Whatcom Watch wishes to thank Bob Markey for the countless volunteer hours he spent distributing Whatcom Watch in the Bellingham area. Bob Markey arrived in Seattle as a newborn in 1926. Since then Bob has been an artist, cartoonist, ferry agent, freight dock foreman, college student in New York, fish boater, sailor, husband, widower, and grandfather. His poems have been published in the Washington Free Press and Cruising magazine as well as in Whatcom Watch . For at least 12 years Bob has been distributing 2,000 copies of Whatcom Watch in the Bellingham area each month. If you have picked one up around town, chances are Bob put it there. We enjoyed Bob’s presence at Whatcom Watch Roundtables and miss him. He has moved to the Seattle area to be nearer his children.
A Peek Into Your Bulging Mailbox!
by Bob Markey
How many Oso-like
Northwest hillsides have been
deforested to provide
Corporate America
with a minimum
three sheets
of paper each week
that they mail to
many millions of us
for disposal?
They carry but
one line of type:
“This page is
intentionally
left blank.”
A Slice From the Tree of Life
by Bob Markey
Feeling older and wiser
at 77, I love
to offer advice. An
astuter observer might note
that the children
are still quite nice to the
old troll
although neither is inclined to
agree with me
on clichés linking wisdom and
maturity.
They are in their 30s and 40s
and both seem set
in their contemporary
ways.
But they forget
the old man has been charged with
rais-
ing
them,
by God!
And my job
as of yet incomplete,
will be done when the toes on my feet
are pointing straight up ‘neath
the cold, damp sod!
Moist
by Bob Markey
The word “moisture” brings to mind
many things … cold sweats of fear
or stress … the heat of passion …
athletic activity …
seasonal weather.
Us Northwesterners,
know what it is … It’s
rain … though we boast of
our arid Augusts.
A Constitutional Right!
by Bob Markey
Recently I moved to a smaller town
a hundred-fifty miles from Bellingham.
I dropped by City Hall intending to
register to vote in my new district.
As frequently happens, my hearing aid
battery died when I was about to
engage the Information Desk lady
in conversation.
I explained what I wanted … her lips moved
in response, but I heard nothing … pointed
to the aids and shrugged. She got the message.
Her written message to me: “You can
go online … we don’t
do registrations.”
I responded that I am “computer
stupid” … asked if she realized that she
in effect, denied my rights of access
to the polls because (like most elderly
Americans) I’m computer stupid!
She blinked, looked away.
I said, “Look at me! I’m neither black or
Hispanic … or drawing Unemployment or
Food Stamps or wearing a Union button!
I demand my vote!” She quickly produced
forms that requested registration to
vote that one submits
through the U.S. Mail!
