Mary Yelvington 1876-1910

Mary Yelvington 1876-1910 George Towne, now there was a man; Handsome as the devil; Strong as a bougainvillea vine. And married to the redoubtable Fannie Towne, Town shill, and occasional teetotaler of the dry brew! Ol’ Fannie was oblivious to the treasure she owned; That incredible athlete! That insufferable charmer! At least after 3 o’clock, on most afternoons, She never knew, Or cared one iota really, where her man was! Other than the little dramas concerning the Townes, Life in Whittier, at the turn of the 20th Century, Was boring, I must say. Boring as a book with no danger! Dangerous days never arrived for me, Nor did I ever make the acquaintance of a dangerous man. My life’s journey indeed found intended joy, Ecstatic joy in singing the hymns at church; And it found surprised sadness as well, In not surviving pneumonia at age 34. And now, here I am, buried deep in the dark dirt, Of shady Mt. Olive Cemetery. But if only I had tried. Tried to whistle, and nestle up to the big lug; The day I saw him at Central Park, Sitting on a bench with his prim coat and hat, The incredibly dangerous George Towne!