It’s interesting that a century after this story is set, we’re going back to using mail order via Internet vendors and the Big Brown Truck of Happiness and FedEx have taken the place of the Wells Fargo wagon.

Marian Anderson was denied use Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C., because of her ancestry and the color of her skin.  Instead, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt helped to make sure she had an even better venue on April 9, 1939.

It’s a catchy tune.  I wish more talented people sang it nowadays.

(My apologies to Simon and Garfunkel)

“The Sound of Arthritis”

Hello, Naproxen, my old friend.
They’ve prescribed you to me again.
Because Celebrex stopped working
And my bones they are creaking.
And a storm front, that is shattering all my joints,
To sharp edges and points.
Creates the sound of arthritis.

With needles I inject my thigh
Might as well stick it in my eye.
Because all I can do is ask why
Do I pay all this dough
For meds that work so slow?
When my brain feels dull and my mood is harsh and mad,
and full of spite,
With the sound of arthritis.

And in the doctor’s office I see
Crowds of people, who limp like me.
People who stroll while listing.
People who cringe when they stand up.
People taking meds, that doctors think might work,
And you take them, like a jerk.
Within the sound of arthritis.

Doc, said I, my muscles scream
I felt better using Aspercreme.
Nifty neato drugs they push
They fill out the script in a rush
But my words, like silent pill bottles fell
And made the sound of arthritis.

And the doctor pulled and poked
As these evil words she spoke:
Your joints seem stiff, you need to rest
Read this pamphlet and go to the lab for tests.
And the pamphlet said “You may develop moderate to severe infections due to use of this pill”
And I probably will.
And listen to the sounds…. of arthritis.