Poems

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep, 
And miles to go before I sleep.

Bang!

By Wes Morgan

Game Over. Or so it seems.

Tommy Murphy is outraged;

“It isn’t fair” he screams.

Once again the result is staged,

Yet we execute each play:

Run, cut, fake and catch the Pass.

Another Cereal Bowl in the books on a fine Autumn day

With time left over to go to 5 o’clock Mass.

In the cold grey dawn,

The rules are never disputed.

Like Kennedys on the lawn;

Roses are red, Weeds are rooted,

In the end it doesn’t matter if you win.

All the world is a stage;

The play is the thing;.

The best of times at such an age.

It’s how you play the game you see;

No effort goes unrewarded, stay on the field.

What happens under the Buckeye tree,

You think isn’t fair but in time it may be revealed;

In Shoreway seminars to and from Edgewater Drive,

Or in Reading the newspaper before you arrive,

Or between those hours - Nine until Five.

Type, Keyline, Flap and Tissue,

Caxton Building loading dock

Delivered right, that’s the issue.

East Side, West Side all around the clock

Attention to production and design,

Annual Reports arrived last night.

Photography and Illustration with a fine line

Because of Jim, the job is done right (and on time).

We are the dreamers of dreams 

And we cherish each moment as it goes by.

Life is too short but the legacy lives in the gleams

Of Sons and Daughters who wonder why

The great man passes.  

Murph was right: It isn’t fair.

The great man passes.

Bang! All of us were there.

The Show Will Go On

By Wes Morgan

Race to the moon, civil rights, protests in the news.

A New year’s noise on copper-bottom pot and pans. 

Sloppy Joes served as chairs rattle loose screws.

The times they are a changing. We’re making plans.

Black & White programming of political views

Swimming lessons, coloring books and Koolaid stands.

Church keys opening Shasta flavored pops.

Little theaters and museums of the arts.

Stainless steel counters with built-in stovetops. 

School clothes filling up shopping carts.

Historic sites, parades and hometown teams.

After school the Stooges, cartoons on television starts.

Barnaby, Captain Penny, Jingle-ling, Holiday themes.

A Baby Grand piano, trumpet, banjo, drums and guitar.

Sterling Silver, Bunnykins, Royal Daulton Figurines,

Screwdrivers. Cigarettes. Makeup. Jelly Jars.

Time, Newsweek, Life and Look Magazines.

Board games. Sparkling wine. Martinis. Chanel Number 5

Steak and SauSea Shrimp at dinner in the pantry nook.

The remarkable and mystical Edgewater Drive.

Do your homework. Kitchen is closed. You know I hate to cook.

Backyard sunning for a Coppertone tan.

Extensions a plenty, never far from a phone.

Reading a book and drinking Coke from a can. 

In the Wonderful World of Ohio you’re never alone.

Cedar Point, Sandusky, a Summer cottage rental.

The Football Hall of Fame, Mystery Hill and Firestone;

Buckle up and away we go in the Lincoln Continental.

But first, “No ice cream in the car. Finish your cone.”

Ordinary things, of which we become sentimental.

“I’ll do anything for you kids - as long as you remember.”

Silver goblets, meat loaf, tuna casserole, chicken soup,

Hough Bakery cakes from Spring until September.

On a continuous loop.

The birthdays, they come and they go.

We remember the routine and the ordinary.

How did she know?

A life lived and a life extraordinary.

Read, Enunciate, project, pronounce

Improvise the method. The talent is a fact.

Study, debate, articulate and announce.

You must believe, if you think you can act.

There are no small roles. You’ll stand out among the rest

Listen to the words and listen well,

“Oh honey, you always know what’s best.”

When to pause, when to gesture, you can always tell.

To Dream the Impossible Dream.

Everything is rehearsed: scene by scene.

Coffee cup and saucer: Black. No sugar. No cream.

The play is a hit, but what does it mean?

Acting, directing and winning your heart.

The final curtain. Bravo! The audience is for you,

“Always do your best. Understand. Play the part.”

Carry on and excel in everything you do.

Thunderous enthusiastic applause.

As cheer and joy arise.

The audience approves without pause.

Good to know, but not a surprise .

Prepare and be ready for your cue 

Face each day. The show must go on.

You know exactly what to do.

House lights go up and suddenly you are gone. 

We are an ensemble cast.

We knew that one day,

The performance would be your last.  

You were great Mom; it was your way.

On to the future, with regard for the past.

The show will go on.

Thanks Mom.

We will go on.

Waiting in Line to See Caroline

By Wes Morgan

The last shall be first, just as I thought.

Friends with reservations;

“Will she autograph the book I bought?”

The rumbling of conversations,

From cars filling the library parking lot.

A cool day on its way to a twilight night

Of poetry and remembering Camelot.

A crowding at the entrance, out of sight.

Catch a glimpse or a glance,

Of words, wisdom and legacy,

Tickets are not sold in advance,

For a smile or a memory.

Can you recall, at all by chance,

The time when you were not afraid to dance?

When it all started, a time of romance?  

A young man juggling knives,

Earns a giggle, now and again.

Caroline demonstrates the arc of our lives,

Of so many children, women and men.

Tragedy or comedy, poetry marks time,

With overdue books and folks on the mend.

Now it seems like nothing, waiting in line,

Remembering profiles in courage, and those we defend.

Parents are beaming as high schoolers,

Young champions, unafraid, proud.

This generation will actually fool us,

As they dramatically, expertly recite poetry out loud.

We share the hopes and dreams we taught.

Oh my goodness, this is not just for naught;

The future, our future, not at all just for naught.

The last shall be first, just as I thought.

May 9, 2013

Hi Wes,

I've been meaning to write to you to thank you PERSONALLY for submitting to the writing contest.  It was fun standing in line with you at the SLCL, and  I really enjoyed your poem--WAITING IN LINE TO SEE CAROLINE! Could definitely relate! I'm sure you'll continue writing--and maybe you'll submit again next year.  We'll have a new prompt--who knows how it will inspire you!

Amy Gage, Coordinator, Jade G. Bute Writing Contest

Chesterfield Arts is located at 444 Chesterfield Center, Chesterfield, MO 6301

Poet, Write or Wrong

By Wes Morgan

A consequence of an encounter in line.

A twist of fate, just as I thought.

All the bravado prior to penning is all just fine.

But alas, I fell short of the prize I sought.

It was not to be mine.

The rules and a prompt,

Made it a fun to pursue.

A little romp, a little pomp,

In the contest for you.

Right, wrong, stamp, stomp.

A report due tomorrow at three.

Not going to happen on time.

You won’t be getting it from me.

Not free and I cannot pay the fine,

The subscription or the fee.

I can however craft a few words,

Form another premise worth consideration.

Business for the birds,

A new configuration,

A reason to go backwards.

It’s about time.

And time will tell.

It’s all mine.

And I’m doing so well.

Spend, invest now and align.

Maybe it’s a gamble,

A roll of the dice.

A detour, a ramble,

Smell the roses, add some spice

Why not leave a little something nice? 

Stop, Drop and Roll

By Wes Morgan

Why the poetry? Why write?

Who really cares? Day or Night?

An idea, a thought, a turn of a phrase,

To express a feeling, you say.

Top – down, focus groups, crowd-sourcing,

Your opinion matters, certainly worth voicing.

Yet it takes winning the hearts and the minds,

Of innovators, adaptors, a share of mankind. 

A composition, a prayer, a Van Gogh chair.

Interpret and comment - isn’t that fair?

Color and beauty, cut and paste.

In the eye of the beholder - no time to waste.

With zeros and ones, knowledge transfers,
Managers always looking for answers.

The books don’t lie but maybe big data does

Good news, bad news, it’s not like it was.

Instead of the composite drawn from inference and transactions,

Of mindless musings and an aggregate of thoughtless actions.

Try to forget while crying online. Think of the sales.

Projections. BOOM. A bomb explodes, the terror prevails.

Posers, composers, foreclosures, look before you leap.

We learn we’ve miles to go before we sleep.

FDR said nothing to fear but fear

Tomorrow, a week, a month or a year

How long for soft science or hard facts

To break down, analyze, interpret, allow us to relax.

…Again, again it all begins.

For a period of time, at least, nobody wins.  

It must add up, point by point…maybe more than a year.

The meaning is abstract, fuzzy and yet, really so clear

You will never return to that time when everything was new.

Justice for all and equity for even a few.

Anecdote of the Jar

By Wallace Stevens

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee. 

Andre

By Gwendolyn Brooks

I had a dream last night, I dreamed

I had to pick a Mother out.

I had to choose a Father too.

At first I wondered what to do,

There were so many there is seemed,

Short and tall and thin and stout.

But just before I sprang awake,

I knew what parents I had to take.

And this surprised me and made me glad:

They were the ones I always had!

Adam’s Curse

By William Butler YeatsAdam’s Curse

We sat together at one summer's end,

That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,

And you and I, and talked of poetry.

I said, 'A line will take us hours maybe;

Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,

Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.

Better go down upon your marrow-bones

And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones

Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;

For to articulate sweet sounds together

Is to work harder than all these, and yet

Be thought an idler by the noisy set

Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen

The martyrs call the world.

. . . . . . . . . And thereupon

That beautiful mild woman for whose sake

There's many a one shall find out all heartache

On finding that her voice is sweet and low

Replied, 'To be born woman is to know-

Although they do not talk of it at school-

That we must labour to be beautiful.'

I said, 'It's certain there is no fine thing

Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.

There have been lovers who thought love should be

So much compounded of high courtesy

That they would sigh and quote with learned looks

Precedents out of beautiful old books;

Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.

We sat grown quiet at the name of love;

We saw the last embers of daylight die,

And in the trembling blue-green of the sky

A moon, worn as if it had been a shell

Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell

About the stars and broke in days and years.

I had a thought for no one's but your ears:

That you were beautiful, and that I strove

To love you in the old high way of love;

That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown

As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.

The Truly Great

By Stephen Spender

I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are fêted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun they traveled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honor.

Perry to Marry

By Wes Morgan

We saw Perry at his right-of-passage on the bema one day.

He was tall, straight and the apple of his father’s eye

“My, he is handsome,” I heard someone say.

His mother was full of joy and about to cry, 

Grandma showed no sign of emotion;

She is thinking through her stoic preparations.

Remembering how they laughed by the ocean.

The future looks bright, but not without trepidations.

We live, dream and time does pass.

Big leaguers enter an all-star break.

The world changes. We hardly notice, just how fast

Something is brewing.  Plan, mill, mash, make.

Hopes and dreams are difficult to reach.

But with Autumn comes a breath of fresh air,

Together join forces, we beseech;  

Be an unbeatable team with a championship flair.

Winners always have a better chance.

But seasons they come and they go.

Wishes and prayers for your lovely romance;

Prepare to win, blossom and grow. 

Another milestone is a certainty.

Each goal achieved is unique;

Another step on your journey.

Study, learn, coach and teach.

Your faces in the crowd, with each season, each Fall

Anyone can see how precious, how free.

Play hard, smile, prevail for us all.

One union for the ages - you deserve and can be. 

This New Jersey day in June,

Tears, cheers, emotions will vary.

May the light shine on you for many a moon,

Oh dearest Autumn and Perry.

Perry and Autumn – Sorry I could not be with you on your wedding day, June 28, 2013. I trust Lynn, Lindsey/Chris, Ben/Allison will represent me fairly. Sending regrets and nothing but best wishes. Life is a journey. Be grateful for every precious moment. Face the world together and you will win in the grand scheme of things. We are all so very happy for you. - Wes Morgan (Uncle Eyeball).    

There was an Old Man from Nantucket

There was an Old Man of Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter, called Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.

Ode
By Arthur O'Shaughnessy

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,    
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,    
And out of a fabulous story

We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure  
Can trample a kingdom down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself in our mirth;    
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Willie

By Anonymous

Little Willie with a thirst for gore,
Nailed his sister to the door
His mother said with humor quaint
Willie, dear, don't scratch the paint.

Of Mere Being

By Wallace Stevens

The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor.

A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.

You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.

The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Notes on Being Morgans 9-14-2013

These notes were saved as possible material for the celebration of Dad's life at a Memorial service at St. Luke's Catholic Church in Lakewood, Ohio.

Once upon a time, long ago in a land called Lakewood, there lived a family called Morgan.  They had everything!

They had cars (including a Lincoln Continental and two Cutlass Supreme Oldsmobiles).  The Wasmers finally won the Lincoln because they had the wherewithal to keep up with spare parts. Rod Varney’s vintage Impala looked out of place on our driveway but Mike Blake’s Corvette Stingray (rescued and refurbished from the family junk yard) looked pretty cool as did Greg’s Triumph MG (until he totaled it). By the way, Normile Insurance must have love the Morgans. 

They has cameras (and all the Kodak film they ever needed) and carrousel projectors galore. The cameras were on loan from Morgan Studio and shot images in 2 ¼ X  2 ¼, 35 MM, Slides, B&W and Color.  

They had Bicycles (mostly Schwinns – they were repaired and tires were checked every spring at the Schwinn shop on Detroit Street). They also had a portable gadget bike with little wheels. Ridiculous. Dad bought that bike when he saw it advertised in a newspaper. When the novelty wore off he gave it to me. I hated that bike. Often, the bikes were lost and stolen but because they had Lakewood license stickers – more often than not they were recovered. My son Ben took a Yellow Schwinn with a Lakewood license dated 1982 to college. That bike was older than he was but he was happy to have it. (Until was stolen, of course. Miami probably doesn’t routinely call the Lakewood PD if and when…)

They had sporting equipment - Tennis racquets (mostly Jack Kramer Autograph models), Footballs, Rawlings Baseball Mitts, Bats and Baseballs (for hardball or whiffle ball play). Golf clubs – a closet full of mismatched sets. They had basketballs too. Their garage had an inviting hoop and net set up. A good idea to lift the garage doors though so you don’t break any more windows. ( As many times as I saw Dad fix a broken window pane – I never mastered the art of getting the glass cut to size and the putty just right in repair) They had Hockey Equipment too. (Mom and Dad were not ALL IN for Hockey like they were for Golf and Tennis…Something about ice time at 2 am made them a little suspicious I think)

They had Musical Instruments: including a trumpet, a guitar, a banjo, a drum set and a baby grand Piano. (No one in that family has any musical talent. Except Greg – But I ask you - Do drums really count as a musical instrument?)

They had garden tools and two lawn mowers (but zero gardeners). They had plenty rakes and snow shovels. They had a leaf sweeper and a wheel-barrel. They even had one of those edgers you could trim where the grass meets the driveway.

They had a mountain of Tonka trucks. They came in handy if you needed to throw something up at the Buckeye tree in the front yard to get a Frisbee unstuck.   

They had cap guns and rolls and rolls of caps. (Most of which would be bashed with big rocks or carpenter hammers on 4^th of July weekend. What is the fun of a pop pop pop when you can risk hearing loss with a big kaboom). This only satisfied the quest for noise until we figured out the black market for firecrackers and M-80s .

They had board games  – Life, Risk, Clue and others, But it was Monopoly that was repurchased to keep up the money supply, tokens and requisite number of die on hand (you need two to play that game). 

They had closets full of practical outerwear. They had boots (galoshes), rubbers,  hats, scarves, mittens, gloves, coats for snow and rain. Windbreakers, sweaters (the ugly sweaters we got for Christmas - we wore on paper routes before sunrise – never to school).    

They had records. LPs of Broadway shows (like Oliver, The Sound of Music, The Music Man, Judy Collins (Clouds), comedy albums (like Allen Sherman’s Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda and the First Family album with Vaughn Meador and company). Lynn had a bunch of 45’s – the Beatles, Beach Boys, The Turtles (Happy Together), Petula Clark (downtown) and Nancy Sinatra (These boots are made for walkin’).

They had a Ping Pong table in the basement which was great (if you wanted to play Rob (again) or if you, instead wanted someplace for you and your friends to put their sixpacks of Stroh’s 3.2 beer.

They had Silver Crazy amounts of silver goblets, tea pots, trays, bowls, flatware (forks, spoons, knives),  so much so they had to ask a housekeeper (Anna Benson, Annie Avery, Estelle) to polish the stuff. The housekeeper did the laundry too for all those kids.  Estelle was the best at ironing shirts. Anna had gang green and lost a leg, Annie Avery got Cancer (she was a woman of faith). They were a part of our family and a part of our family routine. (Nobody made a better Fried Balogna Sandwich than Anna Benson.)

They had Uncles – Phil and Al on Mom’s side and John, Andrew and David on Dad’s side. David is still with us (Maybe he is the greatest of the great. Too young to be a part of WWII. Until he passed, he was the surviving member of our parents generation. Which, in a way is poetic, because David cared the most about staying connected with all of us.

They had talent – (and still do.)

Sundance can act.  And - He can teach you to focus on the zen of recreational tennis.  

Lynn knows how to sell – If you think you need eye glasses – she’ll convince you that you need two pair.

Dan is a visual artist and a master of social media. Dan is the ultimate connector. He is as comfortable hanging out with Little Steven of Bruce Springsteen’s e-street band as he hosting an event for emerging artists at Tower Press or Gallery 22. Truly a blend of commercial artist and fine artist in his own right.

Greg has used his degree in Education (originally because those classes had more girls) as a strategic platform for a career in Commercial Real Estate. Greg can sing and he is President of the Tampa chapter of the American Red Cross. (He has real life life-saving experiences to his credit.) He once hosted his own version of Jeopardy for 250 of his closest friends in Tampa.

Rob is the only Morgan with the humility and credibility to manage someone else’s business. He really is the BEST. Mostly (I submit) because as the youngest you get to witness the mistakes of your older siblings. You also avoid the traps. Somehow Rob knew his success was going to be a product of hard work. (I love you ROBO but you are remarkable more because of your effort than your potential.) Maybe that is part of the trick too. (All of us kept lowering the bar of expectation for you.)

Me – I am a poet and writer. (Mostly I believe the truth really is stranger than fiction and one other thing my mom taught me “The truth belongs to the teller” – or at least the most widely believed version of the truth …No matter how many times she said it, I just cannot bring myself to believe that Greg was such a savant that he fixed the vacuum cleaner when he was just 3 years old. And I don’t want to make allowances for Dan just because he is sooooooo sensitive).

  

They had great parties – Parties for weddings, parties for wakes (Grammy Lawton’s was a fitting celebration for that 100% Irish Catholic side of our family). Grammy Lawton passed away when  I was in 5^th Grade (I remember because I was hard at work on a report on the great state of Alaska as the house filled up with friends and family showing sympathy for Grammy’s wake.) And St. Patrick’s Day was legendary (Mom and Dad loved that holiday).  Cast Parties, Parties for the Lakewood High School team (players and coaches). And, of course, a number of parties when our parents weren’t home. (Those always with a degree of risk.)

They belonged to the Cleveland Yachting Club and they had a big boat – But they didn’t have as much fun at the Beverstocks. No-one learned how to sail (really) – at least not like Tom Bernard – a true sailer. (He would say that nothing was better than “a beer in one hand, a tiller in the other hand and a joint in the other hand”). None of the Morgans wanted to be on the swim team (although they did compete occasionally for CYC).  Dad swam two lengths of the pool underwater to show that he could. And in spite of belief to the contrary the official number #836 (with which you could sign for food – billed later to your account) was used sparingly.

They had charge accounts – Ask Lynn. You need sporting goods or a smart outfit for Lakewood High…Just put it on the Morgan account at Charlie Gieger’s. And Rosie’s Wine House was quick to respond when the bat call went out for 15106 Edgewater Drive. Morgan Studio accounts at Bonfoey’s Frame Shop. Kohler Brothers for hardware (anything from Dowl Pins which would be cut down for Bonne Bell Lipsmackers package design options to plywood and nails to make room for more production space at the studio). The Tom Schmitt Shell account was not a frivolous one. When asked upon determining the need for oil an attendent might ask “Want the good stuff Mr. Morgan?” the response was “No, put the cheap stuff in it.”

They did what they could to fuel the economy – but they were frugal in many ways. The guy that sold us firewood came to the door one winter. Dad asked “How much do you charge?” The answer, “$125 a cord Mr. Morgan.” To which dad responds “Fine, give me $100 worth.” Whenever possible the family haircuts came wholesale with Dad working the buzzer. (Later Rob tried to cut his own hair with some sort of TV hair trimming gadget. Dad tried to fix it but even he and  Mom agreed that Rob could stay home from school if he wanted to wait until some hair grew back. That was quite a bald spot gash he engineered with that hair whiz.)

They lived in a big house – They lived in a lot of square feet. The living room consisted in about 30% no-fly zone, however,  when we were little. Eventually we earned permission to sit in guest area couches. That history was lost on my 2 year old Lindsey (obviously because of bad parenting she insisted on standing on a coffee table.) That was the year of the Boston College QB Doug Flutie threw a Hail Mary pass that beat the previous national champions Miami  (11/23/1984 Thanksgiving week). By the way Bernie Kozar (Miami’s QB) had a pretty good day passing day as well that day.  

JOCM (7-21-1918 to 8-20-2013)

James O’Connell Morgan

(July 21, 1918 – August 20, 2013)

James O’Connell Morgan was an artist, a veteran of WWII, a loyal husband and father of six. Morgan was founder of Morgan Studio in Cleveland, Ohio, the advertising, art and photography business he started and ran for the better part of four decades. The Cleveland native, later in life, lived in the village of Key Biscayne, Miami Florida and Keller, Texas with his wife Mary until her passing in May of 2011. He then moved to Tampa, Florida.   

He Graduated from St. Ignatius High School in Cleveland. (He was an average student, but showed early talent as a promising artist and illustrator.) He Graduated from John Carroll University where he was a Three-year letter winner and two-year starter as both offensive and defensive lineman on John Carroll's first and only Big Four championship team in 1939. Team record was 13-3-1 (.794) in his two years as a starter. (He was 60-minute Morgan in football at John Carroll University in Cleveland). Years after he graduated, he was installed in JCU’s sports Hall of Fame.

He studied at Pratt Institute of Design in New York where he began to solidify his career path before the call of military duty caused him to take a detour. The year at Pratt and the time he spent in New York City influenced him greatly.

He was a soldier during World War II. First enlisting and later entering officer candidate school (OCS). He served as a leader of a camouflage unit and led Black troops (at a time when the army was still segregated). He went wherever they asked him to go and yet was able to stay out of harm’s way. He served his country with honor for over four years.

After his time in the U.S. Army, he began his career at Malmquist Studio as a commercial artist until he left to start his own business in Cleveland, Ohio. He founded Morgan Studio in 1951 as “the architects of the printed page.” He was convinced that design was a noble and worthy profession. Along the way, Morgan Studio served a roster of blue chip clients including Ohio Bell Telephone, Youngstown Steel Door, Cleveland Electric Illuminating Company, L’erin Cosmetics, Ernst & Ernst, Glidden Paint, Stouffers Restaurants, Lake Erie Screw Corporation, Mooney Chemicals, Cleveland Federal Savings and Bonne Bell Cosmetics.

He was a devoted husband to Mary Francis Lawton Morgan (Jim and Mary were married in December of 1942 –Mary died May 2011. They were married for nearly 70 years.)

James O’C. Morgan and his wife had six children: Sundance (formerly James O’Connell Morgan Jr. – born 1944), Mary Lynn (born 1952), Wesley (born 1955), Gregory (born 1956), Daniel (Born 1958) and Robert Morgan (born 1959). 

James is survived by nine grandchildren:

Lynn’s children
James O’Connell Varney   
Philip Varney
(James was married to Susan. They adopted two children - Colleen and Lane)

Wes’ children
Lindsey Lawton Morgan (married to Robert Christopher Dewey)
John Benjamin Morgan (married Allison Farrar)
(Wes is married to Lynn and they have two grandchildren born in 2016 - Robert Lawton Dewey and James Benjamin Morgan)

Greg’s children
Wesley Morgan
Matthew Morgan

(Greg is married to Ellen and has two stepchildren, Lauren and Michael)

Rob’s children
Megan Morgan
Tara Morgan
Kevin Morgan
(Rob is married to Joy)

Memorial service at St. Luke's Catholic Church in Lakewood, Ohio on September 14, 2013.

Fearless Brand Workshop

Bill Ellis didn’t twist my arm to join his workshop at the Missouri Athletic Club West this week. In fact, I was thrilled to be invited, even though I was not completely sure what to expect. Visiting over coffee a few weeks ago, he had described The Fearless Brand Workshop event as something that might help me sort out a few things with my professional life and maybe even offer a few hints for my personal business as well. I am a cynical marketing guy so naturally I am careful to not take such claims too literally.

I first encountered Bill as a presenter at an event organized by Dixie Gillaspie (a.k.a. Ms. Dynamite) in October of 2011. At that event I also met the co-authors of The Go Giver (Bob Berg and John David Mann), The Name Tag Guy (Scott Ginsberg), MarketVolt founder (Tom Ruwich), a Manifestation Maven (Kimberly Schneider), an acrtivist (Dafna Michaelson Jenet), writer (Jeremy Nulik), a photographer (Caren Libby) and some other remarkable people. (All worthy of character sketches and remarks of which space is not allotted here.)  

I have since watched Bill present to large groups of 200 or more and smaller groups under 50 and even more intimate settings with 5 or six people. He is authentic. As a 25 year veteran of Anheuser-Busch he has every right to claim expertise as a brand specialist. But it is what he has done since leaving AB in 10+ years that is an even better measure of his character. It is that decade in which he has earned the right to call himself a coach and mentor. It is a unique combination of experiences and his life journey that makes him more than qualified to help people find their own path to self discovery.

It is apparent that Bill Ellis is hoping for miracles. Like any coach you want the plays to work just as they have been drawn up. Faith alone, unfortunately, is not enough. It takes virtues Hope and Love too. But Bill is bringing it. I am proud to have been in the room to see it. Butcher, Baker, Candle-stick maker, Entrepreneur, Corporate Middle Manager and Me (I’m concealing professions and names to protect the innocent). We were a cross-section of people all looking to Bill and the Fearless Branding process as a map to self discovery. I can only speak for myself. I have a way to go.  I do appreciate, however, Bill framing the challenge in marketing and business terms with periodic insights into his own journey. That reality tends to draw participants out. Bottom line: It ain’t easy. You need help. You aren’t alone. You are unique. You can provide value. Be a fearless brand.

Geaux. Geaux. Geaux.