When my father was about nine months old, this was the column on November 10, 1917. I have transcribed it verbatim as it appeared without editing a couple of likely misprints.
“When He Says Daddy to Me”
I’ve met with actors erratic,
Who’s antics caused laughter galore;
I’ve met with singers dramatic,
At whom I laughed, til sides were wore sore,
Of all the antics I’ve been lampin’,
There’s none that gives me the glee,
As the baby, when after some vamping,
Tries to say “daddy” to me.
I can speak to him of Horatio,
I can prate of Wagner’s technique,
I can deliver a complex oratio,
I can tell him of Athens in Greek,
I can warble of Browning and Keating,
I can lisp of the old Pharisee,
But he has me hands down and a bleating
When he stutters out “daddy” at me.
I’ve told him of Yaphank and Hoboken,
I’ve whispered of Kalamazoo,
Of the baker whom they’re always a jokin’,
Meaning Bunn of old Baraboo.
I’ve told him a bit about Reno,
I’ve jollied him ‘bout Kankakee,
By the little tyke gets my goatino,
When he tries to say “daddy” to me.
I’ve talked on questions portentious,
And he lends a listening ear;
I’ve expounded on matters momentous,
Of which he seems glad to hear.
He pays most ardent attention,
And I spout entertainingly,
Until he tries intervention,
By saying “daddy” to me.
At times I think he’s most trying,
As a bit of temper’s evinced,
And when that bambino starts crying,
Of his waywardness I am convinced.
His voice I’m sure is projected
Far over the land and the sea,
But from harshness he’s fully protected,
When he tries to say “daddy” to me.
Of tricks he has a full measure,
Each one an accomplishment rare,
To do them gives him great pleasure,
On this “parlor stuff” he is a bear,
But the stunt that makes me most happy,
The one that fills me with glee,
Is when he looks up at his pappy,
And tries to say “daddy” to me.
Who’s antics caused laughter galore;
I’ve met with singers dramatic,
At whom I laughed, til sides were wore sore,
Of all the antics I’ve been lampin’,
There’s none that gives me the glee,
As the baby, when after some vamping,
Tries to say “daddy” to me.
I can speak to him of Horatio,
I can prate of Wagner’s technique,
I can deliver a complex oratio,
I can tell him of Athens in Greek,
I can warble of Browning and Keating,
I can lisp of the old Pharisee,
But he has me hands down and a bleating
When he stutters out “daddy” at me.
I’ve told him of Yaphank and Hoboken,
I’ve whispered of Kalamazoo,
Of the baker whom they’re always a jokin’,
Meaning Bunn of old Baraboo.
I’ve told him a bit about Reno,
I’ve jollied him ‘bout Kankakee,
By the little tyke gets my goatino,
When he tries to say “daddy” to me.
I’ve talked on questions portentious,
And he lends a listening ear;
I’ve expounded on matters momentous,
Of which he seems glad to hear.
He pays most ardent attention,
And I spout entertainingly,
Until he tries intervention,
By saying “daddy” to me.
At times I think he’s most trying,
As a bit of temper’s evinced,
And when that bambino starts crying,
Of his waywardness I am convinced.
His voice I’m sure is projected
Far over the land and the sea,
But from harshness he’s fully protected,
When he tries to say “daddy” to me.
Of tricks he has a full measure,
Each one an accomplishment rare,
To do them gives him great pleasure,
On this “parlor stuff” he is a bear,
But the stunt that makes me most happy,
The one that fills me with glee,
Is when he looks up at his pappy,
And tries to say “daddy” to me.


