It was 30 years ago today, Michael Wynne quit writing for pay.
He's gone in and out of style, his life many a mile.
So may I introduce to you, the hack from long ago,
Whitecourt Star reporter Michael Wynne,
Paid by Lynard in Leduc,
Manual typewriter Michael Wynne,
Who for this job school forsook.
Agriculture student,
University of Alberta,
Underpaid wordsmith Michael Wynne
Twas wonderful to be there, twas certainly a thrill,
Dodge wagon, lemon car
To Mayerthorpe, Blue Ridge,
Greencourt, Sangudo.
Eight hundred bucks a month.
Five thousand words a week.
Whitecourt Star reporter Michael Wynne,
Features, news, sports, and more,
Canon AT1-toting Michael Wynne,
Darkroom, layout, delivery chores.
He saw a lovely ad put up,
Would be a writing pup,
Bussed there on his birthday,
Bussed back CP Style Book,
Of Canadian Press in hand!
Scrounge-for-living writer Michael Wynne,
A year earlier at Carleton U,
Mere months hence departing Michael Wynne,
Left copy 'nough for weeks on through.
I don't really want to stop the screed,
Tinturn Abbey it ain't, you see;
But I thought you might like to know,
That the writer has scribbled along,
Until he conjured this song.
So may I introduce to you,
The ink-stained from bygone years.
"What would you think if I wrote this for you,
Would you stand up and tell me, 'Oh, gee?'
They lent me their press and I scrawled along,
From September to February,
Oh, I got by and tied up some loose ends,
I was wry during work hours, no end,
I gave a try, and to you I this send.
I nigh starved slaving. Never again.
Did they need me for five months?
They needed someone to work cheap.
How'd I eat for those five months?
Mayerthorpe Co-Op each week.
Dodge traded for Toyota, soon died,
Lease over March 31 I relied.
March again soon, a lease I soon end,
Westward, homeward, I me send.
Got by with a little help from my dad,
Buried sister and to school I soon flad.
Career died, thirty years ago today,
February 16, 1983, I say.
