The Story Tellers' Magazine, Vol. I, No. 1, June 1913

In Short

This publication captures the early 20th-century movement to restore the spoken story to its central place in the lives of children. It blends retellings of classic folk and fairy tales—such as "Nimmy Nimmy Not," "The Taileypo," and "Johnny Cake"—with pedagogical essays, reports on library outreach, and guidance for organizing local "Story Tellers’ Leagues." By positioning the story as a bridge between the child and literature, the magazine offers a pedagogical philosophy that prioritizes the imagination and the emotional development of the young over rote academic drudgery.

The Story

The magazine begins by establishing the "dramatic unit" of folklore, using "Nimmy Nimmy Not" as a blueprint for how a story unfolds from exposition to climax and resolution. It moves quickly into the darker, more visceral territory of "The Taileypo," a mountain folk tale about a man who eats a creature’s stolen tail and is subsequently haunted by the vengeful beast. This transition highlights the magazine’s belief that stories—whether fairy tales or regional legends—must resonate with a sense of humor and primitive wonder to hold a child’s attention.

Following these narratives, the focus shifts from the tales themselves to their application. The editors present the story as an "educational art," arguing that it is a language of the feelings that connects the unconscious nature of the child to the wisdom of the past. This philosophical arc is supported by accounts from Boston librarians, who describe using "continued stories"—tales told over several weeks—to lead children from the excitement of a performance to the pages of books like The Odyssey or Treasure Island.

The narrative arc of the issue then deepens its argument through the moral and restorative power of storytelling. One account details how the "Stone Lion" teaches a lesson about greed and prosperity, contrasting the humble, diligent brother with the grasping, hard-hearted one who loses everything to the lion's jaws. This leads directly into the magazine’s clinical defense of storytelling, which cites cases of physical and emotional healing. Stories are framed here not merely as entertainment, but as medical interventions; one child recovers from spinal pain, and a grieving young woman restores her own mental health, all by immersing themselves in "Storyland."

Finally, the magazine transitions into its practical mission: the organization of the Story Tellers’ Leagues. It profiles the Beowulf Club at West Virginia University, where students learn to breathe life into epic poetry, and provides a directory of leagues across the United States. The issue concludes by positioning the magazine as a "missionary" for the rights of the child, whom it labels the "last serf of civilization." It argues that by reclaiming the story, educators and parents can battle against a school system that mistakes drudgery for development. The final pages offer a comprehensive bibliography of recommended collections, from Andersen and Grimm to Uncle Remus, serving as a call to action for readers to populate their own homes and schools with the best literature available.

How It Unfolds

The dramatic foundation The magazine opens by analyzing the structural mechanics of a perfect story, using the "Nimmy Nimmy Not" fairy tale to demonstrate the rhythm of suspense and resolution. It sets a tone of intellectual rigor, treating folk tales not as mere child’s play but as essential, well-wrought dramatic units.

The shift to the oral tradition The text pivots from classic European fairy tales to American regional legends, such as the haunting tale of the Taileypo. This serves to emphasize the diversity and raw, humor-laden power inherent in the stories passed down through generations.

The pedagogical argument The authors argue that formal schooling often relies on dry, rote learning that ignores the child's deeper nature. They propose that storytelling acts as a "language of the feelings," bridging the gap between the classroom and the library.

The restorative power of narrative A series of case studies illustrates how storytelling functions as a therapeutic tool for the sick and the grieving. The narrative here shifts from the educational to the personal, framing the act of telling stories as a way to preserve one's own sanity and health.

The organizational call to action The issue concludes by profiling university clubs and local leagues dedicated to the craft of storytelling. It provides resources and a directory, aiming to unify a scattered movement of educators into a organized national force.

The People

The central figures are the storytellers themselves—the teachers, librarians, and parents who serve as conduits for the tales. They are portrayed as "missionaries" who possess an intuitive understanding of their audience, needing "clear, flexible, interpretative" voices to succeed. Their primary obstacle is an educational establishment that treats children as subjects to be drilled rather than individuals to be inspired.

The children are the vital audience, viewed as beings with "unconscious potentialities" that only the right story can awaken. The "greedy" brother in the tale of the Stone Lion serves as a cautionary archetype, representing the failure of character that the magazine hopes to avoid in its young readers. The editors, particularly Richard T. Wyche, act as the project’s architects, shifting from roles as storytellers to administrators who organize the "Story Tellers’ Leagues." By the end, these figures—the storyteller, the child, and the editor—are united in a shared effort to champion the "rights of the child" in the face of a cold and formal civilization.

In Its Own Voice

"The story is thus a language of the feelings; it is a means of communication between the past and the unconscious and undeveloped potentialities of the present."

The editor describes the profound, almost subconscious connection formed between the teller of a tale and the listening child.

"To find a story that the boys and girls think humorous, and to laugh together with them, is decidedly refreshing and healthful to the teacher, who has dwelt so much on grammatical forms which are not fundamental in a child’s interest."

The magazine justifies the use of funny, even slightly barbaric folk tales as a necessary corrective to the rigid, joyless atmosphere of early 20th-century schoolrooms.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the magazine is a critique of the industrialization of the mind. It argues that modern education’s reliance on "grammatical forms" and "formal methods" suppresses the natural, imaginative spirit of the child. The book treats the story as a fundamental human right, a "symbolic language" that allows the past to live on in the present. It posits that the act of giving a story is a reciprocal process; the teller heals their own sorrows by "brightening the lives of his hearers." Ultimately, the work is an argument for a "union of art and life," insisting that education must be rooted in the shared, emotional experience of humanity rather than the detached, clinical delivery of facts.

Why Read It Today

Readers today will find this magazine a poignant time capsule of the early 20th-century effort to humanize the classroom. Those who value the oral tradition or work in education will likely find the pedagogical fervor—and the genuine belief that stories can literally save lives—deeply moving.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the period-specific attitudes that permeate the text. The writing reflects the racial and cultural sensibilities of 1913, particularly in its casual use of dialect and its references to "primitive" societies. The prose can be earnest and didactic, and the pedagogical arguments are heavily steeped in the specific psychological theories of the era. Despite these dated elements, the core message remains strikingly relevant: the belief that children are better served by the warmth of a well-told story than by the cold efficiency of a curriculum. What stays with you is the magazine’s radical insistence that imagination is not a frivolous luxury, but an essential component of human health, and that the "free-masonry of emotional meaning" found in a good story is the most important thing a teacher can offer a child.