Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Ringgold Wilmer 'Ring' Lardner was an American sports columnist and short story writer best known for his satirical takes on sports figures and the cultural mores of the Jazz Age. Born on March 6, 1885, in Niles, Michigan, he began his career as a journalist but soon gained fame for his humorous and poignant short stories. His works often featured the American slang vernacular and painted an evocative picture of early 20th-century American life. Lardner passed away on September 25, 1933.

March 6, 1885

September 25, 1933

English

Page 1 of 2

A Visit From Young Gloom

There's been a young stranger at our house,
A baby whom nobody knew;
Who hated his brother, his father, his mother,
And made them aware of it, too.

He stayed with us nearly a fortnight
And carried a grouch all the while,
Nor promise nor present could make him look pleasant;
He hadn't the power to smile.

He cried when he couldn't have something;
He cried just as hard when he could;
Kind words by the earful but made him more tearful,
And scoldings did just as much good.

He stormed when his meals weren't ready,
And when they were ready, he screamed.
He went to bed growling, got up again howling
And quarreled and snarled as he dreamed.

He's gone, and the child we are fond of
Is back, just as nice as of old.
But I hope to be in som...

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

An Appreciative Audience

My son, I wish that it were half
As easy to extract a laugh
From grown-ups as from thee.
Then I'd go on the stage, my boy,
While Richard Carle and Eddie Foy
Burned up with jealousy.

I wouldn't have to rack my brain
Or lie awake all night in vain
Pursuit of brand new jokes;
Nor fear my lines were heard with groans
Of pain and sympathetic moans
From sympathetic folks.

I'd merely have to make a face,
Just twist a feature out of place,
And be the soul of wit;
Or bark, and then pretend to bite,
And, from the screams of wild delight,
Be sure I'd made a hit.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Coming Home

Prepare for noise, you quiet walls!
You floors, get set for heavy falls!
Frail dishes, hide away!
Get ready for some scratches, stairs!
Clean table linen, say your prayers!
The kid comes home today!

For three long weeks you've been, O House,
As noiseless as the well-known mouse,
As silent as the tomb.
And you've stayed neat, with none on hand
To track your floors with mud and sand,
To muss your ev'ry room.

The ideal place for work you've been,
But soon a Bedlam once again,
A mess, a wreck. But say,
I wonder will it make us mad.
No, House, I'll bet we both are glad
The kid comes home today.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Confession

A sleuth like Pinkerton or Burns
Is told that there has been a crime.
He runs down clues and leads, and learns
Who did the deed, in course of time.
It's just the other way with me:
The first thing I am sure of is
The criminal's identity,
And then I learn what crime was his.

When Son comes up with hanging head
And smiles a certain kind of smile,
When he's affectionate instead
Of playful; when he stalls awhile
And starts to speak and stops again,
Or, squirming like a mouse that's caught,
Asserts, "I am a GOOD boy," then
I look to see what harm's been wrought.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Cousinly Affection

Why do you love your Cousin Paull?
For his sweet face, his smile, and all
The little tricks that charm us so?
You're not quite old enough to know
How cute he is; to realize
How clever for a child his size.
I'm sure you can't appreciate
The things that make us think him great.

And yet you love your Cousin Paull.
Is it because he's twice as small
As you, just right for you to maul?
Because he won't fight back, or bawl?
Because when he is pushed he'll fall?
And, where most kids would howl and squall,
He takes it, nor puts in a call
For mother? Am I warm at all?
Is this why you love Cousin Paull?

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Decision Reversed

When I mixed with the shoppers and fought in vain
To get what I sought, in the Christmas rush;
When they stood on my toes in the crowded train,
Or dented my ribs in the sidewalk crush,
I dropped my manners and snarled and swore,
And thought: "It's a bothersome, beastly bore!"

But when, at the Christmas dawn, they brought
My kid to the room where his things were piled,
And when, from my vantage point, I caught
The look on his face, I murmured: "Child,
Your dad was a fool when he snarled and swore,
And called it a bothersome, beastly bore."

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Declaration Of Independence

"MYSELF!" It means that you don't care
To have me lift you in your chair;
That if I do, you'll rage and tear.

"MYSELF!" It means you don't require
Assistance from your willing sire
In eating; 'twill but rouse your ire.

"MYSELF!" It means when you are through
That you don't want your daddy to
Unseat you, as he used to do.

Time was, and not so long ago,
When you were carried to and fro
And waited on, but now? No! No!

You'd rather fall and break your head,
Or fill your lap with cream and bread
Than be helped up or down, or fed.

Well, kid, I hope you'll stay that way
And that there'll never come a day
When you're without the strength to say,
"MYSELF!"

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Discipline

He couldn't have a doughnut, and it made him very mad;
He undertook to get revenge by screaming at his dad.

"Cut out that noise!" I ordered, and he gave another roar,
And so I put him in "the room" and shut and locked the door.

I left him in his prison cell two minutes, just about,
And, penitent, he smiled at me when I did let him out.

But when he got another look at the forbidden fruit
He gave a yell that they could hear in Jacksonville or Butte.

"Cut out that noise!" I barked again. "Cut out that foghorn stuff!
Perhaps I didn't leave you in your prison long enough.

"You want your dad to keep you jailed all afternoon, I guess."
He smiled at me and answered his equivalent for "yes."

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Foreword To Bib Ballads

Dear Parents: - Don't imagine, please,
It's in a boastful spirit
I fashion verses such as these;
That's not the truth or near it.

A hundred or a thousand, yes,
A million kids there may be
Who aren't one iota less
Attractive than this baby.

I'll venture that your household has
As valuable a treasure
As mine, but mine I know, and as
For yours, I've not that pleasure.

And that is why my book's about
Just one, O Dads and Mothers;
But babes are babes, and mine, no doubt,
Is very much like others.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Good-By Bill

Dollar Bill, that I've held so tight
Ever since payday, a week ago,
Shall I purchase with you tonight
A pair of seats at the vaudeville show?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"Look at his shoes! We must buy a pair.")

Dollar Bill, from the wreckage saved,
Tell me, how shall I squander you?
Shall I be shined, shampooed and shaved,
Singed and trimmed 'round the edges, too?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"He hasn't a romper that's fit to wear.")

Dollar Bill, that I cherished so,
Think of the cigarettes you'd buy,
Turkish ones, with a kick, you know;
Makin's eventually tire a guy.
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"Look at those stockings! Just one big tear!")

Dollar Bill, it is time to part.
What do I care for a vaudevill...

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Guess Again

"I guess I'll help you, daddy."
And daddy can't say "No;"
For if he did, 'twould wound you, kid,
And cause the tears to flow.

"I guess I'll help you, daddy."
And daddy says: "All right,"
And tries to do, ignoring you,
Whatever work's in sight.

But what's the use of trying?
As well be reconciled
To quit and play the game that may
Be pleasing to you, child.

To quit and play, or roughhouse,
Or read, as you elect;
For I'm afraid the guess you made
Was wholly incorrect.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Hesitation

I've orders to waken you from your nap,
And orders are orders, my little chap.
But I hate to do it, because it seems
A shame to break in on your blissful dreams.

I've sat and watched you a long, long while,
And not since I came have you ceased to smile.
So it strikes me as wrong to arouse you, boy,
From sleep that's so plainly a sleep of joy.

'Twill make a big diff'rence tonight, of course,
But p'rhaps you are riding a real live horse;
In dreams, it's a pleasant and harmless sport,
So why should I cruelly cut it short?

Maybe you have for your very own
A piece of pie or an ice cream cone;
If that's your amusement, why end it quick?
Dream-food can't possibly make you sick.

Orders are orders and I'm afraid
It's trouble for me if they'...

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Favorite Role

You could be president as well as not,
Since all you'd have to do is think you were,
With that imagination that you've got;
Or multimillionaire if you prefer,
Or you could be some famous football star,
Or Tyrus Cobb, admired by ev'ry fan;
Instead of that, you tell me that you are
The Garbage Man.

Why pick him out, when you can take your choice?
Is his so charming, nice, and sweet a role
That acting it should make you to rejoice
And be a source of comfort to your soul?
Is there some hidden happiness that he
Uncovers in his march from can to can
That you above all else should want to be
The Garbage Man?

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Imagination

One thing that's yours, my little child
Your poor old dad is simply wild
To own. It's not a book or toy;
It's your imagination, boy.
If I possessed it, what a time
I'd have, nor need to spend a dime!

I wish that I could get astride
A broom, and have a horse to ride;
Or climb into the swing, and be
A sailor on the deep blue sea,
Or b'lieve a chair a choo-choo train,
Bound anywhere and back again.

If I could ride as fast and far
On ship or horse, in train or car,
As you, at small expense or none,
If I could have one-half your fun
And do the things that you do, free,
I'd give them back my salary.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Lady Friend

Who is Sylvia? What is she
That early every morning
You desert your family
And rush to see her, scorning
Your once cherished ma and me?

Are her playthings such a treat?
I will steal 'em from her;
Better that than not to meet
My son and heir all summer,
Save when he comes home to eat.

Or is she herself the one
And only real attraction?
Has your little heart begun
To get that sort of action?
Better wait a few years, son.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Memory

Besides my little son's imagination,
Another thing he has appeals to me
And agitates my envious admiration -
It's his accommodating memory.

An instant after some unlucky stumble
Has floored him and induced a howl of pain,
He's clean forgotten all about his tumble
And violently sets out to romp again.

But if, when I leave home, I say that maybe
I'll get him something nice while I'm away,
It's very safe to bet that Mr. Baby
Will not forget, though I be gone all day.

Ah, would I might lose sight of things unpleasant:
The bills I owe; the work I haven't done.
And only think of future joys and present,
Like the approaching payday, and my son.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Sense Of Humor

Perhaps in some respects it's true
That you resemble dad;
To be informed I look like you
Would never make me mad.
But one thing I am sure of, son,
You have a different line
Of humor, your idea of fun
Is not a bit like mine.

You drop my slippers in the sink
And leave them there to soak.
That's very laughable, you think
But I can't see the joke
You take my hat outdoors with you
And fill it full of earth;
You seem to think that's witty, too,
But I'm not moved to mirth.

You open up the chicken-yard;
Its inmates run a mile;
You giggle, but I find it hard
To force one-half a smile.
No, kid, I fear your funny stuff,
Though funny it may be,
Is not quite delicate enough
To make a hit with me.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Wonderful Choo-Choos

When I see his wonderful choo-choo trains,
Which he daily builds with infinite pains,
Whose cars are a crazy and curious lot -
A doll, a picture, a pepper pot,
A hat, a pillow, a horse, a book,
A pote, a mintie, a button hook,
A bag of tobacco, a piece of string,
A pair of wubbas, a bodkin ring,
A deck of twos and a paper box,
A brush, a comb and a lot of blocks -
When I first gaze on his wonderful trains,
Which he daily builds with infinite pains,
I laugh, and I think to myself, "O gee!
Was ever a child as cute as he?"

But when he's gone to his cozy nest,
From the toil of his strenuous day to rest,
And when I gaze on his trains once more,
Where they lie, abandoned, across the floor,
And when the terrible task I face
Of putting each "Pullm...

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Page 1 of 2