It was my intention to be with you on this great day, but owing to illness I am unable to come. My old friend, J. D. Young, has kindly consented to read this message to you. You may be sure, however, that my heart and soul are with you there, and I thank you for your thought of me.
When I was a young man in the heyday of my writing years it was my habit to dedicate my books to the children of my family as they came along. When my Song of Hugh Glass was completed after three years of devoted effort, I dedicated it to my only son Sigurd, then scarcely three. The dedication ran thus:
That was in 1915, more than half a century ago. I have kept my promise to the boy of ten and made the kites, and boats and bows; I have built the mood of daring and of fortitude for the growing man, exemplified by old Hugh Glass.
I watched my boy grow old —— and full of sleep —— and now that it has been getting later and later for me recently, it thrills me to think innumerable men, women, and children will spend happy times in this recreation park near where Hugh Glass fought alone for life.
And may many learn the great lessons set forth in Hugh Glass. For instance:
"nor might treachery recall the miracle of being loved at all."
And also:
"the duty and the beauty of endeavor, the privilege of going on forever, a victor in the moment!"
Again, I thank you for this very special honor that has come to me in the dedication of this Hugh Glass Park.
(signed) John G. Neihardt
