Bill Roberts, Poet

Summers in the Forties

Sunday, October 18th, 2009

Georgetown was virtually our center

of the universe since Harry Hopkins,

FDR’s favorite confidante, lived

just around the corner and kept control

of the war spreading out on two fronts.

Mr. Harry, as I addressed him,

looked pretty much like any other

old guy in the neighborhood except

my two heroes, Moses and Ralphie,

both glistening black giants and

the best fishermen on the Potomac -

actually, the C&O Canal where

I’d meet them most mornings with

my tangled fishing gear and can

of worms, watch them communicate

in easy-to-understand sign language

since they were both mute, permitting

me to join their fraternity of silence

without interruption until one signaled

me to watch as he demonstrated how

to bait a hook, toss my knotted length

of line, and settle down for the long

wait until a fat carp gobbled the prize

and I hauled in dinner for the Jews

up the hill at the House of David,

where Moses and Ralphie would lug

our string of perch, eel, catfish and

most-prized carp for the bearded

brothers who licked lips at our catch.

It’s how my two black compadres

made enought to stay alive, buy a pint

of cheap booze to go with their fried

fish dinner, see them through the night.

Hot in the Forties in D.C., war begrudgingly

blazing to an anguished close in Europe,

but I hadn’t a care in the world, trusting in

Mr. Harry Hopkins.  Moses and Ralphie, too,

though you might wonder how I learned

their names.  Ah, another tale entirely.

(Note:  Great days growing up in Washington, D.C. where two of my earliest heroes were two mute black men who spent day and night under Francis Scott Key Bridge over the Potomac River.  Hard to imagine an eight-year-old white kid doing that today.  Part of the growing up process where I began studying people and what made them tick – human nature, in other words.)

Tags: Fishing, Georgetown, Nostalgia, The 40's, Washington DC
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