DFL Runner: Blog

... is the final resting place of Sgt. Dwight Hal Johnson, the subject of the song "Bummer" on Harry's 1975 album, "Portrait Gallery." Although the song takes several liberties, particularly with respect to his early life, the message of the song is wholly accurate: that Sgt. Johnson went overseas, served his country, and came home to an America that heard the phrase "black Medal of Honor recipient" and cared more about the first word than the other four.

He was shot to death by a convenience store clerk. Most sources report that he was shot while trying to rob the store. But a handful of sources suggest that he was buying diapers, and the clerk shot him after mistaking him for a different black man who had robbed the store earlier in the evening. Detroit police didn't do a whole lot of investigation into the matter. It was easy enough to decide that he must have had malicious intent - after all, why else would a man with military training be carrying a gun while walking around inner-city Detroit at 11:30 at night?

A character who is Sgt. Johnson's namesake will appear in the next chapter of "Mail Order Annie." In the meantime, set aside about ten minutes and click below. And on this Veterans Day, remember - and pay tribute to - one who deserved a better ending than he received.

"Bummer" by Harry Chapin (with lyrics)

Sgt. Johnson's Medal of Honor citation

Sgt. Johnson's final resting place

Today, I yield this space to men who will live forever, courtesy of another incredible singer-songwriter.

1. Michael E. Armagost, 37 – Third Mate, Iron River, Wisconsin
2. Fred J. Beetcher, 56 – Porter, Superior, Wisconsin
3. Thomas D. Bentsen, 23 – Oiler, St. Joseph, Michigan
4. Edward F. Bindon, 47 – First Assistant Engineer, Fairport Harbor, Ohio
5. Thomas D. Borgeson, 41 – Maintenance Man, Duluth, Minnesota
6. Oliver J. Champeau, 41 – Third Assistant Engineer, Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin
7. Nolan S. Church, 55 – Porter, Silver Bay, Minnesota
8. Ransom E. Cundy, 53 – Watchman, Superior, Wisconsin
9. Thomas E. Edwards, 50 – Second Assistant Engineer, Oregon, Ohio
10. Russell G. Haskell, 40 – Second Assistant Engineer, Millbury, Ohio
11. George J. Holl, 60 – Chief Engineer, Cabot, Pennsylvania
12. Bruce L. Hudson, 22 – Deck Hand, North Olmsted, Ohio
13. Allen G. Kalmon, 43 – Second Cook, Washburn, Wisconsin
14. Gordon F. MacLellan, 30 – Wiper, Clearwater, Florida
15. Joseph W. Mazes, 59 – Special Maintenance Man, Ashland, Wisconsin
16. John H. McCarthy, 62 – First Mate, Bay Village, Ohio
17. Ernest M. McSorley, 63 – Captain, Toledo, Ohio
18. Eugene W. O’Brien, 50 – Wheelsman, Toledo, Ohio
19. Karl A. Peckol, 20 – Watchman, Ashtabula, Ohio
20. John J. Poviach, 59 – Wheelsman, Bradenton, Florida
21. James A. Pratt, 44 – Second Mate, Lakewood, Ohio
22. Robert C. Rafferty, 62 – Steward, Toledo, Ohio
23. Paul M. Riippa, 22 – Deck Hand, Ashtabula, Ohio
24. John D. Simmons, 63 – Wheelsman, Ashland, Wisconsin
25. William J. Spengler, 59 – Watchman, Toledo, Ohio
26. Mark A. Thomas, 21 – Deck Hand, Richmond Heights, Ohio
27. Ralph G. Walton, 58 – Oiler, Fremont, Ohio
28. David E. Weiss, 22 – Cadet, Agoura, California
29. Blaine H. Wilhelm, 52 – Oiler, Moquah, Wisconsin

Reportedly, it will also chime a 30th time today:
30. Gordon M. Lightfoot Jr., 84 – Toronto, Ontario

After reading a chapter I recently sent to him, my editor, jetson63, joked that perhaps I ought to indicate in each chapter where a Harry Chapin song should be played while reading.

So... why not?

First of all, here are the two big ones:

"From a review I read in the New York Times; unbelievably cruel, but I imagined what came before and what came after and wrote this story." - HC

"... I guess I am your husband; hello, I'm Harry Crane."

And then within Chapter 1...

The railway foreman's daughter... because Fargo didn't have a mayor in 1873.

"Six days a week, he would wake up..."

The factory owner buying the Burke family's silence about dangerous working conditions.

Harry feeling both his and Ella's heartbeats as he checks the fit of her dress.
This, incidentally, is the (generally) true story of how Harry met his wife, Sandy.

Harry Chapin’s third studio album, “Short Stories,” includes ten songs. Two of them, presented consecutively on the album, are the stories of a skilled craftsman and aspiring singer who has his dreams unceremoniously crushed, and a young woman fleeing her circumstances with no certainty of what, exactly, she is fleeing to: “Mr. Tanner” and “Mail Order Annie.” Both songs became favorites among Harry’s fans, and his brother Steve continues to perform both even to this day.

Some time ago, I got the idea to try to bring the two stories together for the good readers of SOL. It seemed simple enough: He falls in love with her. She falls in love with him. Throw in a few Easter eggs for everyone in the Cheap Seats... and poof! The story will be written by midnight. (My apologies to the late Jerry Orbach.) And then, my writer’s block cleared, I can pick up with “The Inches Between Us” again! No problem!

Well... two problems.

First, I started posting “The Inches Between Us” more than six years ago – and, in fact, its basic origins are in a story I started writing in 2003. Not wanting to have another story get slapped with the dreaded “Incomplete and Inactive” label, I resolved that I would have this new story completed before I started posting it.

Second... it’s the strangest thing. These characters have lived in my head for most of my life. But when I brought them off my playlist and onto paper, they turned into three-dimensional people and developed minds of their own, doing things Harry never wrote about and that I never anticipated.

One of the driving forces behind the 1985 charity single "We Are the World" was the late Ken Kragen, who had been Harry Chapin's manager. Ken was interviewed for Harry Chapin's "VH1 Behind the Music" episode, and he said that at one point during the night it was recorded, "I felt Harry Chapin crawl up my nose and start directing." I now fully understand what he meant; as I've been writing this, I have periodically felt Harry's ghost take over my keyboard to introduce new storylines for his creations, and new characters for them to interact with.

Also, a third problem: I really need an editor. As one example, one of Annie’s early mentors is her teacher, Miss Howard, who then gets married and becomes Mrs. Fields. (Howard Fields was Harry’s drummer.) I have found at least half a dozen places where I get the names mixed up, and I’m sure there are others hiding in this story, which is well over 18,000 words at this point.

I have reached out to my friend jetson63; hopefully he is still offering his services. I am accepting requests from anyone else who would like to join this merry little bandwagon as well. If you happen to be one of Harry’s fans, that’s a bonus. (If you’re not, who knows, maybe you will be by the end.)

Life was not so much easier twenty years ago.

Twenty years ago today, I went to work but left my cell phone on my kitchen counter. I went to work, went to class afterward, came home... and there were 8 messages on my machine and about 15 missed calls on my phone. And just from the sheer number, I immediately knew exactly what all of them were about to tell me: that it was the day my grandmother had been awaiting for 40 years. She was with her husband again.

I never told my family what inspired the opening of the eulogy I gave for her, but it was Don Lockwood's "Rewind" - specifically, Ed's eulogy for Beth. My opening was, "It is often said at a time like this that she is in a better place. And she is. But more than that, we are in a better place. We - her daughter, her grandchildren, all of us who knew her - we are in a better place because she was part of our lives."

This morning I went back and re-read that part of his story, to remember a bit, and I saw his blog post promising to finish "Rewind." Which he wrote in 2019. And it pricked my conscience a bit.

I do promise to finish "The Inches Between Us" and even the story I teased in my previous blog post, "Mail Order Annie." But first I want to remember a bit. And, in case word of this should ever reach him, to thank Don Lockwood for a moment of inspiration when I needed it most.

As a postscript to this post, several months later, we were sharing stories and recalled the story of how she met my grandfather. And we realized that the day of her passing was 39 years to the day after their first date.

My mother tells of being with her when she passed, and how, a few minutes before, my grandmother sat bolt upright in her hospital bed, eyes wide, and silently pointed at something. I believe that he came for her, and I can't think of a better ending for her.