Graham Lee Hemminger Poems

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Graham Lee Hemminger
"Graham Lee Hemminger '17, promotion director of the Topics Publishing Co. and a member of its board of directors, died December 19, at his home at Great Neck, N.Y. Among Penn Staters, Hemminger is probably best remembered for a bit of doggerel he composed while he was editor of Froth, the campus humor magazine. Faced with two blank inches on page 19 of the November 1915 issue, he penned ["Tobacco is a dirty weed"] ... to fill the white space .... This bit of untitled poetry caught on and colleges all over the country copied it in their humor publications. It was widely reprinted in newspapers, too, and parodies of it soon appeared -- defending just about everything. After his graduation, Hemminger (as a direct result of the poem) was offered and accepted a job with an advertising agency in Philadelphia which specialized in tobacco advertising. Hemminger was born in Nicholson, Pa., in 1895. An expert on drug industry merchandising, he figured in the planning of the trade campaigns of many leading manufacturers. Among his most conspicuous plans was that for Nationally Advertised Brands Week, an industry-wide promotion conducted in October of each year. He is survived by his wife, his mother, and two daughters." ("Hemminger Dies; Wrote Doggerel," The Penn Stater [Feb. 1950]). Biographical information Given name: Graham Lee Family name: Hemminger Birth date: 1895 Death date: 19 December 1950 Nationality: American Education: Pennsylvania State University to 1917 Occupation: Advertising

tobacco is a dirty weed
Tobacco is a dirty weed,
I like it.
It satisfies no normal need,
I like it.
It m... [read poem]
the mockery of life
God! What a mockery is this life of ours!
Cast forth in blood and pain from our mother's womb,... [read poem]
at a funeral
I loved her too, this woman who is dead.
Look in my face. I have a right to go
And see... [read poem]
on the shortness of time
If I could live without the thought of death,
Forgetful of time's waste, the soul's decay,... [read poem]
the sublime
To stand upon a windy pinnacle,
Beneath the infinite blue of the blue noon,
And underfoot ... [read poem]
to one on her birthday
How shall I choose to wish you happiness
On this day or another? Your life's way
Has passe... [read poem]
to one who would make a confession
Oh! leave the past to bury its own dead.
The Past is naught to us, the Present all.
What n... [read poem]
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