April is poetry month, which means it is a good time to dig into the archives and pull out a few not-so-classic Capitol poems. Because yes, that’s a thing. Members of the Capitol community have both inspired and written plenty of poetry over the last 146 years, about every odd facet of life you can imagine. Here are a few examples, with a little context.
The Janitor and the Gas
In 1891, Janitor F. M. Montague came into work and struck a match to light a gas fixture in the Superintendent of Public Instruction’s Office. Gas that had been flowing all night exploded, blowing him backwards and burning his face and hands. He was taken to a local doctor’s office for treatment, and a short article ran in the next issue of The State Republican.
A week later, the newspaper printed the following poem, allegedly found on Capitol Square by an unnamed citizen.
The Janitor and the Gas
There was in the state capitol
A room all fair and clean,
A fairer and more peaceful spot
I think was never seen.
And therein came a janitor
Who might be called quite green.
The gas it had been leaking,
He did not stop to sniff,
He boldly walked in, struck a match,
And then the gas went—piff!!
While he leaned against the door
And with nature had a tiff.
The explosion rocked the building
And scattered the glass about,
And up in the railroad office
It put the clerks to rout,
And drove clouds of the dust of ages
From behind the steam pipes out.
It burned the janitor’s mustache,
And the hair from the top of his head,
And the noise filled the souls of the hearers,
With a sort of nameless dread;
And most all of the clerks of the building
To the scene of the accident fled.
The racket scared the governor,
Who sent his son to see
Who was blowing up the capitol
And what the damage might be.
“The plot of some fiendish nihilist,’
With a shake of the head, quoth he.
The moral of my poem
Perhaps I’ll need to tell
Before you enter the capitol
You’d better stop and smell,
And if there’s gas escaping,
Then turn and run—pell mell.
The Warehouse Party
In 1936 the editor of The Capitol Bulletin, a short-lived (1935-1942) newspaper for state and federal employees, published this gem about some state employees who came to work hung over on a Friday, by Michigan Liquor Commission staffer H.D. Holden.
The Warehouse Party
The boys they gave a party, it was on a Thursday night,
Fred Cruly was the sponsor; and he did the think up right.
For lunch they had some rye bread, and cheese and meat loaf, too,
And they washed it down with W-A-T-E-R, now I’m telling it to you.
They played some penny ante and some of the boys did sing
Bill Adams gave a toe dance and Bob Swan “The Highland Fling,”
Then up jumped Riley Lyon, and says I’m in the swim,
He stated with “Sweet Adaline” and all the boys joined in.
Don Long he is a farmer, also Chief Guard is he,
He says you don’t know how to sing, just keep your eyes on me;
But Otto wouldn’t stand for that, he says “it’s my turn now,
You go home and feed the chickens or go out and milk the cow.”
Leo he was quiet, he hadn’t said so much,
He was waiting for the big game, so he could make a touch;
But Eastman, sitting next to him, said “I sure have enough,
So anything that you may do, I’m here to call your bluff.”
Paul Lanker says “You guys shut up, the show I’m running now,
So when I call upon you that’s the time to make your bow.”
Jim Patton says “In ringing out you may be first at bat,
But when it comes to calling off, you’re not so hot as that.”
Next morning when they came to work and all their cards were ringing,
Just judging from the looks of them, they did not feel like singing;
For the water out at “Valley Farms” was just a little rough,
And some must have been so thirsty that they took more than enough.
All things have an ending, and thus ends my tale of woe,
But when you want a real good time, out to the Town Hall go;
For all the boys will tell you that they sure had one good time,
So now good-bye, I’m signing off on this my little rhyme.”
The Freshman 64
Some of you who’ve been around for a couple of decades might remember Senator Mickey Switalski, who loved to tease and entertain his coworkers with poems during the holiday season and lame duck sessions. Here’s an excerpt from his farewell poem, read on December 1, 2010. The full text is available on pages 2002-5 in the Senate Journal.
The Freshman 64
We 64 Freshmen, Term Limits’ First Class
Came to Lansing determined, to take names and kick back.
I was one among many, and to prominence rose
Caucus Chair in the House, Senate Vice of Approps.
Quite full of myself, when the Holidays came
Read poems and sang songs, though most were quite lame.
But now the hour has come, when I must depart
So in this my last message, let me speak from the heart.
It’s been a great run, 12 years under the dome,
With term limits arrival, it’s now time to go home.
Did I make the place better, with my hard work and wit?
Or was I less effective than a bucket of spit?