MIKE

Exactly what is a monteur?
The answer is rather obscure

Ask David or Wayne —
Even they can’t explain . . . .

Nobody knows quite for sure

At best, one may learn if one asks
Mike deals in mysterious tasks

Hidden, concealed
Arcane, unrevealed —

It’s a world of traps and of masks

There’s a room where the walls are all black
With dark, secret chambers in back

Lights flash like lightning,
Most fearsome and frightening —

The tyrannosaurus camera attack

Another dark secret we’ve learned
From someone who somehow returned:

Most people, when eating,
Use plates for feeding —

But here, plates are taken and burned!

The door is propped slightly ajar
The innocent are lured from afar,

From within there shine lights
Unusual sights —

You wonder, you ask where you are

There’s scissors, and tape, and a square
Strange chemicals scenting the air

You’ll see, when you enter,
A man at the center —

This is Mike Davis’s lair

He leans over tables of light
Applying such powers of sight

The Master Monteur
Has to be sure

That everything — everything — is right

A four-minute Mylar is he
His stripping is something to see

No bump and grind
Just resolute mind

And action performed skillfully

Mike’s good at following orders
There in his 402 quarters

Mike has no quarrels
With Shep’s background florals —

But please, no more days-to-make borders!

Moments with Mike are so fine
But there’s one that is downright divine:

The phone call comes through
With his message for you:

“The dylux is ready to sign!”

If you really want to make Michael’s day
Here is the thing you should say —

When the job’s plated,
These words should be stated:

“Yo, Mike — there’s some changes, OK?”

Mike’s Christmas came early this year
He was a-grin ear to ear

Mike was delighted,
Ecstatic, excited —

The new processor just arrived here

For Mike it was presents galore
He couldn’t have asked for much more

Unloaded . . . uncrated . . .
How long he had waited! —

But the thing wouldn’t fit through the door!

Mike’s grin was kidnapped by chagrin —
Who made the doorways so thin?

But turned on its side . . .
Legs removed . . . gentle slide —

With no room to spare it was in

The first Movement job Mike saw through
Was the MIU Catalog — it’s true

It’s sweet and it’s fitting
That here’s where he’s sitting —

The Buddha of Building 402

Most people come and they go
Looking for channels to grow

Mike’s channel, long since,
Has been half-tones and tints,

Preparing pure knowledge to flow

A monteur for twenty odd years,
Will Mike think of changing careers?

His chart is played out,
Leaving no doubt:

The answer is “NO!” (background cheers)

And yet he now rides a new track
This man with the coat from Outback

Mike has been seen
At work on a screen —

What thrills to see Mike on the Mac!

Mike’s gaining fabulous powers —
With a click he can do what took hours

His future is this:
Mike, click us to bliss —

Produce publications in showers

Mike is a man you can trust
He’s generous, kind-hearted, just

Whatever the need,
He fills it — indeed,

He works through the night if he must

At heart this great man is a boy
A bundle, a barrel, of joy

He laughs and he giggles
The great body jiggles —

He’s bliss in the Press’s employ

We all have our likes and dislikes
On life’s highways and byways and pikes

But no one would mind
If we’d suddenly find

The world had a couple more Mikes

So hop in your car, on your bike,
Or, if you want, you can hike

But please come and gaze
And shower your praise

On the Master Monteur we call Mike

December 21, 1992

Mike saw the first papers collected
Inspected, corrected. . . .

And folks, understand:
The work was by hand —

. . . .

waxer warmed
native of Iowa
developer, fixer
path of devotion

Need no proof