Eyewitness

by John Johnson

posted on October 30, 2020

To have a life that spans 96 years and 15 days,

In any epoch—such a man would have a front row seat to history.


Born on the Eastern shore of Maryland,

Son of an overseer on a plantation estate,

Raised by his nanny, naïvely frolicking among the fruit trees,

Not realizing the cruel oppression of the slaves picking the crops in the fields.


He grew up to be a craftsman by trade, spending his prime years as a carpenter,

The skin on his hands calloused and tattered, the evidence of years of honest work.


In his lifetime, 19 different presidents,

In his lifetime, a civil war and two world wars.

In his lifetime, the mundane inventions of the zipper and the Ferris wheel and cotton candy.

In his lifetime, the advent of airplanes and electricity and automobiles and television.


And in his dying days, it was on television that this man was plucked from anonymity,

Not only because of his longevity, but due to a fateful chance occurrence.


Although his ability to tell his story somewhat diminished by the years,

He still was able to proclaim to all, “I’ve Got A Secret.”


Because on Good Friday, when he was 91 years younger,

He personally witnessed a different type of crucifixion.


On that fateful night, a horse drawn buggy galloped some 150 miles to our nation’s capital.

Soldiers on every corner, with guns drawn, as the country is in civil war.

But it is a beautiful spring evening to attend a play, even for a 5 year-old.

And rumors abound that a special guest will be there how exciting!


From his floor level seat, he can see the drapery of the American flags.

The tall, bearded man takes his place.

Our young visitor gets a glimpse at a President, but little did either of them know,

Having already secured his place in history, this night will be the final coda on his legacy.


Mid-way through the show, the assassin’s bullet explodes and echoes in the theater,

The American President slumped in his chair.

Even a five-year old can tell he is dead.


“I saw John Wilkes Booth shoot Abraham Lincoln.”

-Samuel J. Seymour, the last living survivor to attend Ford’s Theater (1956)

About the author

John Johnson is a writer and entrepreneur from McLean, Virginia. His recent poetry has been published in Unique Poetry, The Daily Drunk, and What Rough Beast. He is also the co-author of the book Everydata: The Missing Information in the Little Data You Consume Every Day.