WASHING MACHINE

Miller and Solomon, Wizards of wood,
Drew up some plans - only they understood
It looked just like Dali on one of his flings
--- A sort of an airplane without any wings.

A sort of a windmill, without any mill
Or perhaps a distillery, without any still
Or even a portable, pre-cut latrine
In fact, anything but a washing machine

But that's what it was, so the wood-butchers said
"Washes your clothes while you lie in your bed
All that you need is a soft steady breeze
Even a moron could run it with ease."

They worked for a month without stopping to eat
They used enough lumber to build a new fleet
Bearings and drive shafts and gadgets galore
Nails by the barrel and screws by the score

When finally they finished, the thing weighed a ton
They called it a portable laundry, M-1
They set it just right, where the winds always blow
The only thing was, it just wouldn't go.

Instead of a breeze it required a gale
And that must be east or still it would fail
But not undaunted, again they set in,
They fashioned new bearings, this time of tin.

They worked with a vengeance, ignoring all smiles
And vowed they would finish in spite of their trials.
The rest of us watched them, but inside we knew-
It was back to the laundry slips, Sad, but it's true.


		Sgt. John W. Beckler
		The bard of Laguna Beach (Calif)

To see a photo of Miller, Solomon and the machine click here

Notes:

1) We express deepest thanks to Mr. John W. Beckler of
San Clemente, California, for his permission
(received circa October 2000) to reproduce this work.
At the time of this writing, Mr. Beckler informed us
that he had just passed his 80th birthday, had been
happily married for 52 years, and that he had spent
much of his postwar career as a newspaper man in Los
Angeles, and with the Associated Press in Washington.
We wish him many more healthy and creative years.

2 )The date and circumstances of the creation of this
poem are not precisely known to the editor of this web
page; about all that can be said is that it was written
and published in a "local newspaper" on an island
somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean between 1943 and 1945.

We do know, however, that the "Miller" in question was
Marc O. Miller, the son of Marc and Velma McClellan
Miller, born at Isola, MS on December 13, 1921. Marc was
serving in the US Army Air Corps as a Weather Observer
at the time "Washing Machine" was created. The poem
is presented here in his memory.

Although we never met Solomon, we do know that his
given name was Frank. We hope that he survived the
war and lives or did live a long and rewarding life.


August Miller (Marc's brother)
Las Cruces, NM
19 Oct 2000