{"id":3382,"date":"2010-03-01T01:10:31","date_gmt":"2010-03-01T06:10:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=3441"},"modified":"2010-02-26T20:39:09","modified_gmt":"2010-02-27T01:39:09","slug":"greetings-from-afar-10","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2010\/03\/01\/greetings-from-afar-10\/","title":{"rendered":"Greetings from Afar"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n

Buzzard The Burying Man <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

In Memory of Dr. John Thomas Bailey <\/span><\/p>\n

(South Louisiana Yellow\u00a0Fever Epidemic of 1866) <\/span><\/p>\n

We’ve all of us heard o’ the Queen o’ the West<\/span><\/p>\n

In the summer o’ forty-five.<\/span><\/p>\n

And how they desp\u2019ratly clung t’ the boats<\/span><\/p>\n

When she took her final dive. <\/span><\/p>\n

We’ve all of us heard of the boilin’ sun.<\/span><\/p>\n

And the hunger And tharst bearin’ down<\/span><\/p>\n

For twenty-nine days on the rolling sea<\/span><\/p>\n

And prayin’ for to drown. <\/span><\/p>\n

Some says they ate their shipmates<\/span><\/p>\n

So as to stay alive.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ninety-eight souls in two little boats<\/span><\/p>\n

And ended with thirty-five. <\/span><\/p>\n

And we’ve all of us heard o’ Doctor Death<\/span><\/p>\n

And his pickin’ who lived and who died.<\/span><\/p>\n

And maybe it’s true and maybe it ain’t<\/span><\/p>\n

But the women and children survived. <\/span><\/p>\n

But when it was over and when they was found<\/span><\/p>\n

The doctor, his life was done.<\/span><\/p>\n

He lived but he died in that terrible ride<\/span><\/p>\n

Of twenty-nine days in the sun. <\/span><\/p>\n

They called him a killer. They called him a fiend.<\/span><\/p>\n

They called him a murderin’ lout.<\/span><\/p>\n

He crawled in a bottle of whiskey.<\/span><\/p>\n

Crawled in… and didn’t crawl out. <\/span><\/p>\n

He gave up on healing. He gave up on life.<\/span><\/p>\n

He took for to death as a trade.<\/span><\/p>\n

He cleaned ’em and dressed ’em And buried ’em<\/span><\/p>\n

And he wept and he drank and he prayed. <\/span><\/p>\n

He drifted around to hide from his shame<\/span><\/p>\n

Through the years that the tale would span.<\/span><\/p>\n

How Doctor John became Doctor Death<\/span><\/p>\n

Then, “Buzzard” the Buryin’ Man. <\/span><\/p>\n

For ten long years he ran from his past<\/span><\/p>\n

Then finally settled down<\/span><\/p>\n

As the funny old drunk with the measuring tape<\/span><\/p>\n

That laid people down in the ground. <\/span><\/p>\n

In a tiny town where nobody knew<\/span><\/p>\n

And nobody seemed to care<\/span><\/p>\n

That the village drunk and buryin’ man<\/span><\/p>\n

Was more than it would appear. <\/span><\/p>\n

In time he built a life, of sorts<\/span><\/p>\n

But not like the one he knew.<\/span><\/p>\n

And sodden drunk and sombre<\/span><\/p>\n

He watched as his business grew. <\/span><\/p>\n

Sodden drunk And sombre <\/span><\/p>\n

And dressed in his black frock coat<\/span><\/p>\n

He’d\u00a0 clean ’em And dress ’em and plant ’em<\/span><\/p>\n

And remember those days in the boat. <\/span><\/p>\n

He dwelled at society’s bottom. <\/span><\/p>\n

Humanity’s lowest place.<\/span><\/p>\n

He hid behind his bottle<\/span><\/p>\n

And his sombre buryin’ face. <\/span><\/p>\n

Then a horror came to the little town<\/span><\/p>\n

Worse than those days at sea.<\/span><\/p>\n

When Yellow Jack stalked the village<\/span><\/p>\n

Taking one out of three. <\/span><\/p>\n

And wagons rolled in with the dying, <\/span><\/p>\n

And the hospital beds were full.<\/span><\/p>\n

And the moans of the sick and suffering<\/span><\/p>\n

Gave the Buryin’ Man\u2019s heart a pull. <\/span><\/p>\n

Three wagons came in, in the morning<\/span><\/p>\n

Thirty souls who were at deathes door.<\/span><\/p>\n

Thirty desperate, suffering people<\/span><\/p>\n

The poorest of the poor. <\/span><\/p>\n

And the Burryin’ Man, he saw it,<\/span><\/p>\n

And he knew what had to be done,<\/span><\/p>\n

And he knew there was no one to do it.<\/span><\/p>\n

And he went to them at a run. <\/span><\/p>\n

And they laughed when they saw ‘im comin’<\/span><\/p>\n

With his battered old bag in his hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sodden drunk and sombre, <\/span><\/p>\n

Old “Buzzard” the Burryin’ Man. <\/span><\/p>\n

But he didn’t come for the dyin’<\/span><\/p>\n

He came for to make \u2018em live.<\/span><\/p>\n

And in he dove with a mighty shove<\/span><\/p>\n

And gave all he had to give. <\/span><\/p>\n

For four long days he stood there,<\/span><\/p>\n

With his measure around his neck<\/span><\/p>\n

But in his mind he wasn’t there.<\/span><\/p>\n

He was back on that pitching deck. <\/span><\/p>\n

Back then they’d called him “killer” and “fiend”<\/span><\/p>\n

And called ‘im a “murdering lout”.<\/span><\/p>\n

But whatever they’d thought of “Doctor Death”<\/span><\/p>\n

The women and children got out. <\/span><\/p>\n

Now the sodden drunk old Burying Man<\/span><\/p>\n

Looked to the work to be done,<\/span><\/p>\n

He stayed on his feet through the tormented days<\/span><\/p>\n

And he never lost a one! <\/span><\/p>\n

And the whiskey vapors left him. <\/span><\/p>\n

And ‘is mind began to clear. <\/span><\/p>\n

An’ th’ man that they’d called a murderin’ fiend <\/span><\/p>\n

Felt somebody standing near. <\/span><\/p>\n

And when it was over and when it was done,<\/span><\/p>\n

He silently went away.<\/span><\/p>\n

As if it had never happened,<\/span><\/p>\n

With not a word to say. <\/span><\/p>\n

Nobody noticed his going.<\/span><\/p>\n

Nobody noticed he came.<\/span><\/p>\n

Except for the sick and the dyin’<\/span><\/p>\n

Who prayerfully uttered his name. <\/span><\/p>\n

Sodden drunk and sombre,<\/span><\/p>\n

Dressed in his old frock coat.<\/span><\/p>\n

He slaved o’er the sick and the dyin\u2019,<\/span><\/p>\n

The same as he had in the boat. <\/span><\/p>\n

And sodden drunk and sombre <\/span><\/p>\n

With his battered old bag at his side,<\/span><\/p>\n

T’was sodden “Old Buzzard the Burying Man”<\/span><\/p>\n

As kept us all alive. <\/span><\/p>\n

No matter how other\u00a0folks seen him; <\/span><\/p>\n

For those to whom he came <\/span><\/p>\n

T’was th’ angel o’ God’s own mercy, <\/span><\/p>\n

And “Buzzard” was his name. <\/span><\/p>\n

NOTE: Dr. Bailey was essentially accused of implementing a system of \u201ctriage\u201d, assisting only those who he estimated had a chance for survival. This was considered unethical for a physician at the time. There were accusations of \u201ccannibalism\u201d made by the press although there were still supplies in the lifeboats when the victims were recovered. None of those charges were ever substantiated and he was acquitted in a public trial of any wrongdoing. None of the survivors of the shipwreck would testify against him. This however did not prevent his license to practice medicine revoked or his being denied a further licence to practice medicine. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a9 2010 by J. Lee. Choron; all rights reserved unless specifically granted in writing by the author. <\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Buzzard The Burying Man In Memory of Dr. John Thomas Bailey (South Louisiana Yellow\u00a0Fever Epidemic of 1866) We’ve all of us heard o’ the Queen o’ the West In the summer o’ forty-five. And how they desp\u2019ratly clung t’ the boats When she took her final dive. We’ve all of us heard of the boilin’ sun. And the hunger And tharst bearin’ down For twenty-nine days on the rolling sea And prayin’ for to drown. Some says they ate their shipmates So as to stay alive. Ninety-eight souls in two little boats And ended with thirty-five. And we’ve all of us heard o’ Doctor Death And his pickin’ who lived and who died. And maybe it’s true and maybe it ain’t But the women and children survived. But when it was over and when they was found The doctor, his life was done. He lived but he died in that terrible ride Of twenty-nine days in the sun. They called him a killer. They called him a fiend. They called him a murderin’ lout. He crawled in a bottle of whiskey. Crawled in… and didn’t crawl out. He gave up on healing. He gave up on life. He took for to death as a trade. He cleaned ’em and dressed ’em And buried ’em And he wept and he drank and he prayed. He drifted around to hide from his shame Through the years that the tale would span. How Doctor John became Doctor Death Then, “Buzzard” the Buryin’ Man. For ten long years he ran from his past Then finally settled down As the funny old drunk with the measuring tape That laid people down in the ground. In a tiny town where nobody knew And nobody seemed to care That the village drunk and buryin’ man Was more than it would appear. In time he built a life, of sorts But not like the one he knew. And sodden drunk and sombre He watched as his business grew. Sodden drunk And sombre And dressed in his black frock coat He’d\u00a0 clean ’em And dress ’em and plant ’em And remember those days in the boat. He dwelled at society’s bottom. Humanity’s lowest place. He hid behind his bottle And his sombre buryin’ face. Then a horror came to the little town Worse than those days at sea. When Yellow Jack stalked the village Taking one out of three. And wagons rolled in with the dying, And the hospital beds were full. And the moans of the sick and suffering Gave the Buryin’ Man\u2019s heart a pull. Three wagons came in, in the morning Thirty souls who were at deathes door. Thirty desperate, suffering people The poorest of the poor. And the Burryin’ Man, he saw it, And he knew what had to be done, And he knew there was no one to do it. And he went to them at a run. And they laughed when they saw ‘im comin’ With his battered old bag in his hand. Sodden drunk and sombre, Old “Buzzard” the Burryin’ Man. But he didn’t come for the dyin’ He came for to make \u2018em live. And in he dove with a mighty shove And gave all he had to give. For four long days he stood there, With his measure around his neck But in his mind he wasn’t there. He was back on that pitching deck. Back then they’d called him “killer” and “fiend” And called ‘im a “murdering lout”. But whatever they’d thought of “Doctor Death” The women and children got out. Now the sodden drunk old Burying Man Looked to the work to be done, He stayed on his feet through the tormented days And he never lost a one! And the whiskey vapors left him. And ‘is mind began to clear. An’ th’ man that they’d called a murderin’ fiend Felt somebody standing near. And when it was over and when it was done, He silently went away. As if it had never happened, With not a word to say. Nobody noticed his going. Nobody noticed he came. Except for the sick and the dyin’ Who prayerfully uttered his name. Sodden drunk and sombre, Dressed in his old frock coat. He slaved o’er the sick and the dyin\u2019, The same as he had in the boat. And sodden drunk and sombre With his battered old bag at his side, T’was sodden “Old Buzzard the Burying Man” As kept us all alive. No matter how other\u00a0folks seen him; For those to whom he came T’was th’ angel o’ God’s own mercy, And “Buzzard” was his name. NOTE: Dr. Bailey was essentially accused of implementing a system of \u201ctriage\u201d, assisting only those who he estimated had a chance for survival. This was considered unethical for a physician at the time. There were accusations of \u201ccannibalism\u201d made by the press although there were still supplies in the lifeboats when the victims were recovered. None of those charges were ever substantiated and he was acquitted in a public trial of any wrongdoing. None of the survivors of the shipwreck would testify against him. This however did not prevent his license to practice medicine revoked or his being denied a further licence to practice medicine. \u00a9 2010 by J. Lee. Choron; all rights reserved unless specifically granted in writing by the author.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3382","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3382","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3382"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3382\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3382"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3382"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3382"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}