President Grover Cleveland was the only President to serve two, non-consecutive terms in office – 1885 to 1889 and 1893 to 1897. President Cleveland was the leader of the pro-business “Bourbon Democrats” who opposed high tariffs, Free Silver, inflation, imperialism, and subsidies to business, farmers or veterans.
With that said, poet, Aaron L. Sleyster, took pen to hand and wrote the following, entertaining poem.
It’s interesting to note the many local surnames mentioned in this poem of families who once lived in the vicinity of Waukokee – and some of them still do!
“Today, President Grover Cleveland is considered by most historians to have been a successful leader, generally ranked among the upper-mid tier of American presidents.”
“The Song of Waukokee”
A parody by
Aaron L. Sleyster, 1895
Should you ask me whence this story,
Whence this weird and strange tradition,
I should answer, from Waukokee,
I should say, from Buffalo forest,
From creek Willow’s laughing waters,
From the natives’ wigwam fires,
Spake the fathers of the valley
This wild legend of Waukokee.
In the days of Grover Cleveland,
The big democrat reformer,
Who could scalp the soldier’s pension,
And make money even scarcer
Than the famous “Grand Old Party.”
In the land of the Waukokees,
In the dale of Long and Miner,
Southward of Ed, son of Thomas,
Northward of the tribe of Cummings,
Sid and Alex, mighty chieftains,
Smoked the calumet—the peace pipe,
Early in the month of August,
Held a warrior’s council meeting—
Swore like daring, brave Waukokee,
On the avenue of Big-toe.
In the Red Cloud reservation
Stood erect Cloud Sid and shouted:
I will go and visit Preston,
In the valley of Root River,
Near the dens of fire-water,
Near the pool of stinking water,
And invite my kinsmen hither
With their squaws and their papooses,
To the land of the Waukokees.
I will spread a feast at mid-day;
Kill my noble steer of Herford;
Lay the roasted meat before them
‘Neath the spreading shady willows,
In the valley of Waukokee.
Then spoke Alex with a snicker,—
With the moccasins of horsehide
Treading down the fragrant clover,
Pawing down the stalwart pigweed,—
“By the turkeys in my forest,
By the branches of Ed Thomas,
By the pow’r of Durst and Eddy,
I will kill a Poland China,—
Smite it with my buckskin mittens,
Feed it to the sons of Preston,
Near creek Willow’s laughing waters.”
Thus it was the tribes did gather
In the valley of Waukokee;
Had a feast of fatted Herfords,
Ate the tender Poland Chinas,
Laughed and sang and smoked Havannas
At the feast of Long and Miner;
And the old men told big stories
(Sounding much like campaign speeches)
Of Waukokee’s early settlers:
How they journeyed to Winona,
To La Crosse and to McGregor,
With their produce in the winter,
Thro’ snowbanks as high as mountains,
Without moccasins or mittens,
Bringing lumber for their wigwams,
From the forest of the north wind.
All the daring tales of olden,
One by one, were told the young men,
“Till the sun was slowly sinking;
When the tribes of the Root River,
With their squaws and their papooses,
Followed up the trail to Preston,
After wishing the Waukokees
Joy and peace round their camp fires,
In the future full of promise
Of the big chief, pale-faced Grover.”