1945

With my back to the wall, an empty filing case nakedly staring me in the eve, I flex my nearly atrophied fingers and carefully pen the following impassioned plea for help. If my plight seems serious, it is. If mv plea seems over-exaggerated, it isn't. I'm desperatel! The cold hand of literary demise is even now clutching at my throat. Save me!

No news is good news, the old saying reads.

But I can't write a column without any leads.

Things must have happened the last month or so To Tom, Dick and Harry, to Oscar, to Joe.

If they have I'm not heading the vital details.

Not a card, not a letter has come through the mails.

So I'm at a loss as to just what to do For my literary efforts are dependent on you.

When my files are depleted and there's nothing to say, I sit with my pencil and paper all day.

I twiddle my thumbs and chew my eraser Drink straight alcohol without even a chaser.

You can easily see the fix that I'm in.

Before even starting, I've come to la fin.

And so here I sit, contemplating my blotter.

What's happened to me, to a dog shouldn't ought'a.

So let's get on the wagon, let's get on the ball.

If I don't get some news there be no column at all.

What say, Mr. Miller, way out 'Frisco wav?

How about it, Knox Armstrong, in Ridgewòd, N. J.?

And James' J. "Bones" Broderick, who has moved from this state, Although silence is golden, I'll take silver plate.

Ole' John McCauley might just well be dead.

Pick up your pencil and shake out the lead.

Hey, Johnny Brooks, what 'a you doing?

Say, Johnny Hartshorn, how's filing and suing?

Wonder what's happened to old Robert Ross?

Ted Swick, I am sure, must be covered with moss.

Then there's Tolley and Torian, Belknap and Beals.

Please send me a letter so I'll know how it feels.

From Ferbert and Figgie I've nary a note.

On one little postcard I'm sure I would dote.

So Maver and Meegan, Goldftne and Grant,Harkness and Hunsicker, Portman andBrandt,Nintzel and Martin, and old Johnny Pine, Please, please, I beseech you, just drop me a line.

At last I am nearing the end of my dirge.

On stark raving madness I'm right on the verge.

News, news, I want news, in bundles and piles So much that I can't get it all in my files.

Postcards and letters and clippings and such.

Please send it along, I can't get too much.

For if all my pleas don't soon reach fruition My column will die of acute malnutrition.

Secretary, Middlesex School, Concord, Mass.

Treasurer, 48-B Court Dr., Wilmington, Del.