A Treasure from the Attic

From recent experiences of hooking up with friends and relatives we have not seen from twenty to forty years, I have been on a hunt for old pictures and memorabilia to bring to these mini reunions. During one of my expeditions to the attic I came across a brown spiral bound book published in 1951 entitled "Don McNeill's Favorite Poems, Memory Time Selections from The Breakfast Club". Now I don't know how many of you reading this remember who Don McNeill was but before television; we listened to the radio as our source of entertainment and news media. Best thing about listening to the radio, even today, is that you can go about your daily chores or tasks without stopping to sit and become a couch potato.

I remember listening to him as a very young child reading letters from his listeners, hearing stories from his characters, and hearing his singers sing songs all live on the air. It is obvious that I cannot reprint all ninety-six pages of this beautiful book but I will give my readers a small taste. Let me introduce the players of this program first: the master of the Breakfast Club was family man and all around nice guy Don McNeill who by the stacks of mail he received each and every day had to be one of the most popular people in America back in the 40's and 50's. Actually the Breakfast Club was on the air until 1968 but by then I already had two children and a television set of our own and mainly listened to the radio in the car. A singer on the program who had a great voice was Johnny Desmond and I remember him singing and seeing my mother swoon. A character actress was Aunt Fanny who was played by Fran Allison who I mentioned in another article as the real person of the trio of Kukla, Fran and Ollie. The resident female singer of the show was Patsy Lee and there were even people who sang commercials for Swift & Company, Philco products and Jell-O.

There are many poems in this book with categories named: Memories of Love and Friendship, Memories that Inspire, Memories of Faith and Reverence, Memories of Home and Mother, Memories of Childhood and Youth, Memories that Amuse, Memories of War and Grief and Golden Memories all by various authors. After reading through this fragile book, I chose a poem by Don McNeill himself and a letter authored by him to his new president.

Ode To Baby's First Tooth!

A baby learns breathing, but not so with teething.
There's yelling and din, till that first tooth comes in;

We knew it would come, some day to his gum,
But one goes temperamental, when babies go dental.

In go both tiny fists, clear up to the wrist
While in time they grow bolder, and snap at the shoulder.

You give up in despair, 'cause you can't figure where
In the gum is abiding, that tooth he's been hiding.

Till one sunny day, you look in and, why say
Something tiny and whilte, has appeared in the night.

Where there once was a hole -- thar, there now is a molar
Not like your toothe or my tooth -- it isn't an eye tooth.

Though the gum still is thick, you can now hear the click
Of his crescent pearl moon, to the touch of a spoon.

Like a ringside frequenter, there it sits front row center
Go on yell, go on cheer, boy that first tooth is here.

And a beautiful letter to President Harry S. Truman four days after he became president upon the death of Franklin Roosevelt.

Dear Mr. President

At first, I thought it presumptuous of me, an ordinary citizen, who admits he knows very little about government affairs, to be writing you -- but Mr. Truman, what I'm about to say I think may echo the thoughts of perhaps hundreds of thousands of Breakfast Clubbers who, too, are what is so often known as "John Public". Primarily, we want you to know that you have our wholehearted and loyal support and Mr. President, there is no more loyal group in the world than the Breakfast Clubbers. Picking up the banner where your fallen Chief dropped it, we know you can carry it to the glorious heights of true victory and a lasting peace, only with us behind you.

Now, I think there are very few of us who don't give our opinion on world matters at the drop of a hat, but I'm sure that every one of us who does, knows that he parrots the opinion of others he had heard, or whose works he has read, and that only a handful of men really understand your complex problems with all their ramifications. Among us you will find an exemplification of the Americans you're working for. Factory workers, GI's, housewives, executives, kids -- every type that goes to make for American greatness. You'll find us united as never before. You'll find us expecting you to make some mistakes as every human does, but I hope you'll find us as understanding and tolerant of you, as I have every hope to believe you will be of us. We're from every section of the country, Mr. Truman. We have over a million charter members and hundreds of thousands more regular members of our Club. We are all races, colors and creeds, but we are neighbors.

It's peculiar how downright similar our basic tastes in things really are. We all like good music, good fun, good common sense. We have a deep sense of religion and responsibility toward our homes and government. We may stray from the path occasionally, but not for too long. And we're going to pray that you and your advisors, and our elected representatives are guided by Divine Providence in the task ahead.

I'm sure you must know and feel this already, Mr. Truman, but you have just stepped into the center stage spotlight before the entire world, and as a guy who is fortunate enough to have the ears of a great and huge group of Americans every morning, I want you to know that when you "go on", as we say in show business, never was an audience more with you and for you. When you were a kid in Missouri, Mr. Truman, it probably helped you a little to hear the gang yelling for you when you stepped up to the plate for your turn at bat. I thought maybe you wouldn't mind knowing how the crowd feels as you come up now in the biggest World's Series of all, with the bases loaded.

Sincerely yours,
Don McNeill
April 16, 1945