Christmas In Mayberry

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Christmas In Mayberry by Ben Sandifer

Many thanks to Allan for including the audio version of this poem on the Two Chairs No Waiting podcast (episode #114). I've had some requests for a written copy, so here goes. - Ben Sandifer GMS Productions in Macon, GA

And Merry Christmas to all fans of Mayberry!


'Twas the night before Christmas and all through Mayberry

This year's Santa would become legendary

A picture from Otis was hung up with care

By the one of the rose, which had won at the fair


The children had put up the last Christmas wreath

Opie and Mary Wiggins, who'd lost her front teeth

And Andy, with no gun, adorned his night cap

Just in case feuding families finally ended their scrap


When out on the street there came a great noise

Could it be Briscoe, Charlene and the Darling boys?

It probably wasn't that nut named Bass

It didn't sound one bit like shattering glass


No snow, just a steady rain fell from the sky

It had rained every day since those gypsies came by

When up came a black Ford automobile

With way yonder too much grease on the wheel


With a skinny little driver, who still had no wife

He was known by such names as "Fast Gun Fife"

His car barely made it, slowly moving along

A mechanic named Pyle told him all that was wrong


"Needs points, needs plugs, needs new wires, by gosh

And she could also use a really good wash."

To the Taylors driveway, he'd park right behind

Mr. Tucker's big car 'cause he'd changed his mind


He looked at the house and wished he could fly

Then a ladder next to the house caught his eagle eye

He'd climb up the ladder, yep, that was the plan

It was left there by Wheeler, Aunt Bee's handy man


He knew how to enter a room with such ease

He'd taught Ernest T. , with full amenities

But on this special night, the door would not do

So down the chimney the thin deputy flew


He was dressed in a uniform, what could be dumber

This night, I doubt he'd encounter Fred Plumber

His hair Floyd had slicked down, but not a bit drippy

In case fingers ran through from a fun girl named Skippy


His hat held his ticket book just in case

The governor's car was parked in the wrong place

The bullet in his pocket was shiny and neat

And if he should use it, watch out for your feet


When he sang, it just kind of made you sick

'Cause he just couldn't sing - not one single lick

Even an old-fashioned recitation didn't work

After all, you can't make a bird go "chirp, chirp"


He had not an ounce of fat which helped him hustle

He could eat all the cookies, since they all went to muscle

He had little time and might get in a pinch

Since a tightwad named Weaver might turn into the grinch


He spoke not a word, there was much work to do

He still had to call Juanita and say "toodle-ooo"

For Opie he left some shiny, new skates

And a guitar, the kind that Lydia Crosswaite hates


For Aunt Bee he left 24 canning jars

More kerosene cucumbers for out-of-state cars

He left his friend Andy a hat and a tie

He'd never wear either, but he still had to try


And when he had finished he went out the door

He'd saved enough time for just one thing more

To Thelma Lou's house he now had to go

For a pan of her fudge and that doctor show


He cranked up his car on the third or fourth try

On his cycle and side car he could better rely

But I heard him exclaim as he drove through the mud

"Merry Christmas to all, now, nip it in the bud."

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