SONNY DOVE by Nancy Carroll

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			St. John's University
From the Mashpee Wampanaug and Afro-Narragansett tribe,
 Native blood gave you its power and pride.
It flowed with New York City style - so smooth in every move.
 You were cool spring water and your name was Sonny Dove.

At every home game we saw a shiny cage of steel the Redmen brought.
 Inside was a nervous bird they caught.
They broke the lock when you appeared. We saw that bird wing its way above. 
The whole St. John's arena called the name of Sonny Dove.

So many teams were great. The coaches, they knew why:
The  Indian who kept them flying high.
Taking them above the rim - the atmosphere you loved -
Awards and titles showered on the name of Sonny Dove.
			
We were with you there above the clouds, plays that were astounding -
Saw those flying basketballs rebounding.  
The courts where you did rule, there were more than plenty of.
The Nets and Pistons took you for their own, their Sonny Dove.
				
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Your bike crossed you up. Your twisted leg was shattered in the break.
No more  jump shots or a head fake.
An announcer you became, and a city cab you drove,
We rode many an extra mile just to face that famous smile of Sonny Dove.
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				Gowanus Canal, Brooklyn
It was Valentine's night, dark and icy and the bridge was in repair.
Your taxi skidded off into the air.
It fell deep in the canal; they pulled your body through pollution hand in glove. 
We shook our heads and mourned. "Our Big Red Johnnie's gone, our Sonny Dove."

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				Providence
You walked into the crowd, reaching out to welcome every fan.
My dad held me up high. You shook my hand.
Since then when life gets hard and push comes to shove,
I toss leather to the sky and play the game I love for Sonny Dove.

2nd choice
 You came to play the PC Friars when I was seven. Dad and I looked up in awe. 
A giant hoopster's what we saw.
You walked into the fans, reaching every hand they held above. 
Then, going for the win, you flashed at us that smile of Sonny Dove.
3rd choice

You set the pace again, cleared the boards, upped the score with perfect aim - 
The Indian with unstoppable game.
Since then, when life is getting hard and push comes to shove,
I grab a ball, find a hoop and aim my shots to win like Sonny Dove.

Sonny Dove 12.3.21

ROGER WILLIAMS' SUITE:   A Bloody Nuisance by Nancy Carroll
I come from merry England at a time when it is not
Feared of kings and Commons and the carnage that they wrought
I'm full of laws and languages and questions of the soul
A Puritan whose love for God is leading me afoul.
Boston greeted me most kind with a position to bestow.
My hosts were sore offended when I gave my answer.  "No."
When I preach I want to share beliefs I know are true.
They unsettle Massachusetts; I'll tell you but a few:
This land does not belong to us, not forest, field or bay.
Thirty thousand years ago, the Indians came to stay.
What land King Charlie does not own he cannot give away.
Here natives dwell, they plant and tend. It's theirs. We ought to pay.
You leaders want all freemen to be loyal and conform,
To accept that tithes and taxes wil pay clergy as a norm,
To show hard proof that God's ordained each one of the inspired.
Without such proof, he can't belong, but worship is required.
 If a freeman misses church, why is he forced to pay a fine?
Why whipped or cut or put in jail if he should be maligned?
Why banished from a colony because of his belief?
Where do you find that my sweet Lord condones such grief?
Take the ten commandments. The last six are in play.
They deal with crimes and earthly deeds and you can have your say.
But you can't touch the first four. They're set tween God and man.
Each to his own conscience, to intrude there noone can.
You say whoever follows Christ is guaranteed success
To wander from his teachings brings all humankind duress.
Yet Turks and Islams worship where they know not Jesus' fame
'Round the world great countries thrive where noone's heard his name.
God-belly, and God-peace, God-wealth and honor and God-pleasure
Are what this worldly wilderness regards as earthly treasure
In New Spain add God-gold, in New England add God-land.
The temptations held therein must not contaminate God's hand. 
For the church is like a garden, glorious  and pure
The state a soup of wilderness the church cannot endure
The wilderness and garden need a wall between the two.
Pour religion into politics, you only get more stew. 
I cannot serve a church in which a king picks right from wrong.
An oath of loyalty to such makes God and state as strong.
I am but a seeker, awakening from sleep.
But having found a truth, I will never sell it cheap.

A Bloody Nuisance

Getting Settled by Nancy Carroll
I landed here with hope alive - had hardly found a bed
When they threw me out of Boston, must be something that I said.
So I went to teach in Salem, but my words were disallowed,
Then I headed on to Plymouth - pressure from the Boston crowd.
Just God and me and Mary, made a home, planted a farm,
Criticized the king in writing, gave us cause to mosey on.
Back to Salem, built a house, spoke my beliefs with resolution,
The judges sentenced banishment, some planned my execution.
Fourteen came to stow me back to England on a ship,
They found that just three days before I'd given them the slip.
Three months of icy wandering, I saw the face of God,
He rescued me, and on that day his name was Wampanaug.
The Indians kept me 'til the spring, I felt a man again,
I dreampt a new, free colony where we could settle in. 
Twelve men began in Plymouth on the east side of the bay,
"Get over on the west side," Winslow cried, "You're in our way!"
Again we left our homes and harvest, still a stubborn band, 
I had no fear, I knew we were in Narragansett land.
We found a spot where bay and rivers met to form a cove,
A lush and fertile land, a gift fom Providence above.
There we built our colony, all welcome to the fold,
To govern by ourselves and with full liberty of soul.
And slowly came to realize like a flag to be unfurled,
Our place is not preordained; we create it in the world.  Uh-oh.

Roger Getting Settled

Charters

ROGER WILLIAM's SUITE: Providence, 1646 and 1676  BY NANCY CARROLL
Here's my land on Towne St. where my children prayed and grew,
 Neighbored by a sparkling spring and dogged men I knew.
Every lot five narrow acres, even Widow Reeves'
Frontage faced the Great Salt Marsh and cultivated leas.
We fed on salmon, bass and clams, and beaver tails and deer,
We planted corn, raised cattle, ate wild turkeys all the year.

Two Narragansett sachems offered us this precious land.
Thanks to them the garden of Soul Liberty began.
We weeded out our fear as we tilled and thought our thoughts.
Opression sank into the swamp as we chose nays and oughts.
And so it clung, this idea born of reaching for God's hand,
Through forty years of bloody wars, bad laws and lust for land.

We thought ourselves as safe at last because we had our charter.
Then Plymouth overstepped its bounds; the Indians turned to slaughter.
Soon I stood upon my land with Providence aflame.
120 buildings burnt, just 30-some remained.
A throng of Phillip's warriors cried out for me to show.
My hope for Providence and for the natives told me "Go."

I asked, "Why do you torch and cause such carnage - to what ends?
My home, too, where all of you were welcomed as my friends."
They said, "You forced us from our lands, buried our beliefs,
Brought disease, now we forage in hopelessness and grief.
Fight or not, you'll either kill our tribes or make us slaves.
The only lands preserved for us are pathways to our graves."

I talked to them of planting in the spring; they would hear none.
We knew if they went on to Plymouth they would soon be gone.
Anxious for the next assault, they went their treacherous way,
Some scouts shouted to me, paused to turn around and say,
"Stay away from houses; that's where the Indians hide.
You'll be saved once again if you stay on the water side."

I miss those Indians now, as I hobble down the street.
My Mary, too; there never was a sturdy soul so sweet.
Still I preach while Providence is in God's heart to bless.
My friends find ways to fund me that my words be put to press.
I see the colony heal. I watch the city thrive again,
And liberty of conscience lives. To that I say, " Amen."

Providence

ROGER WILLIAMS' SUITE: Psalm by NANCY CARROLL

No state can say what we must be,
Deprive our souls of liberty,
Or choose the path from God to me.
The power comes not from them, but we.

O, God, receive this humble plea.
In bondage we found strength in thee.
Whereas your truth has made us free,
Stand fast with us in liberty.

This calling for we happy few
To build humanity anew,
To rule and pray as each may see,
Rhode Island, we thank God and thee.

Psalm

Ambrose Burnside's Song by Nancy Carroll
I went to West Point where those pesky demerits nearly got me thrown out onto Washington Road.
Having friends in my room, smoking on post, and for not quite accepting the uniform code,
Taking off on my birthday, left about noon, went out for a quaff at old Ben Harven's Groggery,
Well, I straightened up, and I got my commission, before they accused me of dastardly doggery.
I made a rifle, breech-loading with brass, built my own company to sell it myself.
But bribery and fire took the factory down; Secretary John Floyd hid my gun on his shelf.
'Til just 'fore the war, at West Point's competition, my rifle won over seventeen others.
55 thousand were used in its time by the top brass, the Union, the Rebs and their brothers. 
The war called, I gathered Rhode Island's 9th corps; we went to DC to protect the big dome.
Commands and more battles kept coming like bullets; we opened Camp Sprague, a reminder of home.
Three times I tried to refuse new assignments. I hadn't the skill to lead so many men.
Had plenty of grit, but I dreaded decisions. "We need you," said Lincoln. I went back again.
The 9th Corps had dug out a cave full of ammo. The Rebs lolled above as the moon passed on high.
Then we detonated those piles of explosives, created a crater, sent flesh to the sky.
"Run at each edge of the crater!" we yelled, "some to left, some to right, send the enemy back!"
The troops got confused and jumped into the crater. "A turkey shoot!" bellowed the Rebels. "Attack!"
They whooped as they shot us, us black men and white. We clawed up the sides and were killed as we climbed.
The Rebs jumped in, too, stumbled over the dead, as North limbs and South in the muck intertwined.
Bayonets speared, and the bullets dug deep, and the cannons all up the spout volleyed away.
A trough of thick soup made of ammo and guts - even God couldn't look at the carnage that day.
I bore the reason and blame for the loss. There were no more commissions, no orders to come.
Back to Rhode Island to hope and to heal, my wonderful Mary's arms welcomed me home.
It's funny how Rhody remembers "Old Burn" for the cut of my beard they call sideburns today.
But "Old Burn" became governor, senator, too, and the first president of the NRA.

Ambrose Burnside Song 3.13.17

William Sprague IV's Song  by Nancy Carroll
At sixteen I signed with Rhode Island's Militia, proud to be part of old Company B.
That dream turned to dust thanks to Nicholas Gordon. My father was murdered, 1843.
Back to the family's business success, the best printing cotton mills you'll ever find.
But I wanted more, became Rhody's boy governor. 1860 it was, I was just twenty-nine.
The war called. I promised Rhode Island's support, gave Burnside 2 regiments to win at Bull Run.
I went down with them to witness the battle, sure that in two days the task would be done.
The troops followed Burnside out into the field. We learned what it meant for the South to rebel.
One well-aimed shot and my horse fell beneath me. Lincoln predicted this war would be Hell. 
We met, Kate the Queen and I now a senator. Fate caught each other with hope in our eyes.
She wanted funds for her father's ambitions. I wanted contacts for Sprague Enterprise.
Never had Washington seen such a wedding. Six hundred guests waited hours in line.
The day William Sprague married Catherine Chase, politics, power, and fortune combined.
From the beginning we started to quarrel. Strong wills at odds, neither one could be wrong.
I liked the ladies and Kate liked to spend. The Marine Band was no longer playing our song.
Four children later, financial disaster - we met the great panic of 'seventy-three.
Our fortunes were lost, but we carried on, Roscoe Conkling for Kate and the bottle for me.
I warned that roue "Stay away from Canonchet. Don't ever go anywhere near my estate."
I walked in one morning to find them at breakfast, he in his dressing gown nearby my mate.
I raged at Queen Kate, I roared at Don Juan, pointed my shotgun, sent him on the run.
Chased that intruder my battlefield's length, locked Kate in her closet, the marriage was done.
I wed Dora Calvert. We lived by the sea, but Canonchet caught fire and we moved on to France.
Our home was a refuge for all of the wounded. We served the Great War. I was glad for the chance.
Rhody recalls me with shotgun in hand, or guzzling glasses of gin, 16-ounce full,
But I was " boy governor,"  senator, too, and the first President of our 'Gansett Town Council.

William Sprague 10.5.18

Brown and Sharpe

A ruler made to measure any choice of equal parts,
A gear cutting machine that stopped mistakes before they'd start,
A gauge to measure width of wire, the standard set by Sharpe,
Rifles made in one-tenth time with interchangeable parts,
A mass-produced sewing machine assembled in just half an hour,
The universal mill machine cut spirals without human power,
The pocket-sized sheet metal gauge received its  final plan,
A nine-inch long micrometer was put in each man's hand,
The future of the car and plane and rocketry began.
Joseph Rogers Brown and Lucian Sharpe

Brown And Sharpe (8.28.20)

Rhode Island (CCRI Performance)

Here are my songs

Nancy M Carroll, singer-songwriter 
Dave McNally, keyboard