Author Archives: Sally Ashton

Casey at the Bat
by Ernest Thayer

“Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Thayer has been a favorite poem of mine for the last 20 years, during which time I coached more than 100 boys in baseball, owned a baseball card shop for more than a decade, and put together two baseball sets (each over a 100 years old). This poem does a great job of bringing Casey’s at-bat to life, making the reader feel he or she is at the ballpark, witnessing Casey’s ego and eventual demise, first hand—using humor and rhyme to do so. It’s fun!

Supervisor Mike Wasserman, District 1
Santa Clara County Board of Supervisors

Casey at the Bat

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning left to play;
And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which “springs eternal in the human breast;”
They thought, If only Casey could but get a whack at that,
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn proceed Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a no-good and the latter was a fake;
So, upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball,
And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin’ third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell,
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell,
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on Casey’s face,
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Casey at the bat. Continue reading →

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
by Shel Silverstein

Environmental responsibility makes sense for our community and the economy. San José’s Green Vision sets 10 long-term goals to build a better future for ourselves and our children. Everyone can play a part to ensure that we meet our goals for innovation and sustainability. Shel Silverstein’s classic poem “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout” humorously illustrates the importance of recycling. It’s a timely and fun reminder for the upcoming Earth Day holiday.

Chuck Reed
Mayor, City of San José

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She’d scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . .
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . .
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fried and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That it finally touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
“OK, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course, it was too late. . .
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!

from Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

In my daily work and life, I often think of these four lines by Omar Khayyám, a 12^th century Persian poet and mathematician. In particular I am drawn to the image of spring rain. It refreshes; it nurtures life; it sprouts green; it nourishes everyone, rich or poor; it softens the harsh edges of the world. But when I leave this world, I go like the wind without a trace. My existence is transient, ephemeral, without source and without destination, being part of nature.

Belle W. Y. Wei
Don Beall Dean of Engineering
Charles W. Davidson College of Engineering
San José State University

from The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;

And this was all the Harvest I reaped-

“I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”