The Rest of the Story
'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
(The Rest of the Story)
Paul Harvey
May I present Dr. Moore.
Dr. Moore had a scholarly ancestry. It was natural that he, Clement Clarke Moore, should be born with a textbook intellect. And that Clement skipped his boyhood, grew to manhood, and nobody ever called him Clem.
Dr. Moore was a scholar. Became Professor of Biblical Learning at General Theological Seminary in New York. Learned every language but slang.
In 1809 he wrote a book. It was not exactly a best seller. Its title was A COMPENDIOUS LEXICON OF THE HEBREW LANGUAGE.
Then Dr. Moore became full Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature. I know he hardly sounds human. But he was. Before I'm through, you'll know he was.
In 1813 the first symptom showed up. He married. At thirty-five, the professor finally looked up from his weighty reading and his pompous writing and discovered love.
Eventually, Dr. and Mrs. Moore had children of their own. With them, for the first time in his life, the professor could descend from the intellectual stratosphere and explore with them the wonderland of make-believe.
It was one day when in play, he was thus unbending...that he authored a false statement. If he had just told it to his children, as any father telling a fairy tale, nothing would have happened. But the meticulous professor had to put it in writing.
That did it. It was a story in verse about an old German handyman who worked for the Moores. The hired man was the model for the hero of this fiction. And a year later that flippant bit of writing almost cost the distinguished Dr. Moore a case of apoplexy.
Here's what happened.
Harriet Butler, daughter of the rector of St. Paul's Church in Troy, New York, was visiting. Somehow she saw that poem. She asked for a copy.
Dr. Moore may or may not have said she could have it. Certainly he expected her to respect the privacy of his little family joke. But she didn't.
She sent the poem anonymously to the Troy Sentinel. And the newspaper published it. Dr. Moore saw a copy of that paper. Even though his name was not printed, he hit the ceiling.
He could not write a protest to the newspaper without revealing that he, the dignified professor of Oriental languages, had authored this literary lie.
Besides, the Sentinel's story was quickly copied elsewhere. And repeatedly. What had been intended as a little private bedtime story was printed with no explanation and so was represented to be factual. Thousands came to believe it. By now there was noting Dr. Moore could do but fume and fuss and hide and hope that nobody--particularly nobody among his associates at the seminary--ever found out his secret.
Actually, please understand, he had done nothing wrong. How many things we may say in play with our children which would appear pretty absurd in print.
Dr. Clement Moore managed to preserve his dignity with cautious silence for fifteen years. Then it got out.
In 1829 the Troy Sentinel discovered his identity. He threatened suit if they named him. Instead, the paper again printed his humorous little pretense and printed this explanation; "In response to many inquiries the Sentinel wished to state that this poem was written by a gentleman of merit as a scholar...."
Well! That merely added to the authenticity of the thing and intensified further the public curiosity as to its source. But the doctor stood firm.
He could not let this untruth be publicly associated with his distinguished name, to bring discredit upon all his truly fine writings.
In 1837, when the New York Book of Poetry was published, this verse was included.
It was 1838 before he ever owned up to it. Sixteen years after it was written, fifteen years after it had been published repeatedly, when Dr. Moore's children were all grown , so they could understand what had motivated their father to do such a thing...finally he told the world The Rest of the Story.
He told the Troy, New York, Budget that he did it. That he, the Episcopal man of letters who compiled the first Hebrew dictionary in the United States, that he, the distinguished Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature, that his gifted pen had been guilty of this unmitigated deception.
And so it is that this man who wrote a verse for his children is today enshrined in the hearts of all children. On the day before Christmas there will be a pilgrimage of children...a lantern procession to his grave in New York's Trinity Churchyard.
For you see, Dr. Clement Clarke Moore, for all the works of which he was most proud, is remembered for the one whimsical verse which embarrassed him.
Forgotten is his Compendious Lexicon. Remembered is the verse which he wrote for his children.
We know best this verse which begins "Twas the night before Christmas...."
(The Rest of the Story)
Paul Harvey
May I present Dr. Moore.
Dr. Moore had a scholarly ancestry. It was natural that he, Clement Clarke Moore, should be born with a textbook intellect. And that Clement skipped his boyhood, grew to manhood, and nobody ever called him Clem.
Dr. Moore was a scholar. Became Professor of Biblical Learning at General Theological Seminary in New York. Learned every language but slang.
In 1809 he wrote a book. It was not exactly a best seller. Its title was A COMPENDIOUS LEXICON OF THE HEBREW LANGUAGE.
Then Dr. Moore became full Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature. I know he hardly sounds human. But he was. Before I'm through, you'll know he was.
In 1813 the first symptom showed up. He married. At thirty-five, the professor finally looked up from his weighty reading and his pompous writing and discovered love.
Eventually, Dr. and Mrs. Moore had children of their own. With them, for the first time in his life, the professor could descend from the intellectual stratosphere and explore with them the wonderland of make-believe.
It was one day when in play, he was thus unbending...that he authored a false statement. If he had just told it to his children, as any father telling a fairy tale, nothing would have happened. But the meticulous professor had to put it in writing.
That did it. It was a story in verse about an old German handyman who worked for the Moores. The hired man was the model for the hero of this fiction. And a year later that flippant bit of writing almost cost the distinguished Dr. Moore a case of apoplexy.
Here's what happened.
Harriet Butler, daughter of the rector of St. Paul's Church in Troy, New York, was visiting. Somehow she saw that poem. She asked for a copy.
Dr. Moore may or may not have said she could have it. Certainly he expected her to respect the privacy of his little family joke. But she didn't.
She sent the poem anonymously to the Troy Sentinel. And the newspaper published it. Dr. Moore saw a copy of that paper. Even though his name was not printed, he hit the ceiling.
He could not write a protest to the newspaper without revealing that he, the dignified professor of Oriental languages, had authored this literary lie.
Besides, the Sentinel's story was quickly copied elsewhere. And repeatedly. What had been intended as a little private bedtime story was printed with no explanation and so was represented to be factual. Thousands came to believe it. By now there was noting Dr. Moore could do but fume and fuss and hide and hope that nobody--particularly nobody among his associates at the seminary--ever found out his secret.
Actually, please understand, he had done nothing wrong. How many things we may say in play with our children which would appear pretty absurd in print.
Dr. Clement Moore managed to preserve his dignity with cautious silence for fifteen years. Then it got out.
In 1829 the Troy Sentinel discovered his identity. He threatened suit if they named him. Instead, the paper again printed his humorous little pretense and printed this explanation; "In response to many inquiries the Sentinel wished to state that this poem was written by a gentleman of merit as a scholar...."
Well! That merely added to the authenticity of the thing and intensified further the public curiosity as to its source. But the doctor stood firm.
He could not let this untruth be publicly associated with his distinguished name, to bring discredit upon all his truly fine writings.
In 1837, when the New York Book of Poetry was published, this verse was included.
It was 1838 before he ever owned up to it. Sixteen years after it was written, fifteen years after it had been published repeatedly, when Dr. Moore's children were all grown , so they could understand what had motivated their father to do such a thing...finally he told the world The Rest of the Story.
He told the Troy, New York, Budget that he did it. That he, the Episcopal man of letters who compiled the first Hebrew dictionary in the United States, that he, the distinguished Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature, that his gifted pen had been guilty of this unmitigated deception.
And so it is that this man who wrote a verse for his children is today enshrined in the hearts of all children. On the day before Christmas there will be a pilgrimage of children...a lantern procession to his grave in New York's Trinity Churchyard.
For you see, Dr. Clement Clarke Moore, for all the works of which he was most proud, is remembered for the one whimsical verse which embarrassed him.
Forgotten is his Compendious Lexicon. Remembered is the verse which he wrote for his children.
We know best this verse which begins "Twas the night before Christmas...."
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