Skip to main content

The Man in the Glass

In this episode - The Man in the Glass . . .

The Man in the Glass

By – Dale Wimbrow (published 1934)

 

When you get what you want in your struggle for self

And the world makes you king for a day,

Just go to the mirror and look at yourself

And see what That man has to say.

 

For it isn't your father, or mother, or wife,

Whose judgment upon you must pass.

The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life

Is the one staring back from the glass.


Some people may think you a straight-shootin’ chum

And call you a wonderful guy,

But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum

If you can’t look him straight in the eye.

 

He's the fellow to please, never mind all the rest,

For he's with you clear up to the end,

And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test

If the man in the glass is your friend.

 

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years,

And get pats on the back as you pass,

But your final reward will be heartaches and tears

If you've cheated the man in the glass.

 

Peter Dale Wimbrow, better known as Dale Wimbrow, was an American author, radio personality, and songwriter best known for his poem "The Man in the Glass." (March 6, 1895 – January 26, 1954).

Wimbrow's early career was in music and radio. Under his name and as Old Pete Daley of Whaleysville, he became known for his records and radio performances with orchestras. His credits include several recordings in the 1920s, in which he performed as the solo vocalist and often as his own accompanist (on the ukulele).
The majority of those songs were his creations, and he began turning to songwriting almost exclusively in the latter part of the decade. Perhaps his best-known musical composition was the 1930 "Accordion Joe" jazz tune. Played by Duke Ellington's band, it appeared that same year as the soundtrack to an animated short film of the same name starring Betty Boop. The tune has appeared several times in Duke Ellington compilation albums.


Wimbrow wrote “The Guy in the Glass” for publication in The American Magazine in 1934. It is often mistitled as The Man In The Glass. The poem became a popular clipping passed between people, and the author's credit was often dropped, leading to inquiries about the author in newspapers as early as 1938. Ann Landers wrongly attributed the poem to an anonymous drug abuse victim in her column on October 5, 1983. After receiving multiple letters claiming different authorship, she later acknowledged on December 5, 1983, that the true author was Wimbrow.


Wimbrow's most enduring legacy is this inspirational poem, "The Man in the Glass," which still resonates with readers due to its message about self-reflection, personal integrity, and honesty.


I’m Patrick Ball. Thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Don Hanley said…
A great quote and I'd like to hear from you as YOU look in the Glass. And this is broad enough even the Trumper can look in the glass and think he is wonderful, but....

Most Popular of All Time

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

A B+ Kind of Life

Welcome back to this week's On the Fly . Retirement has taught me something unexpected: life gets a lot more enjoyable when you stop chasing perfection. Lately, I've been having an absolute blast playing executive par-3 courses like Rancho Carlsbad . A short iron, a sunny morning, and nowhere to be except the next tee—that's my kind of day. This Thursday, though, I'm raising the stakes. I'm heading to The Links at Lakehouse in San Marcos, a full-size par-71 course with enough water hazards to keep the local fish well-stocked with my golf balls. After shooting a 64 on a par-3 course, I've set myself a new goal: shoot an 89 before my birthday next August. Why 89? Because on a par-71 course, that's bogey golf—one extra stroke per hole. For non-golfers, think of it this way: par is like earning 100% on a final exam. Bogey golf is a solid B+. You got the job done, learned something, and probably had a lot more fun getting there. The older I get, the more I appre...

Resurrecting the '90s Graphite

Let’s face it, there’s a certain danger in reading John Gierach's Trout Bum . His wit, self-deprecation, and sharp, effortless satire are entirely infectious. If you aren't careful, his words will inspire you to drop everything, wade into a freezing river, and try to outsmart a creature with a brain the size of a lentil. In my case, re-reading Gierach recently didn't send me straight to the river. It sent me digging through the dusty, spider-guarded corners of my garage. In the early 1990s, seeking a natural escape from Manhattan's concrete canyons, I decided to learn to cast a fly rod. I bought an Orvis Rocky Mountain —eight-and-a-half feet, three ounces, built for a five-weight line—and had absolutely no idea how to use it. To avoid aimlessly whipping the water like scrambling eggs, I took fly-fishing lessons from Al Cucci, co-author of Hatches , on the Delaware River. With his guidance, I fished renowned waters: the AuSable in New York and Michigan, and New Jersey...

The Endless Work of Wisdom

It always makes me smile. The moment people learn I've officially entered what I like to call the Great Un-Working (retirement), they almost immediately ask the same question: “So . . . What do you do now?" I think they're expecting me to say I'm restoring a vintage sports car, hiking the John Muir Trail, or finally becoming fluent in French.   Instead, I tell them: "I live life deliberately." That's usually the point when I get a polite nod, followed by the unmistakable look of someone wondering whether I've simply found a more sophisticated way to say, “I’m becoming a bum.” Apparently, "living deliberately" sounds suspiciously like unemployment, just better branding. The truth is, what living deliberately looks like for me right now is taking time to synthesize a lifetime of experiences into these weekly reflections. It's slowing down long enough to ask what those experiences have taught me, while keeping the door wide open to the poss...