The More Things Change....

I was reading through an 1877 book of American slang, when I came across a snippet of this poem. After some digging, I managed to find the entire thing in an edition of the Arizona Citizen, dated 18 November 1876. If you have ever traveled via airplane or had a parcel delivered to you in less-than-pristine condition, you will relate to this.

The Centennial Baggage-Smasher

By J Burdette

Canto Primus

Pete was a Tip Up baggage-man; 

he ran on Number 4,

where the fears and groans of traveling folks 

unflinchingly he bore;

he cared not how the women wept 

or strong men raved or swore,

while he mutilated sample-cases,

desolated Saratogas, 

annihilated ordinary luggage,

immolated carpet bags, 

exterminated band-boxes,

and extinguished travelers' outfits by the score.

This fine old T.P. baggage-man, 

one of the modern time.

Canto Secundus

But Thursday afternoon there came 

a modest traveling man,

who smiled and watched how ruthlessly

the baggage Pete did slam;

then, as he pointed out his trunk

for him to smash and jam,

he said: "Dear friend, 

my worldly possessions are few and humble;

silver and gold I have none;

but such as I have are in that trunk.

Handle it tenderly, 

for it is frail and I am poor,

and if there's a man traveling

who watches and weeps 

and prays over his baggage,

then that's the kind of a man I am."

(Chorus the same as before)

Canto Tertius

But Pete seized his shabby trunk

with snorts of wrath and scorn,

and in two seconds both the handles 

from the ends had torn,

and heedless of the pleadings

of the passenger forlorn

he banged the trunk on the platform,

and then threw it over the top of the car,

and let an omnibus run over it,

and then whacked it over a stumper

and threw it off the end of the bridge,

and then shot it with his revolver,

and finally hugged it in his arms,

took a flying leap into the baggage-car with it,

and lit on it in a corner with his heels, head, and stomach,

and smashed it into more pieces

than there are hairs on a dog's back;

and the next second that baggage car was just alive

with one interested baggage-man,

and more crawling, 

squirming,

wriggling,

rattling,

coiling

rattlesnakes 

than you would believe had ever been born.

(Chorus as previously but with more feeling)

Canto Quartus

In vain thy muse essays to tell

how Pete, the smasher, swore,

and yelled,

and shrieked,

and howled,

and roared,

and raved, 

and ramped,

and tore,

and turned as blue as indigo,

and swelled to nine times the size

of a double-decker Saratoga trunk,

and died in two minutes

after he got out of the car,

while the modest traveler

viewed his exaggerated remains,

smiled sadly and said

he never knew a baggage-man

so fond of snakes before.

(Chorus ad lib)