Remember

Norman Rockwell

First Love

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

~ Christina Rossetti ~

Happiness

Norman Rockwell

Freedom From Want

Happiness

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness.

And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.

They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them.

And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river

And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

~ Carl Sandburg ~

We’re Gonna Be Friends

Norman Rockwell

A Scholarly Pace

We’re Gonna Be Friends

Fall is here, hear the yell

Back to school, ring the bell

Brand new shoes, walking blues

Climb the fence, books and pens

I can tell that we are gonna be friends

I can tell that we are gonna be friends

Walk with me Susie Lee

Through the park and by the tree

We will rest upon the ground

And look at all the bugs we've found

Safely walk to school without a sound

Safely walk to school without a sound

Here we are no one else

We walk to school all by ourselves

There's dirt on our uniforms

From chasing all the ants and worms

We clean up and now it's time to learn

We clean up and now it's time to learn

Numbers letters learn to spell

Nouns and books and show and tell

Play time we will throw the ball

Back to class through the hall

Teacher marks our height against the wall

Teacher marks our height against the wall

And we don't notice any time pass

We don't notice anything

We sit side by side in every class

Teacher thinks that I sound funny

But she likes the way you sing

Tonight I'll dream while I’m in bed

when silly thoughts go through my head

about the bugs and alphabet

And when I wake tomorrow I'll bet

That you and I will walk together again

I can tell that we are gonna be friends

Yes I can tell that we are gonna be friends

~ The White Stripes ~

Between the World and Me

Norman Rockwell

Southern Justice

Between the World and Me

And one morning while in the woods I stumbled suddenly upon the thing,

Stumbled upon it in a grassy clearing guarded by scaly oaks and elms

And the sooty details of the scene rose, thrusting themselves between

the world and me....

There was a design of white bones slumbering forgottenly upon a cushion of ashes.

There was a charred stump of a sapling pointing a blunt finger accusingly at the sky.

There were torn tree limbs, tiny veins of burnt leaves, and a scorched

coil of greasy hemp;

A vacant shoe, an empty tie, a ripped shirt, a lonely hat, and a pair of trousers

stiff with black blood.

And upon the trampled grass were buttons, dead matches, butt-ends of cigars and

cigarettes, peanut shells, a drained gin-flask, and a whore's lipstick;

Scattered traces of tar, restless arrays of feathers, and the lingering smell of gasoline.

And through the morning air the sun poured yellow surprise into the eye sockets

of the stony skull....

And while I stood my mind was frozen within cold pity for the life that was gone.

The ground gripped my feet and my heart was circled by icy walls of fear--

The sun died in the sky; a night wind muttered in the grass and fumbled the leaves in the trees;

the woods poured forth the hungry yelping of hounds;

the darkness screamed with thirsty voices; and the witnesses rose and lived:

The dry bones stirred, rattled, lifted, melting themselves into my bones.

The grey ashes formed flesh firm and black, entering into my flesh.

The gin-flask passed from mouth to mouth, cigars and cigarettes glowed,

the whore smeared lipstick red upon her lips,

And a thousand faces swirled around me, clamoring that my life be burned....

And then they had me, stripped me, battering my teeth into my throat till I swallowed my own blood.

My voice was drowned in the roar of their voices, and my black wet body slipped and rolled in their hands as they bound me to the sapling.

And my skin clung to the bubbling hot tar, falling from me in limp patches.

And the down and quills of the white feathers sank into my raw flesh, and I moaned in my agony.

Then my blood was cooled mercifully, cooled by a baptism of gasoline.

And in a blaze of red I leaped to the sky as pain rose like water, boiling my limbs

Panting, begging I clutched childlike, clutched to the hot sides of death.

Now I am dry bones and my face a stony skull staring in yellow surprise at the sun....

~ Richard Wright ~

Casey at the Bat

Norman Rockwell

Dugout

Casey at the Bat

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:

The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,

And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,

A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that—

We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,

And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;

And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,

There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;

It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;

Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—

"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;

"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;

And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;

He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;

But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,

He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.

~ Ernest L. Thayer ~

Casey Twenty Years Later

Norman Rockwell
The Three Umpires

Casey Twenty Years Later

The Bugville team was surely up against a rocky game;

The chances were they'd win defeat and not undying fame;

Three men were hurt and two were benched; the score stood six to four.

They had to make three hard-earned runs in just two innings more.

"It can't be done," the captain said, a pallor on his face;

"I've got two pitchers in the field, a mutt on second base;

And should another man get spiked or crippled in some way,

The team would sure be down and out, with eight men left to play.

"We're up against it anyhow as far as I can see;

My boys ain't hitting like they should and that's what worries me;

The luck is with the other side, no pennant will we win;

It's mighty tough, but we must take our medicine and grin."

The eighth round opened- one, two, three- the enemy went down.

The Bugville boys went out the same- the captain wore a frown.

The first half of the ninth came round, two men had been put out,

When Bugville's catcher broke a thumb and could not go the route.

A deathly silence settled o'er the crowd assembled there.

Defeat would be allotted them; they felt it in the air;

With only eight men in the field 'twould be a gruesome fray,

Small wonder that the captain cursed the day he learned to play.

"Lend me a man to finish with!" he begged the other team;

"Lend you a man?" the foe replied; "My boy, you're in a dream!

We came to win the pennant, too - that's what we're doing here.

There's only one thing you can do - call for a volunteer!"

The captain stood and pondered in a listless sort of way.

He never was a quitter and he would not be today!

"Is there within the grandstand here"- his voice rang loud and clear

"A man who has the sporting blood to be a volunteer?"

Again that awful silence settled o'er the multitude.

Was there a man among them with such recklessness imbued?

The captain stood with cap in hand, while hopeless was his glance,

And then a tall and stocky man cried out, "I'll take a chance!"

Into the field he bounded with a step both firm and light;

"Give me the mask and mitt," he said; "let's finish up the fight.

The game is now beyond recall; I'll last at least a round;

Although I'm ancient, you will find me muscular and sound."

His hair was sprinkled here and there with little streaks of gray;

Around his eyes and on his brow a bunch of wrinkles lay.

The captain smiled despairingly and slowly turned away.

"Why, he's all right!" one rooter yelled. Another, "Let him play!"

"All right, go on," the captain sighed. The stranger turned around,

Took off his coat and collar, too, and threw them on the ground.

The humor of the situation seemed to hit them all,

And as he donned the mask and mitt, the umpire called, "Play ball!"

Three balls the pitcher at him heaved, three balls of lightning speed.

The stranger caught them all with ease and did not seem to heed.

Each ball had been pronounced a strike, the side had been put out,

And as he walked in towards the bench, he heard the rooters shout.

One Bugville boy went out on strikes, and one was killed at first;

The captain saw them fail to hit, and gnashed his teeth and cursed.

The third man smashed a double and the fourth man swatted clear,

Then, in a thunder of applause, up came the volunteer.

His feet were planted in the earth, he swung a warlike club;

The captain saw his awkward pose and softly whispered, "Dub!"

The pitcher looked at him and grinned, then heaved a mighty ball;

The echo of that fearful swat still lingers with us all.

High, fast and far the spheroid flew; it sailed and sailed away;

It ne'er was found, so it's supposed it still floats on today.

Three runs came in, the pennant would be Bugville's for a year;

The fans and players gathered round to cheer the volunteer.

"What is your name?" the captain asked. "Tell us you name," cried all,

As down his cheeks great tears of joy were seen to run and fall.

For one brief moment he was still, then murmured soft and low:

"I'm the mighty Casey who struck out just twenty years ago."

~ Clarence P. McDonald ~

Casey at the Bat (Road Game)

Norman Rockwell

The Rookie

Casey at the Bat (Road Game)

It was looking rather hopeful for our Dustburg team that day:

We were leading Mudville four to two with an inning left to play.

We got Cooney on a grounder and Muldoon on the same,

Two down, none on, top of the ninth- we thought we'd won the game.

Mudville was despairing, and we grinned and cheered and clapped.

It looked like after all these years our losing streak had snapped.

And we only wished that Casey, the big fat ugly lout,

Could be the patsy who would make the final, shameful out.

Oh how we hated Casey, he was a blot upon the game.

Every dog in Dustburg barked at the mention of his name.

A bully and a braggart, a cretin and a swine-

If Casey came to bat, we'd stick it where the moon don't shine!

Two out and up came Flynn to bat, with Jimmy Blake on deck,

And the former was a loser and the latter was a wreck;

Though the game was in the bag, the Dustburg fans were hurt

To think that Casey would not come and get his just dessert.

But Flynn he got a single, a most unlikely sight,

And Blake swung like a lady but he parked it deep to right,

And when the dust had lifted, and fickle fate had beckoned,

There was Flynn on third base and Jimmy safe at second.

Then from every Dustburg throat, there rose a lusty cry:

"Bring up the slimy greaseball and let him stand and die.

Throw the mighty slider and let him hear it whiz

And let him hit a pop-up like the pansy that he is."

There was pride in Casey's visage as he strode onto the grass,

There was scorn in his demeanor as he calmly scratched his ass.

Ten thousand people booed him when he stepped into the box,

And they made the sound of farting when he bent to fix his socks.

And the fabled slider came spinning toward the mitt,

And Casey watched it sliding and he did not go for it.

And the umpire jerked his arm like he was hauling down the sun,

And his cry rang from the box seats to the bleachers: Stee-rike One!

Ten thousand Dustburg partisans raised such a mighty cheer,

The pigeons in the rafters crapped and ruined all the beer.

"You filthy ignorant rotten bastard slimy son of a bitch,

"We screamed at mighty Casey, and then came the second pitch.

It was our hero's fastball, it came across the plate,

And according to the radar, it was going ninety-eight,

And according to the umpire, it came in straight and true,

And the cry rang from the toilets to the bullpen: Stee-rike Two.

Ten thousand Dustburg fans arose in joyful loud derision

To question Casey's salary, his manhood, and his vision.

Then while the Dustburg pitcher put the resin on the ball,

Ten thousand people hooted to think of Casey's fall.

Oh the fury in his visage as he spat tobacco juice

And heard the little children screaming violent abuse.

He knocked the dirt from off his spikes, reached down and eased his pants

"What's the matter? Did ya lose 'em?" cried a lady in the stands.

And then the Dustburg pitcher stood majestic on the hill,

And leaned in toward the plate, and then the crowd was still,

And he went into his windup, and he kicked, and let it go,

And then the air was shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

He swung so hard his hair fell off and he toppled in disgrace

And the Dustburg catcher held the ball and the crowd tore up the place,

With Casey prostrate in the dirt amid the screams and jeers

We threw wieners down at him and other souvenirs.

We pounded on the dugout roof as they helped him to the bench,

Then we ran out to the parking lot and got a monkey wrench

And found the Mudville bus and took the lug nuts off the tires,

And attached some firecrackers to the alternator wires.

We rubbed the doors and windows with a special kind of cheese

That smells like something died from an intestinal disease.

Old Casey took his sweet time, but we were glad to wait

And we showered him with garbage as the team came out the gate.

So happy were the Dustburg fans that grand and glorious day,

It took a dozen cops to help poor Casey away,

But we grabbed hold of the bumpers and we rocked him to and fro

And he cursed us from inside the bus, and gosh, we loved it so!

Oh sometimes in America the sun is shining bright,

Life is joyful sometimes, and all the world seems right,

But there is no joy in Dustburg, no joy so pure and sweet

As when the mighty Casey fell, demolished, at our feet.

~ Garrison Keillor ~

Incident

Norman Rockwell

The Problem We All Live With

Incident

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.

~ Countee Cullen ~

The Night Before Christmas

Norman Rockwell

The Discovery

The Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

~ Clement Clarke Moore ~

The Death of Santa Claus

Norman Rockwell

Santa’s Surprise

The Death of Santa Claus

He's had the chest pains for weeks,

but doctors don't make house

calls to the North Pole,

he's let his Blue Cross lapse,

blood tests make him faint,

hospital gown always flap

open, waiting rooms upset

his stomach, and it's only

indigestion anyway, he thinks,

until, feeding the reindeer,

he feels as if a monster fist

has grabbed his heart and won't

stop squeezing. He can't

breathe, and the beautiful white

world he loves goes black,

and he drops on his jelly belly

in the snow and Mrs. Claus

tears out of the toy factory

wailing, and the elves wring

their little hands, and Rudolph's

nose blinks like a sad ambulance

light, and in a tract house

in Houston, Texas, I'm 8,

telling my mom that stupid

kids at school say Santa's a bigfake,

and she sits with me

on our purple-flowered couch,

and takes my hand, tears

in her throat, the terrible

news rising in her eyes.

~ Charles Webb ~