I sing of Charlie, glad and brave whose life we are to celebrate1

A scientist whose life and work can only be described as great.

Both Brooklyn born and Brooklyn grown, whose argot never left his tongue.

No Cambridge could unschool his accent. At Erasmus Hall2 it hung.

He grew up in McCarthy's time. In Brooklyn it was very hard

Especially since Charlie's father's pocket held a Pinko Card.

A star at Harvard—Griffin,3 Skinner4 all would influence his thought

And then to Cambridge where instead to “Row for Jesus” he was sought.

Back to the other Cambridge then, to teach himself how he could be

A physiologist who'd travel far from Hubelness and Wieselry.

No oriented bars for him, but images. It makes me blush

To know that IT neurons thought that Charlie was a toilet brush.5

But tough when scientific opposition snarls and menaces...

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