About Me

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Gladwin, Michigan, United States
Eugene Fritcher was born in Gladwin, Michigan in 1928. He has been the subject of many articles regarding his views on preservation of lakes, rivers, wildlife and forest land. The author lived an extremely active life in his younger years, and through his many jobs, acquaintances and his own experiences, he has gathered a multitude of writing material.

Saturday, July 12, 2014


While hunting in the black river swamp, became lost as I could be
Stumbled upon a fur-clad bearded gent, said his name was Lee
He was puffin on a homemade cigar, smelled like skunk cabbage leaves
Shook hands, then sat down to rest on a fallen cedar tree

I asked for directions, which quickly he pointed out with ease
Just face the wind, follow the sun, check the moss out on the trees
Before I left, on question yet, what would his answer be?
When asked what he was doing there?, this story then relayed to me

There’s too many cars, pollution scars, and cruel society
Rumors of war, terrorist plots, we’ve lost our sanity
It made me sore, couldn’t take more, longed to be free
Headed for the black river swamp, to find my privacy

Took along a saw, axe, candle wax, a change of dungarees
Jumped bog to bog, crossed the river on a log, left no trail to see
Built me a shack, on a little hog-back, carved my initials on a tree
Grew me a beard, sure looked weird, changed my identity

Got bullets, backer, a coon hound tracker, swamp life is for me
Eat roots, berries, wild grapes and cherries, all of them are free
Time to stroll around, with my old coon hound, better it can’t be
Chew spruce gum, sit and hum, while I drink my wintergreen tea

Set beside little black creek, the blue jays talk to me
Grass lands loom, flowers bloom, birds sing sweet harmony
Where bear is king, whip-poor-will sing, all keep me company
I have no clock, time means naught, when living the life of ease

Winters long, nights are cold, at times it’s misery
Snuggle up to my old coon hound, he always sleeps with me
In a few short weeks spring will bring, mosquitoes, flies and fleas
They don’t stay long, then they’re gone, your troubles never leave

Summer days will come, the swamp will hum, nature’s activities
Turtle, coot, porky-pine soup, again my delicacies
Love my shack, can’t go back, I’ve found my liberty
When they find my bones, leave them alone, so the porky-pines may feast

Sooooooo long

Wednesday, January 8, 2014


Seems our big quest of today
is find another planet soon,
Earth now ruined beyond repair
could it be we all face doom?

We probe the sky with telescope,
send spaceships to the moon.
Electronic ears search night and day
for a place where life will bloom.

Greed and over population,
natural resource in decline,
our lakes and streams polluted,
earths situation is not fine.

It only took a few hundred years
to bring earth to no tomorrow.
In just a few years our technology
could leave future worlds in sorrow.

What if our new world is inhabited,
will we commit the same old crime?
Drive them from their homes to starve,
their race unworthy of our kind.

Each night before I retire
I pray God will not let us find,
another planet in his creation
to plunder in such short time.

Sunday, October 6, 2013


We say the American dream is over,
this statement is not entirely true.
Look around, the dream still exists,
but only for an elite select few.

Those willing to plunder our resources
destroying quality life, mind and hand,
profiting by the misfortune of others
polluting rivers, lakes and our land.

They deem this destruction progress,
I say it's almighty dollar in command.
Our jobs shipped to factories in China,
while homeless set forlorn in the sand.

Many have lost homes, been evicted,
work at low paid jobs when they can.
Mortgage defaults by the thousands,
each day more join the jobless band.

Speculators predicting future recovery
are buying up these foreclosure homes,
profiting from the misfortune of others
the victim looking for shelter he roams.

We no longer call hard times depression,
recession holding a much softer tone.
Description makes but little difference,
jobless, homeless, stripped to the bone.

Sunday, September 22, 2013


A gray haired lady sits in a rocker
on her face a near blank stare.
Her glazed eyes fix on a window
as a crowd now gathers there.

Her husband passed on last year,
her children no one can find,
a stroke now leaves her silent
near helpless and weak of mind.

The auctioneer begins his chant
holding items high in his hand,
her life’s belongings he will sell
to the highest bidder from his stand.

Who’ll start the bid on these old jars?
Some with glass lids, most are blue.
Did I here someone say one dollar?
Oh! Come on now do I hear two?

The old ladies hands begin to tremble
her fingers warped by work and time,
her tired hands had filled those old jars
to sell them would seem short of crime.

Here we have a row of box lots
in each treasures untold you’ll find.
Highest bidder will take first pick
the rest each same price, if of a mind.

Now we move on to the fire arms.
Quickly! No time to dally long.
The owner kept them oiled and clean,
each gun he cherished, now he’s gone.

Soon the outside grounds were empty,
selling what’s left inside won’t take long.
Left only antiques and family keepsakes,
and her life’s possessions shall be gone.

By now my mind begins to question
how can life be so cruel, unfair?
A rag doll lay upon an antique table
with rosy cheeks and red yarn hair.

The old lady's head turned slowly
tears filling her saddened eyes,
her aging fingers clutched the doll
a spark of memory seemed to rise.

“Raggedy Ann” from an old rag bag
stuffed with love by someone dear,
was a gift from her sweet mother
held to her heart year after year.

A man's voice echoed from the crowd,
come on“auction off that doll and chair.”
“I don’t want old grandma in the deal,”
such unkind remark, faces turned to stare.

Auctioneers deal with such cutting words
become quite callous and often hard,
only one bid on the doll and chair
then no hands, no bids, no card.

The auctioneer's heart softened
with quivering voice and in tears,
he placed the final bid himself,
"The doll and chair are yours my dear."