5/29/22
Death of a Wife - Fride Egidius Philpot
Death of a Classmate - CAPT Frederick J. Kollmorgen - 9th Co
CAPT Frederick J. Kollmorgen (March 7, 1932 - May 24, 2022)
4/24/22
Our Poets April poem - THE DRUMMER AND THE GENERAL
April 2022 Pome
THE DRUMMER AND
THE GENERAL *
Pittsburg
Landing, Tenn., 5 April 1863
"Now, boy, " said the General
quietly, "You are the heart of the army.
Think of that. You're the heart of
the army. Listen now."
--
Ray Bradbury, "The Drummer Boy of Shiloh"
Young
Joby, the drummer, lay sleepless, in the cool of an April night,
Staring up through the darkness. In
the morning there'd be a fight.
He was frightened and most unready,
his eyes and his cheeks were damp,
And he wondered about the army,
stretched out in their slumbering camp.
A footstep crunched in the shadows,
the boots of a man with stars,
He smelt of brass and leather, the
smoke of his good cigars--
His sabre clinked in its scabbard as
he knelt at the drummer's side,
"Is that you, boy?" he
murmured, Joby nodded, eyes opened wide.
"I hope you're done with the
weeping, as I was, an hour ago."
"You cried?" "To be sure," said the General,
"it's a pain all soldiers know.
I order my boys into battle, knowing
well that some shall die,
But my tears are shed in
private--the troops mustn't see me cry."
"Now harken, lad, it's
important. Tomorrow, you're in
command,
For the battle hangs on the drummer,
a boy of the regiment's band.
This army of fifty thousand must
have but a single mind,
And the drummer's the one true
leader, when the General's left behind.
"If you rap out a lazy
drumbeat, the cadence a mite too slow,
The men's blood won't be warming,
going in against the foe-
They're young, all unused to battle,
untrained as a flock of lambs,
One day they're their mother's
children, the next, they are Captain Sam's.
"I dare not say to those
mothers that I wasted their precious sons,
So, boy, drum a rattling quickstep,
and we'll take those enemy guns,
Tomorrow we'll break those Rebels,
we'll win us a victory.
I've done my best for the army, will
you now do this for me?"
The General paused, and the drummer
thought hard, for a brave reply,
"Well,
sir," he managed to stammer, "I don't know, but I'll surely try!"
"That's good enough," said
the General, and his sabre jingled again,
As he rose to resume his pacing, the
facing of soul-deep pain.
His bootsteps faded in darkness, and
the boy closed a peaceful eye,
Peach-petals tapped on his drumhead,
unseen under soft spring sky,
Around him slumbered the army, fifty
thousand boys in blue,
And Joby slept well until
morning--he knew what he had to do.
4-27-97
4/8/22
REUNION
Received the following from Bill Greenlaw
Ok, 54. Time for one last river to cross. I’m asking you to participate in what may be one of the last class functions.
The Class of 1954 Seventh Reunion.
The last few years have been rough for me, the loss of Donna, the move to Westminster, and time and tide acting on the old body. I failed to provide all the services that I provided as 54’s webmaster for so many years.
But I’m starting one last push to make the Seventh Reunion one we will all remember. I for one. don’t remember things too well so it may take quite an effort. Please give me all the help you can.
I’m not involved in the planning and administration of the Reunion. The gang over in Annapolis is handing that. My only contribution is to attempt to maximize support and participation by the class.
To start with sending me an email. That will give me a list of classmates who want to follow this reunion whether they can attend or just want to follow it at home.
I’ll publish a list of participants on the class website – 54net.org
Beat Army
Will
3/9/22
Death of a classmate - Allen Hobbs Jr.
Allen Hobbs Jr. (July 6, 1932 – January 27, 2022)
2/28/22
Our Poets March Poem - THE WOEFUL WINDS OF MARCH
THE WOEFUL WINDS OF MARCH
Or, A Punxsatawney Prognosticator's Putrid Prediction
Shall I compare March to a summer's day?
The weather-watching wizards all say nay--
Wind switches rapidly from west to east,
Fulfilling the worst words of furry beast.
Prepare for sunny hours, then howling snows,
When nose and toes, even mercury froze,
Followed by balmy airs and mildest breezes
Accompanied by agues, coughs and sneezes.
In Maryland, expect the unexpected,
With scents and common sense alike rejected.
2-27-22
2/7/22
2/2/22
Our Poets February Poem - WASHINGTON, AT TRENTON
26
December 1776
Soldiers were in despair,
Ice choked the Delaware,
Marsh and reed-bordered.
Prospects of deepest black,
Giving his map a whack,
“We shall attack–attack!”
Washington ordered.
“Think–how on Christmas Day,
Deeming us far away,
The Hessian hogs will say
‘Drink and be merry!’
While with vainglorious boasts
They are exchanging toasts,
We–ragged, starving ghosts–
Cross at the ferry.
“Marshaling, one by one,
Each soldier, horse and gun,
By the first light of sun
Tomorrow morning,
Roust from its downy bed
The aching Hessian head,
Spatter the snow with red,
Strike without warning!”
Thus, in the wind and sleet,
Marching on bloody feet,
Troops mustered to the beat
Of bone-chilled drummers,
Down to the frozen shore,
(Bad night to wage a war–
Not to be thawed, men swore,
By twenty summers).
Soldiers in tattered coats,
Filing
aboard the boats,
Hearts throbbed in many throats–
Perilous crossing!
On, through the swirling snows,
As feet and fingers froze,
Oared amid jagged floes,
Grinding and tossing.
On the New Jersey side
Scouts raced ahead to guide,
“Forward!” the general cried,
“Sweep to surround ‘em!
Doubtless they’re sleeping yet–
What though your powder’s wet,
Charge with the bayonet,
Crush and confound ‘em!”
As the pale sun arose,
Breaking the German’s doze,
“Turn
out! Here come our foes!”
His sentries shouted,
Sounding alarm, too late–
Knox’s guns lent their weight,
Cannon fired fast and straight,
Hessians were routed!
Down icy streets they ran,
Terror on every man,
“Fly, save yourselves who can!”
Their troops were crying;
Unhappy Colonel Rall,
Pierced by a musket-ball,
Yielded his sword, to fall,
Conquered and dying.
The guns of Freedom spoke,
Chain
of disasters broke–
Washington’s
master-stroke
Turning
the tables;
Britons,
in dark dismay,
Asking
themselves if they
Must
buy, as one might say,
“A
suit of sables”.
Soundly
defeated, then
Turning
to fight again,
Stauncher
than stout Turenne,
Bolder
and grander–
Washington!
Born to lead,
Winning
by stealth and speed,
God
send us, in our need,
Such a
commander!
2 -
88
1/28/22
Death of a Classmate - Norman Deam - 12th Co
Norman Deam (February 22, 1932 - January 8, 2022)