Samuel Langhorne Clemens came squalling into this world on November 30, 1835, in
,
- a town so small it could barely hold its own name. Folks say Halley's Comet was blazing across the heavens that night, and Sam always reckoned he'd ride out on its tail when his time came. When he was four, the Clemens clan packed up and moved to
, a lively little river town on the
. That muddy river became his playground, his schoolyard, and later, the lifeblood of his stories.
Young Sam was a wiry, mischievous lad with a head full of notions and a knack for finding
. His schooling was short - just enough to learn his letters and cipher a bit - because when his father died, Sam traded books for a
's apron. He set type for his brother
's newspaper, then wandered east to St. Louis, New York, and
, chasing work and
like a hound after a scent.
But the river kept calling. Sam answered by learning the trade of a
under the watchful eye of
Bixby. For a few golden years, he rode the Mississippi's back, guiding boats through fog and shoals, until the Civil War scuttled that dream. So he lit out for the west -
first, where he tried his luck at
and struck nothing but blisters. Then came
in Virginia City and
, where his pen proved sharper than any pickaxe.
Under the name Mark Twain - a river term meaning "two fathoms" and indicating a safe depth - he began
that made folks laugh till their ribs ached. His first big splash was "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County," and from there he sailed straight into literary fame with "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn," stories steeped in the river breezes of his boyhood.
Twain married Olivia Langdon in 1870, and together they built a home in
, raising their children and filling their house with laughter and sorrow in equal measure. He traveled far and wide -
across America, roaming Europe, and circling the globe - always chasing
and dodging
. By the time his hair turned white, he was a living legend, as famous for his wit as for his white suit.
When Halley's Comet returned in 1910, Twain kept his promise. He slipped away on April 21, leaving behind a river of words that still runs strong today - reminding us that truth, told plain and with a wink, is the finest tale of all.
