Of Her Eye
Joe Hale, March 1976
All were eager to do the show;
Basses and tenors too.
“We must memorize”, they said to Midge,
“It's the only thing to do,
Get rid of the books and spots right now;
No need for a crutch by side.”
So, now she looked glad and thoughtful too,
This group was her joy and pride.
This talented crew is filled with soul,
She thought with lightning speed.
Some others may do their tasks quite well,
But these guys are my friends, indeed!
This is the way she visioned it . . . . .
But tell me truly, guy,
Are you willing to put forth the effort to be,
The Apple of Her Eye?
To The Contestant
Author & Date: Unknown
Who's the stranger, Mother dear?
Look! He knows us. Ain't he queer?
Hush, my son! Don't talk that way.
It's your Dad - he's been away.
Can't be, Mom. No way at all!
Daddy died way back last fall.
Your father didn't die, my pet,
He joined a Barbershop Quartet.
Now the contests are over, and so
He has no other place to go.
His eyes are red and his voice is hoarse -
Baggy pants, needs a shave, but no remorse.
Soon he'll learn another ditty,
Then pack his bags for Atlantic City,
So kiss him, he won't bite you, child,
All those quartet guys look wild.
Larry W. Brown 12/05/79
Tonight we're not barhoppers
As one can plainly see ...
But we are barbershoppers
With a ringing melody;
Keeping America Singing ---
In voice as well as heart
Having fun, while bringing
Some children a fresh start.
And though raised eyebrows may occur
When we are heard to say
“I'm going the the meeting, sir
Of SPEBSQSA “ ! ...
What better way to undergird
Than let those favorite songs be heard
In barbershop rendition !
By Joe Hale - October 1977
My ears perked up the other night
When I heard someone admit
How he was filled with sheer delight
To hear a chorus that was fit
To sing for District Competition
Ring out some chords
At sweet volition.
It sounded like a mighty throng
But counting them, soon proved one wrong,
For five and twenty was the count
That yielded sound which oft could mount
To volume like a thunder clap,
Or the quiet of a noontime nap.
I thought hos nice 'twould really be,
To have a chorus of seventy seven
with a sound ascending clear to Heaven
From Behlmanns Room Conquistador.
Well, this can happen, and even more
If everyone who is now a member,
Will recruit two men before December!
By Joe Hale - August 1977
Among the things I treasure most
I'd surely have to name,
An SPEBSQSA visitor to host
To make him glad he came.
It seems of late, it's been our fate
To have a bunch of guys,
Who've come to sing and stayed quite late,
To make a chord arise.
You may recall young Bob McDonnel
And his silver-throated tenor,
Or the Counterpoints, and Al Cahill
Now truly, there's a winner.
And if you're seeking a velvet blend
Jim White can lay it on!
Or, than again, theres Michael Schwend
Whose bass is a satin dawn.
Coming to join this jolly crew
Is the super basso, Duaine,
Whose high resolve, and devotion true
Has caused him to remain.
From the town of steel
Jim Turner comes, as our fourteen
karat bari, And now we've all begun to feel,
It's time for making merry.
This kindles anew deep desire
To seek with greater ardor,
To find more men to billow the fire
We all must seek them harder.
So carry the torch --- seek then out
And our chapter will be better,
All these men deserve a shout
Or a five inch felt block letter.
So give a cheer for visitors here
And everybody bring one,
And never have a single fear
With quality, they will sing one!
By Joe Hale - March 1977
"No One's Perfect"
Is my very favorite song
Amazingly, it points out
How things will go wrong!
Just when you're thinking
That you're the very best
You wind up singing loudly
Through a two beat rest!
You feel you've really made it
When, on the front row
Each man throws a gesture
Which you forgot to throw.
Chagrined you stand there
Wondering "what will be my fate"
If now, I try to throw it
Ten seconds late.
Resolving not to show
Embarrassment a Trifle
You stand there wishing
For your rusty old rifle -
To use on the joker
In the very first row
Who smirked at your boo boo
And nearly ruined your show.
But calling up the courage
Of an old mother hen
You plaster wide across your face
A Jimmy Carter grin.
The loud applause which greets
The soon finished song
Quickly reassures you
Not everything went wrong.
So then you sing a parody
Of an old familiar tune
Dubbing in the original
Makes you feel like a loon.
Then the notion strikes you
To become the first defector
To get out fast
Ere killed by the director,
Then fate comes to your rescue
As once again we're shown
That No One's Perfect -
The Director one has blown!
God, laugh at our foibles
But help us strive to be
What no one has yet attained
Perfection, like to Thee!
Glad He's A Barbershopper
By Leota Watson
As the wife of a Barbershopper, Who never missed one meeting,
In all of nineteen seventy six, I send you this greeting.
How did he do it? His secret I'll tell;
His whole hear was in it, And his wife's heart as well!
Who do I support him? Thats easy to see;
His barbershopping has made him, A better husband to me!
His step has more spring, His spirit more zing!
His heart is much lighter, He even hugs tighter.
His notes ring truer, His grumbles are fewer;
His eyes look much bluer, Even his jokes now are newer!
Weeks with him are less harried, His interests more varied;
New friendships galore, Who could ask for more!
Who wouldn't support such A good looking guy?
When his voice lifts with others, Their limits the sky!
As they stand on the risers, Bedecked in their splendor,
They're great harmonizers, As through run through a blender!
I feel shivers down my neck, And all through my spine,
And I am glad that Barbershopper, Is truly ... ALL MINE!