Once again she is packing up

Another year, gone—

Pregnant, nursing,

With toddlers clinging

To her skirt,

She is moving once again.

 

Every year another town

Another babe

Through coal-dusted years

Including the short stay

In the one room, dirt floored

Residence provided

By the masters of coal

Till she refuses to stay put

Just this once.

 

At last a year passed

With no new birth,

Though she grows big

The next year and every

Two years thereafter–

Eleven boys, four girls.

Finally, after the last is born,

They settle in a lasting home.

 

Of the fifteen some marry,

Some die too soon.

Some live with her

Some live far away.

One brought her his diploma

After high school graduation.

 

But all return annually

Drawn by love of family,

The love instilled by her.

I once visited a terrible prison.

As I came back out into the sunshine

All I could think—did they really do that?

Put men in a dungeon; that’s almost indescribable.

The fetid air, the dampness, the utter pallor.

Please tell me men didn’t spend years there.

How could any human retain any semblance

Of still being human after a year inside.

Why do some men treat other human beings

Worse than they would wild, untamed animals.

Can men actually be that inhumane

To their fellow creatures and still be sane?

And my history tells of even worse cruelties.

Is taking a simple loaf of bread punishable

By cutting off that man’s hand?  How depraved.

Who is the greater criminal—-the jailer or

The judge who orders such insane punishments?

Who first decreed the set-up for debtors?

Imprisonment for some minor debt for years.

Sometimes with their family.

What sort of civilization creates a skein of laws

That exact an inhumane form of punishment?

Are we really not yet civilized?

How much longer will it take to make judgments

That really fit all those ordinary crimes?

The great stock market crashed in 1929,

The year I turned sixteen.

Now I couldn’t be blamed for that.

After all, I’m not sure what happened.

 

Our high school basketball team became state champs.

None of the other teams did anything exciting.

Our track team was actually pitiful in wins.

I was a member and I ran the mile for them,

Even won a couple times and I had a medal to prove it.

 

Some sophomore boys and I

Did discuss that new type of government.

Communism.  That’s what they called it.

We discussed it over one whole semester.

Decided it wasn’t for us, not in our country.

Too many restrictions on travel,

where you would work.

But the worst restriction of all

Was the ban on any criticism

Of the official party chairman.

 

We had a lot of fun in the Ohio River.

Swam in it almost every day that summer

And none of us ever got sick in any way.

Considering how filthy the Ohio was those days,

That’s a remarkable record.

The Ohio in those days carried trash and sewage

From every city, town and village for hundreds of miles.

We swam on a small beach between two bridges,

The suspension and the one called the steel bridge.

We enjoyed ourselves so much that, bashful as I was,

I even got around to talking to a couple of girls.

One or two of the boys, showing off for the girls,

Would jump off the suspension into the river channel

That was the deepest part because of the barges.

They shipped all kinds of stuff on those barges

It was only about a forty or fifty foot drop.

 

That year also saw the death of my brother, John,

In a mine explosion.  I had idolized him a long time.

He was a gentle giant—six foot four, two hundred pounds.

Mostly he was always so kind and helpful

I sure wish he hadn’t died so young.

There seems to be a quiet sense of strength

In the simple statement: “I am an American.”

It says so very much yet is so simple.

It implies pride, confidence, strength,

Joyous humanity, humility.  Yes!  Even humility.

A humble recognition of who we all are.

The bravery of rushing next door to help put out a fire,

Of soothing a child’s fear of the darkness of night,

Offering to and helping a neighbor in sudden trouble

Even when we don’t know them that well.

How often have we taken in the unfortunate ones?

I know what it says on the Statue of Liberty; I also

Know who my closest neighbors are and where

Their ancestors lived.  After all, they are friends.

We sometimes play together, pray together,

Even eat together at the same table.

What is it that makes me so proud of America?

America is not just a country, a way of living,

It’s a mystic coming together of living souls

That blends all the goodness, intelligence,

Simplicities and strengths and the dreams

Of a multitude of ancient families into

One mighty, great and glorious family.

 

We were young men from Wheeling–

Mac and Wally and Ted and I–

Thrown together by chance, or fate

When we joined the *CCC.

We had such good times

After we returned home.

We became life-long friends.

 

Mac and Ted lived alone in town.

Mac’s and Ted’s stepmothers threw them out after

They came in too many times after midnight.

Walter only had his dad who lived in Pittsburgh,

But he was able to stay with an older sister.

 

All four of us once tried to sell home appliances.

Mac was the only one who ever got really good.

He ended up always selling something.

 

Ted was the first to get killed in an auto accident.

Unfortunately, Mac ended up an alcoholic.

Lost his wife and children because he never quit.

 

Walter finally went into his dad’s trade—house painting.

He was phenomenally good at it, too.

He taught me (Bob) enough to earn a living.

Walt ended up in life very lonely. He had no children.

And his heart broke when his wife died.

 

I managed to get lucky, married an Irish gal

Who straightened me up. Of course, I wasn’t alcoholic.

We lived together fifty-four years, happily.

It has been very lonely since she died but,

I do have some wonderful memories to cheer.

 

*Civilian Conservation Corps