Eleven Years and Not Even a Grammy | Newberry

Eleven Years and Not Even a Grammy

It was thirty-five years ago this March that your Uncle Blogsy walked into a small room ion the first floor of the Newberry and started taking books out of one box so they could go in another. It was eleven years ago this very day that he first began to blog about it. In celebration of this event, we generally try to put up a bit of a song.

We usually fail, but we’ll keep trying until the recording contract comes through. This is based on a song from a World’s Fair of years gone by. It was NOT a Chicago World’s Fair, so I will not tell you where it did take place, except to mention that the title of the original song was “Meet me in St. Louis, Louis.”

When Barry came home to the flat,

He hung up his coat and his hat,

But when he looked around, no poodle he found,

And he said, “Where is my puppy at?”

A note on the table he spied;

He read it just once and he sighed,

It said, “Barry, old bird, I have read every word

In this condo; I’m off on a ride:

Meet me at Newberry, Barry,

Meet me at the Fair

Don’t tell me the books are selling

Anywhere but there;

We’ll walk aisles ‘til we have blisters,

We will buy those Ya-Ya Sisters,

Meet me at Newberry, Barry

Meet me at the Fair!”

I talked to a blueberry pie,

A crusty but sweet kind of guy,

When I told him folks took every good sort of book

To the Book Fair, he just winked an eye;

“My brother is older, but he

Will come to the Book Fair with me.”

I said “Blueberry, too?” He said “I thought you knew

He’s the elderberry, you see.

Meet me at Newberry, Berry,

Meet me at the Fair;

Don’t tell me the books are selling

Anywhere but there:

If we meet two tarts while looking,

We’ll all buy the Joy of….Cooking

Meet me at Newberry, Berry,

Meet me at the Fair!”

Old Joyce Conestoga just died

And the hearse came to give her a ride

But we gravediggers said, “I see no one who’s dead:

Don’t you have that dear lady inside?”

We looked all around for the dame

And shouted “What sort of a game

Are you trying to play?” Joyce called, “I’m on my way

But my ride to the Library came!

Meet me at Newberry, Bury,

Meet me at the Fair.

Don’t tell me the books are selling

Anywhere but there!

With some books by Janet Evan

Ovich I’ll know I’m in heaven!

Meet me at Newberry, Bury;

Meet me at the Fair!

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