Hey, Jo, thanks so much for this. My Aunt had another autograph book, from a few years later -- 1939 -- and it's full of entries from young women with whom she was at camp or commercial high school -- one is a Georgie. Lovely to hear from you, always. Back on the mend, slowly, slowly. Take care, b
That's wonderful! My mother, my aunt's younger sister, also wrote in her book, as did her father, a rogue Irishman about whom I've been learning some astonishing and slightly alarming things. Thanks, Rhonda! B
Dear Sandra -- I have ABSOLUTELY no recollection of that AT ALL. I'm amazed that you remember. HOW do you remember? I only recall this sense of panic that would attend the first days of any show being amplified not only by having to change everything at the 11th hour but also trying to be respectful and mindful of the national mood of catastrophe while, at the same time, thinking to myself, "Isn't this all just a little bit over the top? I mean, I'm sorry she came to so sad an end but isn't there something a bit unseemly about all this gnashing?
I'm glad I never said that out loud.
THanks for this, it means a lot to me. All best! BR
R.I.P Bill Richardson. Oh, and as others have noted, the same corny rhymes were inscribed in my autograph book in the early '60s, except for my older sister's entry, which was entirely bespoke and which I have committed to memory. "Rhonda Jayne is your name / Who's to know, who's to blame / Someday it may bring you fame / And when you're old and maybe lame / Just think of those who called you Jayne / And that they loved you just the same."
Oh good grief, those were the same entries in MY autograph book in the 40s! Maybe someone in the hive can complete this one (my little leather-bound autograph book being long gone):
“Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever”. This, I think, was my grandfather’s entry; I didn’t get it then and I’m not sure I get it now. I think it was encouragement to be kind when all I really wanted to be was beautiful and to be called Sharon or Marilyn or Susan - anything but Georgina (the feminine of George - my grandfather’s name) and which means “Tiller of the soil”! Ugh, right? Now my greatest joy is my community garden with its abundant zucchini and beans and cherry tomatoes).
So sorry to hear you are ailing, Bill. Hope you find a remedy - either physio or medicinal - pronto.
The first day of the Sad Goat. I remember it well. I was where I am now, at the cabin and reading your current missive. On that day in 1997, your first comments connected Indianapolis and the Indy 500 with the Latin In Diana Polis (I can't seem to italicize that), In the City of Diana. Brilliant, as was the entire run of Richardson's Roundup and I was sorry when it ended. Incidentally, that weekend was also the first show of The Sunday Edition with Michael Enright, and when he ended his hosting duties, he mentioned that first show and the necessary programming change.
Oh my, Bill, what a rabbit hole you’ve opened! First, my condolences. I remember the giggles we used to have when Bill Richardson did some amazing thing on the international stage. It’s a loss. And secondly, I remember having autograph books with exactly those same messages. Can it be that in Winnipeg, in the early 1960s, we were still writing the same things? A search of boxes and cupboards this weekend will prove or destroy my recollection. Of course, amongst your dear readers, there must be others of our vintage – from Winnipeg or elsewhere. Perhaps the hive will be a better resource than my failing mind?! And finally, hats off to you for your unique imagination, and in 1997, its rich harvest. Richardson’s Roundup was brilliant and beloved. RIP.
Hey, Jo, thanks so much for this. My Aunt had another autograph book, from a few years later -- 1939 -- and it's full of entries from young women with whom she was at camp or commercial high school -- one is a Georgie. Lovely to hear from you, always. Back on the mend, slowly, slowly. Take care, b
That's wonderful! My mother, my aunt's younger sister, also wrote in her book, as did her father, a rogue Irishman about whom I've been learning some astonishing and slightly alarming things. Thanks, Rhonda! B
Dear Sandra -- I have ABSOLUTELY no recollection of that AT ALL. I'm amazed that you remember. HOW do you remember? I only recall this sense of panic that would attend the first days of any show being amplified not only by having to change everything at the 11th hour but also trying to be respectful and mindful of the national mood of catastrophe while, at the same time, thinking to myself, "Isn't this all just a little bit over the top? I mean, I'm sorry she came to so sad an end but isn't there something a bit unseemly about all this gnashing?
I'm glad I never said that out loud.
THanks for this, it means a lot to me. All best! BR
Nope! Louise is the name of the rural municipality.
very worthwhile remembering!
Are you really living in a town called Louse?
And let us not forget: Yours 'til the undertaker undertakes to take you under."
R.I.P Bill Richardson. Oh, and as others have noted, the same corny rhymes were inscribed in my autograph book in the early '60s, except for my older sister's entry, which was entirely bespoke and which I have committed to memory. "Rhonda Jayne is your name / Who's to know, who's to blame / Someday it may bring you fame / And when you're old and maybe lame / Just think of those who called you Jayne / And that they loved you just the same."
Okay, here it is:
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever
Do noble things, not dream them all day long
And make life, death and that vast for-ever
One grand, sweet song.
Charles Kingsley (1819-1875)
English writer, minister and professor
Oh good grief, those were the same entries in MY autograph book in the 40s! Maybe someone in the hive can complete this one (my little leather-bound autograph book being long gone):
“Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever”. This, I think, was my grandfather’s entry; I didn’t get it then and I’m not sure I get it now. I think it was encouragement to be kind when all I really wanted to be was beautiful and to be called Sharon or Marilyn or Susan - anything but Georgina (the feminine of George - my grandfather’s name) and which means “Tiller of the soil”! Ugh, right? Now my greatest joy is my community garden with its abundant zucchini and beans and cherry tomatoes).
So sorry to hear you are ailing, Bill. Hope you find a remedy - either physio or medicinal - pronto.
The first day of the Sad Goat. I remember it well. I was where I am now, at the cabin and reading your current missive. On that day in 1997, your first comments connected Indianapolis and the Indy 500 with the Latin In Diana Polis (I can't seem to italicize that), In the City of Diana. Brilliant, as was the entire run of Richardson's Roundup and I was sorry when it ended. Incidentally, that weekend was also the first show of The Sunday Edition with Michael Enright, and when he ended his hosting duties, he mentioned that first show and the necessary programming change.
Oh my, Bill, what a rabbit hole you’ve opened! First, my condolences. I remember the giggles we used to have when Bill Richardson did some amazing thing on the international stage. It’s a loss. And secondly, I remember having autograph books with exactly those same messages. Can it be that in Winnipeg, in the early 1960s, we were still writing the same things? A search of boxes and cupboards this weekend will prove or destroy my recollection. Of course, amongst your dear readers, there must be others of our vintage – from Winnipeg or elsewhere. Perhaps the hive will be a better resource than my failing mind?! And finally, hats off to you for your unique imagination, and in 1997, its rich harvest. Richardson’s Roundup was brilliant and beloved. RIP.