Dave Wood

Any ink-stained wretch (what fancy folks called a newspaper columnist) will tell you that his word hoard occasionally runs dry, and that’s what happened to me recently; fortunately, I am possessed of a neighbor who occasionally drops baubles of wisdom and merriment in my mailbox. Neighbor came through recently with a humdinger of a missive that included an ancient copy of a book entitled “Heap O’ Livin’” by once famous rhymester, Edgar Guest, whose doggerel verse was devoured by scores of American readenturyers in the early 20^th century.  This collection is dedicated to Guest’s two children, Marjorie and Buddy.

Since his deat, Guest has taken a verbal beating from literary critics for his rhymes, for his sentimentality,  and I suspect, for his popularity, as epitomized by the following couplet:

“I’d rather get a positive on my Wasserman [V.D.] test,

Than read a poem by Edgar Guest!”

My neighbor noted that I could toss the book if I was a snob like many English teachers. Au contraire, mon ami. I’ve never owned a book by this benighted wordsmith. And it now rests prominently on this ink-stained but unsnobbish wretch’s bookshelves. For you see, I have slight reservations, but sincere admiration for Guest and his descendants. When I was in grad school soaking up the wisdom of the snobbish English teachers, I listened to Detroit radio and tried never to miss a program called “Guest House,” a talk show hosted by Bud Guest, the “Buddy” who was Edgar’s son. 

Later, when I worked as a book reviewer, I became well-acquainted with Judith Guest of Edina, whose bestseller “Ordinary People” was high on my list of favorite novels. Judith, by gum, was Edgar’s niece and although her literary acumen was vastly different from Edgar’s, Judith told me he was a really nice fellow and that was good enough for me.

And to those critics who accuse Edgar of being shallow, I say BUSHWA! In fact, my generous neighbor pointed me to one of his poems that she said a former president still living should read and follow Edgar’s advice. I won’t divulge my neighbor’s name for fear she might get threats from some over-enthusiastic supporter of said former Prez or end up on the promised F List.

Here's the poem, titled “A Man:”

A man doesn’t whine at his losses./A man doesn’t whimper and fret,

Or rail at the weight of his crosses/And ask life to rear him a pet.

A man doesn’t grudgingly labor;/Or look upon toil as a blight;

A man doesn’t sneer at his neighbor/Or sneak from a cause that is right.

A man doesn’t sulk when another/Succeeds where his efforts have failed;

Doesn’t keep all his praise for the brother/Whose glory is publicly hailed;

And pass by the weak and the humble/As though they were not of his clay;

A man doesn’t ceaselessly grumble/When things are not going his way.

A man looks on woman as tender/And gentle, and stands at his side

At all times to guard and defend her,/And never to scorn or deride.

A man looks on life as a mission/To serve, just so far as he can;

A man holds his noblest ambition/On earth is to live as a man.

That seems pretty darned intelligent and sophisticated to me!