Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in November/December, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 4, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
Dear Abby,
How do you like the newspapers now putting in the weather? —Earl E. Frost, Third Street
Dear Earl,
Well, I suppose it might be of interest to some. Myself, I find them too inconsistent. I mean, every day it changes.
Dear Abby,
I was recently reading yet another publication about Custer’s Last Stand. Some things I read about it refer to Custer as “General”, and some refer to him as “Colonel”. Can you tell me which one is correct and why the discrepancy? Thank you. —An Eternal History Student, Rock Street
Dear Student,
No.
Dear Abby,
I am a composer and lyric writer and have been so for many years. I do not understand why some people plagiarize other people’s hard work. We original writers are cut off from any kind of fame, let alone royalties. Do not they that copy us understand that the true satisfaction and love of writing comes from our own creative process? That cannot be bought or taken from us, no matter how many times this criminal act occurs.
It is because of these robbers of literary works that I decided to send one of my songs to you so that you may publish it here. It has been out for years, I know not how this happened. Damned I’ll be if I get cut out of any more credit where it is due me.
I call this ‘In Defence of McHenry’. In 1814, (I am not as young as my handwriting looks) I was in a boat, and the British were after some guy named William McHenry. He must have been an important fellow, for they were exchanging cannon fire. In the morning, I raised up from the boat and saw the American flag proudly waving over the fort McHenry was at. It was a stirring event, though I never did find out who William McHenry was.
The tune is not mine. My grandfather had written a very popular British melody called “To Anacreon in Heaven”. Some say it was a ‘drinking song’, and I have to agree. The man was never sober in my presence while he still breathed. One, two three —
Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light. What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Thank you in advance, dear Abby, for publishing my song at last. I am, sincerely yours —Phillip Q. Knowlton, visiting in New Bedford
Dear Phillip,
So you wrote that song, yes? I find your letter terribly interesting and enlightening. I knew if I waited long enough a member of the Knowlton family would stand out in one way or another. You keep writing your songs, dear, and sending them in to prominent newspapers for publication.
Dear Abby,
A few weeks ago we lost our beloved Sonny. He was out in the yard playing one minute and was gone the next. I cannot convey enough the hurt and despair my husband and I feel, as those who have been in our position know. Our 6 year old is inconsolable. I thought that by writing to you, Abby, one of your readers will be able to give us a lead, or even know where he is. Sonny is three years old, plump, has a happy disposition and is of the dalmation breed. Any tips at all will be appreciated so much. —Grieving Family in Fairhaven
Dear Family,
Cheer up! Look in the section of Steepbrook. He has been spotted.
Dear Abby,
Some of these jump rope rhymes I hear from little girls playing on the sidewalks are getting pretty nasty, referring to things that should remain private or to violence. How can we help to amend this problem in Fall River? —Jump Rope Jury Foreman
Dear Jury Foreman,
Jump rope rhymes have been around for aeons. And I agree with you in that some times they are a bit trashy. Never fear, Foreman. The “nasty” ones never last long. I suggest you simply wait it out until the fad subsides.
Dear Abby,
There are some particularly bad jump rope rhymes being chanted by Fall River little girls today. I don’t know whether to go to you, the children’s parents, or Marshal Hilliard. Did you know that there is one about you? Please do not shoot the messenger:
Flabby Borden should be dead
And she should get it thru the head.
Get it done and do the deed!
How many times should Flabby bleed?
Ten, twenty, thirty, etc.
Here comes Andrew thru the door
Let us give him even more!
One hundred, two hundred, etc.
—The Messenger
Dear Messenger,
The imbecilic words are obviously not about me. My name is not mentioned. As to what to do to the little girls? Kick them.
