S2 Ep1 Early Years

Network Sting: MSW Media Media.

Martin Sheen:

Hello and welcome to the second season of the Martin Sheen Podcast with yours truly, Martin Sheen, of course. And I’m delighted to be back hosting this podcast pilgrimage where the destination is still the journey itself. Along the way, I plan to share stories and personal memories of some of the many people, places and events that have helped to shape my lifelong happy and continuing struggle as an artist and a man to unite the will of the spirit with the work of the flesh. I also hope to explore poetry as a powerful form of expression and communication by proxy, as it were, and how poetry is such a vital and necessary component of our spirituality and our public discourse. And from time to time, I’ll invite friends, fellow actors, poets, scholars and family members to join our pilgrimage and discuss what inspires their artistic journey. And so, friends, let us begin.

To start off with this selection I used in competition on an amateur talent show called the Rising Generation on local TV in my hometown of Dayton, Ohio in the summer of 1958. I was fortunate enough to win the competition and the prize was a five day, all expense paid trip to New York City, which I did in September 1958 with my brother Manuel.

The crowning part of that prize was an audition with the head of casting at CBS, Mr. Robert Dale Martin. I did an audition for Mr. Martin. We stayed friends the rest of his life. And I was so impressed and encouraged by Robert Dale Martin that I took his last name Martin as my first name when I assumed the name Martin Sheen.

Here now is the Creation by James Weldon Johnson.

And God stepped out on space,

And he looked around and said:

I’m lonely—

I’ll make me a world.

And far as the eye of God could see

Darkness covered everything,

Blacker than a hundred midnights

Down in a cypress swamp.

Then God smiled,

And the light broke,

And the darkness rolled up on one side,

And the light stood shining on the other,

And God said: That’s good!

Then God reached out and took the light in his hands,

And God rolled the light around in his hands

Until he made the sun;

And he set that sun a-blazing in the heavens.

And the light that was left from making the sun

God gathered it up in a shining ball

And flung it against the darkness,

Spangling the night with the moon and stars.

Then down between

The darkness and the light

He hurled the world;

And God said: That’s good!

Then God himself stepped down—

And the sun was on his right hand,

And the moon was on his left;

The stars were clustered about his head,

And the earth was under his feet.

And God walked, and where he trod

His footsteps hollowed the valleys out

And bulged the mountains up.

Then he stopped and looked and saw

That the earth was hot and barren.

So God stepped over to the edge of the world

And he spat out the seven seas—

He batted his eyes, and the lightnings flashed—

He clapped his hands, and the thunders rolled—

And the waters above the earth came down,

The cooling waters came down.

Then the green grass sprouted,

And the little red flowers blossomed,

The pine tree pointed his finger to the sky,

And the oak spread out his arms,

The lakes cuddled down in the hollows of the ground,

And the rivers ran down to the sea;

And God smiled again,

And the rainbow appeared,

And curled itself around his shoulder.

Then God raised his arm and he waved his hand

Over the sea and over the land,

And he said: Bring forth! Bring forth!

And quicker than God could drop his hand,

Fishes and fowls

And beasts and birds

Swam the rivers and the seas,

Roamed the forests and the woods,

And split the air with their wings.

And God said: That’s good!

Then God walked around,

And God looked around

On all that he had made.

He looked at his sun,

And he looked at his moon,

And he looked at his little stars;

He looked on his world

With all its living things,

And God said: I’m lonely still.

Then God sat down—

On the side of a hill where he could think;

By a deep, wide river he sat down;

With his head in his hands,

God thought and thought,

Till he thought: I’ll make me a man!

Up from the bed of the river

God scooped the clay;

And by the bank of the river

He kneeled him down;

And there the great God Almighty

Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky,

Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night,

Who rounded the earth in the middle of his hand;

This great God,

Like a mother bending over her baby,

Kneeled down in the dust

Toiling over a lump of clay

Till he shaped it in is his own image;

Then into it he blew the breath of life,

And man became a living soul.

And God said, “That’s best!”      Amen.

James Weldon Johnson, born in Florida in 1871, was a national organizer for the NAACP and an author of poetry and nonfiction. Perhaps best known for the song Lift Every Voice and Sing. He also wrote several poetry collections and novels, often exploring racial identity and the African American folk tradition.

James Weldon Johnson was born June 17, 1871, in Jacksonville, Florida. He died on June 26, 1938, after a train hit his car in West Cassette, Maine. His funeral was held in Harlem. Johnson was 67 years old.

We’re going to take a brief pause now, but please don’t go away. There’s a lot more to come.

And we’re back.

Consider this quote from Albert Einstein.

“Logic will take you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.”

I learned this next poem while I was in high school to use in competition in the National Forensic League. And I did very well with it. But I lost touch with the poem over the years, and only recently I got reacquainted while I was campaigning for Senator Sherrod Brown in my home state of Ohio. I was asked to do the poem at one of the campaign stops, and I was glad to do so. I’d forgotten how much I really liked this poem and how much a great deal of it really stuck in my memory. It’s by Robert W. Service. He was born in 1874 and died in 1958. Service was known as the “Yukon Poet.” And this poem was perhaps his most famous. It concerns the cremation of a prospector who freezes to death near Lake LeBarge in the Yukon, in Canada.

Here then

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,

where the cotton blooms and blows

Why he left his home in the South to roam

’round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold but the land of gold

seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he’d often say in his homely way

that he’d sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way

over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold

it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze

till sometimes we couldn’t see,

It wasn’t much fun, but the only one

to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight

in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead

were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he

“I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I’m asking that you

won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no;

then he says with a sort of moan,

“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold

till I’m chilled clean through to the bone

Yet ‘taint being dead-it’s my awful dread

of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,

you’ll cremate my last remains.

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed,

so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn

but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day

of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all

that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death,

and I hurried, horror-driven

With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid,

because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say.

“You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it’s up to you

to cremate these last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,

and the trail has its own stern code,

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb

in my heart how I cursed that load!

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,

while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows–

Oh God, how I loathed the thing!

And every day that quiet clay

seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent

and the grub was getting low.

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,

but I swore I would not give in;

And I’d often sing to the hateful thing,

and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,

and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice

it was called the Alice May,

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,

and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my

cre-ma-tor-eum!”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor

and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around,

and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared

such a blaze you seldom see,

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,

and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like

to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,

and the wind began to blow,

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled

down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak

went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow

I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about

ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said,

“I’ll just take a peep inside.

I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked.”

Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,

in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile,

and he said, “Please close that door.

It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear

you’ll let in the cold and storm–

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,

it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

I’ll be right back after this. Welcome back. I’m glad you stayed.

Now hear this from the open mic.

When we had finished recording for the day, I found myself reminiscing with my producer and engineer about my early days growing up in Dayton, Ohio. In particular, those warm summer evenings on the front porch.

My God, it was… And, we would gather from playing hide and seek. And, there was a family across the street. They were originally from Kentucky. A lot of Kentucky folks came up to Ohio to get jobs in the factories. You know, and there was one across that we dearly loved this woman. And her son was killed at, Pearl Harbor. This kid who just joined the navy because they didn’t have any employment. And he’s killed at Pearl Harbor. She was the first gold star mother in the thing. And she had a grandson named David, and he was our age and he was our buddy. And we’d play hide and seek in the summers, and we all had our spots. And when we knew, man, when she come out on the porch and she’d yell, “David! David Russell! And we knew that’s it. If you didn’t come home, she’s coming with a stick. And by God. And you had your favorite spots, and you got them just before dark and you knew no one would find you. And then you’d have to yell out, and David would be the first one. Olly olly in free. You know what that meant? All ye, all ye in free. That’s what it meant. Olly ollie in free. So that nobody gets caught. Now everybody’s safe, you know, Surrender everybody and, you know. But you didn’t want to reveal your spots, you know, where you were hiding under the barrel, in the car, under the. You know, all this. You didn’t want to reveal your favorite spots, you know, but you had to. You had to give up, man. Olly, Ollie in free! You know, so, yeah, David. David Russell. Everybody knew. Her last name was Humphrey, you know, David Russell Humphrey, you know. And the son’s name was Dwayne. I think the kid that got killed was Billy. He was, like, 19. Her son was 19. Killed at Pearl Harbor. And who knew at that time, you’re in the Navy, you know, you get tattoos. That’s all you did, you know, you didn’t get killed, for God’s sakes.

But there was a boy. There was a kid in the neighborhood. His name was Butch, and he was, what we called at that time retarded. And he was like an albino. He was. He was bleached white, and he had curly hair like an angel white. And he was pink. His features were pink. And everybody knew when the fire engine came, just keep an eye on him, because he would run from. He lived behind on the next street, but he had, run up through the alley to Brown street, where our street was at the alley. And he would stand on the corner and just gyrate like he was going crazy. He loved the sound of the sirens, you know, the. So all the neighbors knew. Just keep an eye on Butch, that he doesn’t go into the street. And I knew him from the time he was, he was my age, you know. And all the characters would parade by, you know, most of them are half drunk. They’re coming from Turby’s Pub down the street. They’re coming by. But they couldn’t get past us without singing or dancing or telling some dumb story or, you know, apologizing for their condition. And they were all laborers.

My mother was still alive then, so I was like 10 and 11. And then went through every summer there. She died when I was almost 11. And then. But still, it was a gathering. The Estevez’s gathering was like, you could. It was like that’s where you stopped and told your story, however long. You know what I’m saying? And it was like. And the bus would come by, and everybody would be quiet when the bus flew by, because it was big city bus. Because there was a breeze. The bus brought a breeze. You Know what I mean? And all the guys would come by, and, some of the lads worked on the railroad, so they would wear their railroad cap. And Butch’s father, you know, he kind of always had five days of growth, and he had thick, thick glasses, and he never went out of the house without his railroad cap, which was gray with blue stripes, you know, those thin blue stripes. And coveralls with their shirt and boots that had steel toes in them. All the railroad workers had to have steel toe boots, you know, or foundry workers, because, you know, you get. Things fall on you. And he was thin and wiry. and he would never stop. He would keep walking, but he’d give the nod, how are you, fellas? And he’d keep. And he’d pull the wagon with Butch in it. And that boy. We were enviable for the love that man had for that boy. That boy adored his father. And he sat in the wagon and hugged his. You know, he was too big for the wagon. And he would get in and hug his knees and just. And his dad would take him for this ride, and he’d never. He’d slow down a little bit, but he’d never stop because Butch did not like to stop. And we’d all say, how you doing, Butch? And he would never acknowledge you, but the father would. Evening, boys. And he’d keep walking. And that man with that boy, I always wondered what happened to him. Butch. I never even knew his last name. Never. Never learned his last name. That’s the way it was. But there was just. You were unconnected, connected. You know what I’m saying? You were outside, observing. It was like Tubby Cooper, who taught me how to get a paper route, you know, and how to. You know, how to act like you’re not looking for a tip, but get the tip, you know, and how to.

You know, I was by your house and I left the. Did you get my note? You know, it’s like saying you didn’t leave anything. You know what I mean?

You did not leave anything.

You don’t want to say that, but, you know, it’s near, Thanksgiving, you know…

Talking about the people and places where I grew up.

I invite you to delve further into the works of the poets I shared with you, and I hope you seek out writers and poets whose work speaks to your hearts and minds with the power to inspire your life. If you. If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve heard here, please subscribe to my podcast, the Martin Sheen Podcast, with your host, yours truly, Martin Sheen. Of course, wherever you find your podcasts. Yeah. I have to say that you can find a complete list of the poets and titles of their poems that I’ve chosen at our website, themartensheenpodcast.com

I want to thank the people who make this podcast possible. Our producer and research assistant, Renee Estevez, who assures me that the Internet is a real thing and a safe place if not used off label. And our sound engineer and editor, Bruce Greenspan, the man behind these rich and seamless recordings. And to his dog Gracie, our studio mascot, who snores in perfect pentameter.

And so, friends, we part with the prayer from Tagore.

Where the heart is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards

perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into

the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening

thought and action—

Into that heaven of freedom (my Father) let our country

awake.

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