‘Ras Wilson

Good ol’ ‘Rasmus Wilson he

Jes’ dropped in here yesterday,

In the joke room where we set

Seven days a week an’ sweat

Over jokes that never ought

To git much beyond the thought;

Jest dropped in to “howdy” say

Bein’ how he passed this way.

Jest dropped in an’ brought, O my!

Sunshine from a cold, gray sky.

Good ol’ Rasmus Wilson set,

‘Thant no office ettyquet,

Smokin’ uv a big seegar,

Easy like as fellers are

Who know how to spend a while

Makin’ uv a feller smile;

Tellin’ stories uv the west,

Nye an’ Riley an’ the rest,

Fetchin’ out a laugh or tear,

Heart an’ soul uv yesteryear!

Good ol’ Rasmus Wilson, you

Are one uv the chosen few;

You hev got the heart that knows

Ev’ry feller’s joys and woes.

You hev got the pen that brings

Zephyrs from the angels’ wings;

You hev got the cheer that God   

Wants spread over all his sod.

An’ we say ‘tw’xt tear an’ grin,

Rasmus Wilson, come ag’in!

                                                    May 14, ‘10

Erasmus Wilson was a reporter for the Gazzette Times in Pittsburgh and as such the author of a regular column under the pseudonym ‘The Quiet Observer’. See tribute at:

https://books.google.com/books?id=vREVAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA66&lpg=PA66&dq=Erasmus+Wilson+quiet+observer&source=bl&ots=i0wYjRHINu&sig=dtzBu8rByFaYLCHlPa-bvm-xEFM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=KFxSVcS9CcHRtQWEpoHwCg&ved=0CDQQ6AEwBQ#v=onepage&q=Erasmus%20Wilson%20quiet%20observer&f=false

One of those columns (satirical?) published in 1885 was a ‘response’ to an adjacent letter from an “Anxious Father” about what to do with his unmarried daughters. It was entitled “What Girls Are Good For’ and, being read literally (it was extremely sexist) proved to be the inspiration for the career of one of the greatest reporters of all time, Nelly Bly. See:

http://mentalfloss.com/article/63759/story-launched-nellie-blys-famed-journalism-career

The poet James Whitcomb Riley wrote this poem about him:

To The Quiet Observer, Erasmus Wilson, After His Long Silence

Dear old friend of us all in need
Who know the worth of a friend indeed,
How rejoiced are we all to learn
Of your glad return.

We who have missed your voice so long--
Even as March might miss the song
Of the sugar-bird in the maples when
They're tapped again.

Even as the memory of these
Blended sweets,--the sap of the trees
And the song of the birds, and the old camp too,
We think of you.

Hail to you, then, with welcomes deep
As grateful hearts may laugh or weep!--
You give us not only the bird that sings,
But all good things.

(The end)