Another Clown Band

 

THE CLOWNS

Their flour hands forever learning

To be tongues and speak, the clowns

Pull down their flags, they collapse

As tents over poles.

The clowns haul down their hearts

Like kites.

They open their loves like oysters.

They open

To seek the clever eyes of love.

(Papa, what are clowns?)

(They are fools, son.)

The clowns are making us beggars,

They dance in a ring,

They have the metal eyes of birds

And have traveled from country to country.

(Papa, what do clowns do?)

(They make us laugh, son.)

Clowns cannot be tripped, like dancers,

Nor broken, like banjos,

They sometimes wrestle with weather

Like old trees.

by Richard O. Moore 

Poetry, vol. 67, no. 4 (Jan., 1946)

The preceding poem was the work of Richard O. Moore (1920 – 2015), an American poet  associated with the San Francisco Renaissance. This movement in modern poetry and other associated artforms was also connected to poets and writers working at Black Mountain College, a private liberal arts college that operated from 1933–1957 in Black Mountain, North Carolina. The composer John Cage (1912–1992) also taught there, but I do not know if Richard Moore ever had any direct link with the college. By coincidence Black Mountain is only 15 miles from where I live now. I chose Moore's poem by chance because I thought it fit the image of this German clown band. It was published in January 1946 in Poetry, A Magazine of Verse. 

The six costumed musicians pictured on this postcard are Charly Petrelly's Orig. Clown-Capelle ~ Original Clown Band. The clown standing center with a violin is the leader, Charly Petrelly. They seem to be on a stage surrounded by an assortment of musical instruments. In addition to Charly's fiddle there are several brass instruments, a blackwood flute, drums and three trapezoidal xylophones which were a popular folk instrument in Central Europe in the 1900s. On the left backwall is a shelf displaying some wine and/or liquor bottles which I believe were played like a tuned percussion instrument. There is also an upright piano with a pair of long herald trumpets above. Hung along the top of the wall are over a dozen ribbon awards. Perhaps commemorating prizes won at some clown contest? It looks more like a clubhouse than a theater's stage.

The postcard was sent from Bremen, Germany on 22 March 1914 to a soldier's address in Sondershausen, a central German town in Thuringia, west of Leipzig. The handwriting is difficult to make out clearly, as the addressee's rank looks more like Musketier than Musiker, though neither uses an umlaut ü. What amuses me about the message is that at least three, maybe four people, have written a greeting in grey, red, and blue, orienting the lines along four directions. On the front picture of the band two of the clowns have signatures written in pencil on their white collars, so maybe the card was sent by the clowns.

Lübecker Volksbote
23 September 1913

Charly Petrelly was known as „Die fidelen Leipziger” ~ The jolly Leipziger as featured in this German theater notice from September 1913. He and his Klown-Kapelle performed at the  Konzerthaus Zauberflöte ~ Concert Hall Magic Flute (Mozart's most famous opera) in Lübeck, a port city northeast of Hamburg on the Baltic Sea. They were known as Die 7 Blödsinnigen ~ the Seven Idiots, an appropriate name for a bunch of foolish clowns.

.

_ _

Here is another postcard of Charly Petrelly and his comical crew. [Pardon the image quality but I just found it online today and have not yet purchased it.]

Here the group is a quintet, not a sextet as in the other postcard. They display mostly brass and percussion instruments with three of long trumpets carefully arranged at the front. The three clowns in the center appear to be floating in the air but are actually lying on a thin tabletop. The postmark date is 14 September 1910 from Leipzig. 

What kind of music did Charly Petrelly's clown band they play? Did it include singing too? I imagine their act was an absurd imitation of a real musical ensemble with lots of foolish pratfalls, weird noises, and other outlandish behavior like throwing pies. However I suspect that the humor of a clown band from 1913-14 would still make a 21st century audience roar with laughter, whereas the jokes of a standup comic from the same era would be very stale and unamusing. 

To be successful entertainers Charly Petrelly's clown band needed to practice its timing, coordinate its banter and buffoonery, and hone the act to a sharp edge of absurd slapstick. Being funny in show biz is a serious business. It's all about finding the invisible balance between pathos and cheer. The world could use more clown bands right now.

Here's a suitable video to accompany this postcard.

It's a clip from the 1948 MGM film The Pirate

starring Judy Garland and Gene Kelly.

This scene features a memorable song by Cole Porter
and a dance number that features Gene Kelly (the pirate)

and the fabulous Nicholas Brothers, 

Fayard (1914–2006) and Harold (1921–2000).

And for a musical bonus here is a clip

from another Gene Kelly movie

Singin' In The Rain

which was released four years later in 1952.

The song is "Make 'Em Laugh"
written by Arthur Freed and Nacio Herb Brown

which perceptive listeners will hear  

bears a very strong similarity to Cole Porter's song in The Pirate. 

It is performed by Donald O'Connor.

From the Wikipedia entry for "Make 'Em Laugh":  

O'Connor's performance for  is noted for its extreme physical difficulty, featuring dozens of jumps, pratfalls, and two backflips. Hollywood legend states that O'Connor, though only 27 years old at the time but a chain-smoker, was bedridden for several days after filming the sequence.

The song was a last minute addition to the film and was acknowledged as "100% plagiarism" as both the music and lyrics of "Make 'Em Laugh" are nearly identical in form and style to "Be a Clown". Although Cole Porter had unchallenged reason to bring suit, he never sued for copyright infringement.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where everyone is clowning around this weekend.

And by pure chance
this talented clown and his sidekick 
were performing yesterday (16 February)
here in downtown Asheville, North Carolina.

Make 'em laugh, indeed!

The Band of the USS North Dakota

 

What did you do in the war, Daddy?
 

Well, mostly the navy just kept me in the same place,
though they were always changing where that place was.

 

 

 

Was it very scary, Daddy?

For me and my shipmates not too much.
We mainly just played and had fun,
if you can believe it,
and let other fellows
take care of the fearsome parts.

 

 

Did you ever have to shoot someone, Daddy? 

Nope, the navy gave me a less lethal weapon, an alto sax.
But it was always loaded and ready for action.
I even won a medal for marksmanship
though I never hurt anyone with it.   Much.
 

Besides, the other boys had longer guns
to fire off the really big bangs.

 

I've always liked photos marked with Xs and arrows. They add that personal touch that says, "Here I am. Did'ja recognize me?" It's like a puzzle that gives away a good first clue. Now all you have to do is search the other photos to find your guy. 

 

This sailor's postcard photo is no different than thousands of other wartime snapshots of groups of servicemen hanging around some unknown military post, or in this case on the deck of a U.S. Navy ship. These 15 sailors are really not the most distinctive feature of this small, grainy photo. It's the giant gun barrels behind them that draws our attention. Clearly the vessel they're onboard is not a small destroyer but some great battleship.

 

This was one image in a lot of seven postcards that I acquired a few years ago which I might have skipped except that I spotted the arrow whispering "Here I am." In this case the sailor's mark was particularly useful as he and his fellow shipmates weren't holding their instruments then. Fortunately in the next photo we find them in the ship's band arranged in a more formal pose. And again there is another helpful arrow and a bonus duplicate card as well.

 

The sailor's check mark was nice, but even better was his caption written onto the duplicate photo.

U. S. S. No. Dakota Band — Feb 9 — 1918

USS North Dakota, circa 1912
Source: Navsource.org

The USS North Dakota was the second of two Delaware-class battleships, the first American dreadnoughts built using the revolutionary design elements of the British Royal Navy's HMS Dreadnought. Beginning in 1906, ships of this type were armed with a very large number of heavy-calibre guns, shielded by thick armor plate, and propelled with steam turbines which gave them an unprecedented level of firepower, protection, and speed

When the USS North Dakota was launched in November 1908 by the Fore River Shipyard in Massachusetts, it was promoted as the biggest and best battleship ever built. The folks in North Dakota considered this a pretty big deal, even though few of them had ever seen an ocean, much less a battleship.

{click any image for a larger view}

Fargo ND Forum & Daily Republican
10 November 1918

 

 

Delaware-class battleship
USS North Dakota (BB-29)
Source: Wikipedia

 

 

The USS North Dakota had a total length of 518 ft 9 in (158 m); a beam of 85 ft 3 in (26 m); and a draft of 27 ft 3 in (8 m). The hull construction used 11 inch armor plate; the deck was 2 inches thick; and the gun turrets were protected by 12 inch thick steel. The battleship was armed with a main battery of ten 12-inch Mark 5 guns in five twin turrets; a secondary battery of twenty-one 5-inch Mark 6 guns mounted in casemates along the side of the hull; and a pair of 21-inch torpedo tubes submerged in the hull. The ship's engines were powered by fourteen coal-fired boilers that could generate a top speed of 21 knots and give her a cruising range of 6,500 nautical miles.

 

Somewhere between the coal, munitions, supplies, and other equipment the shipbuilders found enough room on the North Dakota to stow a crew of 933 officers and men. And of that number, between 17 and 24 sailors were members of the ship's band.
 

 

 

In this next photo, a smaller group of 17 musicians in the North Dakota's band stand outside on a tilted deck dressed in dark fatigue uniforms with black stocking caps. Standing on the right with his alto saxophone is my guy, marked with another arrow. Their cold weather gear was also worn by the band in my story, The Lucky Band on the USS Minnesota. It's also important to note that the euphonium player in the back row, left, has the complexion of a Filipino, an interesting colonial heritage that occurred during this era of racial segregation which I have explored in several stories like The Navy Band of the USS Minneapolis, and A Filipino Navy Band.

 

Evidently in this next photo the weather turned a bit sharper for the North Dakota while cruising the Chesapeake, because the bandsmen have turned up the collars of their pea coats. It's a larger group with 27 bandsmen and the chief musician standing center in a flat non-commissioned officer's hat. For a challenge my guy didn't bother to mark his place, so readers will have to hunt for him. Hint: Look for an alto sax.

 

 

When the United States joined the Great War in April 1917, the USS North Dakota was stationed in the York River operating primarily in the Chesapeake Bay training gunners and engine room personnel. By this time, only seven years since she was fully commissioned in April 1910, the North Dakota was no longer a top-of-the-line battleship and its Delaware-class design had been superseded by eight more dreadnought classes, each one an improvement on the previous class ships. During its first years of service, problems and deficiencies like cracks in the armor plate, or unreliable engines were exposed in the North Dakota which required major repairs. So the navy department deemed the USS North Dakota too much of a risk to deploy to Europe and she was kept for training and escort duty along the Atlantic coast.

In late January 1918, just a week before the second photo of the band was taken, three sailors from the North Dakota were lost overboard during a storm. The location was not identified and their bodies were not recovered. In February two other sailors from the battleship were arrested and charged with murder of a civilian while on leave in Ohio. In July another sailor on the ship died of diphtheria, a dreaded scourge that threatened many ships. Ominously, in October 1918 a newspaper in Kansas reported that a local boy wrote home with the news that though he was in fine health there were a few cases of the "Flu" on his ship, the North Dakota, but "none of the boys have died."  Even though the North Dakota was confined to duty close to its home shores, there were still many hazards to worry a mother.

 

If you've followed his marks you should have no trouble recognizing this portrait of my mystery alto saxophonist. He stands next to the ship's rail with the rippling waves of either the Chesapeake Bay or the Atlantic Ocean in the background. With a receding hairline he appears closer to age 30 than 20. He wears the same dark fatigue duty uniform with stocking cap as seen in the previous band photos. Unfortunately, probably because he knew the recipient of this photo would recognize him, he didn't bother to identify himself on this picture. But by chance there is one additional item of ephemera that was generously included in the lot of seven photos. It's a navy pass granting a brief shore leave.

 

Name    C. Griffith    Date    June 28th 

Rate    1st Mus    Division    R 

Requests    Wish to go ashore 

    at 1:00 P.M. to expire 

    8am    6/29/20 

Reason    To buy Band Music 

Is recommended    JRB    Division Officer 

Approved    MCM    Commander

 

It's just a common example of ordinary navy life, but its provenance strongly connects it to this lot of postcards from the USS North Dakota and my dutiful alto saxophonist. Could 1st Musician C. Griffith be my guy? I wish I could say for sure, but the archives of the U.S. Navy don't reveal anyone with a similar name. The initial C could be anything, so Charles Griffith might be the most probable, yet Carl or Clifford are just as likely. Since I think he looks like a Charlie, I'll call him that.

The pass doesn't have any location but the date 6/29/20 implies that Charlie survived the war and reenlisted in the navy. The service records of the USS North Dakota are a bit scanty and without the ship's logbooks I can't be certain where this pass was issued. 

 

 

Grand Island NE Independent
17 March 1919

 

During the first winter of peacetime, the North Dakota finally made a trip to Europe when it was assigned to take the body of the Italian Ambassador to the United States, Vincenzo Macchi di Cellere, who had died 20 October 1918 in Washington, D.C., back to Italy. This tour of the Mediterranean took in Malta, Athens, and Constantinople before returning. I don't know the full dates of the tour, but it's easy to imagine Charlie going ashore in Naples in search of new Italian band music. The following year found the USS North Dakota in Central America where it became the first dreadnought class battleship to transit the Panama Canal. Was Charlie along for that tour?

 

 

The last photo in this collection is a small snapshot from midship on the deck of sailors doing sailor stuff. The camera angle gives a good view of the battleship's twin funnels and two radio/conning towers. These are actually a carryover feature from the old days of sail when lookouts were stationed atop the highest mast to get a better view beyond the horizon than what was visible from the ship's deck. These crows nests must have been uncomfortable, not to mention dirty, for any sailor assigned to keep a watch for submarines while enveloped in ugly smoke from the funnels. 

 

Here is a colorized postcard of the USS North Dakota which I recently acquired. It shows the battleship shortly after it was commissioned in 1910 with billowing dark smog rising through the towers.

 

 

This postcard is unrelated to the photos or to Charlie, but I bought it partly for the unusual message on the back which I feel is so intriguing that it deserves a part in his story.  It was addressed to Mrs. F. E. Dyer, 3680 Georgia St. San Diego, California. The postmark is from Boston dated 25 September 1911.  

 

Sept 25. 6.  from No 50.

MDDM. Mid dazzling lightning
and thunderous din.  That's just
what it is, as I begin.   It comes to
relieve us from a sultry day.   No
more on this subject do I wish
to say.   Yours of the 18th received
this morn.   It made me feel thankful
I had been born.   I mean born to
this new poetic life.   It cheers one so
in there (sic) daily strife.   You don't want
to criticize yesterday's fish.   It was the last one on the dish.  Now remember
that's my earnest desire.   To yours truly Florence Dyer.  After forcing  

     {goes to top of card}
you to take a rest.   You renew the fun with vigor and zest.
But wait 'till I pull down my vest.  I'll
try to surpass even my BEST.
That will do for me
your truly.   S.  W.  D.

 

 

 

The Great War of 1914-18 was not just battles over the trenches of France. It was a global war unlike any conflict the world had ever suffered. Gigantic battleships like the USS North Dakota, the dreadnoughts, were supposed to be a strategic naval force that preserved peace by using the intimidating firepower of so-called "gunboat diplomacy". Yet it was the international arms race to build more and bigger battleships that increased the bellicose tension between nations which ultimately led to each side believing its armed forces would prevail whenever a war started. Tragically these giant battleships turned out to be very vulnerable to submarine attack, and proved useless in changing the outcome of land warfare. For most of the war, Germany's battleship fleet stayed in port and let its U-Boats do all the dirty work. 

 

After the war in February 1922, the five major allied powers signed the Washington Naval Treaty, limiting military armaments and reducing naval construction. One result was the decommissioning of several categories of warships, including the USS North Dakota which was removed from the active list in November 1923. Ironically the ship's structure was retained for use as target practice until finally sold for scrap in March 1931.

What interests me is that every battleship, whether British, German or American, had a ship's band like the North Dakota. It was partly because old naval traditions demanded it, but most admirals also knew that a good band enhanced the crew's morale, calming fears and encouraging patriotism. In this last age before radio and recorded music, a live concert of music inspired a sailor's faith and cured the ultimate bane of any navy ship—boredom. Charlie's alto saxophone likely serenaded many a gunner to sleep and enlivened the toil of loading coal with upbeat marches. That seems like a wartime service anyone would be proud to tell their children. 

 

 

 

 

 

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where bell bottoms are all the rage now.

The Boys Band of Cromwell, Indiana

 

Ever since the camera was invented
the most common decision photographers make
is where to pose their subjects.
For a sizeable group like this boys' brass band
a typical outdoor site might be on a bandstand; in a field;
in front of a building; or on a porch stoop.
Selecting a novel setting can be just as important for a photographer
as finding the best light or adjusting the lens.

Though today we might think it an unimaginative choice,
assembling everyone to take their picture
in front of an automobile
was once a new original concept.

 

 

 

 

It certainly made a more interesting photograph to place this small band, a group of 15 young boys, ages 7 to 14,  beside an early delivery vehicle. They are a true brass band with only cornets, baritones, valve trombones, and tubas, along with two drummers. It must have been an important occasion as their mothers have dressed them in their best suits with ties, starched collars, knee pants, and an assortment of flat caps and porkpie hats.

The postcard was mailed from Cromwell, Indiana on 19 September 1912 to Mrs. Sam Judy of Syracuse, Indiana, about 5 miles west of Cromwell as a crow flies. The card has an annotation identifying them as the Cromwell High School Band, but this is surely mistaken as none of the boys looks old enough for a secondary level school.

 

 

Dear Ant & family       ( X Ralph Mock)
We cannot come down
Sat as we are going to
have camp. W. Kneppers &
W. W. Kneppers & E. Stoner &
wife E Jones & wife &
Mrs M Iden and C. A.
Hougling are coming.
                            Ethel Iden.

According to the 1910 census for Sparta township, Noble county, Indiana, Ethel A. Iden was then age 28 and married to Charles E. Iden, a farmer. They had a son Oris C. Iden who in 1912 would be six years old and might be one of the younger boys, though I think they are older. As I interpret the X on the back, it marks the position on the front of Ralph Mock, the tallest boy standing 3rd from right with a cornet. Ralph lived 7 farmhouses down on the same census page as the Iden family and was the son of Fanny E. Mock, a widow. She was the daughter of William and Laura Knepper with whom she, Ralph, and her daughter Fay resided. Ethel's message was written in pencil, but the annotations were made in ink, so I suspect she or Mrs. Judy added them many years later.

To place them into a geography, Cromwell and Sparta are small farming towns about three miles apart in Noble county in northeastern Indiana. The largest city in the county is Ligonier which in 1912 had a weekly newspaper, the Ligonier Leader, that served most of the communities in the county. Every Thursday the paper published eight pages, each divided into 9 dense columns of tiny typeface, covering not just the news of the nation and world, but reports from every local town and hamlet in Noble county. Every social gathering, family visitor, illness, accident, crop harvest, business deal, and fish count found a place in this busy social network hub.

 

Ligonier IN Leader
18 April 1912

In April 1912 it was reported that in Cromwell, "Our juvenile brass band is learning fast under the direction of Prof. Hire of Syracuse."  That's a good match for the boys' band pictured on this postcard, though it's odd that Pro. Hire is not standing with his young musicians, but perhaps that's because he was holding the camera. From April to September the boys should have enjoyed a full summer of practice, learning a repertoire suitable for a public concert. 

 

In any case Prof. Hire or the photographer placed the Cromwell Juvenile Brass Band next to a motorized vehicle which I suspect was an unfamiliar machine for these farm boys. Henry Ford introduced his first Model T automobile just four years earlier in September 1908, but the first Ford truck, the Model TT, would not come off the assembly line until 1918. For rural communities in 1912 automobiles were a rare sight as they still depended on horse-drawn transport. Steam engines may have been the dominant power for industry and railways, but the great age of gasoline/petrol motors had begun. 

While it's possible that this vehicle was made by Ford or one of the other early automobile manufacturers, it is not a typical family car for 1912. I think it's a custom coachwork design for a tradesman as the chassis has a covered wagon box fitted with large windows on the side. 

 

Windows with beveled glass.

 

I can't think of any trade that would need a vehicle with fancy window glass like this, except for one—an undertaker. I think this vehicle is a hearse and that the windows on both sides and on the side door were designed to display full view of a casket as it was conveyed to a cemetery for burial.

 

If I'm correct, this may explain why the boys look so somber and even a bit dismayed.

 

 

1910 Cunningham Motor Hearse built in Rochester, New York
for Fort Worth, Texas undertaker.
Source: the Internet

In 1912 a motorized hearse was a novel idea for a trade that for centuries used a horse-drawn hearse. This image of a 1910 Cunningham motor hearse shows a similar box-shaped vehicle with large side windows covered in drapery. The curved side piece and lantern on the driver's cab is also a feature on horse-drawn hearses too.

 

 

1913 Peerless Hearse, Cleveland, Ohio
Source: the Internet

 The 1913 Peerless hearse follows the same design with very ornate lanterns and window dressings.

 

1912 Crane & Breed Motor Hearse, Cincinnati, Ohio
Source: the Internet

 

The early automobile journals are filled with detailed descriptions of all sorts of vehicles. In 1912 one magazine reported on the new Crane & Breed motor hearse from Cincinnati which could be fitted with either a 35 or 45 hp motor. Considering that a hearse was never required to drive fast, or far, or even often, the level of engine trivia in the description is amusing to read. 

Fort Wayne IN Journal-Gazette
14 January 1911

Unfortunately I found no reference to a "motor hearse" in the Ligonier Leader, but 30 miles south in Fort Wayne there was a 1911 report of a motor hearse. It was "the first of its kind in this section," and  carried a casket a distance of 25 miles in two hours and forty-five minutes.

 

 

Unmarked Hearse circa 1915
Source: the Internet

This last image of a motor hearse dates from 1915 and has the same long box construction with glass windows behind the driver's bench. The vehicle pictured with the Cromwell Boy's Band doesn't have the side lanterns and is not as ornate as these city hearses, but it does fits with the style, and I can't believe there was another business in Noble county at that time that would need a motorized wagon with bevel glass side windows.

As we can see, the boys are all well dressed and some even have a flower pinned to their jacket lapel. They are clearly made up for a special event and their solemn expressions could be a reflection of some kind of serious moment. But if a juvenile brass band actually performed at a funeral ceremony, I expect that would be noteworthy enough to get a mention in the  county's newspaper. 

 

Perhaps there may be another explanation.

 

 

 

Ligonier IN Leader
19 September 1912

By a curious coincidence on Thursday 19 September 1912, the same day Ethel Iden posted her postcard of the band, the Ligonier Leader published a very brief report from their Cromwell correspondent. "Our band of boosters started out Monday morning in fifteen automobiles, with the juvenile band, our sweet singers and a number of citizens with Rev. Gaff in charge of the megaphone. They visited Kimmell, Wawaka, Albion, Ligonier, Millersburg, Syracuse, North Webster and other towns."

 

In this era many small towns in America indulged in this kind of self-promotion using the novelty of the modern automobile to take a tour of their region. I've written two stories about a town in Kansas that did this and took a band along: On The Road in White City, Kansas, and Street Music in White City, Kansas. It seems very likely that the Cromwell Juevenile Band was taken along and had their photo taken that Monday. Three days later, Ethel was in Cromwell, saw the photo postcard at the drug store, and bought it to send her message to Mrs. Judy.  

It still doesn't explain the motor hearse. But my hunch is that fifteen automobiles with 15 kids and assorted adults would be pretty crowded unless there was a vehicle to carry the band's instruments. If the local undertaker wasn't busy that day and could be persuaded that showing off his latest piece of equipment was good advertisement for his business, a motor hearse would be the perfect way to carefully transport band instruments around the county. That's what I think happened that day.

And if you were ten years old
you would likely be thinking of this poem
as your photo was being taken.

 

 

The Hearse Song from
The American Songbag
by Carl Sandburg
published in 1927
Source: The Internet Archive

 

As I was searching for clues about hearses this week, I couldn't help but remember this old jingle which I learned when I was about eight or ten. The Hearse Song was popularized in World War One, but has roots that go way back to earlier centuries. It was collected by the great American Poet, Carl Sandburg, who was also an accomplished folk singer too. His home in Flat Rock, North Carolina, about 30 mile from where I live, is now a National Historic Site. 

 

There are a number of other contemporary versions of this jingle by performers who have altered the lyrics and turned it into a kind of macabre Goth anthem, which I think misses the point. Carl Sandburg recorded his version of the The Hearse Song when he was eighty, accompanying himself on guitar. It's the one I particularly like, so let's listen to the master's voice. He switches the two lyrics and sings the B verse first.

 

 

 

Did you ever think as the hearse rolls by
That some of these days you must surely die?
They'll take you away in a big black hack,
They'll take you away but won't bring you back.

 

The men with shovels stand all around.
They shovel you into that cold, wet ground.
They shovel in dirt and they throw in rocks.
They don't give a dam if they break the box.

And your eyes drop out and your teeth fall in
And the worms crawl over your mouth and chin;
And the worms crawl out and the worms crawl in
And your limbs drop off of you limb by limb. 

 

The old Grey Hearse goes rolling by,
You don't know whether to laugh or cry;
For you know some day it'll get you too,
And the hearse's next load may consist of -- you.

They'll take you out and they'll lower you down,
While men with shovels stand all a-round;
They'll throw in dirt and they'll throw in rocks,
And they won't give a dam-m-m if they break the box.

The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out,
They crawl all over your chin and mouth,
They invite their friends and their friends' friends too,
And you look like hell when they're -- through -- with you.

 

 Source: Representative Poetry Online

 

 

 

 

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where everyone loves to go on a Saturday drive.

Music for the Birds

 

 

 Their music was played loud and brassy,

 

 

 

 

 

though the townsfolk thought it too sassy, 

 

 

but out in the yard it sounded a treat
and even the tuba sang so  sweet,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 that their neighbors thought it high classy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This postcard, circa 1910,
offers no clues as to who, where, or when
this brass band of nine musicians,
all female except for a lone man on tuba,
gathered together to pose for the camera.
There is enough resemblance in their faces
to think there is a family connection
of sisters or mothers with daughters,
but we shouldn't assume that the tuba player
is married to one of the women.
He is just as likely to be a brother
or even just a farmer from down the road.
In any case they all look too well dressed for just a rehearsal,
so I think the photo was taken at their concert.

 

What makes it a curious image is that the band
stands happily below a very impressive bird house
which boasts of a front porch and two chimneys.

 

What lucky birds.

 

 

 

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where everyone is welcome
to join the lawn party.