Posted on 10/11/2025 8:58:37 AM PDT by CharlesOConnell
(I don't believe people who just happened to be born on any of 365 days, deserve any special notice for it, but their Mothers do. My Mother, born in 1912, gave birth to me this day in 1954. So, to indulge myself, I thought I'd pass along this comedic poem from her birth year, 1912, from a children's book.)
The Rocket Book (1912) by Peter Newell. Narrated at the click-link at Librivox by Phil Chenevert.
The Rocket Book by Peter Newell at Gutenberg
(Twenty-one comedic illustrations)
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
———————
PATENTED JUNE 4, 1912
———————
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1912
When Fritz, the Janitor's bad kid,
Went snooping in the basement,
He found a rocket snugly hid
Beneath the window casement.
He struck a match with one fell swoop;
Then, on the concrete kneeling,
He lit the rocket and—she—oop!
It shot up through the ceiling.
The Steiners on the floor above
Of breakfast were partaking;
Crash! came the rocket, unannounced,
And set them all a-quaking!
It smote a catsup bottle, fair,
And bang! the thing exploded!
And now these people all declare
That catsup flask was loaded.
Before the fire old Grandpa Hopp
Dozed in his arm-chair big,
When from a trunk the rocket burst
And carried off his wig!
It passed so near his ancient head
He roused up with a start,
And, turning to his grandsons, said,
"You fellows think you're smart!"
Algernon Bracket, somewhat rash,
Had blown a monster bubble,
When, oh! there came a blinding flash,
Precipitating trouble!
But Algy turned in mild disgust,
And called to Mama Bracket,
"Say, did you hear that bubble bu'st?
It made an awful racket!"
Jo Budd, who'd bought a potted plant,
Was dousing it with water.
He fancied this would make it grow,
And Joseph loved to potter.
Then through the pot the rocket shot
And made the scene look sickly!
"Well, now," said Jo, "I never thought
That plant would shoot so quickly!"
Right here 'tis needful to remark
That Dick and "Little Son"
Were playing with a Noah's ark
And having loads of fun,
When all at once that rocket, stout,
Up through the ark came blazing!
The animals were tossed about
And did some stunts amazing.
A Burglar on the next floor up
The sideboard was exploring.
(The family, with the brindled pup,
Were still asleep and snoring.)
Just then, up through the silverware
The rocket thundered, flaring!
The Burglar got a dreadful scare;
Then out the door went tearing.
Miss Mamie Briggs with no mean skill
Was playing "Casey's Fling"
To please her cousin, Amos Gill,
Who liked that sort of thing,
When suddenly the rocket, hot,
The old piano jumbled!
It stopped that rag-time like a shot,
Then through the ceiling rumbled.
Up through the next floor on its way
That rocket, dread, went tearing
Where Winkle stood in bath-robe, gay,
A tepid bath preparing.
The tub it punctured like a shot
And made a mighty splashing.
The man was rooted to the spot;
Then out the door went dashing.
Bob Brooks was puffing very hard
His football to inflate,
While round him stood his faithful guard,
And they could hardly wait.
Then came the rocket, fierce and bright,
And through the football rumbled.
"You've got a pair of lungs, all right!"
His staring playmates grumbled.
The family dog, with frenzied mien,
Was chasing Fluff, the mouser,
When, poof! the rocket flashed between,
And quite astonished Towzer.
Now, if this dog had wit enough
The English tongue to torture,
He might have growled such silly stuff
As, "Whew! that cat's a scorcher!"
While Carrie Cook sat with a book
The phonograph played sweetly.
Then came the rocket and it smashed
That instrument completely.
Fair Carrie promptly turned her head,
Attracted by the roar.
"Dear me, I never heard," she said,
"That record played before!"
De Vere was searching for a match
To light a cigarette,
But failed to find one with despatch,
Which threw him in a pet.
Just then the rocket flared up bright
Before his face and crackled,
Supplying him the needed light—
"Thanks, awfully," he cackled.
Home from the shop came Maud's new hat—
A hat of monstrous size!
It almost filled the tiny flat
Before her ravished eyes.
When, sch-u-u! up through the box so proud
The rocket flared and spluttered.
"I said that hat was all too loud!"
Her peevish husband muttered.
Tom's pap had helped him start his train,
And all would have been fine
Had not the rocket, raising Cain,
Blocked traffic on the line.
It blew the engine into scrap,
As in a fit of passion.
"Who would have thought that toy," said pap,
"Would blow up in such fashion!"
Orlando Pease, quite at his ease,
The "Morning Star" was reading.
"My dear," said he to Mrs. Pease,
"Here's a report worth heeding."
The rocket then in wanton sport
Flashed through the printed pages.
The lady gasped, "A wild report!"
Then swooned by easy stages.
Doc Danby was a stupid guy,
So, lest he sleep too late,
He placed a tattoo clock near by
To waken him at eight.
But, ah! the rocket smote that clock
And smashed its way clean through it!
"You have a fine alarm," said Doc,
"But, say, you overdo it!"
A penny-liner, Abram Stout,
Was writing a description.
"The flame shot up," he pounded out—
Then threw a mild conniption.
For through his Flemington there shied
A rocket, hot and mystic.
"I didn't mean to be," he cried,
"So deuced realistic!"
Gus Gummer long had set his head
Upon some strange invention.
"Be careful, Gus," his good wife said;
"It might explode. I mention—"
Just then the pesky rocket flared
And wrecked that Yankee notion.
"I feared as much!" his wife declared;
Then fainted from emotion.
While Burt was on his hobby-horse
And riding it like mad,
The rocket on its fiery course
Upset the startled lad.
The frightened pony plunged a lot,
Like Fury playing tag.
"Whoa, Spot!" said Burt. "Who would have thought
You such a fiery nag!"
A taxidermist plied his trade
Upon a walrus' head.
It really made him quite afraid
To meet its stare so dread.
When suddenly the rocket, bright,
Flared up and then was off!
"Oh, Minnie," cried the man in fright,
"Just hear that walrus cough!"
Oh, it was just a splendid flight—
That rocket's wild career!
But to an end it came, all right,
As you shall straightway hear.
It plunged into a can of cream
That Billy Bunk was freezing,
And froze quite stiff, as it would seem,
And so subsided, wheezing.
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http://www.hymntime.com/tch/mid/b/o/u/r/bourbon_street.mid
In 1912 rockets were fired for many reasons: signals between ships of the same shipping line, courtesy signals, recall signals for dories fishing around ice floes, and other nonemergencies. Only after the Titanic’s sinking did the conservative use of pyrotechnics become well defined.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! I graduated from high school the year you were born.. You must have grown up with a mother who liked to read. I don’t remember when my mother DIDN’T read to us. Sure made me a lover of reading - even today I must have several books going at the same time...kitchen table, dining room table, bedroom, living room....
Your post made me remember that I have a book from my mother..”Eastman’s Chestnuts” full of jokes/stories. It was published by the American Agriculturist and copyrighted 1940. That was a magazine we got on the farm where I was raised. According to info online, it’s been around since 1842. I think there was another one also that we got in the mail but I don’t remember the name - Farm Journal maybe?
Cornell University had a “Farm and Home Week” every year and our dad took us - Mercy!! How boring!!! I’ve been gone from there a lot of years but maybe still ongoing but probably still boring to youngsters or maybe the “lib” disease infiltrated there also like it has the entire city of Ithaca. Maybe “Farm and Home” aren’t cool anymore!
LOL...now that’s a great kids’ poem! I read it all the way through. Mr. Newell was quite creative. Enjoyed it a lot. Thanks for posting.
They all sang. The average person knew the lyrics to 200 songs. There were 300 piano brands when the U.S. entered Ww1. There were 10 x 1 million sellers of sheet music, played by 1 pianist to many partying singers, hundreds more songs in the 10,000 seller range. Grammaphone & Victrola were expensive novelties, mostly used in music stores to move along stale inventory, lacking the projection power that would come with stereo hi-fi in the 1950s.
But by 1932, Libby, who had sung at her cousins’ house, was listening to music in talkies, Jeanette MacDonald, Nelson Eddie & Ramon Navarro light opera flix, so Libby forgot she could sing. But before radio (1923);), if you wanted music, you had to make it yourself.
A penny-liner, Abram Stout,Note Newell's use of "Flemington" for the typewriter. That got me to wondering if that was a transcription typo or intentional ("Remington" was a popular typewriter at the time). All the references I found indicate he wrote "Flemington" maybe to avoid legal problems.Was writing a description.
"The flame shot up," he pounded out—
Then threw a mild conniption.
For through his Flemington there shied
A rocket, hot and mystic.
"I didn't mean to be," he cried,
"So deuced realistic!"
That, in turn, got me to wondering about a "penny-liner." A “penny-liner” in 1912 is practically the great-grandparent of today’s content-churning “influencers” flooding the web with clickbait and monetized drek. Both hustle for pennies (or likes) per word, view, or click, almost always prioritizing quantity over quality.
It’s like Abram Stout’s “Flemington” typewriter got upgraded to a smartphone, but the game’s still the same—churning out “hot and mystic” content to grab attention!
If Newell were writing today, he’d probably have a rocket crashing through a TikTok vlogger’s ring light.
Very cool, and the illustrations as well. Today’s crap is all about how boys are girls and girls are boys and you can identify you are a squirrel.
Thanks for formatting and posting the wonderful story.
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