GEORGE M. COHAN

Blessed be Providence That gave us our Cohan; Irreverent, Resourceful, prolific, steady-advancing George M. Nothing in life Better becomes him Than his earliest choice Of Jerry and Helen For father and mother; Bred in the wings and the dressing room, The theatre alley his playground, Hotels his home and his schoolhouse, Blessed with a wonderful sister, And in love with a violin. From baby days used to the footlights, With infrequent teachers of book lore In the cities of lengthy engagements Showing him pages of learning That he turned from to life's open volume, Acquiring indelible lessons, Loyalty, candor, clear seeing, Sincerity, plain speaking, love of his own, Passion for all things American. From Jerry, his father, Came Celtic humor, delight in the dance, And devotion to things of the theatre; From Helen, his mother, Depth, Celtic devotion to things of the spirit, Fineness of soul. Early he turned from his fiddle To write popular songs And tunes so whistly and catchy That the music of a child Enraptured the nation. Then followed comedy sketches, Gay little pieces that made public And player-folk chatter of Cohan. Later, essaying the musical comedy, He wrote "Running for Office," To be followed by that impudent Classic of fresh young America, "Little Johnnie Jones." One followed another in rapid succession; His name grew a cherished possession, And ever his dancing delighted. His manner of singing and speaking Provoked to endless imitation. His personality became better known Then the President's. Always he soared in ambition And, becoming a lord of the theatre, He ventured on serious drama, And out of his wisdom and watching Wrote masterful plays, Envisaging the types of our natives. Truly a genius, Genius in friendship, genius in stagecraft, Genius in life! Even in choosing a partner He fattened his average, Batting four hundred By taking a kindred irreverent soul, Graduated out of the whirlpool That wrecks all but the strongest, Born on the eastern edge Of Manhattan, Sam H. Harris, man of business, Who to the skill of the trader Adds the joy in life And the sense of humor, Coupled with pleasure in giving And helping That Cohan demands of his pals. Together they plan wonderful projects, And the artist soul And the soul of commerce Are an unbeatable union. Best of all about Cohan Is his congenital manliness. He sees Americans As our soil and our air and our water Have made them; Types as distinct as the Indian. He follows no school, Knows little of movements artistic. A lonely creator, His friends are not writing men, Reformers, uplifters or zealots. He writes the life he has lived So fully and zestfully, And over it all plays like sheet lightning A beneficent humor. Growth is his hall-mark, Hard work his chief recreation; Not Balzac could toil with labor titanic More terribly. George M. Cohan, Excelling in everything— Beloved son, brother, father, partner, friend, Our best-beloved man of the theatre.