The Editor's Chair
To chide me for loving the editor's chair ?
In the early days 'twas an old pine box,
And, wearing jeans pants and curly locks,
The editor sat, with fire in his eye,
That would roast a foe, or paint red the sky.
And spirits rare, and spirits evil,
Could quell a mob, or raise the devil.
Oh, the editor's chair is an easy seat,
With a desk in front for his ample feet,
Whereon he places them high in air,
In a way not entirely debonair.
He writes of markets, finance and stocks,
Of statesmen with and without any socks
Sometimes a drop of his pearly ink
Will make a million men stop and think.
The pine box seat of ye olden time,
With its many splotches of ink and grime,
Has disappeared. In a fit of ire
The "devil" used it to kindle the fire
And in its place is an easy chair,
Upholstered with springs and plush and hair,
But soft or hard 'tis a royal throne,
And no base fellow should sit thereon.
I love it, I love it, the editor's chair,
For the noble men, so true and rare,
Who now, as in days of long ago,
With pen and pencil, wrought overthrow
To ancient wrong and to modern sin,
Without war's terrible ravage and din.
Unfading laurels should they ever wear,
Who worthily sit in the editor's chair.
__J. M. Cavaness.
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)