Stodghill Says So

An opinionated posting on a variety of subjects by a former newspaper reporter and columnist whose daily column was named best in Indiana by UPI. The Blog title is that used in his high school sports predictions for the Muncie Evening Press.

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Location: Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, United States

At the age of 18 I was a 4th Infantry Division rifleman in the invasion of Normandy, then later was called back for the Korean War. Put in a couple of years as a Pinkerton detective. Much of my life was spent as a newspaper reporter, sports writer and daily columnist. Published three books on high school sports in Ohio and Indiana. I write mystery fiction for Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and others. Three books, Normandy 1944 - A Young Rifleman's War, The Hoosier Hot Shots, and From Devout Catholic to Communist Agitator are now available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other booksellers. So are four collections of short mysteries: Jack Eddy Stories Volumes 1 and 2, Midland Murders, and The Rough Old Stuff From Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine.

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Thursday, October 05, 2006

The Bard of Akron Rears His Head Again

Reading "Flatwoods and Lighterknots," the excellent book by James Elders set in Georgia, made me think about my days down there and brought out my poetic side. Now this is a side some people say should be stomped on until dead, and who am I to disagree? After all, I know nothing about poetry, its rules and so forth. Needless to say, I'd never post a poem I'd written here on Blogger. After all, a man has his pride and some rather sensitive people read these blogs so I'd never. . .oh, what the heck, why not?


I wish I was in Gaw-guh,
Why did I ever stray,
From the copperheads and rattlesnakes,
and that old red dirt and clay?

I'd like to stroll out in the swamp,
Where the cottonmouths abound.
They can kill a man with just one bite,
and never make a sound.

Don't forget about the chiggers,
They sure can make you itch.
If you find yourself among 'em,
You'll agree that they're a bitch.

And remember those big roaches,
The kind six inches long.
I've seen 'em leap clear crost a room,
Now don't tell me I'm wrong.

You oughta feel that Gaw-guh sun,
Oh, man, how it beats down.
It makes a man yearn for a beer,
And turns his pale skin brown.

Boy, how I'd love a plateful
Of downhome country grits.
The northern folks won't eat 'em,
Cause they give a man the. . .bellyache.

But you know those Gaw-guh Bulldogs,
Can beat the 'Bama Crimson Tide.
And when Ol' Miss sees 'em comin'
They just run away and hide.

Those Gaw-guh gals are lovely,
You've never seen the like.
But when they call you Sweet Thing,
They mean go take a hike.

Yes, I wish I was in Gaw-guh,
Cause of all those things I've writ,
But on second thought I'll stay up north,
Where no one ever eats a grit.

My deepest apologies to all the good folks of Georgia. Especially Jim Elders, who keeps guns around the house._________________

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