The verse is on the bottom of this post... 
Heartfelt Verse or Something Worse?
By Stephanie Simon Times Staff Writer
LA GRANGE, Mo. — The poem has not met with universal acclaim.
In truth, quite a few folks think it's awful. It doesn't rhyme. There's no discernible meter. Not even a rough-hewn rhythm.
A farmer by the name of Russ Heindselman dashed it off in 15 minutes in 1985 while watching "Hee Haw" on TV. He didn't even intend it to be a poem — just notes for an article he was planning to write on Missouri's great outdoors.
"As I travel the highways and byways," the poem starts, " … I sometimes stop and look around me and I think, 'All of this, just waitin' for me.' "
The rest of it sounds a bit like an earnest sermon from a schmaltzy uncle. Yet somehow, "Missouri — Just Waitin' For Me" has gained fame far and wide.
The poem has been displayed in the Missouri governor's office. It's raised thousands of dollars for charity as bidders snatch up framed copies at fundraising auctions. It's earned Heindselman thank-you notes from four presidents and a proclamation from the Legislature naming him an "Outstanding Missourian."
And now, it's poised to be the official state poem of Missouri.
Maybe.
State Rep. Brian Munzlinger, a Republican from Williamstown, recently introduced legislation to make "Missouri — Just Waitin' For Me" the state poem, akin to the state rock (mozarkite) and the state aquatic animal (the paddlefish).
"It recognizes some of the great natural beauty we have in our state," Munzlinger said. "And I like how in the end, he says he hopes heaven is as good as Missouri."
Munzlinger's bill has run into a bit of opposition from urban lawmakers, who point out that the poem praises rural Missouri to the bright blue skies — but doesn't so much as mention the hustle and bustle of St. Louis or Kansas City.
Others have suggested that Heindselman's work may not do justice to the literary heritage of a state that has been home to such luminaries as T.S. Eliot, Langston Hughes and Marianne Moore.
"If they're going to have a state poem, I would hope it would be by a professional, because amateur writing can be really, really bad," said Velvet Fackeldey, a charter member of the Missouri State Poetry Society (and herself an amateur poet).
Heindselman's response: "If someone's got a better poem, come forward."
A former factory worker who calls himself the "hillbilly poet," Heindselman lives with his wife on a 15-acre farm here in northeast Missouri, about a half-hour drive from Mark Twain's hometown of Hannibal.
To spend time with him, even for an afternoon, is to appreciate the poem in a way that literary critics may not.
Heindselman, 76, raises popping corn and hunting dogs, raspberries and minnows. He runs a serve-yourself bait shack, builds ingenious bluebird houses, and tends a new breed of pecan tree he created by grafting.
He feeds hundreds of birds and squirrels outside his back window each morning. He volunteers at a state park, collects Indian arrowheads and works the concession stand at the monthly senior citizen's dance. He jitterbugs. He makes bolo ties out of turkey beards. He even lectures about his hobbies.
"My high school motto was 'Rowing, not drifting,' and I've tried to do that all my life," Heindselman says.
In blue jeans and flannel shirt (and a grungy cap honoring Missouri's official state bird), Heindselman is folksy to the core: He says things like "It's too dad blame rugged," and "look over yonder."
He has a little boy's eagerness to show off his latest inventions. He chokes up when he reads his poems aloud.
And he loves Missouri with unabashed passion.
Though he's traveled some — he and his wife once took their three children to New York and Washington — he cannot imagine a place he'd rather be.
Heading out to inspect a few of the bluebird nesting boxes he has erected by the hundreds, Heindselman sweeps his arm out, gesturing to the flat farmland all around. "See all the beauty?" he declares.
In point of fact, it looks barren, the fields cleared to drab stubble for the winter, the sky a washed-out blue.
"This is a poor time to see much beauty," Heindselman acknowledges. "It's sort of a yuck time."
But he presses on, undaunted. "My poem — it's to make people aware of the beauty of Missouri."
It was Heindselman's daughter who told him (after he woke up from snoozing in front of "Hee Haw") that "Missouri — Just Waitin' For Me" sounded more like a poem than an article. Impressed with a talent he didn't know he had, he sent copies of the work to every dignitary he could think of — and saved their responses, even the form letters, with pride.
"This one's my favorite," Heindselman says, pointing to a letter from the Reagan White House that reads in part: "The patriotism conveyed in your work is truly appreciated."
Just this month, he got an embossed note card from President Bush (news - web sites). "It's pretty short," Heindselman says. "The shortest letter I've got. But that's OK. He's busy."
As for the poem, the critics have a point about the rhythm.
But the words clearly poured from the heart of a man who loves his state and has worked all his life to make his little bit of it brighter and more bountiful.
Is that enough to elevate it to an official symbol of Missouri? On that, the jury is still out.
New Mexico has a state poem, as does Maine and Tennessee ("Oh Tennessee, My Tennessee/ What Love and Pride I Feel for Thee"). Elsewhere, though, approving an official state verse has sometimes proved contentious.
An amateur poet from New Hampshire — a construction worker when he wasn't crafting metaphors — tried to get his verse designated the state poem a few years back. The critics tore his words to shreds, demanding something by Robert Frost instead.
Similar carping has greeted a bill before the Connecticut Legislature this year; it would grant official status to a poem by Camille Simone, a 74-year-old who retired from selling Avon cosmetics.
In Missouri, Munzlinger confesses that his motivation for introducing the bill was not just to have a state poem. He wanted to pay homage to Heindselman, a constituent he calls "quite a guy."
He also saw it as an educational tool; when he talks to schoolchildren, he asks them to read the poem, contact him with their thoughts, and follow the bill's passage through the Legislature. "It's an excellent way to get kids involved," he said.
But not just kids.
Bob McManimie, a retired chemist who leads the Rhyme or Reason poets club in St. Charles, Mo., this week challenged the group's 19 members to write their own ode to the Show Me State. He hopes legislators will hold a contest.
Loy Ledbetter, president of the St. Louis Poetry Center, says he's not so sure that's a good idea. "Poetry is so subjective," he sighed. "What one person thinks is great, another thinks is terrible. Oh, boy, is that a can of worms."
Heindselman — who sells worms, $1.50 a dozen — has watched the hubbub from afar, not much concerned.
If his poem is selected for the honor, he says he'll cry. If not, he'll keep tending his pecan trees and popping his homegrown corn for the monthly square dance at the armory.
"If it doesn't make it, that's not going to make or break me," Heindselman said. "No matter what, the poem's still here."
(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)
'Missouri -- Just Waitin' for Me'
Here is the text of "Missouri — Just Waitin' for Me," by Russ Heindselman. Legislation has been introduced in Missouri to make it the state poem:
As I travel the highways and byways, and as I tramp the hills and wade the streams in Missouri, I sometimes stop and look around me and I think, "All of this, just waitin' for me."
As I hunt and fish in Missouri, I remember all of the ambitious people who have restored, cultivated, and preserved all the wildlife, and it is just waitin' for me.
Each change of season brings something anew. In the fall, as in October when the forest leaves change to a blaze of a thousand colors, I say, "All of this, just waitin' for me."
I should hope when we, the older generation, turn the reins of Missouri over to a younger generation, that they too will work, educate, cultivate and preserve Missouri so their children can also, with pride and deep admiration, say, "All of this, just waitin' for me."
When I have come to my journey's end and have climbed the golden stairs and am standing face to face with the Master, may I be heard to proudly say, "Master, in this vast place called heaven, don't You have a little place like Missouri, just waitin' for me?"
Heartfelt Verse or Something Worse?
By Stephanie Simon Times Staff Writer
LA GRANGE, Mo. — The poem has not met with universal acclaim.
In truth, quite a few folks think it's awful. It doesn't rhyme. There's no discernible meter. Not even a rough-hewn rhythm.
A farmer by the name of Russ Heindselman dashed it off in 15 minutes in 1985 while watching "Hee Haw" on TV. He didn't even intend it to be a poem — just notes for an article he was planning to write on Missouri's great outdoors.
"As I travel the highways and byways," the poem starts, " … I sometimes stop and look around me and I think, 'All of this, just waitin' for me.' "
The rest of it sounds a bit like an earnest sermon from a schmaltzy uncle. Yet somehow, "Missouri — Just Waitin' For Me" has gained fame far and wide.
The poem has been displayed in the Missouri governor's office. It's raised thousands of dollars for charity as bidders snatch up framed copies at fundraising auctions. It's earned Heindselman thank-you notes from four presidents and a proclamation from the Legislature naming him an "Outstanding Missourian."
And now, it's poised to be the official state poem of Missouri.
Maybe.
State Rep. Brian Munzlinger, a Republican from Williamstown, recently introduced legislation to make "Missouri — Just Waitin' For Me" the state poem, akin to the state rock (mozarkite) and the state aquatic animal (the paddlefish).
"It recognizes some of the great natural beauty we have in our state," Munzlinger said. "And I like how in the end, he says he hopes heaven is as good as Missouri."
Munzlinger's bill has run into a bit of opposition from urban lawmakers, who point out that the poem praises rural Missouri to the bright blue skies — but doesn't so much as mention the hustle and bustle of St. Louis or Kansas City.
Others have suggested that Heindselman's work may not do justice to the literary heritage of a state that has been home to such luminaries as T.S. Eliot, Langston Hughes and Marianne Moore.
"If they're going to have a state poem, I would hope it would be by a professional, because amateur writing can be really, really bad," said Velvet Fackeldey, a charter member of the Missouri State Poetry Society (and herself an amateur poet).
Heindselman's response: "If someone's got a better poem, come forward."
A former factory worker who calls himself the "hillbilly poet," Heindselman lives with his wife on a 15-acre farm here in northeast Missouri, about a half-hour drive from Mark Twain's hometown of Hannibal.
To spend time with him, even for an afternoon, is to appreciate the poem in a way that literary critics may not.
Heindselman, 76, raises popping corn and hunting dogs, raspberries and minnows. He runs a serve-yourself bait shack, builds ingenious bluebird houses, and tends a new breed of pecan tree he created by grafting.
He feeds hundreds of birds and squirrels outside his back window each morning. He volunteers at a state park, collects Indian arrowheads and works the concession stand at the monthly senior citizen's dance. He jitterbugs. He makes bolo ties out of turkey beards. He even lectures about his hobbies.
"My high school motto was 'Rowing, not drifting,' and I've tried to do that all my life," Heindselman says.
In blue jeans and flannel shirt (and a grungy cap honoring Missouri's official state bird), Heindselman is folksy to the core: He says things like "It's too dad blame rugged," and "look over yonder."
He has a little boy's eagerness to show off his latest inventions. He chokes up when he reads his poems aloud.
And he loves Missouri with unabashed passion.
Though he's traveled some — he and his wife once took their three children to New York and Washington — he cannot imagine a place he'd rather be.
Heading out to inspect a few of the bluebird nesting boxes he has erected by the hundreds, Heindselman sweeps his arm out, gesturing to the flat farmland all around. "See all the beauty?" he declares.
In point of fact, it looks barren, the fields cleared to drab stubble for the winter, the sky a washed-out blue.
"This is a poor time to see much beauty," Heindselman acknowledges. "It's sort of a yuck time."
But he presses on, undaunted. "My poem — it's to make people aware of the beauty of Missouri."
It was Heindselman's daughter who told him (after he woke up from snoozing in front of "Hee Haw") that "Missouri — Just Waitin' For Me" sounded more like a poem than an article. Impressed with a talent he didn't know he had, he sent copies of the work to every dignitary he could think of — and saved their responses, even the form letters, with pride.
"This one's my favorite," Heindselman says, pointing to a letter from the Reagan White House that reads in part: "The patriotism conveyed in your work is truly appreciated."
Just this month, he got an embossed note card from President Bush (news - web sites). "It's pretty short," Heindselman says. "The shortest letter I've got. But that's OK. He's busy."
As for the poem, the critics have a point about the rhythm.
But the words clearly poured from the heart of a man who loves his state and has worked all his life to make his little bit of it brighter and more bountiful.
Is that enough to elevate it to an official symbol of Missouri? On that, the jury is still out.
New Mexico has a state poem, as does Maine and Tennessee ("Oh Tennessee, My Tennessee/ What Love and Pride I Feel for Thee"). Elsewhere, though, approving an official state verse has sometimes proved contentious.
An amateur poet from New Hampshire — a construction worker when he wasn't crafting metaphors — tried to get his verse designated the state poem a few years back. The critics tore his words to shreds, demanding something by Robert Frost instead.
Similar carping has greeted a bill before the Connecticut Legislature this year; it would grant official status to a poem by Camille Simone, a 74-year-old who retired from selling Avon cosmetics.
In Missouri, Munzlinger confesses that his motivation for introducing the bill was not just to have a state poem. He wanted to pay homage to Heindselman, a constituent he calls "quite a guy."
He also saw it as an educational tool; when he talks to schoolchildren, he asks them to read the poem, contact him with their thoughts, and follow the bill's passage through the Legislature. "It's an excellent way to get kids involved," he said.
But not just kids.
Bob McManimie, a retired chemist who leads the Rhyme or Reason poets club in St. Charles, Mo., this week challenged the group's 19 members to write their own ode to the Show Me State. He hopes legislators will hold a contest.
Loy Ledbetter, president of the St. Louis Poetry Center, says he's not so sure that's a good idea. "Poetry is so subjective," he sighed. "What one person thinks is great, another thinks is terrible. Oh, boy, is that a can of worms."
Heindselman — who sells worms, $1.50 a dozen — has watched the hubbub from afar, not much concerned.
If his poem is selected for the honor, he says he'll cry. If not, he'll keep tending his pecan trees and popping his homegrown corn for the monthly square dance at the armory.
"If it doesn't make it, that's not going to make or break me," Heindselman said. "No matter what, the poem's still here."
(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)
'Missouri -- Just Waitin' for Me'
Here is the text of "Missouri — Just Waitin' for Me," by Russ Heindselman. Legislation has been introduced in Missouri to make it the state poem:
As I travel the highways and byways, and as I tramp the hills and wade the streams in Missouri, I sometimes stop and look around me and I think, "All of this, just waitin' for me."
As I hunt and fish in Missouri, I remember all of the ambitious people who have restored, cultivated, and preserved all the wildlife, and it is just waitin' for me.
Each change of season brings something anew. In the fall, as in October when the forest leaves change to a blaze of a thousand colors, I say, "All of this, just waitin' for me."
I should hope when we, the older generation, turn the reins of Missouri over to a younger generation, that they too will work, educate, cultivate and preserve Missouri so their children can also, with pride and deep admiration, say, "All of this, just waitin' for me."
When I have come to my journey's end and have climbed the golden stairs and am standing face to face with the Master, may I be heard to proudly say, "Master, in this vast place called heaven, don't You have a little place like Missouri, just waitin' for me?"
