Ballad

Mrs. Paige Johnson

Friends, lend your ear, this tale you must hear of a renegade lady I knew

To her I must hand it, this teacher-turned bandit, to books, she was brave and true.

Her students weren’t reading, so Sally was needing to make a difference else-where some minutes avail – I’ll regale you a tale of Ms. Henderson’s panache and flair. (This lady had panache and flair!)

The idea she had – just bear with me, lads –was to spread good books door to door: take from those who don’t need ‘em give to those who might read ‘em, rob the rich, and give to the poor.

Now, I ain’t sayin’ its right, but she left in the night and went West in a Honda Accord but the engine delayed and the spark plugs were frayed and the gas was too much to afford. Yes, the gas cost too much to afford.

She needed a horse! And a fast one, of course –

She stole from a farmer, you see –the horse had him some fire, he could run and not tire –this horse could help Sally run free, lads, this horse could help Sally run free.

She called him Fitzgerald and rode single barrelled with saddlebags crammed full of stories and in every small town she would pass books around and be gone by the first light of morning.

She took all she could carry ‘cross the American prairie, and meant to be back by September just a bag full of Blake, Keats, Shelly, and Yeats and all the great books she remembered. She brought Austin and Hardy, both Brontes, a cardi, her toothbrush and Edna Millay the complete works of Shakespeare (and let me just be clear: her intent was to give it away, my friends –she gave all the good books away).

She brought Fraser and Tolkein

Smiley and Graham Green

Tyler and old Barbara K

Halprin and Joyce, so folks had a choice

O’Farrell and E Hemingway

(‘cuz you can’t forget E. Hemingway).

With DeBus, Doerr, and Yeats, she rode ‘cross the states on a horse named Fitzgerald, by day She had only her mission, and all of that fiction her shotgun, and bags of Earl Gray

(she liked tea, lads, so bags of Earl Gray).

But the farmer went round to the sheriff in town and the sheriff? Tipped off, you might say –He swore with a frown he would track Sally down Mrs. H, she would not get away. No, our Sally would not get away.

So, like Doc and young Billy, and old Texas Willie, Butch, Sundance, and Bonnie and Clyde from the law she did run with an antique shotgun and the sheriff chased her far and wide Sheriff Maligant chased far and wide.

(Ride, Sally Henderson! Ride!)

Well, the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months and he chased her clean out to the coast the long arm of the law was upon her, she saw yes, poor Sally, she knew she was toast.

And one late summer night, he gave Sally a fright cornered her on the sharp edge of town right out on a cliff, and her heart it went stiff so she slowed old Fitzgerald down.

Whoah, boy, Fitzgerald, slow down.

“Put your hands in the air!” said the sheriff with flair, thinking he’d caught his white whale –with a dignified gesture, she put down her Winchester, and looked into his face, cold and pale.

But the English teacher had teacher-like features she knew how to diffuse situations –

She asked him his name and and his anger did wain as she spoke with kindness and patience.

Turns out Maligant, as antagonists went, Was a bit of a bibliophile: he liked gothic romantics with passion-filled antics and kept them at home in a pile.

What he wanted, you see, from our teacher, Sally –the reason he’d chased her these nights?

A particular tome he did not have at home a copy of WutheringHeights, friends, just a copy of WutheringHeights.

So she gave him the book and a teacher-like look

And he left, reading Heathcliff and Catherine

The very night he’d closed in, he left with a grin

And poor Sally H took an aspirin.

But without Maligant, her valiant quest went rather poorly; it failed to excite

He needed the chase and she needed the race and all that pursuit in the night.

So with tacit agreement, the sheriff and she went on, though he never quite caught her –

She just gave him new books and some secretive looks and the law? Well, it never quite got her –

Yes the law, well, it never quite got her.

And so, to this day, she is out there, they say and happy, from all I can glean –

You might track her down in some mid-western town

‘ cuz I’ve heard folks who say she’s been seen.

I hope, my dear friends that as this poem ends, you will promise to pass on her story

She helped those in need (IF they wanted to read), yes

Her legacy’s good books and glory, lads

Her legacy is good books and glory.