 THE LAST OF THE HACK-DRIVERS by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachok A STORY OF THE CITY You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys, who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more, his hack a welcome haven in your salad-bellied days, when you steered a trifle tempest-tost against his friendly shore. You must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep, seagoing carriage as it churned along the street. In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated, and now they say, Seattle's dead, time surely passes fleet. You must recall Seattle and his horses, Tom and Joe, his beaming, liquored countenance, and somewhat husky base. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go, and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding, and, desporting, he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn. When any one was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone. Aye, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys. The taxicab is at his stand, and he has passed along. But we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days, his husky voice uplifted in an old-time dance-hall song. So we'll weep for old Seattle, and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road. And in that place, hereafter, we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant, house Seattle. And, uh, have you got a load? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon A Story of the City You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more. His hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest tossed against his friendly shore. You must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep seagoing carriage as it churned along the street. In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated, and now they say Seattle's dead. Time surely passes fleet. You must recall Seattle and his horses, Tom and Joe, his beaming, liquored countenance and somewhat husky base. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lend to helping hand to us with all his courtly grace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding and disporting. He stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn. When anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone. We all recall Seattle and his team of silky greys. A taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along. But we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old-time dance-hall song. So we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road. And in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant howl, Seattle, and a have-you-got-a-load. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibberVox.org by Chad Horner from Ballyclair in County Antrim, Northern Ireland, situated in the northeast of the island of Ireland. A story of the city. He all recalls Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more. His hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest tossed against his friendly shore. You must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep seagoing courage as it turned along the street. Or in rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated. And now they say Seattle's dead, time surely passes fleet. You must recall Seattle or and his horses Tom and Joe, his beaming, lickered countenance and somewhat husky base. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding and to sporting. He stood a beacon of relief from nightfall unto dawn. When everyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried. The mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone. Aye, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys. A taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along. But we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days. His husky voice uplifted in an old time dance hall song. So we'll wait for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sighed to us in the creeping down the road. And in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with the pleasant. Aye, Seattle. And have you got a load? End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence A Story of the City You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more. His hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest-tost against his friendly shore. You must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep sea-going carriage as it churned along the street. In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated. And now they say, Seattle's dead. Time surely passes fleet. You must recall Seattle and his horses, Tom and Joe. His beaming, liquored countenance and somewhat husky base. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding and to sporting. He stood at Beacon of Relief from nightfall until dawn. When anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself is gone. I, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys. A taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along. But we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old-time dance-hall song. So we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road. And in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant, how, Seattle, and a, have you got a load? Into poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist A Story of the City You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more. His hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle-tempest toast against his friendly shawl. You must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep seagoing carriage as it shurned along the street. In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say, Seattle's dead. Time surely passes, fleet. You must recall Seattle and his horses, Tom and Joe, his beaming, liquid countenance, and somewhat husky base. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding, and disporting. He stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn. When anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself was gone. Aye, we all recall Seattle and his team of silky greys. A taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along. But we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days. His husky voice uplifted in an old-time dance-hall song. So we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road. And in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant how, Seattle, and have you got a load? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon Read for LibriVox.org by Graham Scott Cheltenham, England GrahamScottAudio.com A Story of the City You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more. His hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest tossed against his friendly shore. You must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep sea-going carriage as it churned along the street. In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead. Time surely passes fleet. You must recall Seattle and his horses, Tom and Joe, his beaming, liquid countenance and somewhat husky base. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lend a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding and sporting. He stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn. When anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone. I will all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys, a taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along. But we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days, his husky voice uplifted in an old time dance hall song. So we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road. And in that place thereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant, how Seattle, and have you got a load? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Ranjan Read for Librebox.org by Ernan Ibarra A Story of the City You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more. His hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a triple tempest toast against his friendly shore. You must recall Seattle and a creak and squeak and rattle of his deep seagoing carriage as it turned along the street In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead, time surely passes fleet. You must recall Seattle and his horses, Tom and Joe, his beaming, liquid continents, and somewhat husky bass. For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his core degrace. He drove you to your courting, to your wedding and the sporting. He stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone. I, we all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys a taxi cab is at his tent and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old time dancehall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron hill wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant how Seattle Anna have you got a load? End of poem this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon Read for LibriVox.org by Harman Busby March 15, 2020 A Story of the City You all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest toss against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep seagoing carriage as it churned along the street in rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead time surely passes fleet you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming liquor countenance and somewhat husky base for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and disporting he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone I, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys a taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifting in an old time dance hall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant how Seattle and a have you got a load end of poem this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Jennifer Henry a story of the city you all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest tossed against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creek and squeak and rattle of his deep seagoing carriage as it churned along the street in rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead time surely passes fleet you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming liquored countenance and somewhat husky base for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and disporting he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone hi we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys a taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old time dance hall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creek and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant howl Seattle and have you got a load? end of poem this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Kevin S. his story of the city you all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest tossed against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creek and squeak and rattle of his deep seago and carriage as it turned along the street and rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead time surely passes flea you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming liquored countenance and somewhat husky bass for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and sporting he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hacky ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself is gone I, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys the taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old time dancehall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creek and rattle of the ironheel wheels that sang to us and creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant howl Seattle and have you got a load end of poem this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett a story of the city you all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest tossed against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creek and squeak and rattle of his deep sea-going carriage as it churned along the street in rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead time surely passes fleet you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming-lickered countenance and somewhat husky base for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and a sporting he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone I we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys and the tribe is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice up lifted in an old time dance-hall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road with a grafter, with a pleasant how, Seattle? and a have you got a load? end of poem, this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson a story of the city you all recall Seattle and his team of bockey greys and it Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest toss against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep sea-going carriage as it churned along the street in rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead time surely passes, fleet you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming-lickered countenance and somewhat husky base for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and sporting he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone I, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys a taxicab is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old-time dance-hall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant house, Seattle and have you got a load? End of poem this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Madison Rutherford a story of the city you all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven and your salad-ballad days when you steered a trifle tempest-tost against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep seagull and carriage as it turned along the street and Reiner shine he waited from surely past his fleet you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming liquor countenance and somewhat husky base for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and diasporing he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried aye, we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky greys a taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old-time dance-hall song so we'll wait for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sing to us in creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter to have you got a load End of poem this recording is in the public domain The Last of the Hack Drivers by Damon Runyon read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf a story of the city you all recall Seattle and his team of bulky greys who stood at Kelsey's corner for a score of years or more his hack a welcome haven in your salad ballad days when you steered a trifle tempestost against his friendly shore you must recall Seattle and the creak and squeak and rattle of his deep sea-going carriage as it churned along the street in rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated and now they say Seattle's dead time surely passed his fleet you must recall Seattle and his horses Tom and Joe his beaming-lickered countenance and some what husky bass for twenty years of night he stood and watched us come and go and lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly grace he drove you to your courting to your wedding and dis-sporting he stood a beacon of relief from nightfall until dawn when anyone was buried in his good old hack he ferried the mourners to the graveyard where he himself has gone I we all recall Seattle and his team of sulky grays a taxi cab is at his stand and he has passed along but we seem to hear an echo of the ballad salad days his husky voice uplifted in an old time dance-hall song so we'll weep for old Seattle and we'll miss the creak and rattle of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping down the road and in that place hereafter we will greet that kindly grafter with a pleasant howl, Seattle and have you got a load in the poem this recording is in the public domain