I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home;
From Shemya Island to Point Barrow I roam.
I eat when I'm hungry, I drink when I can;
I'm one of a breed called the White Alice Man.

From day-shift to eve-shift to mid-shift and back,
Day and night lose their meaning, so you quit keeping track.
Your check in the mail says, "There's two more weeks gone.
And your check stub's your calendar when you're a White Alice Man.

From the site comes a phone call, "We're off of the air!"
And it's two miles of white-out between here and there;
Forty-five below zero and a twenty-knot wind,
But you answer the call 'cause you're a White Alice Man.

So it's into the trackmaster and up to the site,
The odds are against you, but you make it all right.
You hit the equipment room on a dead run,
'Cause your buddy's in trouble, and he's a White Alice Man.

The malfunction's discovered and the trouble is cleared,
The site's operational and you're back on the air.
Get that ACR TWX out as fast as you can,
'Cause it's part of your job when you're a White Alice Man.

Now the site's back to normal, the crisis is through,
Strong drink is in order, but black coffee will do.
There's no pat-on-the-back for the job you've just done,
It's just another day's work for a White Alice Man.

So, from Shemya Island to frozen Point Barrow,
Undaunted by misfortune's sharp slings and arrows,
I'll roll with the blows and bounce right back again,
And be damned proud to be called a White Alice Man.

Mike Connelly
Kalakaket Creek 1970