to open the door. It was not the doctor after all, but three boys, Peter van Hope, Lumbert and Ben. Good evening, young gentleman! said Dame Brinker so happy and proud that she would scarcely have been surprised at a visit from the King himself. Good evening, you fro! said the trio, making magnificent bows. Dear me! thought Dame Brinker as she bobbed up and down like a churned asher. It's lucky I learned a curtsy at Heidelberg. Raph was content to return the boys' salutations with a respectful nod. Pray be seated, young masters! said the Dame as Gretel bashfully thrust the stool at them. There's a lack of chairs, as you see, but this one by the fire is at your service, and if you don't mind the hardness, that oak-chest is as good a seat as the best. That's right, Hans, pull it out. By the time the boys were seated to the Dame's satisfaction, Peter, acting as a spokesman, had explained that they were going to attend a lecture at Amsterdam, and had stopped on the way to return Hans's strap. Oh, my near! cried Hans earnestly. It is too much trouble. I am very sorry. No trouble at all, Hans. I could have waited for you to come to your work to-morrow had I not wished to call. And Hans, talking of your work, my father is much pleased with it. A carver by Treg could not have done it better. He would like to have the South Arbor ornamented also, but I told him you were going to school again. I, put in Raff Brinker emphatically, Hans must go to school at once, and Gretel is well. That is true. I am glad to hear you say so, responded Peter, turning toward the father, and very glad to know that you are again a well man. Yes, young master, a well man, and able to work as steady as ever. Thank God! Here Hans hastily wrote something on the edge of a time-worn albunac that hung by the chimney place. I, that's right, lad, set it down. Figs, wigs, alack, alack! cried Raff in great dismay. It's gone again. All right, father, said Hans. The name's down now in black and white. Here, look at it, father. May have the rest will come to you. If we had the place as well it would be complete. Then turning to Peter he said in a low tone, I have an important errand in town, my dear, and if— Whist! exclaimed the dame, lifting her hands. Not to Amsterdam to-night, and you've owned your legs were aching under you. Nay, nay, it'll be soon enough to go at early daylight. Daylight indeed, echoed Raff. That would never do. Nay, ma'cha, he must go this hour. The fro looked for an instant as if Raff's recovery was becoming rather a doubtful benefit. Her word was no longer sole law in the house. Fortunately the proverb, humble wife his husband's boss, had taken deep root in her mind, even as the dame pondered, it bloomed. Very well, Raff, she said smilingly, it is thy boy as well as mine. Ah, I've a troublesome house, young masters. Just then Peter drew a long strap from his pocket. Handing it to Hans he said in an undertone, I need not thank you for lending me this, drinker. Such boys as you do not ask for thanks. But I must say you did me a great kindness, and I am proud to acknowledge it. I did not know, he added laughingly, until fairly in the race how anxious I was to win. Hans was glad to join in Peter's laugh. He covered his embarrassment and gave his face a chance to cool off a little.  It was nothing, my dear, said the dame, hastening to her son's relief. The lad's whole soul wasn't having you win the race I know it was. This helped matters beautifully. Ah, my dear, Hans hurried to say, from the first start I felt stiff and strange on my feet. I was well out of it, so long as I had no chance of winning. Peter looked rather distressed. We may hold different opinions here. That part of the business troubles me. It is too late to mend it now, but it would be really a kindness to me if— The rest of Peter's speech was uttered so confidentially that I cannot record it. Enough to say, Hans soon started back in dismay, and Peter, looking very much ashamed, stammered out something to the effect that he would keep them, since he won the race, but it was all wrong. Here Van Monen coughed, as if to remind Peter that lecture-hour was approaching fast. At the same moment Ben laid something upon table. Ah, exclaimed Peter, I forgot my other errand. Your sister ran off so quickly today that Madame Van Gleck had no opportunity to give her the case for her skates. Shhh! said Dame Brinker, shaking her head reproachfully at Gretel. She was a very rude girl, I'm sure. Secretly she was thinking that very few women had such a fine little daughter. No, indeed! Peter laughed. She did exactly the right thing—ran home with her richly won treasures. Who would not?  He continued turning around as he spoke, but Hans, who was eagerly watching his father, seemed to have forgotten their presence. Meantime, Raph lost in thought, was repeating under his breath. Thomas Higgs, Thomas Higgs, ah, that's the name. I'll act if I could but remember the place as well. The skate case was elegantly made of crimson maraco, ornamented with silver. If a fairy had designed its delicate tracery, they could not have been more daintedly beautiful. For the fleetest was written upon the cover in sparkling letters. It was lined with velvet, and in one corner was stamped the name and address of the maker. Gretel thanked Peter in her own simple way, then, being quite delighted and confused and not knowing what else to do. She lifted the case, carefully examining it in every part. It's made by my near Birmingham, she said after a while, still blushing and holding it before her eyes. Birmingham, replied Lumbert von Monan, that's the name of a place in England. Let me see it. Ha, ha, ha! he laughed, holding the open case toward the firelight. No wonder you thought so, but it's a slight mistake. The case was made at Birmingham, but the maker's name is in smaller letters. Ha, they're so small I can't read them. Let me try, said Peter, leaning over his shoulder. Why, man, it's perfectly distinct. It's T-H—uh, it's T—well, said Lumbert triumphantly. If you can read it so easily, let's hear it. T-H—what? T-H-T-H. Oh, why, Thomas Higgs, to be sure, replied Peter, pleased to be able to decipher it at last. Then, feeling that they had been acting rather unceremoniously, he turned to Hans. Peter turned pale. What was the matter with the people? Raph and Hans had started up and were staring at him in glad amazement. Gretel looked wild. Dame Brinker, with an unlighted candle in her hand, was rushing about the room, crying, Hans, Hans, where's your hat? Oh, the meister! Oh, the meister! Birmingham, Higgs, exclaimed Hans. Did you say Higgs? We found him. I must be off. You see, young masters, the dame was panting at the same time snatching Hans's hat from the bed. You see, we know him. He's our—no, he isn't.  Good night, my dears. Panted Hans, radiant with sudden joy. Good night. You will excuse me. I must go. Birmingham, Higgs, Higgs, Birmingham. And, seizing his hat from his mother and his skates from Gretel, he rushed from the cottage. What could the boys think but that the whole Brinker family had suddenly gone crazy? They bade an embarrassed good evening and turned to go, but Raph stopped them. This Thomas Higgs, young masters, is a—a person. Ah! exclaimed Peter, quite sure that Raph was the most crazy of all. Yes, a person. Ah! him. A friend. We thought him dead. I hope it is the same man, in England, did you say? Yes, Birmingham, answered Peter. It must be Birmingham in England. I know the man, said Ben, addressing Lumbert. His factory is not four miles from our place. A queer fellow, still as an oyster, doesn't seem at all like an Englishman. I've often seen him. A solemn-looking chap with magnificent eyes. He made a beautiful writing-case once for me to give Jenny on her birthday. Makes pocket-books, telescope-cases, and all kinds of leather-work. As this was said in English, Van Monen, of course, translated it for the benefit of all concerned, noticing, meanwhile, that neither Raph nor his fro looked very miserable, although Raph was trembling and the dame's eyes were swimming with tears. You may believe that the doctor heard every word of the story, when later in the evening he came driving back with Hans. The three young gentlemen had been gone some time, Dame Brinker said, but like enough by hurrying it would be easy to find them coming out from the lecture, wherever that was. True, said Raph, nodding his head. The fro always hits upon the right thing. It would be well to see the young English gentleman in my near before he forgets all about Thomas Higgs. It's a slip-rename, do you see. One can't hold it safe a minute. It come upon me sudden and strong as a pile-driver, and my boy wrote it down. Aye, my dear, I'd haste to talk with the English lad. He's seen your son many a time, only to think on it. Dame Brinker took up the thread of the discourse. You'll pick out the lad quick enough, my dear, because he's in company with Peter Van Hope, and his hair curls up over his forehead like foreign folks, and if you hear him speak he talks big and fast, only it's English, but that wouldn't be any hindrance to your honour. The doctor had already lifted his hat to go. With a beaming face he muttered something about it being just like the young scamp to give himself a rascally English name, called Hans my son, thereby making that young gentleman as happy as a lord, and left the cottage with very little ceremony, considering what a great maester he was. The grumbling coachman comforted himself by speaking his mind as he drove back to Amsterdam. Since the doctor was safely stowed away in the coach and could not hear a word, it was a fine time to say terrible things of folks who had no manner of feeling for nobody, and who were always wanting the horses a dozen times of a night. While LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain, for more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording has been Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates by Mary Maeve Stodge Chapter 46 The Mysterious Disappearance of Thomas Higgs Higgs's factory was a mine of delight for the Gossips of Birmingham.  Who the proprietor was, or where he came from, none could tell. He looked like a gentleman, that was certain, though everybody knew he had risen from an apprenticeship, and he could handle his pen like a writing master. Years ago he had suddenly appeared in the place a lad of eighteen, learned his trade faithfully, and risen in the confidence of his employer, been taken in as a partner soon after the time was up. Finally, when old Willet died, had assumed the business on his own hands. This was all that was known of his affairs. It was a common remark among some of the good people that he never had a word to say to a Christian soul, while others declared that though he spoke beautifully when he chose to, there was something wrong in his accent. A tidy man, too, they called him, all but for having that scandalous green pond alongside of his factory, which wasn't deep enough for an eel, and was just a fever nest as sure as you live. His nationality was a great puzzle. The English name spoke plain enough for one side of his house, but of what manner of nation was his mother? If she had been an American, he'd certainly have had high cheekbones and reddish skin. If a German, he would have known the language, and Squire Smith declared that he didn't. If French, and his having that frog pond made it seem likely, it would come out in his speech. No, there was nothing he could be but Dutch. And strangest of all, though the man always pricked up his ears when you talked of Holland, he didn't seem to know the first thing about the country when you put him to the point. Anyhow, as no letters ever came to him from his mother's family in Holland, and as nobody living had ever seen old Higgs, the family couldn't be anything much. Probably Thomas Higgs himself was no better than he should be, for all he pretended to carry himself so straight. And for their parts the Gossips declared they were not going to trouble their heads about him. Consequently Thomas Higgs and his affairs were never failing subjects of discussion. Picture then, the consternation among all the good people when it was announced by somebody who was there and ought to know, that the post-boy had that very morning handed Higgs a foreign-looking letter, and the man had turned as white as the wall, rushed to his factory, talked a bit with one of the head workmen, and without bidding a creature goodbye was off bag and baggage before you could wink, ma'am. Mistress Scrubs, his landlady, was in deep affliction. The dear soul became quite out of breath while speaking of him, to leave lodgings in that sudden way without never so much as a day's warning, which was what every woman who didn't wish to be trodden underfoot, which thank heaven wasn't her way, had a perfect right to expect. Yes, and a week's warning now you mention it, and without even so much as saying, many thanks, Mistress Scrubs, for all past kindnesses, which were most numerous, though she said it who shouldn't say it. Least wise she wasn't never no kind of person to be looking for thanks every minute. It was really scandalous, though to be sure Mr. Higgs paid up everything to the last far then, and it fairly brought tears to my eyes to see his dear empty boots lying there in the corner of his room, which alone showed trouble of mine, for he always stood him up straight as soldiers, though being half-sold twice they hadn't, of course, been worth taking away. Whereupon her dearest friend, Miss Scrumpkins, ran home to tell all about it, and as everybody knew the Scrumpkins's, a shining gossamer of news was soon woven from one end of the street to the other. An investigating committee met that evening at Mrs. Snigam's, sitting in secret session over her best China. Though invited only to a quiet tea, the amount of judicial business they transacted on the occasion was prodigious. The biscuits were actually cold before the committee had a chance to eat anything. There was so much to talk over, and it was so important that it should be firmly established that each member had always been certain sure that something extraordinary would be happening to that man yet, and that it was nearly eight o'clock before Mrs. Snigam gave anybody a second cup. CHAPTER 47. BROAD SUNSHINE One snowy day in January, Lawrence Bookman went with his father to pay his respects to the Brinker family. Raph was resting after the labors of the day. Gretel, having filled and lighted his pipe, was brushing every speck of ash from the hearth. The dame was spinning, and Hans, perched upon a stool by the window, was diligently studying his lessons. It was a peaceful, happy household whose main excitement during the past week had been the looking forward to this possible visit from Thomas Higgs. As soon as the grand presentation was over, Dame Brinker insisted upon giving her guests some hot tea. It was enough to freeze anyone, she said, to be out in such crazy, blustering weather. While they were talking with her husband, she whispered to Gretel that the young gentleman's eyes and her boys were certainly as much alike as four beans.  Gretel was disappointed. She had looked forward to a tragic scene, such as Annie Bowman had often described to her from storybooks. And here was the gentleman who came so near being a murderer, who for ten years had been wandering over the face of the earth, who believed himself deserted and scorned by his father, the very young gentleman who had fled from his country in such magnificent trouble, sitting by the fire just as pleasant and natural as could be. To be sure his voice had trembled when he talked with her parents, and he had met his father's look with a bright kind of smile that would have suited a dragon-killer bringing the waters of perpetual youth to his king. But after all he wasn't at all like the conquered hero in Annie's book. He did not say, lifting his arm toward heaven, I hereby swear to be forever faithful to my home, my God, and my country, which would have been only right and proper under the circumstances. All things considered, Gretel was disappointed. Raph, however, was perfectly satisfied. The message was delivered. Dr. Bookman had his son safe and sound, and the poor lad had done nothing sinful after all, except in thinking that his father would have abandoned him for an accident. To be sure the graceful stripling had become rather a heavy man. Raph had unconsciously hoped to clasp that same boyish hand again, but all things were changed to Raph, for that matter. So he pushed back every feeling but joy as he saw father and son sitting side by side at his hearth-stone. Meantime Hans was wholly occupied in the thought of Thomas Higgs's happiness in being able to be the maester's assistant again, and Dame Brinker was sighing softly to herself, wishing that the lad's mother were alive to see him, such a fine young gentleman as he was, and wondering how Dr. Bookman could bear to see this overwatch getting so dull. He had worn it ever since Raph handed it over, that was evident. What had he done with the gold one he used to wear? The light was shining full upon Dr. Bookman's face. How concheted he looked! How much younger and brighter than formerly. The hard lines were quite melding away. He was laughing as he said to the father, Am I not a happy man, Raph Brinker? My son will sell out his factory this month, and open a warehouse in Amsterdam. I shall have all my spectacle cases for nothing. Hans started from his reverie.  A shade passed over the maester's face, but he brightened with an effort, as he replied, Oh no, Lawrence has had quite enough of that. He wishes to be a merchant. Hans appeared so surprised and disappointed that his friend asked good-naturedly, Why so silent, boy, is it any disgrace to be a merchant? Not a disgrace, my dear, stammered Hans, but what? Why, the other calling is so much better, answered Hans, so much nobler.  The doctor was regarding him sternly. Hans felt rebuked. His cheeks were flushed. Hot tears were gathering under his lashes.  It requires great patience, self-denial, and perseverance. I am sure that it does, cried Hans. It calls for wisdom, too, and a reverence for God's work. Ah, my dear, it may have its trials and drawbacks, but you do not mean what you say. It is great and noble, not ugly. Pardon me, my dear, it is not for me to speak so boldly. Dr. Bookman was evidently displeased. He turned his back on the boy and conferred aside with Lawrence. Meanwhile the dame scowled a terrible warning at Hans. These great people, she knew well enough, never liked to hear poor folk speak up so pertly. The maester turned around. How old are you, Hans-Brenker? Fifteen, my dear, was the startled reply. Would you like to become a physician? Yes, my dear, answered Hans, quivering with excitement. Would you be willing, with your parents' consent, to devote yourself to study, to go to the university, and in time be a student in my office? Yes, my dear, you would not grow restless, thank you, and change your mind just as I had set my heart upon preparing you to be my successor? Hans's eyes flashed. No, my dear, I would not change. You may believe him there, cried the dame, who could remain quiet no longer. This is like a rock when once he decides, and as for study, my dear, the child has almost grown fast to his books of late. He can jumble off Latin already, like any priest. The doctor smiled. Well, Hans, I see nothing to prevent us from carrying out this plan, if your father agrees. Ahem! said Raph, too proud of his boy to be very meek. The fact is, my dear, I prefer an active out-of-door life myself. But if the lads inclined to study for a maester, and he'd have the benefit of your good word to push him on in the world, it's all one to me. The money's all that's wanting, but it might not be long with too strong a pair of arms to earn it before we—tut, tut! interrupted the doctor. If I take your right-hand man away, I must pay the cost, and glad enough will I be to do it. It will be like having two sons, eh, Lawrence? One a merchant and the other a surgeon. I shall be the happiest man in Holland. Come to me in the morning, Hans, and we will arrange matters at once. Hans bowed ascent. He dared not trust himself to speak. And Brinker, continued the doctor, my son Lawrence will need a trusty, ready man like you when he opens his warehouse in Amsterdam. Someone to oversee matters, and see that the lazy clowns round about the place do their duty.  This lass was addressed to the son, and did not sound half as fierce as it looks in print. The rascal and Raph soon understood each other perfectly. I'm loath to leave the dykes, said the latter after they had talked together a while, but it is such a good offer, my dear, I'd be robbing my family if I let it go past me. Take a long look at Hans as he sits there staring gratefully at the maester, for you shall not see him again for many years. And Gretel, ah, what a vista of puzzling work suddenly opens before her. Yes, for dear Hans's sake she will study now. If he really is to be a maester, his sister must not shame his greatness. How faithfully those glancing eyes shall yet seek for the jewels that lie hidden in rocky schoolbooks, and how they shall yet brighten and droop at the coming of one whom she knows of now only as the boy who wore a red cap on that wonderful day when she found the silver skates in her apron. But the doctor and Lawrence are going. Dane Brinker is making her best curtsy. Raph stands beside her, looking every inch a man as he grasps the maester's hand. Through the open cottage door we can look out upon the leveled Dutch landscape, all alive with the falling snow. CHAPTER 48 CONCLUSION Our story is nearly told. Time passes in Holland just as surely and steadily as here. In that respect no country is odd. To the Brinker family it has brought great changes. Hans has spent the years faithfully and profitably, conquering obstacles as they arose and pursuing one object with all the energy of his nature. If often the way has been rugged his resolution has never failed. Sometimes he echoes with his good friend. The words said long ago in that little cottage near Brook. Surgery is an ugly business, but always in his heart of hearts lingers the echo of those truer words. It is great and noble. It awakes a reverence for God's work. Were you in Amsterdam today you might see the famous Dr. Brinker riding in his grand coach to visit his patients. Or it might be you would see him skating with his own boys and girls upon the frozen canal. For Annie Bowman, the beautiful, frank-hearted peasant girl, you would inquire in vain. But Annie Brinker, the fro of the great physician, is very like her. Only, as Hans says, she is even lovelier, wiser, more like a fairy godmother than ever. Peter Van Holp also is a married man. I could have told you before that he and Hilda would join Hans and glide through life together. Just as years ago they skimmed side by side over the frozen Sunlit River. At one time I came near hinting that Katrina and Carl would join Hans. It is fortunate that the report was not started, for Katrina changed her mind and is single to this day. The lady is not quite so merry as formerly, and, I grieve to say, some of the tinkling bells are out of tune. But she is the life of her social circle still. I wish she would be an earnest just for a little while, but no, it is not in her nature. Her cares and sorrows do nothing more than disturb the tinkling. They never waken any deeper music. She's soul has been stirred to its depths during these long years. Her history would tell how seed carelessly sown is sometimes reaped in anguish, and how a golden harvest may follow a painful planting. If I mistake not, you may be able to read the written record before long. That is, if you are familiar with the Dutch language. In the witty but earnest author whose words are welcomed to this day and thousands of Holland homes, few could recognize the haughty, flippant, richie who scoffed at little Gretel. Lumberd van Monen and Ludwig van Hopp are good Christian men, and what is more easily to be seen at a glance thriving citizens. Both are dwellers in Amsterdam, but one clings to the old city of that name, and the other is a pilgrim to the new. Van Monen's present home is not far from Central Park, and he says, if the New Yorkers do their duty, the park will in time equal his beautiful Bosch near the Hague. He often thinks of the Katrina of his boyhood, but he is glad now that Katrina, the woman, sent him away, though it seemed at the time his darkest hour. Ben's sister Jenny has made him very happy, happier than he could have been with anyone else in the wide world. Carl Schummel has had a hard life. His father met with reverses in business, and his Carl had not many warm friends, and, above all, was not sustained by noble principles. He has been tossed about by Fortune's battledore, until his gayest feathers are nearly all knocked off. He is a bookkeeper in the thriving Amsterdam house of Bookman and Schimmelpenik. Vustenvalbert, the junior partner, treats him kindly, and he, in turn, is very respectful to the monkey with a long name for a tale. Of all our group of Holland friends, Jacob Pute is the only one who has passed away. Good-natured, true-hearted, and unselfish to the last, he is more now as heartily as he was loved and laughed at while on earth. He grew to be very thin before he died, thinner than Benjamin Dobbs, who is now portliest among the portly. Raph Brinker and his fro have been living comfortably in Amsterdam for many years—a faithful, happy pair, as simple and straightforward in their good fortune as they were patient and trustful in darker days. They have a zomerhurl near the old cottage, and thither they often repair with their children and grandchildren on the pleasant summer afternoons when the pond lilies rear their queenly heads above the water. The story of Hans Brinker would be but half-told if we did not leave him with Gretel standing near. Dear, quick, patient little Gretel, what is she now? Ask old Dr. Bookman. He will declare that she is the finest singer, the loveliest woman in Amsterdam. Ask Hans and Annie, and they will assure you that she is the dearest sister ever known. Ask her husband.  Ask Dame Brinker and Raph. Their eyes will glisten with joyous tears. Ask the poor, and the air will be filled with blessings. But lest you forget a tiny form trembling and sobbing on the mound before the Brinker cottage, ask the Van Gleks. They will never weary of telling of the darling little girl who won the silver skates.


I'd just finished running a cloudy afternoon's worth of monotonous errands when I spotted the handmade sign advertising a nearby yard sale. Bored by the day's tedium and looking to kill some time before a 3 o'clock appointment, I drove to the address scribbled on the sign in thick marker and arrived at a secluded, monocly sized brick house with fold out tables placed along its driveway. As I browsed through labeled cardboard boxes filled with the sales offerings, I found most of their contents to be rather lackluster, faded clothes, chipped dishes, threadbare bedding, and what amounted to little more than unremarkable clutter. Eventually, a large box that held an assortment of books captured my eye. Before I could inspect them beyond a cursory glance, a sudden voice interrupted me. Excuse me, sir. I turned around to see a middle-aged woman standing behind me. I don't mean to be impolite. She stated in a tone that was equally apologetic and rushed, but I was actually just about to start putting everything away. It's supposed to rain soon and I really don't want to get caught in the middle of a downpour. She pointed at the book box. If you take that off my hands right now, you can have it for $5.00. It'll be one less thing for me to deal with. What kind of books are they? I asked curiously. They seemed pretty varied. I didn't recognize a lot of the titles, but there were quite a few about the ocean. I had no idea Uncle Lawrence was such a big reader until I found all the books scattered throughout his house. The woman gestured towards the slew of boxes surrounding us. Everything here belonged to him. He passed away recently and I'm the only family left to handle his estate. Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Thanks. I can't say that we were close, though. He tended to keep to himself. Packing up his things was like walking through a stranger's house. She looked at her watch and fixed me with a tight smile that failed to entirely conceal her eagerness to be rid of me. So are you interested in the books? Minutes later, I was setting the heavy box into the backseat of my car. By the time my appointment was over, raindrops were falling steadily from the darkened sky. I went home, poured myself a glass of wine, and settled in to examine my purchase. It didn't take long for buyers remorse to strike. Many of the books were dog-eared paperbacks sporting cracked spines, and the rest were frayed, time-worn oceanography volumes with jaundiced pages. I kept hoping to find a hidden gem, but instead each title I unearthed was both terribly dull and devoid of any resale value. I was about to deem the entire thing a total waste of a $5 bill when I saw a writing journal resting at the bottom of the box. Slender and bound with smooth canvas, it appeared to have been mistaken for a jacketless book and tossed into the box without a second glance. I opened it to discover an entry penned by a trembling, uneven hand. About 30 years ago, the entry began, I experienced something terrifying. I blanked in surprise, taken aback by the ominous scrawled words before continuing to read. I never found the courage to talk about what happened that night, and I strongly doubt anyone would have ever believed me anyway. Whether of being deemed a liar or considered insane has kept me silent for decades, but none of that matters now. Perhaps writing this down will prove to be therapeutic for me, or perhaps I'm merely wasting paper, ink, and the little time I have left in this world. Back then, I had every reason to be happy. I was young and healthy, vibrant and ambitious. I enjoyed a great deal of success at work, including a recent promotion, and I just moved into a new high-rise apartment by the beach. Each morning I stepped out onto my balcony, breathed in the scent of the ocean, and looked forward to what the day would bring. One night I couldn't sleep. I'd been up late preparing for an important meeting I had the next day, and I was unusually tense. I decided to take a stroll down to the beach in the hopes that its cool air would ease my nerves. Moonlight guided me as I walked barefoot down to the sand, carrying my shoes in one hand and my jacket in the other. I closed my eyes and listened to the relaxing sound of the lapping waves. No one else was there. I felt like that soothing moment of absolute tranquility had been created just for me. Looking back, I wish it never ended. Eventually I opened my eyes and was immediately startled to see a man stumbling out of the shadows a few feet ahead of me. When moonlight illuminated his wrinkled face, I saw that it had been stricken with an expression of absolute panic. Salo and feeble, his age lines etched deeply into his withered features. He looked to be no younger than 80. His wide reddened eyes gazed at me imploringly as tears streamed down his sullen cheeks. The old man wore a gray suit and a long gray trench coat that hung limply on his decrepit frame. One clung to his shoes like dust and his thin colorless hair was wildly disheveled as if he'd been tearing at it in anguished fistfuls. Sir, I called out worriedly, are you alright? My wife, he wailed, his voice racked with despair, I can't find her anywhere. Maybe I can help. Though I spoke in the most calming tone I could muster, inwardly I was quite rattled by his profound distress. When did you last see your wife? Almost an hour ago. He babbled frantically, teetering on the verge of collapsing into unintelligible sobs. We were walking along the beach. I stopped to tie my shoe and when I looked back up she was, she was just gone. My stomach dropped. I glanced towards the water. I thought to push a grim sequence from my mind and elderly woman's brittle form becoming silently engulfed by the ocean, sinking haplessly into its merciless depths before later returning to the surface to lifelessly float face down and bloated. Let's get you somewhere where you can sit and rest. I said gently, I'll call the police. No, the old man cried fervently, you can't leave me. There's a pay phone just a few minutes away. The sooner the police get here, the sooner they can start searching for your wife. But there isn't enough time for that. He protested, couldn't, couldn't you just swim out and look for her? No sir, it's too dark and I wouldn't be able to see, please. The old man begged urgently, bursting into fresh tears, she's all that I have left. I'll be right back, I assured him, I promise. Before he could speak another word, I turned away and broke into a run. I was certain the ocean had already claimed his ill-fated wife and added her to its drowned ranks, but I still hoped against hope that I was wrong. I just reached the pay phone and was searching my pockets for change when I heard the close sound of weeping. I turned around and found myself face to face with the old man. I gawked at him in confusion, stunned by his speed. He had appeared pitifully frail only moments ago, like so much as a swift pace would fracture his spindly legs. Why'd you leave? He asked in a wounded voice as if I'd committed an unforgivable act of cruelty and caused him tremendous pain. I told you, I replied slowly, by now more than a little uneasy. I need to call the police. The old man shook his head, there's nothing they can do. He stated gravely, well how else are we gonna find your wife? I don't have a wife, Lawrence. I froze, goose bumps prickled across my arms. How do you know my name? I whispered. His devastated expression vanished in an instant as the corners of his wilted lips turned upwards into a sly smile. The old man lunged towards me with frightening agility and the next thing I knew I was running as fast as my legs could carry me. An incredible surge of fear flooded my veins. Not once did I dare look back, afraid of what I might see. When I finally reached the safety of my 10th story apartment, I slammed the door shut before barricading it with a chair. My heart pounded thickly in my chest as I strained my ears to listen for approaching footsteps. Full tense, but uneventful moments passed, followed by several more. Eventually I dared to breathe, a faint shaky sigh of relief. And then I heard it. A crashing wave of dread swept over me. I turned slowly towards the glass door leading to my apartment balcony and saw the old man standing outside grinning wickedly as he drummed his fingernails on the glass. I watched in horror as dark seawater poured from the old man's mouth and nose and trickled from his eyes, soaking his clothes in the balcony floor. The horrid stench of decay and rotted seaweed filled my nostrils to mingle hideously with the ocean scent. I tore my gaze away from the ghastly figure on the balcony and bolted into my bedroom before locking the door and sinking onto the floor. I sat there helplessly for what felt like an agonizing eternity, drenched with panic-laden sweat and nearly hysterical with fear, desperately praying that the old man wouldn't shatter the glass and step foot into my home. My indescribable terror reached dizzying heights and grew more excruciating with every passing minute, rendering me certain that I would soon be driven mad by unbearable apprehension. Though I heard nothing but benign quiet for the rest of the night, it wasn't until the first rays of sunlight began to peer through the bedroom window that I finally summoned enough courage to rise to my feet and cautiously open the bedroom door. The apartment appeared as ordinary and untouched as it had been before I left the beach. The only evidence of my incomprehensible ordeal was the chair still propped against the front door and the dark puddle drying on the balcony. I went to work in a daze. My memories of that day exist only in hazy fragments, my ashen reflection staring back at me in the restroom mirror as I splashed cold water under my face. The incessant ringing of my office phone as I sat numbly at my desk, my visibly frustrated boss rubbing his temples as I mumbled little more than a scant few words during the meeting I'd so painstakingly prepared for. I felt like I was staggering through a heavy fog with no end in sight where I could think of nothing but the night's horrifying events. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I left the office early to go home. I took a sleeping pill and climbed into bed where I soon drifted off into what I hoped would be a dreamless slumber. I slept deeply and awoke the next morning feeling sluggish. I emerged groggily from my blankets, opened my bleary eyes, and felt the gasp rise up my throat like rancid bile trailing across the bedroom floor up the walls and along the ceiling before coming to a halt directly above my bed was a path of wet shoe prints. I wish I could claim that I was brave. If I had been brave, if I'd scrubbed away the shoe prints and attempted to do something, anything to protect my home from the gray clad stranger, then perhaps my life would have turned out drastically different than the bleak existence I live today and these words would have never been penned. But the truth is, I'm not a brave man. The truth is that I packed whatever I could fit into my suitcases, bought a train ticket, and left that very morning. I never returned to that beach town that brought me so much happiness. My fear of the gray man was so incredible that it drove me to abandon my apartment and possessions, my hard earned career and the promising future I'd worked so diligently to obtain. I went back to my hometown, a small city far away from any beach and began to eke out a quiet living. I remain there to this day. I cannot help but wonder what my life would be like now if I hadn't gone for that fateful walk on the beach. Sometimes I lie awake in bed, unable to sleep and sickened with regret and feel utterly consumed by bitterness. All these years later, I still don't understand who or what the old man was. For decades, I perpetually glanced over my shoulder, afraid that I'd catch sight of him in every dark corner. I left my house only when necessary, and eventually I began to never leave it at all. My family is gone now, and the only people I ever see with any regularity are the ones who deliver my mail and the volunteers from a local charity group that leaves lukewarm meals on my doorstep. Painful, insurmountable loneliness continues to haunt me like a melancholic specter. Last night, I looked outside and saw something standing inches away from my window, bathed in moonlight and staring back to meet my gaze. Something gray. I know the old man will be here soon, but I don't have 30 more years left in me to spend hiding, and I'm much too tired to run. It's funny, after living in fear of this moment for so very long, I find that I'm actually not afraid now. I'm ready to be at peace, to no longer be trapped inside the reclusive prison I have confined myself within. Whatever happens, I hope that tonight ends with me finding the same freeing tranquility I felt decades ago. During that serene moment on a calm, quiet beach, I'd like to think I've earned it. My hands shook as I flipped through the journal to discover that the rest of the pages were blank. I didn't sleep that stormy night. Instead, I read the entry over and over again, captivated by the strange tale told within its lines and even transcribed every word of it onto my laptop. In the morning, when the rain was finally over and the sky was blue once again, I grabbed the journal and drove back to the brick house. I hoped to find the woman there. I knew the questions I wanted to ask her would seem confusing and odd, or maybe even alarming, but it was the only way to quell my overpowering curiosity. I had to know what happened to her unfortunate Uncle Lawrence, and if the old man was responsible for his death. As I pulled into the house's secluded street, I saw that the yard sale had already been set up for another day of business. But when I approached the driveway, I noticed that everything looked wet. Rain had heavily saturated the cardboard boxes, rendering them soggy and limp. When all the clothing items appeared damp to the touch, I realized then that nothing was put away after my departure. Everything from the soaked blankets to the rain filled tea cups had been left to the mercy of the weather. Just as I was about to reach the front door, I caught sight of something peering out of an upstairs window, something that caused me to drop the journal as if it were on fire and run back to my car. Something that scared me so badly that I've been holed up inside my house for the past three days and haven't once dared to look outside for fear of what I'll see. Something that has forced me to do everything I can to stay awake, including writing this post, because I'm afraid of what will come into my home if I fall asleep. Something that made me wish I'd never gone back to that house, or read a single word written in the journal. Something gray.