The Kiwanis Legacy: Building Communities, Serving the World

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The Kiwanis Legacy

Building Communities

Published by Kiwanis International

by Chuck Jonak

© December 2004

About the Author

Chuck Jonak, a native of Chicago, served as the Executive Editor/Managing Editor of Kiwanis magazine from 1984 to 2002, earning him the distinction of holding that position longer than any of the magazine’s previous fourteen professional editors. In 1990, he gained the additional title of Director of Publications. Jonak first joined the Kiwanis International staff at the General Office at 101 East Erie Street, Chicago, in 1981 as an Assistant Editor, moving to Indianapolis with the organization in 1982. Previously, he worked for two suburban Chicago newspapers, having received bachelor’s and master’s degrees in journalism from Northern Illinois University in DeKalb. He also taught classes as a journalism instructor at Indiana University/Purdue University-Indianapolis and at Kishwaukee Community College in Malta, Illinois. Jonak, a Hixson Fellow, is a member of the College Park, Indianapolis, Kiwanis club, for which he serves as bulletin editor and co-adviser to the club’s sponsored College Park Elementary School K-Kids club.

Copyright © 2004 by Kiwanis International. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Printed by SNP Sprint Pte Ltd in Singapore

The Kiwanis Legacy, the fifth history

of Kiwanis published by Kiwanis International,

is dedicated to the individual Kiwanian—of the past,

of the present, and of the future—who lives by the precept of the Golden Rule, who volunteers to build better

communities, and who serves the children of the world.

The Objects of Kiwanis International

•To give primacy to the human and spiritual, rather than to the material values of life.

•To encourage the daily living of the Golden Rule in all human relationships.

•To promote the adoption and the application of higher social, business, and professional standards.

•To develop, by precept and example, a more intelligent, aggressive, and serviceable citizenship.

•To provide, through Kiwanis Clubs, a practical means to form enduring friendships, to render altruistic service, and to build better communities.

•To cooperate in creating and maintaining that sound public opinion and high idealism which make possible the increase of righteousness, justice, patriotism, and good will.

Preface

How many lives have Kiwanians touched? How many children have grown up healthier, stronger, and smarter, and become better citizens, because of Kiwanis clubs’ concern for their well-being? How many persons and families in need emerged from difficult times with new hope for the future because Kiwanis was there to help? How many lives have Kiwanians touched?

The answers to those questions are impossible to determine. Tens of millions? Certainly. Hundreds of millions? Probably. A billion? It is not outside the realm of possibility. Indeed, the Worldwide Service Project to virtually eliminate iodine deficiency orders (IDD), by itself, has benefited countless millions. If one were to add up the number of Kiwanis club projects mentioned in the eighty-nine volumes of Kiwanis International’s magazines from 1917 to 2004 alone, the total would be in the tens—if not hundreds—of thousands. The amount of service rendered by Kiwanians is staggering.

The research for this history of Kiwanis focused primarily on the two inexhaustible resources: the organization’s previous histories written by John H. Moss, Merton S, Heiss, and L.A. Larry: Hapgood; and the long line of Kiwanis magazines under the leadership of such distinguished editors as Roe Fulkerson, Charles Reynolds, Heiss, Richard E. Gosswiller, and Scott Pemberton. Collectively, these individuals, and others, recorded elements of one of the most remarkable human interest" stories in the history of the world.

Do not look to this history for mention of every Kiwanis program, project, or activity. That is an impossibility. Look, instead, for the chronological development of a service-minded Kiwanis family dedicated to the belief that the actions of a group of volunteers can make a difference in the world. Look, instead, to the expressions on the faces captured in photographs of those who served and those who received. Look, instead, between the lines, and realize that Kiwanis’ big picture is actually a montage created from small yet meaningful acts of compassion, which, ultimately, contribute to the Kiwanis legacy.

This history is written in multiple forms, and it’s important that readers understand most of its elements are nonfiction based on facts, while some of its passages are fictional based on historic perspective. Regarding the latter literary technique, the book’s two volumes track the lives of members of the fictional Palman family from Mainvue, a Kiwanis community. Similarly, the reflections of three famous Kiwanians—Joe Prance, Harry Young, and Larry Hapgood—are revealed with literary license crafted from careful consideration of the known characteristics of the individuals.

The history’s narration unfolds decade by decade. It provides world history overviews—in era-appropriate voice—to clarify the sociocultural context in which Kiwanis developed. It notes the important details of the organization’s evolution as driven by Kiwanians—from convention delegates to International Board members. It shares the colorful viewpoints of Kiwanian writer Roe Fulkerson. And it tours the pages of Kiwanis’ magazines, recounting the varied projects of hundreds of Kiwanis clubs, as well as some of Kiwanians’ delightful antics. In addition, chapters contain sidebar snapshots of the Kiwanis International Presidents, a running total of the organization’s membership numbers, lists of the International conventions, and some short stories of special interest.

No author creates a book without the support of other individuals. This history took form due to the encouragement and confidence shown by many persons, most notably 2003-04 International President Bob Moore and Executive Director Eddie Sigurdsson. Countless other individuals, too numerous to name, contributed to the author’s knowledge of the Kiwanis family. And additional appreciation is extended to the three International Office staff members who reviewed the manuscript—Jack Brockley, Terry Shaffer, and David Williams.

The words—found after months of research aided by gallons of Starbucks coffee and formed after weeks of writing during early mornings, long days, and late nights—await. So read on . . . and learn how a seed of an idea grew to become a legacy of service. — C.J.

Chapter 1

The First Five Years: Birth to Rebirth

At the beginning of the 20th century, well sir, the world turned flat crazy. It seemed that way leastwise. Everywhere a man looked, something changed or began or went haywire. Year by year, the times swirled faster and faster. Heck, it was enough to make a fella’s head spin, which is exactly what yours will do, friend, when you consider the following facts. But be forewarned: You may be so shocked you’ll be tempted by a taste of spirits to calm your nerves.

In 1900, everybody and his brother headed to the United States, where the population burgeoned to 75.9 million. It didn’t let up, either, partially because immigrants jumped at the chance to board steamships bound for Ellis Island when steerage fares were slashed to $10 in 1904. By 1910, 92 million people called the U.S. of A. home—42 million in cities and 50 million in the country. A man could hardly go for a walk without bumping into someone! And some gentlemen were concerned about the class of people they saw on their streets. A shame, really. Most of them were good, hard-working sorts.

The ladies sure had bees in their bonnets. In 1903, that old gal Mother Jones marched a small army of children—many disabled from textile mill accidents—into New York City to protest their exploitation in the workforce. Such nerve! A year later, a woman—probably emulating the president’s daughter, Alice Roosevelt—was arrested on New York City’s Fifth Avenue for smoking in an open automobile. Scandalous! Thank goodness women still couldn’t frequent clubs, saloons, or tobacco shops. One would think housewives’ satisfaction over the invention of electric appliances—the Hoover vacuum in 1907 and the iron and toaster in 1908—would settle them down, but no. In 1913, they paraded in Washington, D.C., as suffragettes, demanding the right to vote, just like those brazen women in England. Imagine!

It was madness in transportation as well. In 1902, The Twentieth Century Limited train set a record by traveling from New York to Chicago in only sixteen hours. The following year, Henry Ford sold his first Model A to a Detroit doctor for $850, and those Wright Brothers actually managed to get their winged contraption airborne in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Everyone thought Ford outdid himself when he built the Model T in 1908, but hold your horses: In 1913, he opened an assembly line; in 1914 he doubled the minimum wage to $5 a day; and by 1915, he produced his one-millionth car. Sheer madness.

Then came the Great War. That cursed war. It began with the assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand on a street in Sarajevo, Bosnia, on June 28, 1914, and ended when a German diplomat, Matthias Erzberger, signed an armistice agreement in a forest near Compiegne, France, on November 11, 1918. In between, 8.4 million men died in battle. The price of freedom . . . buried in the ground.

Cleve Palman hadn’t even been born yet. His dad, Charlie, was just a kid. Decades earlier . . . that’s when the future Palman’s grandfather, a builder of sorts, transformed a business decision into the tradition of a Kiwanis family actively engaged in community, service, and fellowship.

D. Roger Palman liked to laugh. He would chortle at the luncheon table like the Santa he became in December at the club’s annual Christmas party for orphans. His shoulders shook with each hearty ho, and one sharp handclap would ebb the boisterous chuckling. Roger’s laughter rattles the blinds from clear across the room, claimed those bachelors R.K. Kevin Goodfellow and A. George Joiner, who liked to sit in the window corner to ensure a street scene panorama, particularly when Miss Patricia Shallcross strode past the Harvest Hotel toward her mother’s house.

Widow Dorothy Shallcross lost her husband in the Great War . . . on a French field of battle . . . a long way from Home Street in Mainvue. But she was doing OK. It had been two years, and life goes on, as they say; as well as one can make it. She had refocused heartfelt attention on her loving relationship with Patricia, and she happily awaited her daughter’s lunchtime visits. All the coaxing the nineteen-year-old needed was Mom’s homemade soup, fresh baked bread, and maybe a slice of just-baked pie if Patty wasn’t worrying about her figure that day. But that’s a subject best left for the womenfolk.

Donald A. Johnston’s business was insurance, and as the first president of the Detroit Kiwanis Club No. 1, serving in that role for three terms, he ensured Kiwanis’ future as a service club at a dramatic meeting in September 1915.

Anyway, Roger liked to laugh. It was as natural to him as children heading for play: whenever possible, with exuberant joy, and to share contagious merriment. In fact, one of the few instances you wouldn’t find the town’s furniture storeowner breaking up the assembled Kiwanians was when the meeting’s attention turned to underprivileged children. Then Roger’s eyes would dampen in spirit to a furrowed concern—a look of serious searching; yet knowing, determined, resolute. Before long, though, Roger would be laughing again. The club’s decision to continue supplying milk to undernourished students at Parker School lifted his spirits. He had volunteered for delivery duty, so he looked forward to that humane jaunt and the sweet silliness of those live wire little rascals.

Roger liked to laugh. He liked to hear children’s laughter. And one of his favorite outlets for achieving both was through his Kiwanis Club of Mainvue membership.

Joe Prance scanned the tables. From his chair, he could see most of his fellow Kiwanians as they ate lunch and conversed at the Hotel Statler. He noticed attorneys Clarence Hill and Lorne Weber listening to George Haas, who probably was describing the newest building he designed. The club’s two Louies sat together—Louis Menard, whose real estate motto was I sell dirt, and Louis Carron, the jeweler whose shop was in the Dime Bank building. (That reminds me, Joe thought, I need to buy Maud something for our anniversary.)

Nearby, Don Johnston, who ran his insurance business out of The Dime, talked with other charter members of the parent club—Richard Hewitt, Charles Rapp, and a young Harry Young—about the club’s annual summer barbecue. They’d shared the Kiwanis experience from the beginning, Joe reflected. That second beginning, actually. It seemed like only yesterday. . . .

The Detroit Club No. 1 made the stately Hotel Statler its home for decades.

Allen Simpson Browne viewed Kiwanis, the organization he founded, as serious business, but by seriously pressing his We Trade stance, his signature stubborn resolve, in the end, became too much for the service-minded founding fathers to accept.

All men seek one goal—success and happiness. The only way to achieve true success is to express yourself completely in service to society.—Aristotle, 350 B.C.

As the story is told, a man named Allen Simpson Browne, who merchant tailor Joseph G. Prance first met in August 1914, dropped into Prance’s place of business in Detroit, Michigan, on December 7 of that year. Browne recently had cut employment ties with the Loyal Order of Moose and become an organizer for the Loyal Home Fraternity, a group with sickness and accident benefits. Knowing the thirty-three-year-old Prance had soured on a similar organization after three years as its president, he abandoned that approach and entered 1188 Gratiot Avenue with a new idea and Supreme Lodge Benevolent Order Brothers application blanks in his suit’s breast pocket.

Browne, whose family emigrated from Ireland, grew up in the city and graduated from the Detroit College of Law in 1905, the same year a man named Paul Harris founded Rotary in Chicago. A distinguished-looking gentleman, his taste for fashionable clothing was accented by gold-rimmed, pince-nez glasses attached to a black ribbon looped around his neck. The confident thirty-one-year-old was a personable super salesman who readily stated his personal philosophy: Pluck will get you further along in a week than luck will in a year. Pluck will win, so make a noise about it. Indeed, several years later during the Great War, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson cited the plucky go-getter for his service in selling more Liberty Bonds than any other man in New York. Perhaps his single substantial flaw, as time would tell, was stubborn self-confidence.

Prance was born in Detroit on April 8, 1881. At age fourteen, he entered the tailoring trade, and three years later, married Maud Chandler, with whom he parented three children. By age twenty-four, he opened his tailor’s shop and established himself as a favorite among the city’s professionals and business leaders. A quick smile, pleasant disposition, and dedication to his trade undoubtedly contributed to his success.

Joe Prance’s BOB application, initialed by ASB, was noted Tail for tailor.

Joseph G. Prance

The Merchant Tailor Joseph G. Prance, whose shop was at 1188 Gratiot Avenue in Detroit, became the first Kiwanian on January 7, 1915, with a reference from A. Browne.

As the two men talked, it became clear to Browne that his plan—a business and professional men’s club with social and commercial benefits—struck Prance favorably. The prospective member, in fact, suggested the club be built on a classification system whereby only four men in each business category—one from each of Detroit’s mercantile zones at the time—would be allowed membership. When Browne became convinced Prance was sold on the idea, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Benevolent Order Brothers application. With the thread of his signature and a $5 fee, the unassuming merchant tailor weaved monumental history: Joe Prance was the first member of what would become the world’s greatest service organization.

At this point, the club developed quickly or slowly, depending on the perspective of the principal players. For Browne, Detroit, with its 595,000 population and economic growth driven by a thriving automotive industry, stretched out like Lake Erie’s sportsmen’s paradise—and he planned to fish fast. For Prance and other early members, questions and concerns required careful deliberation. Ultimately, the two speeds would collide.

Among the pathfinders were Don Johnston, whom Browne had contacted prior to the December meeting with Prance; Clarence Hayes, a photographer and friend of Johnston; C.S. Reed, a physician; Harry A. Young, a tailor colleague of Prance; and Warren Ottie Robertson, Frederick Miller, and George W. Eyster, all attorneys.

Around the first day of the new year (records do not indicate an exact date), a planning-group meeting took place in Robertson’s law office in the Campau Building. Prance, who was busy that evening, telephoned Young to request he attend, noting Browne would be there. It was at this gathering, which could be termed the club’s temporary organization meeting, that Young first met several of his fellow members, including Robertson, Miller, Johnston, Eyster, and Reed.

The group’s spirit impressed him, and his original reservations about joining the club faded away.

Getting down to business, the men selected Dr. Charles Reed to be temporary chairman, and Ottie Robertson was named secretary. They discussed the club’s basic principles, which focused on fellowship and the development of commercial ties among businessmen and professionals, and they agreed to employ the classification system suggested by Prance. The planning group also confirmed Browne as the official organizer, authorized him to recruit 200 members (the membership stood at about forty), and agreed he would keep each applicant’s $5 fee.

Then Young spoke up with momentous words: It seems to me that Benevolent Order Brothers is a mighty peculiar name for an organization of businessmen. Who wants to be a BOB? Well, I don’t for one. The name sounds downright silly, and I think we’d be getting off to a better start if we changed it right now before we go any further. The other men agreed, and Browne, Johnston, Eyster, Young, and Robertson were named to a committee—the first of many—to find a new name.

At the committee’s first meeting, it was decided a consultant would be helpful, and Browne, Prance, and Eyster were assigned to contact Clarence M. Burton, Detroit’s official historian and a distinguished abstractor who possessed an extensive library.

Thus began the most perplexing puzzle in Kiwanis lore.

Joe Prance convinced fellow tailor Harry A. Young to become a member of the Supreme Lodge Benevolent Order Brothers on December 26, 1914.

Co-owner of the Leith and Young tailoring business, Harry Young voiced displeasure at being called a BOB, which prompted the search for a new club name, which resulted in his reapplication for membership in the Kiwanis Club of Detroit.

Burton, a serious-looking, balding man with a heavy mustache and bat-wing collars, met with the three-man delegation, but he balked at providing the immediate assistance requested. Extremely busy with his own business—as well as with the almost daily requests from other individuals seeking suitable names for new clubs and societies—he reluctantly agreed to help the BOBs if he could find the time. In a sense: Good day, gentlemen. Don’t call me; I’ll call you.

When Johnston learned of the delay, he decided to indirectly prod the good Mr. Burton through his acquaintance with the historian’s secretary, Miss Crum, who belonged to the same Methodist church of which Johnston was a board member. After Sunday’s worship service, he persuaded her to ask her boss to speed up the research. The following Tuesday, she phoned to say Mr. Burton had turned up a name that might be acceptable. The subtle pressure worked. Or did it?

In Joe Prance’s own words: When a return visit was scheduled, I found myself unable to participate, so Mr. Browne went alone and returned with the name ‘Kiwanis,’ which Mr. Burton explained was an Indian name meaning, roughly, ‘we trade.’ At that time we did not question the origin of the word. It seemed all right. But later, from Bishop Baraga’s dictionary of the Otchipwe language in Mr. Burton’s library, it was found that the word came nearer meaning ‘we have a good time—we make a noise.’

Then there is Browne’s spin: I went to the office of C.M. Burton, histographer (sic) of the City of Detroit, and secured several suggestions of Indian words, among which were the words Nunc Kee-wan-nis from which I evolved the word or name ‘Kiwanis.’ He pitched the moniker at the next meeting at the Edelweiss Café. With about thirty-five members in attendance, it was unanimously accepted.

The word’s derivation, however, remained a question in the minds of some Kiwanisers, as they called themselves in the early days. Years later, a letter of inquiry from Clarence Hayes to Burton elicited a response dated October 20, 1921: There are several compounds of the same word, with similar definitions. I suppose, in this case, it is understood to mean that every member of the order ‘toots his own horn.’

Clearly, though, central figures in the evolving mystery understood the meaning differently. In the February 1917 premier issue of Kiwanis Club magazine, National President of Associated Kiwanis Clubs George F. Hixson explained Kiwanis was formulated from a Chippewa phrase meaning I trade. Browne, bowing to Hixson’s first person singular interpretation, dropped his original we in favor of I in an article in the February 1918 issue. But a month earlier in the January 1918 Kiwanis Club, Albert Dodge, the organization’s first International Secretary, wrote that Kiwanis was derived from an Indian word meaning to barter or to trade. And Harry Young recalled, Mr. Burton said that interpreted, Kee-wan-nis was ‘to make a noise,’ or ‘to make oneself known,’ or ‘to advertise.’ As we were businessmen, seeking to promote business among our members, we accepted the name but immediately changed it to ‘Kiwanis’ as we know it today.

The matter was far from closed. Weighing in as 1922-23 International President, George H. Ross in the June 1923 issue of The Kiwanis Magazine was quoted on the subject. Speaking at a Kiwanis function in Michigan, he told the story of a Native American in the wilds of Canada who, upon seeing the K on a white man’s lapel pin, asked its meaning, and then exclaimed, Keewanis! Keewanis means ‘rebuild.’ Not to be out interpreted, 1924-25 International President Victor M. Johnson, writing about the name Kiwanis in the magazine’s January 1927 issue, explained nun Kee-wanis as meaning, among other things, to impress. He added that due to the limitations of the Native American vocabulary, words had a broad meaning.

To say the least! And not to cast more baffling fuel onto the idiomatic fire, but . . . the Otchipwe language of the Chippewa tribe, as found in the 1878 grammar dictionary by R.R. Bishop Baraga, a Christian missionary, contains the following verbatim definition: Kiwanis, (nin)—I make noise; I am foolish and wanton. There is no Kee-wan-nis to be found. Nor is there a nun or a nunc, undoubtedly because there are only four vowels in the Otchipwe language: a, e, i, and o. One will find, however, nin Kiwanis—I make a foolish noise (or) I make noise foolishly and Kiwanisiwin—foolish noise. As for Browne’s predilection, he undoubtedly would have shown partiality to nind atâwana, which means I trade with him, but perhaps he thought, I don’t wanna be an Atawana."

So what is one to make of all this? Clearly, Allen Browne took tremendous liberty with his trade angle, but that’s how he envisioned the club, so he spun the name to his advantage. As for Burton, one wonders whether the busy historian was annoyed by Johnston’s ploy with Miss Crum and decided to give those foolish BOBs what they deserve. Or perhaps broad meaning allows for the word to imply a group of people gathering together in uproarious fun and fellowship, ultimately drawing attention to themselves through their altruistic actions. It is, indeed, a puzzle that will never be solved. But it never will matter either, because today, Kiwanis is synonymous with community service, and any good dictionary defines Kiwanian as a member of one of the major service clubs. Amen!

Walking to his Kiwanis luncheon meeting, Roger Palman ran into Ellis Doc Goedman, a family physician who recently joined the club after moving into town. The two men, only somewhat acquainted, greeted each other with firm handshakes and strode together toward the Harvest Hotel.

Tell me, Doc, Roger asked, how’d you get that first name, Ellis? He wondered whether his assumption was correct, and Doc’s answer proved it to be.

My parents are immigrants from Holland, the Netherlands that is, Doc replied, and, of course, they entered the States through Ellis Island, so. . . .

I thought so, Roger interjected. Well, you truly are one red-blooded American.

And proud to be, Doc said. So, Roger, how long have you been in Kiwanis?

Since the beginning, Doc, he said. I’m a charter member of our club. Since 1919.

Good for you! Doc exclaimed, thumping his companion on the back. Say, can you tell me a little bit about how the whole Kiwanis thing got started?

Well, Doc, Roger began, as I understand it, a bunch of fellows joined together in Detroit in 1915 with the idea of improving their business methods and profits. Around that time, unethical business and advertising practices were common, and the public was fed up with caveat emptor. They decided to do something about it—and in the process, throw business each other’s way. A ‘you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours’ sort of thing.

I see, the physician said, but I thought there’s more to Kiwanis than that.

Yes, oh yes, Roger confirmed. What happened is that before too long, the Detroit club—and all the other clubs forming—drifted toward civic involvement. You know, they pushed for road improvements and better street lighting and the like. They wanted to improve their communities—make them better places to live in—and then they took it a step further: They tried to make people’s lives better—especially children’s.

Nearing the Harvest, Roger spotted A. Clay Feiter walking toward them. There’s that washing machine salesman Feiter, he said.

Nice fellow, Doc commented. His wife was in my office yesterday. They’re expecting. We should see if he’s interested in joining the club.

We already asked him, Roger said. Claimed he was too busy. Too busy. Oh well, his loss. Let’s go have some fun.

With We Trade on his lips and new Kiwanis application blanks in the breast pocket of a crisply pressed suit, Browne hit the streets of Detroit. (Prance signed the first one on January 7, 1915.) Guiding him was a list of business classifications created from club secretary Ottie Robertson’s review of the city’s telephone directory. Meanwhile, George Eyster prepared the necessary legal papers to file for a charter with the State of Michigan, which occurred in the state capital, Lansing, on January 11. Ten days later—January 21, 1915—the state granted the formal charter. The birth of Kiwanis was official.

Browne worked Kiwanis feverishly. His concept—though slightly flawed in the minds of some members—appealed on a grand scale in the business community. Merchants, bankers, attorneys, and the city’s other movers and shakers welcomed invitation to membership. Browne knew he’d struck on something beating in pace with the pulse of the times when sixty signatures supported the Detroit club’s charter—all obtained between his December 7th meeting with Prance and January 21, 1915. Not a bad seven weeks’ work with $300 income.

Browne quickly produced a Kiwanis emblem with a K in a circle, and arrangements were made to design and produce member lapel buttons, which featured the K in a circle and the words Kiwanis and Club wrapped around the edge. Elected officers and a constitution also were necessary, and the club addressed these matters at an evening gathering the last week of January in the Griswold House, a hotel at the corner of Grand River and Griswold Streets. It was the first official meeting of a functioning Kiwanis club.

Unbeknownst to Don Johnston, several Kiwanisers, including his pal Clarence Hayes, already had agreed he would be the ideal choice for president. The day of the meeting, Hayes sounded out his friend on the suggestion, but Johnston nixed it, citing a neglected business and a heavy load of church board work. The insurance man, however, broke the first rule of civic club involvement: If you don’t want to serve on a board, make sure you attend the election meeting, or you may be nominated. Hayes did the honors, the thirty-five members present agreed, and Johnston became the first club’s first president. It was to become a monumental decision affecting the very essence of Kiwanis.

At the meeting, the Kiwanisers also adopted a constitution, originally termed Articles of Association. It consisted of seven articles—just a few paragraphs stating the club’s purpose as promoting social intercourse among its members, providing for a clubhouse for mutual pleasure and entertainment, and vesting business affairs in a board of directors. The document was filed with the county clerk on February 13, 1915.

A few months after their club’s chartering on January 21, 1915, the Detroit Kiwanians began meeting regularly at the well-awned Griswold House, a hotel in the city’s bustling downtown, until a permanent meeting place could be found.

Throughout February and March, the Detroit Kiwanis club moved its evening meetings between the Edelweiss, the Griswold, and the Frontenac Cafe. At one of these gatherings, Johnston suggested luncheon meetings, because he and other members didn’t like the idea of being away from home at night, and so it was decided: noon Tuesdays at the Griswold House (where lunch cost an outrageous seventy-five cents)—until a permanent location could be found for club meetings.

While most members focused on fellowship, business connections, and the need for a clubhouse, a small group kept voicing another viewpoint. Johnston, Prance, Young, and Charlie Cowdin (a printer), as well as a few others, believed that if the club was to succeed, it needed to offer community service of a philanthropic nature. Other issues, however, diverted their attention.

March arrived, and the club’s treasury remained empty. Club leaders brought the matter to Browne’s attention, and he agreed to turn over one dollar of each $5 new-member fee if the club would handle all postage and printing bills. It didn’t end there. A few weeks later, Browne met with the board of directors and insisted the fee be increased to $10—five as an initiation fee and five as annual dues—with only $2 earmarked for the club treasury. In addition, he requested and received approval