Another Holiday Classic: An Ode to Ito

A remarkable discovery was made recently regarding Clement Clarke Moore, who wrote that Christmas classic “A Visit From St. Nicholas.” It seems that workers refurbishing a residence once occupied by Moore, who died in 1863, came across a trunk in the attic containing several of his works that had never been published.

Included was a largely different, astonishingly contemporary version of Moore’s famous Yule poem, a tract that proves that, more than merely a skilled technician and sentimentalist, he was one of the most prophetic literary figures of his age. Talk about your futurists.

Now . . . not to boast or anything, but don’t forget that this is the column that once gave you the political thriller “Sandinista Clause” and introduced those now-popular reconstructionist carols “Deck the Halls With Amy Fisher,” “God Rest Ye Merry Cameramen,” “Rudolph the Red,” “Frosty the Anchorman” and the delightfully bawdy “Chests Roasting on an Open Fire.”

Moreover, it was only a couple of years ago that you read in this space a previously unpublished version of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” in which the Cratchits were a Nielsen family and sweet Tiny Tim debauched himself by watching “Geraldo.”

In keeping with that noble tradition, this recently discovered version of Moore’s poem, one the modernist titled “Here Come de Judge,” is offered here for your holiday perusal:

‘Twas the night before trial, when all through the court, Not a brief was stirring, not even a tort; The cameras were posted outside with care, In hopes the defendant would soon be there; Reporters were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of O.J. danced in their heads; And my wife in her kerchief and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap-- When outside the courthouse there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the TV I flew like a glutton, Tore open the doors and pushed the “On” button. The 27-inch picture and its luminous sheen, Gave the luster of midday to the TV screen; When, what to my wondering eyes should then appear, But a miniature sleigh drawn by folks to jeer, With a little old driver, so famous and neat-oh, I knew in a moment it must be Judge Ito. He was dressed in his robe, from his head to his foot, While assigned to a case all tarnished with soot; A bundle of documents he had flung on his back, And he looked like a law clerk just opening his pack. He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, as it did on the telly. But unlike his twinkly interview with Tritia, His eyes were weary, his manner farmisht-a. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name: “Now lawyers, now voyeurs and all Diane Sawyers, “Now Dershowitzes and like-minded glitzes, “Now TV hoods scavenging Brentwood, “Now parasites and troglodytes, “Now Geraldos, now Rickis and other talk sickies, “Now Sally Jessy and lives so messy, “Now eye-to-eye bunglers and all Connie Chunglers, “Now CNN, again and again, “Now Larry King and Brothers Ringling, “Now you damn choppers and TV whoppers, “Now Times, Newsweeks and your rotten leaks, “On radio voids and trapezoids, “On quickie books and Enquirer schnooks, “On ‘Hard Copy’ and ‘Court TV,’ “On yellow glare of ‘A Current Affair,’ “On tabloid clowns chasing Goldmans and Browns, “On media snoops jumping through hoops, “On you lice chasing Heidi Fleiss, “On you vermin harassing Mark Fuhrman, “On shows that dine, from ‘Dateline’ to ‘Nightline,’ “On print corkers and creeps from New Yorker. “Although you plead innocent, “You’re guilty absolutely 100%. “So when you have stopped enjoying the annoying, “With nary a thought of whom you’re destroying. “When you comics have ceased your one-lining, “Without regard for whom your maligning. “When you newsies have stopped that jive, “With all the rumor that’s live at five. “When you have ended your lowest of courses, “With your unreliable sources, “When you have finished going astray, “With Rosey, Faye Resnick and DNA. “When you have finished having your ball, “To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! “Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” “And pretty please, curse you, fall -- please fall!” Only then he exclaimed, ere he drove off a mile, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a fair trial.”