I feel sorry for youngsters who never will know
The excitement and thrill of the old minstrel-show,
Where the end men would hassle with chuckles and groans
The glib interlocutor called Mr. Bones,
And they'd do a soft-shoe, cracking jokes asinine
While the four barbershoppers sang Sweet Adeline;
Or those Womanless Weddings that then were the rage,
Performed in a barn, at a gym, on the stage;
When your crystal-set brought you the sports and the news
And your friendly bootlegger delivered your booze;
Or the neighborhood drugstore where gladly you'd work
Every Saturday night as a proud soda-jerk;
Motion pictures were silent till talkies appeared,
And you found double dates not as bad as you'd feared;
With your pal as the driver your joy was complete
As you snuggled up close in that old rumble seat;
Then on Sundays you'd crank on the ice cream machine
And fill all the lamps with some more kerosene;
After supper was over, your homework all done,
Came the time set aside for the family fun
Playing checkers or Rook or perhaps dominoes
While Grandma kept knitting and Grandpa would doze,
Till soon everyone would be nodding his head,
And off you would go to your warm featherbed.
I've no wish to return to the old-fashioned ways
But it's nice to remember those innocent days
When Life was more simple, the pace not as fast . . .
If only the Present could learn from the Past!
John T. Baker