Jimmy always reminded me of Peter O’Toole charging through the desert on a camel Long lion mane flowing.

The following poem was read at town meeting by Steve Ewing, poet laureate of Edgartown.

Before the daylight/hints its slow return/on death bed winter nights as/brutal gusts spit flakes/upon the sheets/

Be good to/gab again/down on the pier/You could ride old Fergi/through the slurry mist/that spreads like/cotton sheets

Not that long ago We walked up On that stage June light shafting Down through the Tabernacle’s multi colored Stained glass rows

In 1945 the late Harvey Ewing was a 21-year-old tail gunner in a torpedo bomber in the South Pacific.