Word: smooth
Jingle
club
history
Katherine Hunn Karsner
Bob Hunn has asked that we put into rhyme
The Jingle Club History, if we have the time.
Well, no one has time, but I'll make a start
For it's something that's always been close to my heart.
It commenced long ago, before I was alive
Bob Hunn has asked that we put into rhyme
The Jingle Club History, if we have the time.
Well, no one has time, but I'll make a start
For it's something that's always been close to my heart.
It commenced long ago, before I was alive
On a Saturday evening, eighteen-ninety-five,
Thought up by Lydia Jones Sharpless Hunn
And a prominent lawyer, her dutiful son.
Philadelphia, the City of Brother Love
Was the home of this family, mentioned above.
The purpose? To keep the Hunn boys off the street.
At first they all thought it not much of a treat
For they were all lively and given to noise
But none of them blessed with much avoirdupoise.
So each Saturday evening to keep them at home
And prevent them from being tempted to roam
With the gangs in the alleys where things could be rough
They were made to stay in: write a verse. That was tough!
Reluctant at first, it soon got to be
A most pleasant event, as you will soon see.
For the girls of the family lured boy friends to come
And the Hunn boys soon learned to fetch girls, not so dumb!
Each brought a short verse which was then read aloud
By Ezekiel Hunn to the listening crowd.
They signed nom-de-plumes which were often guess-able
As they sat in the dining room all 'round the table.
Then refreshments were served – ice cream, lemonade,
Crackers, cookies or pretzels or cake freshly made.
There was holding of hands by the young folks in love
Without benefit of mitten or clumsy old glove.
Pens and paper were passed to the crowd as they ate.
Each scribbled a word for his next seated mate
To write an impromptu, some short, a few long.
They were silly but fun; all were read, some were sung.
And "Good nights" were delayed in the big house of Hunn.
Alas, on vacation, when down on the farm
They were coaxed to write jingles and send them straight home
And the Club was exultant each time one would come.
E. Hunn, the stern father, a stickler for rhyme,
Punctuation and spelling was careful each time
To have them corrected, a nuisance, I fear.
But the Jingles were bound in a BOOK once a year.
This pattern continued till nineteen-fourteen.
Then the Jingle Club died, it was plain to be seen.
What with war and some married and living away
It was hard to assemble. Granny Hunn passed away.
The Club remained dormant till nineteen-twenty-five.
When Roland, who now had five kids of his own
Decided to do what his father had done
Resurrected the Jingle! It grew wildly alive!
"We'll start it again, a jolly new Jingle
While all of our children are still living single.
Keep them home off the streets, each Saturday night;
Invite in the neighbors!" And to his delight
The kids all responded — wrote verses galore,
Had impromptus, food, music and danced on the floor.
They met once a month as the children matured.
Neighbors, friends of the family and others were lured.
It grew bigger and better in Faraday Park
Where this Hunn family lived, during lightness and dark.
The Junior Club lasted till nineteen-forty and then
Roland sickened, and so we could NOT meet again.
A much longer span now sped on its way.
Some twenty-four years had fleeted away.
But in seventy-four in Moylan, Pa.
It rose from the dead ashes and is growing each day.
We hope it will live and continue for aye.
Now we're fifty-two people!!! We started with ten.
Women and children and plenty of men!
In various houses big enough for the fun.
Mostly belonging to the family of Hunn.
All those who are scattered in various places
But want to be counted, if not by their faces,
Send their Jingles by wire or mail or by tape.
Written in icing one came on a cake.
From Grandparents-in-law, and the last brought by the stork
They are sent in from Engle, California, New York,
From Alaska, and Florida, Jersey, as well,
New Mexico, Maryland, Massachusetts and Del.
Six generations held together by verse!
(It could be a blessing, it might be a curse.)
But the rhyming gets better — and couldn't get worse!
Like this!
Note: Katherine Hunn Karsner was the ninth child born of Ezekiel Hunn and Anna Jenkins. She was born on September 29, 1899.
Thought up by Lydia Jones Sharpless Hunn
And a prominent lawyer, her dutiful son.
Philadelphia, the City of Brother Love
Was the home of this family, mentioned above.
The purpose? To keep the Hunn boys off the street.
At first they all thought it not much of a treat
For they were all lively and given to noise
But none of them blessed with much avoirdupoise.
So each Saturday evening to keep them at home
And prevent them from being tempted to roam
With the gangs in the alleys where things could be rough
They were made to stay in: write a verse. That was tough!
Reluctant at first, it soon got to be
A most pleasant event, as you will soon see.
For the girls of the family lured boy friends to come
And the Hunn boys soon learned to fetch girls, not so dumb!
Each brought a short verse which was then read aloud
By Ezekiel Hunn to the listening crowd.
They signed nom-de-plumes which were often guess-able
As they sat in the dining room all 'round the table.
Then refreshments were served – ice cream, lemonade,
Crackers, cookies or pretzels or cake freshly made.
There was holding of hands by the young folks in love
Without benefit of mitten or clumsy old glove.
Pens and paper were passed to the crowd as they ate.
Each scribbled a word for his next seated mate
To write an impromptu, some short, a few long.
They were silly but fun; all were read, some were sung.
And "Good nights" were delayed in the big house of Hunn.
Alas, on vacation, when down on the farm
They were coaxed to write jingles and send them straight home
And the Club was exultant each time one would come.
E. Hunn, the stern father, a stickler for rhyme,
Punctuation and spelling was careful each time
To have them corrected, a nuisance, I fear.
But the Jingles were bound in a BOOK once a year.
This pattern continued till nineteen-fourteen.
Then the Jingle Club died, it was plain to be seen.
What with war and some married and living away
It was hard to assemble. Granny Hunn passed away.
The Club remained dormant till nineteen-twenty-five.
When Roland, who now had five kids of his own
Decided to do what his father had done
Resurrected the Jingle! It grew wildly alive!
"We'll start it again, a jolly new Jingle
While all of our children are still living single.
Keep them home off the streets, each Saturday night;
Invite in the neighbors!" And to his delight
The kids all responded — wrote verses galore,
Had impromptus, food, music and danced on the floor.
They met once a month as the children matured.
Neighbors, friends of the family and others were lured.
It grew bigger and better in Faraday Park
Where this Hunn family lived, during lightness and dark.
The Junior Club lasted till nineteen-forty and then
Roland sickened, and so we could NOT meet again.
A much longer span now sped on its way.
Some twenty-four years had fleeted away.
But in seventy-four in Moylan, Pa.
It rose from the dead ashes and is growing each day.
We hope it will live and continue for aye.
Now we're fifty-two people!!! We started with ten.
Women and children and plenty of men!
In various houses big enough for the fun.
Mostly belonging to the family of Hunn.
All those who are scattered in various places
But want to be counted, if not by their faces,
Send their Jingles by wire or mail or by tape.
Written in icing one came on a cake.
From Grandparents-in-law, and the last brought by the stork
They are sent in from Engle, California, New York,
From Alaska, and Florida, Jersey, as well,
New Mexico, Maryland, Massachusetts and Del.
Six generations held together by verse!
(It could be a blessing, it might be a curse.)
But the rhyming gets better — and couldn't get worse!
Like this!
Note: Katherine Hunn Karsner was the ninth child born of Ezekiel Hunn and Anna Jenkins. She was born on September 29, 1899.
