1977 Yearbook
Source URL
Title
1977 Yearbook
Description
This country we live in is also a collection, only on a
a much grander scale than St. Ambrose College.
Bob Strozer commemorates this wonderful collection in his tribute to the 200 years of American Independence.
BICENTENNIAL SONG
By Robert Sfrozer
I am the Song of America.
Listen to me. I am the
arsenal of democracy and
the apex of the
hemispheres. Nowhere can
you find so many people to pal
around with. I celebrate myself. I
am in person. I am the boon
philosophy/the steel-driving
men/the standing militia live
together in a pole cabin built of
unsplit logs chinked with clay
and lime. America, I just want to
say it. I am patchwork. I am the
marvelous painters "The
Eight"/the regional themes and
character types anatomized in so
many works/"okey-dokey." I am
not the hog butcher of the world,
I don't want to be. I am separate
and equal station to which the
laws of nature entitle
me/"Fighting Bob" Evans of
Santiago fame/the American
eagle has a ribbon in its mouth. I
am studying late into the night
by terrible light. Vulcanized
rubber comes from giant
sequoias. I am Scott's Bluff
where cotton is king/the smithy
where the bronze plaques of
baseball's immortals are
fashioned. I myself am shaping a
horseshoe, and you can see my
muscle if you want to.
I am soon to be the birthday
boy, and the candles are a
chicken in every pot. I am oldies
and tall yarns and popular
favorties and abiding principles.
The plenum of proof is in my
face. I am the growing pangs of a
new nation, but they are good
pangs and they help the song. It
is getting louder. I love Miles
Standish. Some people have
comeout of their houses to find
out what is going on. I am they.
I am teeming with railroad ties.
Come along, come along. I am
the Pure Food Act of 1906/the
first steam-driven building in
Boston in 1845/the humerous
cracker-barrel philosophy of the
early explorers. Look homeward
angel. Some of the people who
came out of their houses are
joining in, motorists are pulling
over. As you look at me I am
dressed very simply in homespun
material and linsey-woolsey and
chaps. There is no disaffection. I
am wearing a rotunda for a hat.
Godspeed, America. You are a
citadel. How could I be more
fecund? I like Ike.
Now the song comes to a part
that has an extreme debt of
gratitude to the Norse in it.
Lilliburlero. I am Old "Fats"
Joe/the inventions. The song has
a crescendo marked where the
bible belt and corn belt
crisscross. Thank you, bluetail
fly. I am William H. Taft Big
Bull" William H. Thompson Big
Bull" William T. Tilden "Big
Bull". Hail me. People are
pouring out of the subways and
coming in from the fields to join
in. I am yanqui who is loved and
the incredible person Ralph
Waldo Emerson. Hear how loud
they are. They are carrying
miters, awls, brickkilns, and
derricks. The song goes on to be
about stump-studded roads and
planked bridges/the discovery by
the Wright Brothers of the
considerable talents of the
Negroes/Mounds City Group/you
are a sweet pea/the poke-easies,
waltons, and happy hooligans of
the road with their fifes and
drums/the proud letters, GNP.
This is not a short song.
Who else am I? See if you can
guess. Colorful characters such as
Tent Johnny and Rose of the
Rancho/the watchdogs of
morality/count me in/Lord
Baltimore/"ee-yi-yo." Every
neighborhood has formed a line.
I am rounding rough horn
buttons. My face is this land is
our land. My mouth is shining
sea. If you keep going down my
body you find there is something
for everybody. The song is
amber. It is the incredibly rich
alluvial birthright of ancestral
lands. It is a fraternity bash. It is
the face carved into Mount
Rushmore. They are singing. It is
the grizzled prospector who does
yeoman duty/Winslow Homer's
bold paintings of mares. The
a much grander scale than St. Ambrose College.
Bob Strozer commemorates this wonderful collection in his tribute to the 200 years of American Independence.
BICENTENNIAL SONG
By Robert Sfrozer
I am the Song of America.
Listen to me. I am the
arsenal of democracy and
the apex of the
hemispheres. Nowhere can
you find so many people to pal
around with. I celebrate myself. I
am in person. I am the boon
philosophy/the steel-driving
men/the standing militia live
together in a pole cabin built of
unsplit logs chinked with clay
and lime. America, I just want to
say it. I am patchwork. I am the
marvelous painters "The
Eight"/the regional themes and
character types anatomized in so
many works/"okey-dokey." I am
not the hog butcher of the world,
I don't want to be. I am separate
and equal station to which the
laws of nature entitle
me/"Fighting Bob" Evans of
Santiago fame/the American
eagle has a ribbon in its mouth. I
am studying late into the night
by terrible light. Vulcanized
rubber comes from giant
sequoias. I am Scott's Bluff
where cotton is king/the smithy
where the bronze plaques of
baseball's immortals are
fashioned. I myself am shaping a
horseshoe, and you can see my
muscle if you want to.
I am soon to be the birthday
boy, and the candles are a
chicken in every pot. I am oldies
and tall yarns and popular
favorties and abiding principles.
The plenum of proof is in my
face. I am the growing pangs of a
new nation, but they are good
pangs and they help the song. It
is getting louder. I love Miles
Standish. Some people have
comeout of their houses to find
out what is going on. I am they.
I am teeming with railroad ties.
Come along, come along. I am
the Pure Food Act of 1906/the
first steam-driven building in
Boston in 1845/the humerous
cracker-barrel philosophy of the
early explorers. Look homeward
angel. Some of the people who
came out of their houses are
joining in, motorists are pulling
over. As you look at me I am
dressed very simply in homespun
material and linsey-woolsey and
chaps. There is no disaffection. I
am wearing a rotunda for a hat.
Godspeed, America. You are a
citadel. How could I be more
fecund? I like Ike.
Now the song comes to a part
that has an extreme debt of
gratitude to the Norse in it.
Lilliburlero. I am Old "Fats"
Joe/the inventions. The song has
a crescendo marked where the
bible belt and corn belt
crisscross. Thank you, bluetail
fly. I am William H. Taft Big
Bull" William H. Thompson Big
Bull" William T. Tilden "Big
Bull". Hail me. People are
pouring out of the subways and
coming in from the fields to join
in. I am yanqui who is loved and
the incredible person Ralph
Waldo Emerson. Hear how loud
they are. They are carrying
miters, awls, brickkilns, and
derricks. The song goes on to be
about stump-studded roads and
planked bridges/the discovery by
the Wright Brothers of the
considerable talents of the
Negroes/Mounds City Group/you
are a sweet pea/the poke-easies,
waltons, and happy hooligans of
the road with their fifes and
drums/the proud letters, GNP.
This is not a short song.
Who else am I? See if you can
guess. Colorful characters such as
Tent Johnny and Rose of the
Rancho/the watchdogs of
morality/count me in/Lord
Baltimore/"ee-yi-yo." Every
neighborhood has formed a line.
I am rounding rough horn
buttons. My face is this land is
our land. My mouth is shining
sea. If you keep going down my
body you find there is something
for everybody. The song is
amber. It is the incredibly rich
alluvial birthright of ancestral
lands. It is a fraternity bash. It is
the face carved into Mount
Rushmore. They are singing. It is
the grizzled prospector who does
yeoman duty/Winslow Homer's
bold paintings of mares. The
Date
1977
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/8960