By Robert Carmonius


1859 - January 23, 1929


A merchant of books—a maestro of pseudonyms—a virtuoso of identities.

Ladies and gents, dear friends and esteemed comrades,


Today, in the midst of an era echoing with change and vigor, we gather to pay tribute to a true trailblazer of thought, a man whose intellectual verve left an indelible mark on the tapestry of his era. Arthur Desmond, born in 1859, he shuffled off this mortal coil on a brisk in 1929, leaving behind a legacy that echoes through the alleys of thought and the pages of history.

Arthur Desmond, a true iconoclast of his time, was not merely a man of ink and paper; he was the custodian of knowledge on the north side of Chicago, a bookseller whose passion for the written word fueled the imaginations of many a soul. In the shadow of skyscrapers and the echoes of melancholic melodies, he stood as a literary luminary, inviting seekers of wisdom into the realms of imagination.

But Desmond was more than a merchant of books; he was a maestro of pseudonyms, a virtuoso of identities. In the bustling streets of Chicago, he donned the guise of Richard Thurland, weaving tales of Lincoln and promoting tomes like "The Lion's Paw," "Redbeard’s Review" and "The Sayings of Nietzsche." A man of many faces, he ventured north to Canada as Gerald Desmond, leaving footprints in the snow while advertising in the Jeffersonian as Lord Richard Thurland, generously distributing booklets on Francisco Ferrer.

And then, there was the opus that stirred the very foundations of convention – "Might is Right." Penned under his infamous nom de plume Ragnar Redbeard, it was a literary tempest that challenged the norms, a thunderclap in the silent libraries of societal expectations. In its pages, he beckoned readers to question, to rebel, to dare.

As we pay our tribute to Arthur Desmond, let us not mourn the passing of a man but celebrate the symphony of ideas he orchestrated. May the echoes of his intellectual daring continue to resonate through the pages of time, inspiring new generations to explore the boundless realms of thought.

Find tranquility, Arthur Desmond, as your words linger and your diverse personas intertwine within the fabric of our shared recollections. May your voyage into the unknown be as captivating as the myriad identities you once embraced.

"I’m resting now, but not for long,

    Travel soon I must;

The distance sings its luring song,

    I feel the wanderlust."


In the timeless rhythm of existence, here's to you, weaver of thoughts.

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