The time has now come I’m afraid,
It seems that for twenty odd years,
Before I turn over the stage,
If you think his words are a menace,
As an athlete, he has no peer,
I’m not trying to imply he’s not gritty,
For You, Barry
For all those moments you looked at my feet
And for comparing your hair black and neat
After 20 years of service with the State,
To see the world is his aim,
We’ll miss your humor and your wit,
IS IT A MAN OR A MOUSE? NO, IT’S N. BARRY GREENHOUSE
There once was a Special Assistant named Barry,
Who toiled for several “Govs” including Carey.
Coming to work, he was known to often tarry,
And then performed like Moe, Curly and Larry.
His judgment and acumen were often contrary,
Although he was right when Linda he did marry.
He dresses in clothes both dog-haired and varied,
His deportment could never be considered harried.
A marathon runner & tennis player unwary,
More like a giraffe than a dromedary.
So let’s toast our unforgettable Barry,
For a public service career extraordinary.
AN ODE TO N. BARRY GREENHOUSE
by Kathleen McQueen
He’s not Cary or Harry or Larry or Gary
To tell you the truth, he’s not even Barry
That’s right, he’s not Barry I learned with chagrin
‘Cause before there’s the Barry, there first come the “N”
It’s a thing that I pondered on more than a little
It’s right there in front instead of the middle
That “N” that damn “N.” What the hell could it mean?
Did it hold some significance I couldn’t glean?
I puzzled and wondered. What sense could I make”
Does it really belong there or is it just a mistake?
Now George “E.” Pataki’s at home in the State House
And William “J.” Clinton belongs in the White House
But who does the Insurance Department have in house?
None other than that “N.” Barry Greenhouse
That “N.” that damn “N.” Is it short for a name?
Perhaps Norbert or Nicholas or Nelson to blame?
Perhaps Norman or Norville. That “N.” just obsessed me
Then I stopped and I asked what all has possessed me?
He’s retiring, he’s leaving. I don’t have to care
About that damn “N.” not the why nor the where
So let me just close with a toast to the man
Who has driven me daft with his lopsided name
So come on and join me. Let’s bring down the house
For the One and the Only “N.” Barry Greenhouse
by Kevin Foley
moustache long tangled
Introduction and Poem
by Sal Curiale
Before I read my poem, I’d like to present a poem Barry’s sister asked me to read – it was written by Barry’s Mom when she was pregnant with Barry 55 years ago. It’s entitled – “Sonny Boy” – it’s very touching and it goes like this:
Is that you movin Norman?
Very touching. Obviously, Barry gets his talent from Mom.
And now my poem.
N. BARRY GREENHOUSE
East chicken rare, sea urchin fare
You’ll find them, where? The loft they share.
Good spouse, no louse – he’d help a mouse!
Without a topcoat, he’s never cold.
Yes Hairy Barry, a true Good Fairy.
This faithless pooch would brook no smooch,
But does he care, no not our Barre
Oh Norman, Soreman – you close the office door man
With mustache flair and quizzical stare
But visage scary, to those unwary
When came Potack with fires lit
We’ll miss your soul, we’ll miss your wit
There once was a man named Barry
There once was a procrastinator named Barry
There once was a colleague named Barry
There once was a friend named Barry
The Flight of Our Crane
Now cometh truly a certain pity –
To what verbal heights might he yet aspire –
So as this year winds down to a cold December –
Still, dare we yet dream of his returning –
Ah, ‘tis doubtful for his weary
Though I cannot attend your merited function
An Ode to Barry, The Muse of the Insurance Department
Oh, sorrow! Our dear, strong and funny voice is prematurely leaving us
Leaving for the Elysian fields of early retirement
Does Barry know what he does to us?
Leaving the rest of us, voiceless, to fend for ourselves.
But woe to those who think only of themselves,
If Andre Soltner can retire and leave us New York gastronomes,
why should we reproach Barry for what he does?
Let us instead rejoice in the happy knowledge that the man who for so long was
our voice is not departing from this world,
but merely changing his lifestyle for a far better one.
May another arise from our ranks to be our new muse.
For that will be the greatest legacy that Barry could leave us with
So, let us all wish Barry, our muse, the best.
May his days of retirement stretch out before him
and be filled with activity and the exploration of new opportunities,
exciting and enjoyable
From all of us who remain at the Department,
We wish you all of the happiness in the world as we declare the death of the
Tyranny of iambic pentameter at the Insurance Department.Barbara Kluger
BARRY GREENHOUSE – IT’S A WRAP!
Written by Wayne Cotter
He’s a long, tall dude with an attitude
Well I wouldn’t call him mean, but I wouldn’t call him jolly
You can catch him in mid-town, walkin’ his dog, man
He can’t eat eggs, they make him feel icky
Linda’s his mate, his numero uno
They sleep on a futon with their ol’ black box on
He runs the Marathon in Central Park now
He’s a long, tall aide with an attitude
He lives his life by a few simple mantras
He’s a bon vivant who’s lived in Paris
He’s worked for Insurance and the Department of Banking
He’s a long, tall aide with an attitude
Now it’s come down to the crunch now
|ATTENTION: The poetry archives of N. Barry Greenhouse are sadly incomplete. If Barry has done a poem in your honor and you still have a copy, please scan or re-key it and e-mail it to Wayne Cotter at firstname.lastname@example.org. We'll add it to the collection.|
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