My father was
a teenaged organist
A prodigy out
of school
He was
shipped oversea and had a good war
Dining and
drinking with the cool
The Archbishop of Canterbury was a
friend
He played
organ at Westminster Abbey
Went to
Ireland on leave
Got a bad
case of dysentery
When he got
back home, he got a job
Running the
merry-go-round
The one in
Port Dalhousie
That’s still
the best thing in town
The boss of
all shows, Paddy Conklin
Noticed him
because his take was so good
He put him in
charge of the midway
Where dad
started taking on the hoods
He was known
as the professor
Because he
could add and subtract
He figured
out how the carnies were screwing
The boss, and
ruining the act
He was moved
on up to the Big Show
The midway at
the Ex
He was making
more than a grand a week
In a time
when that was the wages of success
He borrowed Paddy’s
big car whenever he wanted
Took my
mother out for drives
Made enough
money to get married
And finally
made her his wife
They both
went to college on the GI bill
Got married
in her dad’s backyard
Started to
raise a big family
Back then it
wasn’t that hard
Dad took a
job with a guy
Who made
rubber inflatable huts
He offered
dad a big base, small commission
Dad wanted
only commission, no buts
He promptly
went off and sold the life rafts
For the
government’s new aircraft carrier
Although
Bonaventure was never built
He got his
commission and retired right after
He ended up
selling pipe organs
What he was
born to do
He reached
the top of that business
Covered the
Americas and Asia too
He bought an
island in a lake
For back
taxes, less than two grand
He had a
little cottage built
Everything
went as planned
He was always
a drinker
He liked his
plonk with dinner
His fondness
grew as he grew older
And he wasn’t
getting thinner
When he
retired, they moved to Vermont
Then to
England, then Nova Scotia
He still
liked world travel
But he was
getting less and less social
Finally, he
had no friends left at all
Enjoyed his
computer and football
Still drank
his weight in plonk
But apart
from the mail, didn’t go out at all
After my
mother died, he was mostly a shell
Rattling
around in a lonely house
We got him
into a seniors’ home
Where he was
treated well, even if he groused
He had us all
to dinner there
One evening
just after New Year’s
He had a
couple of glasses of wine
And died in
his bed that night without fear
No comments:
Post a Comment