Tuesday morning… August is almost complete. In a few days, it will be September, my birth month, and the official start of fall. Friday, I will be posting “September Song” to Facebook as I do every year. I first heard “September Song” in 1985 when my directing mentor, Joshua Logan, and I sat in his study, a tall Manhattan apartment in the luxurious River House that overlooked the East River and some of Roosevelt Island. Mr. Logan was particularly reminiscent that afternoon and began recounting his directing of KNICKERBOCKER HOLIDAY, a 1938 Broadway hit by composer, Kurt Weill.

As Mr. Logan gazed out the window, he began speaking Maxwell Anderson’s lyrics, slowly, methodically. Then, a few tones of the melody began to worm in. Finally, he was bellowing the chorus.

“The lyrics will mean precious little to you, now.” Mr. Logan turned away from the window and chuckled. “You’re what – twenty-five or six?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Geez. That’s right. I always keep thinking you’re…” Another chuckle. “You, my young friend, are an old soul.”

I had grown up hearing the phrase associated with descriptions of myself, but it never made sense.

“These lyrics will mean more in thirty years… maybe even twenty years.”

Mr. Logan asked me to pull down a songbook from one of his several bookcases. I opened the book to “September Song.” As I accompanied his boisterous voice – yes, even on the most tender ballad, he sang it like a college fight song – I heard a wistfulness in his tone and in the lyrics.

Years later, I connected with his granddaughter, Kate Harrigan, and it has become an annual tradition to post “September Song” every first day of September, just as we each post “The Lusty Month of May” the first day of Spring.  Kate was in the movie, CAMELOT, directed by her grandfather, and is featured in the song as she received a kiss from a young man. Ironically, it was not only Kate’s first on-screen kiss but her first real-life kiss!

“September Song”
English source: James Maxwell Anderson

When I was a young man courting the girls
I played me a waiting game
If a maid refused me with tossing curls
I’d let the old Earth take a couple of whirls
While I plied her with tears in place of pearls
And as time came around she came my way
As time came around she came

But it’s a long, long while from May to December
And the days grow short when you reach September
And the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
And I haven’t got time for waiting game

And the wine dwindles down to a precious brew
September, November,
And these few vintage years I’d share with you
Those vintage years I’d share with you

But it’s a long, long while from May to December
And the days grow short when you reach September
And I have lost one tooth and I walk a little lame
And I haven’t got time for waiting game

And the days turn to gold as they grow few
September, November
And these few golden days I’d spend with you
These golden days I’d spend with you

When you meet with the young men early in Spring
They court you in song and rhyme
They woo you with words and a clover ring
But if you examine the goods they bring
They have little to offer, but the songs they sing
And a plentiful waste of time of day
A plentiful waste of time

But it’s a long, long while from May to December
Will the clover ring last till you reach September
And I’m not quite equipped for the waiting game
But I have a little money and I have a little fame

And the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days I’d spend with you
These precious days I’d spend with you