Hearst's "Dearest Helen"

When death, as it must to all dogs, came to William Randolph Hearst's toy dachshund Helen, the aged publisher last week wrote an elegy.

In answer to a letter of condolence from his Editor Frank Barham (Los Angeles Herald and Express), who reminded the boss that he had been one of the rare outsiders acceptable to Helen, Hearst columnized:

"You know, Frank, a boy and his dog are no more inseparable companions than an old fellow and his dog. An old bozo is a nuisance to almost everybody --except his dog. . . . She always slept on a big chair in my room and her solicitous gaze followed me to bed at night and was the first thing to greet me when I woke in the morning. Then when I arose she begged for the special distinction of being put in my bed. . . .

"Aldous Huxley says: 'Every dog thinks its master Napoleon, hence the popularity of dogs.' That is not the strict truth. Every dog adores its master notwithstanding the master's imperfections of which it is probably acutely aware. . . .

"So as your dog loves you, you come to love your dog. Not because it thinks you are Napoleon, not because YOU think you are Napoleon. Not because you WANT to be Napoleon. But because love creates love, devotion inspires devotion, unselfishness begets unselfishness and self-sacrifice. . . .

"Helen died in my bed and in my arms. . . . I will not need a monument to remember her. But I am placing over her little grave a stone with the inscription:

"Here lies dearest Helen --my devoted friend."

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