IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE...TIMELESS IN ITS MAJESTY ... IF I WERE A POET...

IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE, TIMELESS IN ITS MAJESTY

James R. Fisher, Jr., Ph.D.
© June 20, 2009

NOTE:

My boyhood friend, Bobby Witt, died August 27, 1990. The shock of his untimely death reminded me of the halcyon days of our youth "In The Shadow of the Courthouse." The four-sided clock in the courthouse tower had bells that rang every half hour. So, we had no excuse, wherever we might be in the community, not to be home on time for meals.

Moreover, we played from sun up to sun set on the courthouse diamond that was laid out for us by Sheriff Ky Petersen and his deputies Chris Stamp and Jim Gaffey.

From 1991 until IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE was published in 2003, I made twelve trips, each of several weeks, researching the book, interviewing scores of people and nearly living in the Clinton County Library viewing microfiche film of The Clinton Herald published during the 1940s when we were boys.

Earlier, as a boy of five, when I lived with my Aunt Annie Dean's on Second Street and Third Avenue North in her tenement apartment house, I would sit on the roof and marvel at the courthouse. I repeated this in 1995 when I sat in my car on Third Street in front of the courthouse and wrote this poem.

James R. Fisher, Jr.

* * *

IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE…IF I WERE A POET…

James R. Fisher, Jr.
© 1995

I have never lost my affection for this edifice. It was like a parent that never wavered, never changed. I am sitting here now, reflecting on the fact that it is forty-four years since I have spent any time with my old friend.

If I were a poet, I would give it metaphorical significance, like a giant knight, standing ever at attention to protect my neighborhood from itself and from the dangers outside.

If I were a poet, I would see it as a Greek god, an Adonis, a Zeus, a mighty warrior who never falters from its vigilance.

If I were a poet, I would sing the praise of this frozen music, this enchanting melody which never varies in my head, this quiet dignity, this sculptured perfection, this sensible grace as common as a pair of old shoes.

If I were a poet, I would wonder why we could have such stability, such reasoned continence against the harsh reality of tumultuous change, as it has not varied for me one iota from what it was a half century ago.

If I were a poet, I would remark that the tower and the time and the psychology of its movement is frozen like magic so that wherever I go it is stop time to my mind.

If I were a poet, I would tell the world that it has been so important in making this fumbling, stumbling, bumbling individual called “me,” to always feel a mystical anchor in my roots of being.

If I were a poet, I would exalt its unique character with Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” to dramatize how the earth around may change, but the spirit within remains forever constant.

If I were a poet, I would note that men live and die, but that this structure is immortal because it exists beyond nature.

If I were a poet, I would sit here and wonder as I am now, over the happiness I feel for having the opportunity to once again ponder the regard I hold for it. And finally,

If I were a poet, I would want the world to know of the many lives that this edifice, this sentinel has influenced in the course of my fleeting life. How many young who are now old have been given succor and sustenance, and semblance of order in their lives because they have lived IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE.

* * *