Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WESTERN JOURNALIST, by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS



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THE WESTERN JOURNALIST, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: It's a wonderful town,' said the newspaper
Last Line: "nor climate a career."
Alternate Author Name(s): F. P. A.
Subject(s): Labor & Laborers; Newspapers; Television - Interviewing; Travel; Work; Workers; Journalism; Journalists; Journeys; Trips


"It's a wonderful town," said the newspaper man in Kansas City, Mo.,
"My job is rather an easy one—as jobs on a paper go.
The boys out here are a lively crowd, our sheet is there with a punch;
My house is only a mile from the shop and I always go home for lunch.
I've grown attached to the breezy town"—and he took me by the sleeve
And added: "Yes, I'm fond of the place, and I'd certainly hate to leave.
I never can like a town so well as Kansas City, Mo.
Good by ... If you hear of a job in New York, will you promise to let me know?"

"I knew you'd like our beautiful town," said the Denver reporting guy.
"It's sunny every day in the year, and the city's a whole mile high.
Our death rate now is the lowest ever known in this part of the West;
Our system of parks is perfect—it is known as the nation's best.
The melons we get in the summer—well, you ought to be here in May—
Are better, I guess, than you'll ever see on Wall Street or on Broadway.
No, it isn't much of a newspaper town—that is its one defect.
Good by ... If you hear of a job in New York, just wire me at once, collect."

"Some town is right," said the genial, able, earnest slave of the pen.
"It's a wonderful place to live, all right"—he was talking about Cheyenne.
"I've learned a lot since I've been out here; Wyoming's a wonderful state.
The air, the ranches, the mountains, the folks—the whole darned thing is
great.
I doubt if I'd like it anywhere else; it grows on a man out here;
We've sunshine practically every day in the pleasant time of the year.
But the newspaper game is pretty dead, and I wouldn't, of course, decline
A job in New York. If you hear of one, I wish you'd drop me a line."

"Los Angeles is a lovely town," said a journalistic youth.
"The stories about the climate here don't approximate half the truth.
It's a wonderful place to live in, but the newspaper game is slow;
So if you hear of a job down East, will you promise to let me know?"

"The liveliest town in the country, this," said the San Francisco lad.
"The papers here are a prosperous lot, but the pay is pretty bad.
I'd like a whack at the New York game, for a couple of years, at least;
Just let me know, when you get back home, if you hear of a job down East."

Thus ran the burden of his song—
The Western pamphleteer—
"Fresh air does not a living make,
Nor climate a career."





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