317752's blog: "Harry Chapin 1942 - 1981 Storyteller"

The first installment of this blog concerned Harry's take on fictional people. Would that this installment could also have been fiction, but it isn't. This story concerns Harry's take on an event that was as real as it gets. The story is called "Sniper" and if you will excuse a moment of plaigerism here, I offer the following, taken from Courtroom Television Network, LLC, to set the stage..... By now, Americans are virtually unshockable. When we hear of the latest workplace shooting, the latest school shooting, the latest loner who snapped and took others with him to his final rest, we are saddened, certainly, but not shocked. It has happened so often that we’ve long since lost count of the shooters and the victims, long since forgotten which towns bear the indelible marks of random violence. So it is difficult for us to understand the horror to which Americans were introduced by Charles Whitman on August 1, 1966. Until Whitman undertook his shooting spree in Austin, Texas, public space felt safe and most citizens were utterly convinced they were comfortably removed from brutality and terror. After August 1, 1966, things would never be the same. Here then, is Harry Chapin's "Sniper"...and yes, you can hear this one in my trackz as well.... It is an early Monday morning. The sun is becoming bright on the land. No one is watching as he comes a walking. Two bulky suitcases hang from his hands. He heads towards the tower that stands in the campus. He goes through the door, he starts up the stairs. The sound of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing, The sound of the silence when no one was there. I didn't really know him. He was kind of strange. Always sort of sat there. He never seemed to change. He reached the catwalk. He put down his burden. The four sided clock began to chime. Seven AM, the day is beginning. So much to do and so little time. He looks at the city where no one had known him. He looks at the sky where no one looks down. He looks at his life and what it has shown him. He looks for his shadow it cannot be found. He was such a moody child, very hard to touch. Even as a baby he never smiled too much. No no.No no. You bug me, she said. Your ugly, she said. Please hug me, I said. But she just sat there With the same flat stare That she saves for me alone When I'm home. When I'm home. Take me home. He laid out the rifles, he loaded the shotgun, He stacked up the cartridges along the wall. He knew he would need them for his conversation. If it went as it he planned, then he might use them all. He said Listen you people I've got a question You won't pay attention but I'll ask anyhow. I found a way that will get me an answer. Been waiting to ask you 'till now. Right now ! Am I ? I am a lover who's never been kissed. Am I ? I am a fighter who's not made a fist. Am I ? If I'm alive then there's so much I've missed. How do I know I exist ? Are you listening to me ? Are you listening to me ? Am I ? The first words he spoke took the town by surprise. One got Mrs. Gibbons above her right eye. It blew her through the window wedged her against the door. Reality poured from her face, staining the floor. He was kind of creepy, Sort of a dunce. I met him at the corner bar. I only dated the poor boy once, That's all. Just once, that was all. Bill Whedon was questioned as stepped from his car. Tom Scott ran across the street but he never got that far. The police were there in minutes, they set up baricades. He spoke right on over them in a half-mile circle. In a dumb struck city his pointed questions were sprayed. He knocked over Danny Tyson as he ran towards the noise. Just about then the answers started comming. Sweet, sweet joy. Thudding in the clock face, whining off the walls, Reaching up to where he sat there, answering calls. Thirty-seven people got his message so far. Yes, he was reaching them right were they are. They set up an assault team. They asked for volunteers. They had to go and get him, that much was clear. And the word spread about him on the radios and TV's. In appropriately sober tone they asked "Who can it be ?" He was a very dull boy, very taciturn. Not much of a joiner, he did not want to learn. No no.No no. They're coming to get me, they don't want to let me Stay in the bright light too long. It's getting on noon now, it's goin to be soon now. But oh, what a wonderful sound ! Mama, won't you nurse me ? Rain me down the sweet milk of your kindness. Mama, it's getting worse for me. Won't you please make me warm and mindless ? Mama, yes you have cursed me. I never will forgive you for your blindness. I hate you! The wires are all humming for me. And I can hear them coming for me. Soon they'll be here, but there's nothing to fear. Not any more though they've blasted the door. As the copter dropped the gas he shouted " Who cares ?" . They could hear him laughing as they started up the stairs. As they stormed out on the catwalk, blinking at the sun, With their final fusillade his answer had come. Am I ? There is no way that you can hide me. Am I ? Though you have put your fire inside me. Am I ? You've given me my answer can't you see ? I was ! I am ! and now I Will Be I WILL BE !!!

Hello honey it's me.....what did you think when you heard me back on the radio....... Heard W.O.L.D. on the radio today and oh how the memories flooded back. Was fortunate enough to have seen Harry live twice, and still to this day, no offense Dylan fans, but Harry was the best storyteller ever. In the first of what may prove to be several entries I offer you the lyric to my favorite of his stories. I would call them songs but they are so much more. This is called A Better Place To Be and you can hear it among the music in my trackz (hint hint) lol. A Better Place To Be It was an early morning bar room, And the place just opened up. And the little man come in so fast and Started at his cup, And the broad who served the whiskey She was a big old friendly girl, Who tried to fight her empty nights By smilin' at the world. And she said "Hey Bub, It's been awhile Since you've been around, Where the hell you been hiding, And why you look so down?" Well the little man just sat there like he'd never heard a sound. The waitress she gave out with a cough, And acting not the least put off, She spoke once again. She said, "I don't want to bother you, Consider it understood, And I know I'm not no beauty queen, But I sure can listen good." Well the little man took his drink in his hand And he raised it to his lips, He took a couple of sips, And then he told the waitress this story. "I am the midnight watchman down at Miller's Tool and Die. And as I watch the metal rustin', and I watch the time go by. A week ago at the diner I stopped to get a bite. And this here lovely lady she sat two seats from my right. And Lord, Lord, Lord she was alright. "You see, she was so damn beautiful that she could warm a winter's frost. But she was long past lonely, and well nigh on to lost. Now I'm not much of a mover, or a pick-em-up easy guy, But I decided to glide on over, and give her one good try. And Lord, Lord, Lord she was worth a try. "Well I was tongued-tied like a school boy, I stammered out some words. It did not seem to matter much, 'cause I don't think she heard. She just looked clear on through me to a space back in my head. And it shamed me into silence, as quietly she said, "If you want me to come with you, then that's all right with me' 'Cause I know I'm going nowhere, and anywhere's a better place to be. I drove her to my boarding house, and I took her up to my room. And I went to turn on the only light to brighten up the gloom. But she said, "Please leave the light off, oh I don't mind the dark." And as her clothes all tumbled 'round her, I could hear my heart. The moonlight shone upon her as she lay back in my bed. It was the kind of scene I only had imagined in my head. I just could not believe it, to think that she was real. And as I tried to tell her she said "Shhh.. I know just how you feel. And if you want to come here with me, then that's all right with me. 'Cause I've been oh so lonely, and lovin' someone is a better way to be." The morning come so swiftly, I held her in my arms. And she slept like a baby, snug and safe from harm. I did not want to share her or dare to break the mood, So before she woke I went out to buy us both some food. I came back with my paper bag, to find that she was gone. She'd left a six word letter sayin', "It's time that I moved on." You know the waitress she took her bar rag, and she wiped it across her eyes, And as she spoke her voice came out as somethin' like a sigh. She said "I wish that I was beautiful, or that you were halfway blind. And I wish I weren't so goddamn fat, I wish that you were mine. And I wish that you'd come with me, when I leave for home. For we both know all about loneliness, and livin' all alone." And the little man, Looked at the empty glass in his hand, And he smiled a crooked grin, He said, "I guess I'm out of gin. And know we both have been so lonely. And if you want me to come with you, then that's all right with me. 'Cause I know I'm goin' nowhere and anywhere is a better place to be."

On July 16, 1981, Harry Chapin died in an automobile accident when his Ford Pinto was rear ended by a tractor trailer truck on the Long Island Expressway. An autopsy showed that he had suffered a heart attack, but it could not be determined whether that occurred before or after the collision. He had been on his way to perform in a concert in Eisenhower Park in Nassau County. Although Chapin was a notoriously poor driver, Supermarkets General, the owner of the truck, paid $12 million to his widow in the ensuing litigation. Chapin was only 38 years old. Chapin was interred in the Huntington Rural Cemetery, Huntington, New York. His epitaph is taken from his song "I Wonder What Would Happen to this World." It is: Oh if a man tried To take his time on Earth And prove before he died What one man's life could be worth I wonder what would happen to this world