Randy Olsen is Moving On
(With thanks to Vachel Lindsay's "Congo")
Randy’s colleagues in a Pepsi-free room,
Lost their Pep, with feet unstable,
Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,
Pounded on the table,
Beat a mournful tune for they’ll miss this guy,
Then they turned their heads so I wouldn’t see them cry,
Hoo, Hoo, Hoo,
At least they seemed upset as they pounded on the table,
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
To their sad petition
THEN came my decision:
I could not turn from their grieving in derision.
THEN I SAW THE PROVO, CREEPING THROUGH THE TOWN,
CUTTING PAST THE CAMPUS WITH A POIGNANT SOUND.
Then along the shelving
Of the drear book piles
Tearful librarians trudged in files;
Then I heard the boom of a tragic song
Like a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong.
"RANDY’S GONE" screamed the anxious word of friends,
RANDY’S GONE, and our broken hearts can’t mend,
He who arrived in 1972,
Now his jolly days with us are through?
Who could know that he’d be gone so soon?”
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
A roaring, weepy tune that’s somewhat bogus
From the mouth of the Provo
To the Mount of Timpanogos:
Gone is our Boss-Man,
Sweet-eyed, adorable,
It’s our loss, man,
An exit deplorable.
BOOM, now his time with us has ceased,
BOOM, may he go in love and peace,
BOOM, all the pain we’re going through,
HOO, HOO, HOO.
Listen to the yell of Randy’s ghost
Hollering to those who miss him most.
Hear his phantom words authoritarian
Of time he spent as Head Librarian.
Listen to the downbeat proclamation,
Blown through the lairs of our bookish-nation,
Blown past Level ONE with its bygone day,
Blown past Level TWO where the butterflies play,
Blown past Level THREE where the sun doth shine,
Blown past Level FOUR with its harps divine,
Blown past Level FIVE with its tales of Dostoyevski,
Blown past Level SIX where the classifying’s pesky: --
"Oy, vay, bless our souls, for now he’s gone,
For Randy-Olsen, Digital-Book-Man,
Bridging the Ridge to the Future-Look-Man,
Randy-Olsen is moving on,
Randy-Olsen is moving on."
Randy, University Librarian
Even though we know that he’s American
Started his career with German books,
By supplying them with access hooks:
So folks could know what they were all about,
Randy beat the books till he wore them out.
Randy beat the books till he wore them out.
And as he cataloged, he was well disposed
To answer all the questions that the students posed;
But now this gentle man with his skills so strong
Has agreed to go elsewhere, thus, he spake: “So long.”
It’s just such savagery and sin and wrong
That it’s shaken the room
With "Boom, boom, BOOM."
THEN I SAW THE PROVO, CREEPING THROUGH THE TOWN,
CUTTING PAST THE CAMPUS WITH A POIGNANT SOUND.
And the finest work accomplished here in Provo City
Was his “Library Suggestion Box Committee”
For it opened up the bright possibility
To serve long and well on the “Copier Committee;”
THEN administrators, from their thrones on high
Thrilled the HBLL with their heavenly cry:
"Randy Olsen will serve as AUL;
Never will he leave us, he will serve us well,
Never will he leave us, he will serve us well.”
THEN in later years, a thousand smiles
Filled the friendly faces in the book stack piles
And the reason for the joy was, well, because
Randy was the one named to be our Boss.
Pioneer angels cleared the way
For a Provo paradise, for babes at play,
For sacred periodicals, for digits availed.
A million book carts of angels sailed
With monographs of silver, and halos of blue
And silken pennants that the sun shone through.
'Twas a land transfigured, 'twas a manifestation;
Oh, a singing wind swept this new creation
And on through the campus like fire it flew:
"The Head Librarian is Randy Olsen.
Never would he think to ever leave you.
Never would he think to ever leave you."
Content were the forests, the beasts and the men,
Until… Randy changed his mind again,
So NOW by the far, lone mount of Timpanogos
We weep, in our sorrow, with tears so hopeless,
We weep on Level ONE with its market crash,
We weep on Level TWO with its balderdash,
We weep on Level THREE like the flooding Nile,
We weep on Level FOUR so juvenile,
We weep on Level FIVE where the fiction’s forced,
We weep on Level SIX as we get outsourced: -- “
For Randy-Olsen, Digital-Book-Man,
Bridging the Ridge to the Future-Look-Man,
Randy-Olsen is moving on,
Randy-Olsen is moving on,
Randy-Olsen is moving on."
- Richard Hacken, with thanks to Vachel Lindsay’s “Congo”
December 22, 2009