Vol. XV.
Boomer, North Carolina, June, 1929.
No. 1.
GOT ME BEAT
The mocking-bird is in the
tree a-singing little songs to me,
while I sit here beneath the limb
a-writing little pomes to him. He
just don't seem to have no
trouble in making his throat trill
and bubble; that melody that
he's a-droppin' don't never show
no signs of stoppin'.
But these-here poems, you can
bet, are hard to do and make me
sweat. They make me hollow
eyed and lean to get them out of
my old bean. So I just guess
that I had better knock off and
write a business letter. He has
to such perfection risen, he'll
sing my song as well as his'n.
BIRD IN A GILDED CAGE
LETTING GOD DO IT
When Lindy flew across the
sea, he made a hit with you and
me, and all the world went on a
spree at such a wonder. But he
did not get over-fed on all the
praises sung and said, that would
have turned another head in
spite of thunder.
Beyond a doubt it was the
boy's unusual sense and perfect
poise that took him through that
spell of noise, without mishap.
For that was harder, if you
please, than flying over angry
seas to meet a world upon its
knees. So says yer pap.
But he who conquered sea and
land and had the skies at his
command has come at last to un
derstand that he's a piker. He
fell at Anne Morrow's feet and
there confessed that he was
beat, and her control was so com
plete, there's nothing like her.
Now Anne's dad is rich as
mud, and hers is just the bluest
blood that's ever been since
Noah's Flood, and rumor tells
that Lindy ha.'.? acquired the
right henceforth- to tail the so
cial kite and have his name in
black .and white among the
swells.
It puzzles me to hear 'em say
that he whose name in bright
array eould belt the planet in a
day must still be told that he
was quite unfit to be received in
"best so-ci-e-tee" until he mar
ried (on his knee) a pile of gold !
When Congress met in extra
session, it was the general im
pression that Hoover had some
well-laid plan to nelp the poor
old farming man. But "farm
relief" has turned to vapor, and
now I see here in the paper that
Hoover aims to pass the buck
and leave poor farmers out of
luck.
It seems, indeed, that our good
Quaker is going to bow before
his Maker, with 'tear-drops run
ning down his face, and tell the
Lord to take the case. The pa
per says that Herb's consented
to have official prayers present
ed before God's throne one cer
tain day, and all the plutes will
bow and pray.
They'll tell the Lord in touch
ing manner how they have
marched beneath His banner,
and how they've tried to help
the jay who makes the wheat
and corn and hay. But, strange
ly, every time they try it the
rich are benefitted by it, and still
the man who digs the dirt is
never helped but always hurt.
When campaigns come and
votes are needed, the old speed
limit is exceeded in making
promises to Jake that he shall
live on pie and cake. But when
the pay-day dawns in glory they
come back with a different story,
and Mister Hayseed has to do
with just a dried-up prayer or
two.
Now I suspect that Hank and
Hiram can make some prayers
if they desire 'em, and they'd be
apt to do more good than Mister
Big Ike's praying would. And
think of just one day of bowing
I to pray for him who does the
plowing, while all the other days
are spent in adding to his dis
content !
In this connection I will men
tion that there was once a Cat
Convention- at which the cats
were very nice and prayed for
all the little mice. The cats all
felt when that was ended that
they had acted very splendid.
Then having been so wondrous
good, they caught just all the
mice they could.,
how they're willing to confess
that Old Man Farmer's in dis
tress. It also makes it clearer to
me that his prospects are sorter
gloomy. If God don't help the
poor old soul, he'll have to stay
down in the hole.
THE LUCK OF A LOUSY CALF
GREAT HOWLING WILDCATS
My uncle Jake's young daugh
ter Kate got married to some
sorry skate, and went off with
him in a Ford to find a place
where they could board. They
took their meals at some cafe,
and found a barn-loft full of hay
where they could sleep beneath
the beams, with naught to break
Now uncle Jake and an the
rest were deeply wounded and
distressed, and swore with many
an ugly durn that Kate should
nevermore return. They'd cut
her off without a cent because
she took that sorry gertf, and
nary dime of that estate should
ever pass on down to Kate.
So Kate and mate dropped out
of sight, and no one took the
pains to write and ask if they
were still alive, or send a wish
that they would thrive. The
cheap cafe was soon unknown,
the barn stood empty and alone,
and somewhere down the human
stream they drifted onward like
a dream.
But somehow, as the seasons
rolled, the papers came back
East and told how in the West a
certain guy was getting rich and
i living high. For Kate and mate
, had staked a claim out wheje
the oil gushers flame, and their
j big gusher did not fail till they
were lousy with the kale.
As soon as uncle Jake was wise
to Kate's and mate's financial
rise,, he melted like a tallow man
dropped in-a red-hot frying-pan.
And all the folks about the place
grew strangely good and full of
; grace, and said, with hands
across the heart, they always
I knew that Kate was smart.
The moral is that when you're
broke and hungrv and about to
S croak, the folks, in country andi Al bmuh is politically dead,
j in town will do their best to keep but the Anti-Smiths in Virginia
i you down. But if you buck the are very much alive.
.whole combine and win out bigj
Away back yander in ancient
times before I started to write
rhymes, our old friend Ted, as
you may recall, was lodged in
the White House, teeth and all.
And one fine day when the sign
was wrong Booker T. Washing
ton came along, and Teddy smole
his well-known smile, saying,
"Come in, Booker, and stay a-
while. We're going to have dinner
in an hour or two, and we'll feel
honored to eat with you. So you
just park yourself and stay and
we'll have a ?ood time here to
day." So Booker he parked him
self and stayed till dinner was
cooked and the plates were laid,
and under the table he stuck his
feet ,and O gosh-a-mighty, how
he did eat!
The news went out that the
president had really dined with
a colored gent, and there was a
howl and a cry of shame, and
Ted and Booker were both to
blame. There was lots of talk,
and what folks said was mostly
a-cussing out Booker and Ted,
and the question grew to an
awful size, and Ted grew little in
Southern eyes. So there was a
plank for the next campaign, and
every Jerry and every Jane was
up in arms to defend their rights
and make the White House safe
for the whites.
But just when Hoover had
made his start we hear more
wails like a broken heart, and we
stop and listen at all the row
and wonder what CAN be the
matter now Why, hang my but
tons and sarn my skin if it ain't
the same old "nigger" agin.
Bekaze Miz Hoover has pulled a
feast and invited the Chocolate
Dame de Priest.
Even a Cannon can't always
hit the mark.
. The storm-center has shifted
from Mrs. Gann to Mrs. de
Priest. Oh, these troublesome
wimmen !
This day of nraver that land brave and fine, the doggon' Bishop Cannon is a big gun in
they've appointed to have the
farmer's head anointed shows1 like pumpkin pie.
hypocrites will try to eat you up the Methodist church, but a mere
I bean-shooter in Wall Street.