Thanks for this post, Sylvie. It's a keeper. Some of the lyrics I've
never heard.
The mention of Earl Robinson's ballad, I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last
Night, reminded me of a couple of old 78's my dad had, and which I
played over and over. "Porterhouse Lucy, the Black Market Steak", and
"The Tower of Babel".
Anyway, I'm passing this along to some folks who will appreciate reading it.
Carl Jarvis
On 11/20/15, S. Kashdan <skashdan@xxxxxxx> wrote:
Greetings all,
The below is a chapter about Joe Hill from Chapter 5 of a good and
sympathetic book
about the Industrial Workers of The World, IWW.
For justice and peace,
Sylvie
Joe Hill: Wobbly Bard
Chapter 5
REBEL VOICES
edited, with introductions, by Joyce L. Kornbluh
"Tomorrow I expect to take a trip to the planet Mars and, if so, will
immediately commence to organize the Mars canal workers into the I.W.W. and
we will sing the good old songs so loud that the learned star-gazers on
earth will once for all get positive proof that the planet Mars really is
inhabited....I have nothing to say for myself only that I have always tried
to make this earth a little better for the great producing class, and I can
pass off into the great unknown with the pleasure of knowing that I never
in
my life double-crossed a man, woman or child."
-- Joe Hill to editor Ben Williams
Solidarity (October 9, 1915).
On November 19, 1915, Joe Hill, a thirty-three year old Wobbly writer, was
killed by a five-man firing squad in the prison yard of the Utah State
Penitentiary. Circumstantial evidence supported the allegation that he had
shot and killed a Salt Lake City grocer on January 10, 1914. His guilt is
still a matter of dispute.
Before he was finally executed, the Joe Hill case had involved President
Wilson, the acting secretary of state, the Swedish ambassador to the United
States, Samuel Gompers, the daughter of the president of the Mormon Church,
and thousands of persons around the world who staged protest demonstrations
and sent letters appealing for his release.
Hill had been a member of the I.W.W. for probably only three years before
he
was arrested for murder in Salt Lake City. He, more than any other one
writer, had made the I.W.W. a singing movement. He was the author of dozens
of Wobbly songs which were printed on song cards and published in the
Industrial Worker, Solidarity, and in the little red songbook. They had
tough, humorous, skeptical words which raked American morality over the
coals.
Joe Hill's songs swept across the country; they were sung in jails,
jungles,
picket lines, demonstrations. I.W.W. sailors carried them to other
countries. Wobblies knew their words as well as they knew the first
sentence
to the I.W.W. Preamble.
Yet, little is known about Joe Hill before he joined the I.W.W. about 1910,
since he drifted from job to job like most single migrants. He chose to be
reticent about the facts of his life, and when a friend wrote to him in
prison asking for some biographical data, Hill scoffingly replied that he
was a "citizen of the world," and his birthplace was "the planet, Earth." 1
In fact, Joe Hill was a Swede, born Joel Emmanuel Haaglund, who came to the
United States about 1901 at the age of nineteen. It was claimed that he
learned English at the YMCA in his hometown and as a seaman on freighters
running between Sweden and England. By 1910, he was an I.W.W. member,
active
around the port of San Pedro, California, and in the next three years took
part in the San Pedro dock workers' strike, the San Diego free speech
campaign, and an abortive revolution in Tia Juana, which aimed to make
Lower
California into a commune.
The date of Hill's arrival in Utah is unknown. It is estimated that he was
there about a month before grocer Morrison's murder. His supporters claimed
that he was "framed" by the Copper Trust and the Mormon Church because he
helped organize workers at the United Construction Company at Bingham,
Utah,
who won a strike in 1913. He may have come in answer to the call from
Utah's
I.W.W. Local 69 to stage a free speech fight. He was unemployed at the time
of his arrest and rooming with his friend, Otto Applequist, at the home of
some Wobblies, the Eselius brothers, in Murray, a suburb of Salt Lake City.
On Saturday night, January 10, 1914, at about 10 P.M., J. B. Morrison was
closing his grocery, helped by his sons, Alving and Merlin. Two men, masked
with red bandannas, broke into the store, rushed toward Morrison with their
revolvers drawn, and fired. One of them shouted, "We've got you now." 2
Fourteen-year-old Merlin later testified that he ran to the rear of the
store while his older brother reached for their father's revolver, lying on
a shelf near the icebox, and fired once before being shot down by the
bandits who then rushed from the store. Alving died immediately; his father
died later that night without regaining consciousness. Witnesses testified
that as one of the men ran out the door he clutched his chest and said,
"Oh,
God, I'm shot." 3 Spots of blood were found in the alley at the rear of the
building, although no blood was found in the store.
Morrison had spent a number of years as a policeman on the Salt Lake City
force, and had told a newspaper reporter that he was afraid of reprisal
from
two men whom he had arrested. He was quoted in a news story as saying, "I
have lived to regret that I ever was a member of the force." 4 He had been
threatened twice before by bandits. In 1903 he had frustrated an attempted
robbery by shooting at his assailants. Four months before his death, his
store was broken into again by two armed men. At the trial Merlin testified
that his father had loaded his gun "just before the men came in." 5
About two hours after the Morrison shooting, Hill arrived at the office of
Dr. F. N. McHugh, about five miles from Morrison's store. He was bleeding
heavily from a bullet wound in his left lung. As McHugh helped Hill remove
his blood-soaked coat, a shoulder holster containing an automatic pistol
fell from his clothes. Hill explained that he had been shot in a quarrel
over a woman. He asked the doctor to keep the incident quiet since he
wished
to protect the woman's reputation. Noting that the bullet had passed
through
Hill's body, McHugh treated the wound. A colleague drove Hill to the
Eselius
home.
McHugh reported Hill's visit to the police and agreed to cooperate in
apprehending him. Three days later, he visited Hill at the Eselius home to
treat the wound and drugged him in the process. A drowsy Hill was aroused
soon after by four policemen, who broke into his room with drawn revolvers.
One fired a shot which grazed Hill's shoulder and went through his right
hand. Although he was in critical condition from his lung and hand wounds,
Hill was put into a solitary cell at the county jail rather than into the
prison hospital. He was charged with the murder of John and Alving Morrison
and imprisoned for five months awaiting trial.
Long before the trial, the Salt Lake City press and police had found Hill
guilty. The San Pedro chief of police forwarded information about Hill's
alien status and I.W.W. membership. It made good copy. The newspapers
published Hill's "crime record" on January 24 and kept up a barrage of
articles vilifying the man and the organization. His lawyers later claimed,
"The main thing the state has against Hill is that he is an I.W.W. and
therefore sure to be guilty. Hill tried to keep the I.W.W. out of it...but
the papers fastened it upon him." 6
Confusion and contradiction marked the testimony of witnesses during the
trial which started June 10, 1914. None of the witnesses, including Merlin
Morrison, identified Hill as one of the men who entered the grocery store.
Although the bullet which had wounded Hill had passed through his body,
leaving a jagged hole in the back of his coat, no slug was found during a
search of the store. The bullet holes in Hill's coat were four inches lower
than those in his body and his lawyers claimed that Hill's hands were over
his head when he had been shot by the assailant. Dr. McHugh had seen only
the handle of Hill's automatic pistol, and Hill claimed that he had tossed
the gun away after leaving the doctor's office. Since the gun could not be
found, it was never proven that Hill had fired the fatal shots.
Hill repeatedly refused to testify or give more information about his
movements the night of January 10. He declined to give the names of the
persons involved in the quarrel which he maintained to his death was the
reason for his wound. He would say nothing about his roommate, Otto
Applequist, suspected as the second gunman, who disappeared from Salt Lake
City the night of the murder and was never found.
In a dramatic outburst during the courtroom trial Hill publicly fired his
lawyers, two attorneys who had volunteered to defend him without charge.
Hill claimed that they were not cross-examining the state's witnesses nor
objecting to leading questions from the district attorney.
Against Hill's wishes, the judge brought the lawyers back into the case as
"friends of the court." Hill tried again to discharge his lawyers and
attempted to conduct his own defense. Toward the end of the trial, the
I.W.W. hired O.N. Hilton of Denver, Colorado, a prominent labor lawyer who
had defended members of the Western Federation of Miners.
Ten days after the trial began, despite irregularities and unanswered
questions, Hill was declared guilty and sentenced to be executed. Hill and
the I.W.W. maintained that he had not had a fair trial.
At a time when defense funds were needed for many I.W.W. prisoners around
the country, Hill was singled out for special help. An appeal for funds in
the April 18, 1914, issue of Solidarity stated that Hill was "one of the
best-known men in the movement, beloved by all who knew him," and went on
to
say:
"Now there is not one in this organization that can say he does not know
this man. For wherever rebels meet, the name of JOE HILL is known. Though
we
do not know him personally, what one among us can say he is not on speaking
terms with "Scissor Bill," "Mr. Block" or who has not heard the "White
Slave" or listened to a rendering of the famous "Casey Jones" song and many
others in the little red songbook?" 7
Early in 1915, a special Joe Hill edition of the I.W.W. songbook was sold
to
raise money for his defense.
Characteristically, Hill's twenty-two months in prison were spent serving
the "Organization." Along with a voluminous correspondence, he continued
producing articles, poems, and songs which filtered through the union's
channels and which were used to raise money on his behalf.
In letters to other Wobblies, he expressed concern about the costs of
carrying his defense to higher courts. To his lawyer, O.N. Hilton, he
wrote:
"I'm afraid we'll have to let it go as is...because I cannot expect my
friends to starve themselves in order to save my life." 8 To Haywood he
wrote: "I can see where money can be used to a great advantage at present
by
the Organization and there is no use to be sentimental about it, Bill; we
cannot afford to let the whole organization go bankrupt just on account of
one individual." 9 Similar letters were sent to Ed Rowan, secretary of Salt
Lake's Local 69, and Elizabeth Gurley Flynn.
As Hill's appeal made its way through the Utah courts, efforts to save him
snowballed into national and international proportions. When the Utah
Supreme Court turned down his appeal in July 1915, over 10,000 letters were
received in the state capitol protesting the decision. Fearing an influx of
Wobbly agitators, officials doubled the guards at Hill's prison and ordered
machine guns placed at the entrance. Since some of the letters contained
threats, the homes of Governor Spry and other state officials were put
under
heavy guard. Ironically, the only act of violence during this time was the
shooting of an unarmed Wobbly soapbox speaker by a Salt Lake City police
captain.
When the Board of Pardons met on September 18 to consider the case, Hill
again refused to tell how he had been shot. Nevertheless, he insisted on
having a new trial. The Board of Pardons refused to change the date of
execution set for thirteen days later by the Utah Supreme Court. This
touched off a series of demonstrations and intercessions which destined the
Joe Hill case to be a cause celebre in United States' history.
Thousands of letters, resolutions, and petitions from all parts of the
world
were received at the state capitol asking Governor Spry to pardon Hill or
commute his sentence. A committee of California women and Virginia Snow
Stephen, the daughter of the president of the Mormon Church, appealed to
the
Swedish minister to the United States to intervene and to ask for a
reprieve
since Hill was still a Swedish citizen. Because of the large amount of mail
the State Department had been receiving and the international implications
of the case, the United States' acting secretary of state also urged the
governor to grant a reprieve.
Convinced that Hill had not had a fair trial, the Swedish minister
contacted
President Wilson the day before the scheduled execution. Wilson telegraphed
Governor Spry asking for a postponement of the execution until the Swedish
minister had had a chance to present his view of the case. After a meeting
with the Board of Pardons, Spry replied to Wilson: "We have found no reason
whatever why clemency should be extended." 10 He agreed to a stay of
execution until the next Board of Pardons' meeting, sixteen days later.
On October 18, despite a direct plea for clemency from the Swedish
minister,
the Utah Board of Pardons denied a commutation of sentence to life
imprisonment. Two days later, Hill was resentenced to die in a month and a
day.
Hundreds of groups in the United States and abroad organized protest
meetings, passed resolutions, and mailed petitions to Utah officials,
President Wilson, and the press. Elizabeth Gurley Flynn and Mrs. J.
Sergeant
Cramm, wife of a member of the New York Public Service Commission, had a
short interview with President Wilson, who promised to intercede again.
A.F.L. President Samuel Gompers sent the Utah governor and Board of Pardons
a resolution passed by the thirty-fifth annual A.F.L. convention in San
Francisco, urging them to stop the execution and grant a new trial. Gompers
telegraphed President Wilson to help save Hill's life, since there was so
much doubt concerning the case.
For the second time, President Wilson wired Governor Spry asking for a
thorough reconsideration of Hill's sentence. Utah officials and the state
press resented this meddling, which, they claimed, was "unworthy, based on
misconception and, if successful, would destroy the usefulness of the
state's courts...." 11 Spry replied firmly to Wilson: "A further
postponement at this time would be an unwarranted interference with the
course of justice." 12
This time, all efforts on Hill's behalf failed. On his last day, Hill wired
Bill Haywood: "Goodbye, Bill. I die like a true blue rebel. Don't waste any
time in mourning. Organize." 13 A second telegram to Haywood read: "It is
only a hundred miles from here to Wyoming. Could you arrange to have my
body
hauled to the state line to be buried? I don't want to be found dead in
Utah. " 14
Haywood replied: "Goodbye, Joe. You will live long in hearts of the working
class. Your songs will be sung wherever workers toil, urging them to
organize." 15
On the afternoon before the execution, Hill was interviewed by a reporter
from the Salt Lake City; Tribune. During the interview, Hill scribbled "My
Last Will," a poem which he gave, together with his silk neck scarf, to Ed
Rowan, who visited him that evening. His last letter was to Elizabeth
Gurley
Flynn.
In Utah a condemned man had his choice--to be hung or to be shot by a
firing
squad. Hill chose to be shot. Legend has it that he shouted the order,
"Fire," to his executioners. The next morning, a New York Times editorial
wondered whether Hill's death "left an opening for people to make a hero of
him" and might make "Hillstrom dead more dangerous to social stability than
when he was alive." 16
Joe Hill was given a martyr's funeral. Following funeral services in Salt
Lake City, his body was shipped to Chicago. There, an estimated 30,000
sympathizers attended the funeral and marched through the streets to the
cemetery. His ashes were put into small envelopes and scattered to the
winds
"in every state of the union and every country of the world" on May Day
1916.
Immediately after Hill's execution, Governor Spry vowed in a press
conference to rid Utah of the "lawless element," stop street speaking, and
"use the militia...if necessary to clear the state...." 17 Virginia Snow
Stephen was fired from the faculty at the University of Utah for her
support
of Hill, and lawyer O.N. Hilton, who gave the funeral address in Chicago,
was disbarred in Utah.
There are too few facts known to separate adequately the legend of Joe Hill
from the man. Chaplin wrote that Hill neither smoked, drank, nor was a
ladies' man; he was noted for his generosity and frequently "gave away his
last rice." 18 On the other hand, Mac McClintock, who only met Hill two or
three times, claimed he remembered him as a "real life Raffles" in a
conservative blue suit and black tie, who, if he was a criminal, "robbed
from the robbers." 19 But no one, recalled Mac, ever saw Hill get into a
fight.
Hill's songs and writings articulated the simple Marxism of the I.W.W.
Preamble and the Wobbly philosophy of "direct action." His article, "The
People," complained sardonically of the attitudes of national politicians.
He criticized the "ruling class" for their selfishness and lack of morality
in human relations. He shared with other Wobblies the sentiment that "war
certainly shows up the capitalist system in its right light. Millions of
men
are employed at making ships and others are hired to sink them. Scientific
management, eh wot?" 20 On the struggle for existence, he remarked:
"Self-preservation is, or should be, the first law of nature. The animals
when in a natural stage are showing us the way. When they are hungry they
will always try to get something to eat or else they will die in the
attempt. That's natural; to starve to death is unnatural." 21
Yet he was perceptive enough to understand that "as a rule, a fellow don't
bother his head much about unions and theories of the class struggle when
his belly is flapping up against his spine." 22
Within the I.W.W. his songs were recognized for their inspiration and
recruiting value because he articulated the frustrations, hostilities, and
humor of the homeless and the dispossessed. As one member of the
organization put it:
"How did Joe Hill come to write such songs as that? How did he know how the
workers on the Fraser River felt? How did he know how it felt to have your
pay envelope short of the price of two loaves of bread so you went out on
the streets with the workers from the textile mills of Lawrence....Wherever
Joe Hill was he somehow felt like the workers and he wrote for them a
song....How astonishing! People from all parts of the world, all speaking
different dialects and all singing the same song." 23
A lyrical description of Hill's songs was voiced by Ralph Chaplin who
wrote:
"[they are] as coarse as homespun and as fine as silk; full of lilting
laughter and keen-edged satire; full of fine rage and finer tenderness;
simple, forceful and sublime songs; songs of and for the worker, written in
the only language that he can understand and set to the music of Joe Hill's
own heart." 24
Hill was eulogized by I.W.W. writers Ralph Chaplin, Covington Hall, Cash
Stevens, Henry George Weiss, T-Bone Slim, and many others. His songs
continued to be sung all over the world. "The Preacher and the Slave" and
"Casey Jones" became American folk songs, and "pie in the sky," a slogan
for
a generation in the 1930s. Hill, the man, became a legend compared to Paul
Bunyan, John Henry, Johnny Appleseed, and other folkheroes--preserved by
novelists, playwrights, poets, and researchers.
His story has inspired more writing than any other labor hero.
In 1947, Wallace Stegner wrote that Joe Hill's biography in Dos Passos's
1919 and Earl Robinson's ballad "I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night,"
"...have built Joe Hill into a folk hero, almost the number one labor
martyr
and legend....People have made him into a Galahad, a hero, and a martyr,
and
they have done so because he gave them the opportunity, he offered the
leads. He had what none of the other dozens of eligible martyrs
had--imagination, a flair. His curtain line was magnificent: "Don't waste
any time in mourning. Organize!" He died for a cause, for a principle, for
a
woman's honor, for the things that fire the imagination, and the world-wide
scattering of his ashes was a fitting finale. That symbolic act fertilized
both the movement his songs served and the legend of labor's songster." 25
Most recently, writer Barry Nichols has called Joe Hill "the Twentieth
Century's first egghead, he-man folk hero." 26
Wobblies, socialists, communists, A.F.L.--C.I.O. members transcend
sectarian
differences to sing Joe Hill's songs and share his lore. The man and the
martyr have combined into a continuing legend of "the man who never died."
1
"The Preacher and the Slave," sometimes called "Pie in the Sky" or
"Long-Haired Preachers," is considered Joe Hill's masterpiece. It was
printed in the third edition of the I.W.W. songbook and sung to the hymn
tune, "Sweet Bye and Bye." Twelve years after Hill's death, Carl Sandburg
included it in his collection, The American Song-bag (New York, 1927). The
song quickly became a part of American folk tradition.
Henry F. May in his book, The End of American Innocence (New York, 1961),
wrote: "Here, if anywhere, was a clear breach with timidity, moralism, and
the whole manner and content of the standard American culture. 'Long-haired
preachers' try to tell us what's right and wrong, but turn out to offer
only
'pie in the sky.'"
THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE *
By JOE HILL
(Tune: "Sweet Bye and Bye")
Long-haired preachers come out every night,
Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right;
But when asked how 'bout something to eat
They will answer with voices so sweet:
Chorus:
You will eat, bye and bye,
In that glorious land above the sky;
Work and pray, live on hay,
You'll get pie in the sky when you die.
The starvation army they play,
They sing and they clap and they pray.
Till they get all your coin on the drum,
Then they tell you when you are on the bum:
Chorus:
You will eat, bye and bye,
In that glorious land above the sky;
Work and pray, live on hay,
You'll get pie in the sky when you die.
Holy Rollers and jumpers come out,
They holler, they jump and they shout.
Give your money to Jesus they say,
He will cure all diseases today.
If you fight hard for children and wife--
Try to get something good in this life--
You're a sinner and bad man, they tell,
When you die you will sure go to hell.
Workingmen of all countries unite,
Side by side we for freedom will fight:
When the world and its wealth we have gained
To the grafters we'll sing this refrain:
Last Chorus:
You will eat, bye and bye.
When you've learned how to cook and to fry;
Chop some wood, 'twill do you good,
And you'll eat in the sweet bye and bye.
2
"Casey Jones--The Union Scab" is said to have been written by Joe Hill in
1911 during a strike of shop workers on the Southern Pacific Railroad in
San
Pedro, California, when engineers and some other skilled craft workers
continued to operate the trains. Hill's parody is set to the popular "Casey
Jones" song about the brave engineer who stuck to the wheel of his train.
Barrie Stavis, in the introduction to The Man Who Never Died (New York,
1954), wrote: "Joe Hill's song writing career was launched. The song helped
to hold the strikers together. It was sung by the men on the picket line
and
by those who were clubbed and thrown into jail. It was printed on colored
cards, about the size of a playing card, and sold, the proceeds going to
the
strike fund. Overnight the song became famous. Migratory laborers carried
it
on their lips as they moved across the nation; sailors carried it across
the
ocean."
Two articles by folklorists Duncan Emrich and William Alderson on Joe
Hill's
"Casey Jones" appear in the California Folklore Quarterly (Winter 1942, p.
293 and pp. 373 through 376).
The song was printed in the fourth edition of the I.W.W. songbook.
CASEY JONES--THE UNION SCAB *
By JOE HILL
(Tune: "Casey Jones")
The Workers on the S.P. line to strike sent out a call;
But Casey Jones, the engineer, he wouldn't strike at all;
His boiler it was leaking, and its drivers on the bum,
And his engine and its bearings, they were all out of plumb.
Chorus:
Casey Jones kept his junk pile running;
Casey Jones was working double time;
Casey Jones got a wooden medal,
For being good and faithful on the S.P. line.
The Workers said to Casey: "Won't you help us win this strike?"
But Casey said: "Let me alone, you'd better take a hike."
Then some one put a bunch of railroad ties across the track,
And Casey hit the bottom with an awful crack.
Chorus:
Casey Jones hit the river bottom;
Casey Jones broke his blessed spine,
Casey Jones was an Angeleno,
He took a trip to heaven on the S.P. line.
When Casey Jones got up to heaven to the Pearly Gate,
He said: "I'm Casey Jones, the guy that pulled the S.P. freight."
"You're just the man," said Peter; "our musicians went on strike;
You can get a job a-scabbing any time you like."
Chorus:
Casey Jones got up to heaven;
Casey Jones was doing mighty fine;
Casey Jones went scabbing on the angels,
Just like he did to workers on the S.P. line.
The angels got together, and they said it wasn't fair,
For Casey Jones to go around a-scabbing everywhere.
The Angels Union No. 23, they sure were there,
And they promptly fired Casey down the Golden Stair.
Chorus:
Casey Jones went to Hell a-flying.
"Casey Jones," the Devil said, "Oh, fine;
Casey Jones, get busy shoveling sulpher-
That's what you get for scabbing on the S.P. line."
3
"Coffee An'" was printed in the fourth edition of the I.W.W. songbook.
COFFEE AN'
Composed by J. H. of the I.W.W.
(Tune: "Count Your Blessings")
An employment shark the other day I went to see,
And he said, "Come in and buy a job from me,
Just a couple of dollars for the office fee,
But the job is steady and the fare is free."
Chorus:
Count your pennies, count them one by one,
And you'll plainly see how you are done,
Count your pennies, take them in your hand,
Sneak into a lap's, and get your coffee an'.
I shipped out and worked and worked and slept in lousy bunks,
And the grub it stunk as bad as forty-'leven skunks,
When I slaved a week the boss he said one day,
"You're too tired, you are fired, go and get your pay."
Chorus.
When the clerk commenced to count,
Oh, holy gee!
Road and school and poll tax and the hospital fee.
Then I fainted and I nearly lost my sense
When the clerk he said,
"You owe me fifty cents.
Chorus.
When I got back to town with blisters on my feet
There I heard a fellow speaking on the street,
And he said, "It is the workers' own mistake,
If they stick together they get all they make."
Chorus.
And he said, "Come in and join our union grand.
Who will be a member of this fighting band?"
"Write me out a card," says I, "By gee!
The Industrial Workers is the dope for me."
Chorus:
Count your workers, count them one by one,
Join our union and we'll show you how it's done.
Stand together, workers, hand in hand.
Then we'll never have to live on coffee an'.
4.
The Industrial Worker (April 11, 1912) included a news story on a strike of
construction workers on the Canadian Northern Railroad which reported,
"...the main thing that caused the walk-out was the foul conditions of the
camps in which the men were herded." Four weeks later an article in the
Industrial Worker (May 9, 1912) stated
"The strikers on the Canadian Northern are singing songs as they carry on
the strike. The songs are said to be the work of Fellow Worker J. Hill.
Lack
of space prevents the publication of more than one of them."
WHERE THE FRASER RIVER FLOWS *
(Tune: "Where the Shannon River Flows")
Fellow workers, pay attention to what I'm gonna mention,
For it is the fixed intention of the Workers of the World,
And I hope you'll all be ready, true-hearted, brave and steady,
To rally round the standard when the Red Flag is unfurled.
Chorus:
Where the Fraser River flows,
Each fellow worker knows,
They have bullied and oppressed us,
But still our Union grows.
And we're going to find a way, boys;
For shorter hours and better pay, boys;
And we're going to win the day, boys;
Where the Fraser River flows.
//
For these gunny-sack contractors have all been dirty actors,
And they're not our benefactors, each fellow worker knows.
So we've got to stick together in fine or dirty weather,
And we will show no white feather, where the Fraser River flows.
Now the boss the law is stretching, bulls and pimps he's fetching,
And they are a fine collection, as Jesus only knows.
But why their mothers reared them, and why the devil spared them,
Are questions we can't answer, where the Fraser River flows.
5.
"Mr. Block," published in the Industrial Worker (January 23, 1913), was the
first of a group of eight new Joe Hill songs printed in that paper during
the following four months. Sociologist Carleton Parker, investigating the
1913 hop-pickers' strike on the Durst Brothers' ranch in Wheatland,
California, wrote in his report on the Wheatland Riot that the sheriff and
his deputies fired into a group of 2000 strikers who were singing "Mr.
Block" (The Casual Laborer and Other Essays, New York, 1920). The song
inspired Ernest Riebe's popular series of "Mr. Block" cartoons which
appeared in Solidarity, the Industrial Worker, and other I.W.W.
publications.
MR. BLOCK *
By JOE HILL
(Tune: "It Looks to Me Like a Big Time Tonight")
Please give me your attention, I'll introduce to you
A man that is a credit to "Our Red, White and Blue";
His head is made of lumber, and solid as a rock;
He is a common worker and his name is Mr. Block.
And Block thinks he may
Be President some day.
Chorus:
Oh, Mr. Block you were born by mistake,
You take the cake,
You make me ache.
Tie a rock on your block and then jump in the lake,
Kindly do that for liberty's sake.
Yes, Mr. Block is lucky; he found a job, by gee!
The shark got seven dollars, for job and fare and fee.
They shipped him to the desert and dumped him with his truck,
But when he tried to find his job he sure was out of luck.
He shouted, "That's too raw,
I'll fix them with the law."
Block hiked back to the city, but wasn't doing well.
He said, "I'll join the union--the great A.F. of L."
He got a job next morning, got fired in the night,
He said, "I'll see Sam Gompers and he'll fix that foreman right."
Sam Gompers said, "You see,
You've got our sympathy."
Election Day he shouted, "A Socialist for Mayor!"
The "comrade" got elected, he happy was for fair,
But after the election he got an awful shock,
A great big Socialist Bull did rap him on the block.
And Comrade Block did sob,
"I helped him to his job."
Poor Block, he died one evening, I'm very glad to state;
He climbed the golden ladder up to the pearly gate.
He said, "Oh, Mr. Peter, one word I'd like to tell,
I'd like to meet the Asterbilts and John D. Rockefell."
Old Pete said, "Is that so?
You'll meet them down below."
6.
"Scissorbill," one of Joe Hill's most popular songs, was printed in the
Industrial Worker (February 16, 1913).
SCISSOR BILL *
By JOE HILL
(Tune: "Steamboat Bill")
You may ramble round the country anywhere you will,
You'll always run across the same old Scissor Bill.
He's found upon the desert, he is upon the hill,
He's found in every mining camp and lumber mill
He looks just like a human, he can eat and walk,
But you will find he isn't, when he starts to talk.
He'll say, "This is my country," with an honest face,
While all the cops they chase him out of every place.
Chorus:
Scissor Bill, he is a little dippy,
Scissor Bill, he has a funny face.
Scissor Bill should drown in Mississippi,
He is the missing link that Darwin tried to trace.
And Scissor Bill, he couldn't live without the booze,
He sits around all day and spits tobacco juice.
He takes a deck of cards and tries to beat the Chink!
Yes, Bill would be a smart guy if he could only think.
And Scissor Bill he says: "This country must be freed
From Niggers, Japs and Dutchmen and the gol durn Swede."
He says that every cop would be a native son
If it wasn't for the Irishman, the son-of-a-gun.
Chorus:
Scissor Bill, the "foreigners" is cussin';
Scissor Bill, he says "I hate a Coon";
Scissor Bill is down on everybody
The hottentots, the bushmen and the man in the moon.
Don't try to talk your union dope to Scissor Bill,
He says he never organized and never will.
He'll always be satisfied until he's dead,
With coffee and a doughnut and a lousy old bed.
And Bill, he says he gets rewarded thousand fold,
When he gets up to Heaven on the streets of gold.
But I don't care who knows it, and right here I'll tell.
If Scissor Bill is going to Heaven, I'll go to Hell.
Chorus:
Scissor Bill, wouldn't join the union,
Scissor Bill, he says, "Not me, by Heck!"
Scissor Bill gets his reward in Heaven,
Oh! sure. He'll get it, but he'll get it in the neck.
7.
Joe Hill's article, "The People," appeared in the Industrial Worker (March
6, 1913).
THE PEOPLE
By J. HILL
"The People's flag is deepest red." Who are the people?
"God knows" Taft stands for "the people." If you don't believe it just read
the "Los Angeles Crimes" and you will find out that, next to General
Debility Otis, Taft is the greatest man in the country. Yes, Fatty stands
for the people all right --when he is standing, but he is sitting down most
of the time.
And "Teddy da Roos," who used to peddle the Bull Moose, is also very strong
for "the people."
Some time ago he wasn't so strong and then it was that he invented a
policeman's riot club filled with spikes. It would crush the skull of a
wage
slave with one blow. Yes, "Teddy da Roos," he is strong for "the people."
And Woodhead Wilson, he is for "the people" too. This is what he said in
one
of his speeches: "Why shouldn't the children of the working-class be taught
to do the work their parents are now doing?" Of course, he meant to say
"Why
shouldn't the children of the rich be taught to rob the class their parents
are now robbing?" And he is going to give "the people" free silver, he
says,
but if a working stiff wants any silver he has to peel off his coat and hop
to the stormy end of a No. 2.
When the Red Flag was flying in Lower California there were not any of "the
people" in the ranks of the rebels. Common working stiffs and cow-punchers
were in the majority, with a little sprinkling of "outlaws," whatever that
is.
"The people" used to come down there on Sunday in their stinkwagons to take
a look at "The wild men with their Red Flag" for two-bits a look. But if
the
Mexican or the Indian regiment happened to be a little overjoyed from
drinking "mescal" and took a notion to have a bit of sociable target
practice, or to try to make buttonholes for one another without taking
their
clothes off, then "the people" would almost break their legs to get to
their
stinkwagons and make a bee-line for the "Land of the Graft and the Home of
the Slave."
Well, it is about time that every rebel wakes up to the fact that "the
people" and the working-class have nothing in common. Let us sing after
this
"The Workers' flag is deepest red" and to hell with "the people."
8.
Set to the Stephen Foster tune, "My Old Kentucky Home," this song first
appeared in the Industrial Worker (March 6, 1913).
WE WILL SING ONE SONG *
By JOE HILL
We will sing one song of the meek and humble slave,
The horny-handed son of the soil,
He's toiling hard from the cradle to the grave,
But his master reaps the profits of his toil.
Then we'll sing one song of the greedy master class,
They're vagrants in broadcloth, indeed,
They live by robbing the ever-toiling mass,
Human blood they spill to satisfy their greed.
Chorus:
Organize! O, toilers, come organize your might;
Then we'll sing one song of the Workers' Commonwealth
Full of beauty, full of love and health.
We will sing one song of the politician sly,
He's talking of changing the laws;
Election day all the drinks and smokes he'll buy,
While he's living from the sweat of your brows.
Then we'll sing one song of the girl below the line,
She's scorned and despised everywhere,
While in their mansions the "keepers" wine and dine
From the profits that immoral traffic bear.
We will sing one song of the preacher, fat and sleek,
He tells you of homes in the sky.
He says "Be generous, be lowly and be meek
If you don't you'll sure get roasted when you die."
Then we'll sing one song of the poor and ragged tramp,
He carries his home on his back;
Too old to work, he's not wanted round the camp,
So he wanders without aim along the track.
We will sing one song of the children in the mills,
They're taken from the playgrounds and schools.
In tender years made to go the pace that kills,
In the sweatshops, 'mong the looms and spools.
Then we'll sing one song of the One Big Union Grand.
The hope of the toiler and the slave,
It's coming fast; it is sweeping sea and land,
To the terror of the grafter and the knave.
9.
This song first appeared in the Industrial Worker (March 6, 1913).
WHAT WE WANT
By J. HILL
(Tune: "Rainbow")
We want all the workers in the world to organize
Into a great big union grand
And when we all united stand
The world for workers we'll demand
If the working class could only see and realize
What mighty power labor has
Then the exploiting master class
It would soon fade away.
Chorus
Come all ye toilers that work for wages,
Come from every land,
Join the fighting band,
In one union grand,
Then for the workers we'll make upon this earth a paradise
When the slaves get wise and organize.
We want the sailor and the tailor and the lumber-jacks,
And all the cooks and laundry girls,
We want the guy that dives for pearls,
The pretty maid that's making curls,
And the baker and staker and the chimneysweep,
We want the man that's slinging hash,
The child that works for little cash
In one union grand.
Chorus
We want the tinner and the skinner and the chamber-maid,
We want the man that spikes on soles,
We want the man that's digging holes,
We want the man that's climbing poles,
And the trucker and the mucker and the hired man,
And all the factory girls and clerks,
Yes, we want every one that works,
In one union grand.
10.
Joe Hill set these verses to the popular Civil War song, "Tramp, Tramp,
Tramp, the Boys Are Marching." It was published in the Industrial Worker
(May 22, 1913), and included fourteen years later in Sandburg's The
American
Songbag.
THE TRAMP *
By JOE HILL
(Tune: "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys Are Marching")
If you all will shut your trap,
I will tell you 'bout a chap,
That was broke and up against it, too, for fair;
He was not the kind that shirk,
He was looking hard for work,
But he heard the same old story everywhere.
Chorus:
Tramp, tramp, tramp keep on a-tramping,
Nothing doing here for you;
If I catch you 'round again,
You will wear the ball and chain,
Keep on tramping, that's the best thing you can do.
//
He walked up and down the street,
'Till the shoes fell off his feet.
In a house he spied a lady cooking stew,
And he said "How do you do,
May I chop some wood for you?"
What the lady told him made him feel so blue.
(Chorus)
'Cross the road a sign he read,
"Work for Jesus," so it said,
And he said, "Here is my chance, I'll surely try,"
And he kneeled upon the floor,
'Till his knees got rather sore,
But at eating time he heard the preacher cry-
(Chorus)
Down the street he met a cop,
And the copper made him stop,
And he asked him, "When did you blow into town?
Come with me up to the judge,"
But the judge he said, "Oh, fudge,
Bums that have no money needn't come around."
(Chorus)
Finally came that happy day,
When his life did pass away,
He was sure he'd go to heaven when he died.
When he reached the Pearly Gate,
Santa Peter, mean old skate,
Slammed the gate right in his face and loudly cried:
(Chorus)
In despair he went to Hell,
With the Devil, for to dwell,
For the reason he'd no other place to go.
And he said, "I'm full of sin,
So for Christ's sake let me in!"
But the Devil said, "Oh beat it, you're a 'bo."
(Chorus.)
11.
Joe Hill set these verses to the gospel hymn tune, "There Is Power in the
Blood." The song was printed in the fifth edition of the I.W.W. songbook.
THERE IS POWER IN A UNION *
By JOE HILL
(Tune: "There Is Power in the Blood")
Would you have freedom from wage slavery,
Then join in the grand Industrial band;
Would you from mis'ry and hunger be free,
Then come! Do your share, like a man.
Chorus:
There is pow'r, there is pow'r In a band of workingmen,
When they stand hand in hand,
That's a pow'r, that's a pow'r
That must rule in every land--
One Industrial Union Grand.
//
Would you have mansions of gold in the sky,
And live in a shack, way in the back?
Would you have wings up in heaven to fly?
And starve here with rags on your back?
//
If you've had "nuff" of "the blood of the lamb"
Then join in the grand Industrial band;
If, for a change, you would have eggs and ham,
Then come! Do your share, like a man.
//
If you like sluggers to beat off your head,
Then don't organize, all unions despise,
If you want nothing before you are dead,
Shake hands with your boss and look wise.
//
Come all ye workers, from every land,
Come join in the grand Industrial band,
Then we our share of this earth shall demand.
Come on! Do your share, like a man.
12.
These verses appeared in the Industrial Worker (May 29, 1913).
STUNG RIGHT *
By JOE HILL
(Air: "Sunlight, Sunlight")
When I was hiking 'round the town to find a job one day,
I saw a sign that thousand men were wanted right away,
To take a trip around the world in Uncle Sammy's fleet,
I signed my name a dozen times upon a great big sheet.
Chorus
Stung right, stung right, S-T-U-N-G,
Stung right, stung right, E. Z. Mark, that's me;
When my term is over, and again I'm free,
There will be no more trips around the world for me.
//
The man he said, "The U.S. fleet, that is no place for slaves,
The only thing you have to do is stand and watch the waves."
But in the morning, five o'clock, they woke me from my snooze,
To scrub the deck and polish brass and shine the captain's shoes.
//
One day a dude in uniform to me commenced to shout,
I simply plugged him in the jaw and knocked him down and out;
They slammed me right in irons then and said, "You are a case,"
On bread and water then I lived for twenty-seven days.
//
One day the captain said, "Today I'll show you something nice,
All hands line up, we'll go ashore and have some exercise."
He made us run for seven miles as fast as we could run,
And with a packing on our back that weighed a half a ton.
//
Some time ago when Uncle Sam he had a war with Spain,
And many of the boys in blue were in the battle slain,
Not all were killed by bullets, though; no, not by any means,
The biggest part that died were killed by Armour's Pork and Beans.
13.
"Nearer My Job to Thee" was printed in the sixth edition of the I.W.W.
songbook and set to the tune, "Nearer My God to Thee."
NEARER MY JOB TO THEE
Words by J.H. of the I.W.W.
Nearer my job to thee,
Nearer with glee,
Three plunks for the office fee,
But my fare is free.
My train is running fast,
I've got a job at last,
Nearer my job to thee
Nearer to thee.
//
Arrived where my job should be,
Nothing in sight I see,
Nothing but sand, by gee,
Job went up a tree.
No place to eat or sleep,
Snakes in the sage brush creep.
Nero a saint would be,
Shark, compared to thee.
//
Nearer to town! each day
(Hiked all the way),
Nearer that agency,
Where I paid my fee,
And when that shark I see
You'll bet your boots that he Nearer his god shall be.
Leave that to me.
14
This article by Joe Hill was published in the International Socialist
Review
(December 1914).
HOW TO MAKE WORK FOR THE UNEMPLOYED
By JOE HILL
Much has been written lately about various new ways and tactics of carrying
on the class struggle to emancipate the workers from wage slavery.
Some writers propose to "organize with the unemployed"; that is, to feed
and
house them in order to keep them from taking the jobs away from the
employed
workers. Others again want to organize a Gunmen Defense Fund to purchase
machine guns and high powered rifles for all union men, miners especially,
that they may protect themselves from the murderous onslaughts of the
private armies of the master class. Very well; these tactics MAY be
perfectly good, but the question arises: Who is going to pay for all this?
Estimating the unemployed army to be about five millions in number and the
board bill of one individual to be five dollars a week, we find that the
total board bill of the whole unemployed army would be twenty-five million
dollars per week.
The price of a machine gun is about $600 and a modern high-power rifle
costs
from $20 to $30. By doing a little figuring we find that fifty million
dollars would not be sufficient to buy arms for the miners, let alone the
rest of the organized workers. Every workingman and woman knows that, after
all the bills are paid on pay day, there is not much left to feed the
unemployed army or to buy war supplies with.
What the working class needs today is an inexpensive method by which to
fight the powerful capitalist class and they have just such a weapon in
their own hands.
This weapon is without expense to the working class and if intelligently
and
systematically used, it will not only reduce the profits of the exploiters,
but also create more work for the wage earners. If thoroughly understood
and
used more extensively it may entirely eliminate the unemployed army, the
army used by the employing class to keep the workers in submission and
slavery.
In order to illustrate the efficacy of this new method of warfare, I will
cite a little incident. Some time ago the writer was working in a big
lumber
yard on the west coast. On the coast nearly all the work around the water
fronts and lumber yards is temporary.
When a boat comes in a large number of men are hired and when the boat is
unloaded these men are "laid off." Consequently it is to the interest of
the
workers "to make the job last" as long as possible.
The writer and three others got orders to load up five box cars with
shingles. When we commenced the work we found, to our surprise, that every
shingle bundle had been cut open. That is, the little strip of sheet iron
that holds the shingles tightly together in a bundle, had been cut with a
knife or a pair of shears, on every bundle in the pile--about three
thousand
bundles in all.
When the boss came around we notified him about the accident and, after
exhausting his supply of profanity, he ordered us to get the shingle press
and re-bundle the whole batch. It took the four of us ten whole days to put
that shingle pile into shape again. And our wages for that time, at the
rate
of 32c per hour, amounted to $134.00. By adding the loss on account of
delay
in shipment, the "holding money" for the five box cars, etc., we found that
the company's profit for that day had been reduced about $300.
So there you are. In less than half an hour's time somebody had created ten
days' work for four men who would have been otherwise unemployed, and at
the
same time cut a big chunk off the boss's profit. No lives were lost, no
property was destroyed, there were no law suits, nothing that would drain
the resources of the organized workers. But there WERE results. That's all.
This same method of fighting can be used in a thousand different ways by
the
skilled mechanic or machine hand as well as by the common laborer. This
weapon is always at the finger tips of the worker, employed or unemployed.
If every worker would devote ten or fifteen minutes every day to the
interests of himself and his class, after devoting eight hours or more to
the interests of his employer, it would not be long before the unemployed
army would be a thing of the past and the profit of the bosses would melt
away so fast that they would not be able to afford to hire professional
man-killers to murder the workers and their families in a case of strike.
The best way to strike, however, is to "strike on the job." First present
your demands to the boss. If he should refuse to grant them, don't walk out
and give the scabs a chance to take your places. No, just go back to work
as
though nothing had happened and try the new method of warfare.
When things begin to happen be careful not to "fix the blame" on any
certain
individual unless that individual is an "undesirable" from a working class
point of view.
The boss will soon find that the cheapest way out of it is to grant your
demands. This is not mere theory; it has been successfully tried more than
once to the writer's personal knowledge.
Striking on the job is a science and should be taught as such.
It is extremely interesting on account of its many possibilities. It
develops mental keenness and inventive genius in the working class and is
the only known antidote for the infamous "Taylor System."
The aim of the "Taylor System" seems to be to work one-half the workers to
death and starve the other half to death. The strike on the job will give
every worker a chance to make an honest living. It will enable us to take
the child slaves out of the mill and sweat-shop and give their unemployed
fathers a chance to work. It will stop the butchering of the workers in
time
of peace as well as in time of war.
If you imagine "Making Work for the Unemployed" is unfair, just remember
Ludlow and Calumet and don't forget Sacramento where the men who were
unable
to get work had their brains beaten out by the Hessians of the law and were
knocked down and drenched to the skin with streams of ice-cold water
manipulated by the city fire department, where the unemployed were driven
out of the city and in the rain only to meet the pitchforks of the farmers.
And what for? For the horrible crime of asking the governor of
California--for A JOB!
This is the way the capitalist class uses the working class when they can
no
longer exploit them--in the name of Law and Order. Remember this when you
MAKE WORK FOR THE UNEMPLOYED!
15
Joe Hill composed the words and the music to this song, which appeared in
the ninth edition of the I.W.W. songbook.
WORKERS OF THE WORLD, AWAKEN! *
By JOE HILL
Workers of the world, awaken!
Break your chains, demand your rights.
All the wealth you make is taken
By exploiting parasites.
Shall you kneel in deep submission
From your cradles to your graves?
Is the height of your ambition
To be good and willing slaves?
Refrain:
Arise, ye prisoners of starvation!
Fight for your own emancipation;
Arise, ye slaves of every nation
In One Union Grand.
Our little ones for bread are crying,
And millions are from hunger dying;
The means the end is justifying,
'Tis the final stand.
//
If the workers take a notion,
They can stop all speeding trains;
Every ship upon the ocean
They can tie with mighty chains;
Every wheel in the creation,
Every mine and every mill,
Fleets and armies of the nation
Will at their command stand still.
//
Join the union, fellow workers,
Men and women, side by side;
We will crush the greedy shirkers
Like a sweeping, surging tide.
For united we are standing,
But divided we will fall;
Let this be our understanding--
"All for one and one for all."
//
Workers of the world, awaken!
Rise in all your splendid might;
Take the wealth that you are making,
It belongs to you by right.
No one will for bread be crying,
We'll have freedom, love and health
When the grand red flag is flying
In the Workers' Commonwealth.
16.
These verses set to the popular tune "Ta-Ra-Ra Boom De-Ay" appeared in the
ninth edition of the I.W.W. songbook. Prosecuting attorneys in some of the
federal and state trials used the song as evidence of I.W.W. intent to
commit acts of sabotage if the workers' requests for better working
conditions were not granted.
TA-RA-RA BOOM DE-AY
By JOE HILL
I had a job once threshing wheat, worked sixteen hours with hands and feet.
And when the moon was shining bright, they kept me working all the night
One moonlight night, I hate to tell, I "accidentally" slipped and fell.
My pitchfork went right in between some cog wheels of that thresh-machine.
Chorus:
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
It made a noise that way,
And wheels and bolts and hay,
Went flying every way.
That stingy rube said, "Well!
A thousand gone to hell."
But I did sleep that night,
I needed it all right.
//
Next day that stingy rube did say, "I'll bring my eggs to town today;
You grease my wagon up, you mutt, and don't forget to screw the nut."
I greased his wagon all right, but, I plumb forgot to screw the nut,
And when he started on that trip, the wheel slipped off and broke his hip.
Second Chorus:
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
It made a noise that way.
That rube was sure a sight,
And mad enough to fight;
His whiskers and his legs
Were full of scrambled eggs:
I told him, "That's too bad--
I'm feeling very sad."
//
And then that farmer said, "You turk! I bet you are an I-Won't-Work."
He paid me off right there, By Gum! So I went home and told my chum.
Next day when threshing did commence, my chum was Johnny on the fence;
And 'pon my word, that awkward kid, he dropped his pitchfork, like I did.
Third Chorus:
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
It made a noise that way,
And part of that machine
Hit Reuben on the bean.
He cried, "Oh me, oh my;
I nearly lost my eye."
My partner said, "You're right--
It's bedtime now, good night."
//
But still that rube was pretty wise, these things did open up his eyes.
He said, "There must be something wrong; I think I work my men too long."
He cut the hours and raised the pay, gave ham and eggs for every day,
Now gets his men from union hall, and has no "accidents" at all.
Fourth Chorus:
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
That rube is feeling gay;
He learned his lesson quick,
Just through a simple trick.
For fixing rotten jobs
And fixing greedy slobs,
This is the only way,
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
17.
While Joe Hill was in prison, his friend Sam Murray wrote from California,
asking him to compose a song about widespread unemployment during the 1913
through 1914 depression in San Francisco. Hill replied: "...when I make a
song I always try to picture things as they really are. Of course a little
pepper and salt is allowed in order to bring out the facts more clearly. If
you send me that sheet music and give me some of the peculiarities and
ridiculous points about conditions in general... I'll try to do the best I
can." Murray sent Hill the music to "It's a Long Way to Tipperary," and
Hill
wrote this parody. Printed on song cards, it was sold for a nickel to raise
money for Joe Hill's defense. On March 22, 1915, Joe Hill wrote to Sam
Murray: "Yes, that Tipperary song is spreading like the smallpox they
say....The unemployed all over the country have adopted it as a marching
song in their parades, and in New York City they changed it to some extent
so as to fit the brand of soup dished out in N.Y." ("Last Letters of Joe
Hill," Industrial Pioneer, December 1923).
The first version printed here is taken from an early song card included in
the Joe Hill files in the Labadie Collection. The second version appeared
in
the twenty-fifth edition (1933) of the I.W.W. songbook.
IT'S A LONG LONG WAY DOWN TO THE SOUPLINE
By JOE HILL
Bill Brown came a thousand miles to work on Frisco Fair
All the papers said a million men were wanted there
Bill Brown hung around and asked for work three times a day,
'Til finally he went busted flat, then he did sadly say,
Chorus
It's a long way down to the soupline.
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way down to the soupline
And the soup is weak I know.
Good-bye, good old pork chops.
Farewell beefsteak rare,
It's a long, long way down to the soupline,
But my soup is there.
II
Bill Brown saw a big fine house, he knocked upon the door,
But they told him that they only helped the "worthy poor,"
Guess I'll have to live on sunshine in the Golden West,
Said Billy Brown, and then he joined the chorus with the rest.
III
There's a whisper round the town among "the men of means,"
That they would be glad to give the Fair to New Orleans,
And when all is over many sharks with faces long,
Will line up at the ferry and then sadly hum this song.
Chorus
18.
IT'S A LONG WAY DOWN TO THE SOUPLINE°
By JOE HILL
Bill Brown was just a working man like others of his kind.
He lost his job and tramped the streets when work was hard to find.
The landlord put him on the stem, the bankers kept his dough,
And Bill heard everybody sing, no matter where he'd go:
Chorus
It's a long way down to the soupline,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way down to the soupline
And the soup is thin I know.
Good-bye good old pork chops,
Farewell beefsteak rare;
It's a long, long way down to the soupline,
But my soup is there.
So Bill and sixteen million men responded to the call
To force the hours of labor down and thus make jobs for all.
They picketed the industries and won the four-hour day
And organized a General Strike so men don't have to say:
Chorus
The workers own the factories now, where jobs were once destroyed
By big machines that filled the world with hungry unemployed.
They all own homes, they're living well, they're happy, free and strong,
But millionaires wear overalls and sing this little song:
Chorus
19.
On February 13, 1915, Joe Hill wrote to Sam Murray: "...have been busy
working on a song named The Rebel Girl' (Words and Music) which I hope will
help to line up the women workers in the OBU" ("Last Letters of Joe Hill").
In 1916, Bill Haywood had the song copyrighted.
THE REBEL GIRL *
(Words and Music by Joe Hill)
There are women of many descriptions
In this queer world, as every one knows,
Some are living in beautiful mansions,
And are wearing the finest of clothes.
There are blue-blooded queens and princesses,
Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl;
But the only and Thoroughbred Lady
Is the Rebel Girl.
Chorus
That's the Rebel Girl.
That's the Rebel Girl.
To the working class she's a precious pearl.
She brings courage, pride and joy
To the Fighting Rebel Boy.
We've had girls before
But we need some more
In the Industrial Workers of the World,
For it's great to fight for freedom
With a Rebel Girl.
//
Yes, her hands may be harden'd from labor
And her dress may not be very fine;
But a heart in her bosom is beating
That is true to her class and her kind.
And the grafters in terror are trembling
When her spite and defiance she'll hurl.
For the only and Thoroughbred Lady
Is the Rebel Girl.
20.
Joe Hill wrote "My Last Will" during an interview in his cell with a
reporter from the Salt Lake City Herald Tribune on the afternoon before his
execution. The reporter later wrote that he had questioned Hill, "What
disposition are you going to make of your effects, your little trinkets and
personal belongings?" "'I really have nothing to dispose of,' replied
Hillstrom. 'As for trinkets, keepsakes and jewelry, I never believed in
them
nor kept them about me. But I have a will to make, and I'll scribble it.
I'll send it to the world in care of Ed Rowan and my I.W.W. friends'"
(Barry
Stavis, The Man Who Never Died, New York, 1954).
Soon after Hill's death, "My Last Will" was published in the International
Socialist Review (December 1915), and in the ninth edition of the I.W.W.
songbook. Bill Haywood included it in a letter to all I.W.W. locals
instructing them to scatter Hill's ashes to the winds on the following May
1.
MY LAST WILL *
By JOE HILL
My will is easy to decide,
For there is nothing to divide.
My kin don't need to fuss and moan--
"Moss does not cling to a rolling stone."
My body?--Oh!--If I could choose,
I would to ashes it reduce,
And let the merry breezes blow
My dust to where some flowers grow.
Perhaps some fading flower then
Would come to life and bloom again.
This is my last and final will.
Good luck to all of you,
JOE HILL
International News Service on the
21.
Eight years after Hill's death his friend Sam Murray submitted these
letters
to The Industrial Pioneer. They were published in that magazine in December
1923.
THE LAST LETTERS OF JOE HILL
I notice that the Pioneer is going to publish a sketch of the life of Joe
Hill in the November issue, so thought you might be able to use some of the
letters I have and which were written by him while he was under sentence of
death. These letters, to a great extent, show that peculiar spirit which
enabled Joe to bear up so well under the enormous strain, while all the
forces of both sides of the struggle were being marshaled--one to take his
life, the other to save him.
I had been with Joe in Lower California, but had seen nothing of him and
heard little, as I had been spending my time in an out-of-the-way place
till
August, 1914, when I arrived in Frisco and received the latest news
relative
to his case from a fellow worker who had just left Salt Lake.
If you could get a little poem he wrote a little while before he was shot,
entitled "The Bronco Buster," and inspired by a picture of "Buster" Flynn
on
a pony sent to him by Gurley Flynn, it will shed some light on the love Joe
always had for freedom and the untamable spirit that refuses to surrender
it.
SAM MURRAY, SU-410.
I
Salt Lake City, Sept. 15, 1914.
Dear Friend and Fellow Worker:
Yours of Sept. 9 at hand. Glad to hear that you are still alive and kicking
and back on the firing line again.
So, you tried to imitate Knowles, the Nature Freak, and live the simple
life. It might be all right for a little while, as you say, but I am afraid
a fellow would get "simple" of getting too much of the simple life.
Well, I guess the wholesale butchery going on in Europe is putting the
kibosh on everything, even the organization work, to some extent. As a rule
a fellow don't bother his head much about unions and theories of the class
struggle when his belly is flapping up against his spine. Getting the
wrinkles out is then the main issue and everything else, side issues.
That's
human nature or animal instinct rather, and any amount of soapboxing will
not change it. The man who coined the phrase "War is hell" certainly knew
what he was talking about. Well, Sam, old boy, I guess Van has told you
everything about my case and I think he knows more about it than I do,
because he has been around here and on the outside. I am feeling well under
the circumstances and I am fortunate enough to have the ability to
entertain
myself and to look at everything from the bright side. So there is nothing
you could do for me, Sam. I know you would if you could.
Well, with best wishes to the bunch in Frisco, I remain,
Yours for the OBU.
--Joe Hill.
P.S. Is Jack Mosby in Washington yet or did he leave?
II
Salt Lake City, Dec. 2, 1914.
Dear Friend and Fellow Worker:
Received your letter and should have answered before, but have been busy
working on some musical composition and whenever I get an "inspiration" I
can't quit until it's finished.
I am glad to hear that you manage to make both ends meet, in spite of the
industrial deal, but there is no use being pessimistic in this glorious
land
of plenty. Self preservation is, or should be, the first law of nature. The
animals, when in a natural state, are showing us the way. When they are
hungry they will always try to get something to eat or else they will die
in
the attempt. That's natural; to starve to death is unnatural.
No, I have not heard that song about "Tipperary" but if you send it as you
said you would I might try to dope something out about that Frisco Fair. I
am not familiar with the actual conditions of Frisco at present; and when I
make a song I always try to picture things as they really are. Of course a
little pepper and salt is allowed in order to bring out the facts more
clearly.
If you send me that sheet music and give me some of the peculiarities and
ridiculous points about the conditions in general on or about the fair
ground, I'll try to do the best I can.
Yours for the OBU.
--Joe Hill.
III
Salt Lake City, Feb. 13, 1915.
Friend and Fellow Worker:
Should have answered your letter before, but have been busy working on a
song named "The Rebel Girl" (Words and Music), which I hope will help to
line up the women workers in the OBU, and I hope you will excuse me. I see
you made a big thing out of that "Tipperary" song. (We had secured nearly
50
dollars by selling it for 5 cents for the Joe Hill Defense.-S.M.) In fact,
a
whole lot more than I ever expected, I don't suppose that it would sell
very
well outside of Frisco, though by the way I got a letter from Swasey in NY
and he told me that "Casey Jones" made quite a hit in London and "Casey
Jones," he was an Angelino you know, and I never expected that he would
leave Los Angeles at all. The other day we got ten bucks from a company of
soldiers stationed on the Mexican line.
How is that old top? Maybe they are remembering some of the cigars in glass
bottles that they smoked at the expense of the "Tierra e Libertad" bunch.
Don't know much about my case. The Sup. Court will "sit on" it sometime in
the sweet bye and bye and that's all I know about it.
Give my best to the bunch.
--JOE HILL.
IV
County Jail, S.L. City, Mar. 22, 1915
Sam Murray, Napa, Cal.
Friend and Fellow Worker:
Yours of March 13th at hand. I note that you have gone "back to nature"
again and I must confess that it is making me a little homesick when you
mention that "little cabin in the hills" stuff. You can talk about your
dances, picnics and blow outs, and it won't affect me, but the "little
cabin" stuff always gets my goat. That's the only life I know.
Yes, that "Tipperary" song is spreading like the smallpox they say. Sec. 69
tells me that there is a steady stream of silver from 'Frisco on account of
it. The unemployed all over the country have adopted it as a marching song
in their parades, and in New York City they changed it to some extent, so
as
to fit the brand of soup dished out in N. Y. They are doing great work in
N.
Y. this year. The unemployed have been organized and have big meetings
every
night. Gurley Flynn, Geo. Swasey (the human phonograph) and other live ones
are there, and Gurley F. tells me things are looking favorable for the OBU.
The hearing of my case has been postponed they say, and they are trying to
make me believe that it is for my benefit, but I'll tell you that it is
damn
hard for me to see where the benefit comes in at; damn hard. Well, I have
about a dozen letters to answer.
Yours as ever,
JOE HILL.
V
S.L. Cy., June 6, 1915.
Friend and Fellow Worker:
Your welcome letter received, and am glad to note that you are still
sticking to your "little cabin in the hills." I would like to get a little
of that close to nature stuff myself for a couple of months in order to
regain a little vitality, and a little flesh on my rotting bones. My case
was argued on the 28th of May, and according to Judge Hilton, the results
were satisfactory. He says he is sure of securing a reversal, and if so,
there hardly will be another trial, for the simple reason that there won't
be anything to try, if I can get a lawyer that will defend me.
With best wishes to all the rebels,
Yours for the OBU,
JOE HILL.
PS. I've just found out that the Superior Court judges are getting ready to
go on their vacation until next fall, so I guess there won't be anything
decided on my case for some time. But "everything comes to him who waits"
they say, and that's the only consolation I got now.--JOE.
VI
Utah State Prison, Aug. 12, 1915.
Friend and Fellow Worker:
Yours of August 5th at hand, and as you see I have been moved to the state
prison. The appeal was denied and I was up in court the other day and
sentenced to be shot on the first day of October. We were all very much
surprised at the decision, because we thought that I would be granted a new
trial anyway. But as Judge Hilton says "the records of the lower court are
so rotten they had to be covered somehow." I guess you can draw your
conclusions from that statement. I wanted to drop the case right there and
then, but from reports received from all parts of the country, I think that
the case will be carried to the U.S. Supreme Court. I didn't think I'd be
worth any more money. You know human life is kind of cheap this year
anyway--but I guess the organization thinks otherwise and majority rule
goes
with me.
Well, I don't know anything new and hoping that you are successful in
snaring the elusive doughnut, I remain,
Yours for the OBU,
JOE HILL.
VII
Utah State Prison, Sept. 9, 1915.
Sam Murray, Frisco, California.
Friend and Fellow Worker:
Yours received O.K. Glad to hear that things are picking up. I see that you
are employed at making bait for the German "sharks." Well, war certainly
shows up the capitalist system in the right light. Millions of men are
employed at making ships and others are hired to sink them. Scientific
management, eh, wot?
As far as I can see, it doesn't make much difference which side wins, but I
hope that one side will win, because a draw would only mean another war in
a
year or two. All these silly priests and old maid sewing circles that are
moaning about peace at this time should be locked up in the crazy house as
a
menace to society. The war is the finest training school for rebels in the
world and for anti-militarists as well, and I hope that all the S.S. bills
in the country will go over there.
Well, Sam, I don't know anything about my case. My attorneys told me to
leave it all to them, and that makes it pretty soft for me to have someone
else do the worrying for me.
I believe your good work on the coast is being felt at this end of the
line,
though.
With best wishes I am as ever yours,
JOE HILL.
VIII
(When the following was written, Joe expected to be shot within twenty-four
hours, and all of us had given up hope. However, he later received a
respite
of something over a month, thus being forced to go over the strain of the
last day on earth again.)
Utah State Prison, Sept. 30, 1915.
Sam Murray,
3345 17th St.,
Frisco, Calif.
Friend and Fellow Worker:
Well, Sam, I received your letter, but you shouldn't feel so sentimental
about it. This dying business is not quite so bad as it is cracked up to
be.
I have always said "a new trial or die trying," and I'll show that I meant
it. I was moved to another cell last night and have an armed guard in front
of my cell. I was also given a swell feed for the first time in God knows
how long, and that is one of the surest signs.
Well, Sam, you and me had a little pleasure at one time that few rebels
have
had the privilege of having, and I guess I've had my share of the fun after
all. Now, just forget me, and say goodbye to the bunch.
Yours for the OBU,
JOE HILL.
P.S. Sent a letter to Caroline.
This was the last letter I got direct from Joe Hill. But we kept up the
fight; telegraphed to the unions of Sweden, the Swedish Minister at
Washington, who sent President Wilson a letter; who also wired the Governor
of Utah, but to no avail, and the night before the execution finally took
place we received together with some of the other organizations throughout
the country, his famous farewell wire: "Goodbye, Forget me. Don't mourn,
Organize," which we immediately answered, but which, as near as we could
learn, he never received.
22.
IN MEMORIAM: JOE HILL
This copy of the funeral program was taken from an original program in the
Joe Hill files in the Labadie Collection.
JOE HILL
"The cause I stand for, that of a fair and honest trial, is worth more than
any human life--much more than mine."
JOE HILL.
West Side Auditorium, Chicago, Illinois
November 25, 1915
PROGRAM
Quartet--Workers of the World Awaken by Joe Hill
Song--The Rebel Girl Joe Hill
Jennie Wosczynska
Songs--"There Is Power," "Stung Right," "Preacher and the Slave"
Sung by Fellow Workers
Song--John Chellman
Funeral Oration--Judge O. N. Hilton, of Denver
Song in Swedish
Address--James Larkin, of Dublin, Ireland
Address--William D. Haywood
Piano Selection--Funeral March, Rudolf von Liebich
AT GRACELAND CEMETERY
Short addresses in foreign tongues, as follows:
Swedish--W. Sodergrin
Russian--H. Martin
Hungarian--C. Rothfisher
Polish--B. Schraeger
Spanish--J. Santana
Italian--D. Mari
German--W. Penker
Yiddish--H. Rubinowitz
Lithuanian--J. Siemiaszko
Songs composed by Joe Hill
Music: Russian Mandolin Club, Rockford I.W.W. Band
23.
Ralph Chaplin's description of Joe Hill's funeral appeared in the
International Socialist Review (December 1915).
JOE HILL'S FUNERAL
By RALPH CHAPLIN
On Thanksgiving day the throngs began to gather in the great auditorium
hours before exercises were to take place. By 10:30 the streets were
blocked
for blocks in all directions; street cars could not run and all traffic was
suspended. Within the hall one could almost hear the drop of a pin at all
times. The casket was placed on the flower-laden, black and red draped
stage, above which was hanging a hand woven I.W.W. label (made by
fellow-worker Cline in prison). So lavish had been the offerings of floral
pieces from all over the city and the land, that the stage could scarcely
contain them all. These were inscribed in a medley of languages. They were
from English and foreign speaking locals of the I.W.W., in and out of town;
from Socialist branches and local unions of the A.F. of L., from
independent
organizations, from anarchist groups and from dozens of individuals. Some
of
these wreaths and flower pieces were elaborate and costly and others were
simple and plain, but all were full of the heart-deep spirit of protest and
regret.
The funeral exercises were opened with the singing of Joe Hill's wonderful
song, "Workers of the World, Awaken"--members of the I.W.W. leading and the
audience swelling out the chorus. This was followed by Jennie Wosczynska's
singing of the "Rebel Girl," written and composed by Joe Hill, after which
came two beautiful tenor solos, one in Swedish by John Chellman and one in
Italian by Ivan Rodems.
William D. Haywood introduced Judge Hilton with a short but powerful
appeal,
the keynote of which was, "Don't mourn--organize." In spite of this brave
admonition, however, fellow worker Haywood's clarion voice was strangely
husky as he stood beside the silent, flower-covered casket. Judge Hilton's
lengthy and masterful presentation of the legal facts in the case and the
part taken by the Mormon church in the perpetration of this ghastly and
uncalled for murder, was listened to with absorbing interest by all
present.
And when the oration was concluded the thousands in the hall silently
marched out to the strains of Chopin's Funeral March, played by Professor
Rudolf von Liebich.
The parade formation was as follows: First, a committee to help clear the
streets and to follow the prearranged line of march, then the pallbearers
with the casket, followed by the flower-bearers and the band. Because of
the
congested condition of the street, the committee and pallbearers had some
difficulty in opening a passage through the crowd to the hearse, which was
waiting a short distance away. After the casket had been placed in the
machine the procession started its march to the elevated station. In the
main body came the English-speaking branches with almost a hundred members
of Local 400 and about 75 members from Rockford, then the foreign-speaking
branches, followed by a veritable throng of workingmen and women over a
mile
in length. Had it been possible to keep the crowd uniformly four abreast
the
procession would have been at least three times as long. It was found
necessary to go four blocks out of the scheduled line of march in order to
avoid the crush around the Auditorium building.
Slowly and impressively the vast throng moved through the west side
streets.
Windows flew open at its approach and were filled with peering faces.
Porches and even roofs were blackened with people, and some of the more
daring were lined up over signboards and on telephone and arc-light poles.
The flower-bearers, with their bright colored floral pieces and wreaths
tied
with crimson ribbons, formed a walking garden almost a block in length.
Thousands in the procession wore I.W.W. pennants on their sleeves or red
ribbons worded, "Joe Hill, murdered by the authorities of the state of
Utah,
November the 19th, 1915," or, "Joe Hill, I.W.W. martyr to a great cause,"
"Don't mourn--organize. Joe Hill," and many others. The Rockford bunch was
conspicuous by reason of its great crimson silk flag with the I.W.W. label
on either side and the wooden shoe above the pole. Songs were sung all
along
the way, chiefly Joe Hill's, although some of the foreign-speaking workers
sang revolutionary songs in their native tongues. As soon as a song would
die down in one place, the same song or another would be taken up by other
voices along the line. The procession took complete possession of the
streets with the exception of a few policemen, photographers and movie-men
until the elevated station at Van Buren and Halsted streets was reached.
Here the pallbearers, flower-bearers, funeral, singing and speaking
committees were to board a special train of five coaches, in order to be
first at the cemetery and prepare for the oncoming crowd. At this place,
however, the crush from behind was so great as to almost upset all
pre-arranged plans. Everyone seemed determined to board the reserve train
and it took a great deal of hard work on the part of the membership to see
to it that things went through according to the outlined plan that alone
would insure the success of the program. The situation was explained to the
crowd, which was soon pacified, and from this moment all elevated and
surface lines leading to Graceland cemetery were crowded to capacity for
over an hour. In some cases Joe Hill's songs were sung the entire distance.
Upon reaching the cemetery the funeral chapel was discovered to be
ridiculously inadequate for the accommodation of the vast audience, and so
it was decided to hold the exercises in the open air. And on the olive
green
slope of an evergreen-crested hill they took place. Here the casket was
tenderly laid upon the earth and all the flowers and wreaths and flags were
placed about it. Above --high above the casket were the evergreens and
above
these, a couple of tall, bare elm trees raised up into the sky their
delicately etched trunks and branches. Clutched in one lofty tremulous
branch, as in a hand, was one of the last summer's empty birdnests. The sky
was somewhat heavy and of a pearly grey tone with tiny dove-colored clouds
flitting across it hurriedly--somewhere. The air was warm and somewhat
humid
so that the trees were hung with a soft mist that caused the landscape to
fade away into a distance that seemed fairly enchanted. Here Joe Hill's
songs were sung and Fellow Workers Haywood and Jim Larkin made short but
stirring addresses in English, followed by Fellow Workers W. Sodergrin in
Swedish, H. Martin in Russian, C. Rothfisher in Hungarian, B. Schraeger in
Polish, J. Santana in Spanish, D. Mari in Italian, Wm. Penker in German,
Harry Rabinowitz in Yiddish and J. Siemiaszko in Lithuanian. A few more
songs were sung and then the body was removed to the little oak beamed
high-roofed chapel, and placed on a bronze stand overhung with live palms
and ferns. Here those assembled were given the last opportunity to view the
remains of the murdered songwriter with the pale smiling face and the
bruised hands folded above the four unseen purple bullet holes in his
breast.
A constant stream of people poured into and out of the semi-obscurity of
the
tiny room, while the great crowd gathered close around outside joined in
one
swelling, mighty chorus of song.
Each one of Joe Hill's songs was sung over and over again, and when the
great crimson silk banner of the Rockford local appeared the song of that
name was struck up and sung as it was never sung before. Three ringing
cheers were then given for the Social Revolution and the I.W.W. and then
more songs. The singing and cheering was something the old cemetery had
never witnessed before and the guards and officials were stricken with
undisguised amazement at the audacity of it all. There were a couple of
dozen "harness-bulls" on the job and it was funny to see them shy away from
the sunburned harvest huskies of Local 400 and the brawny Swedish fellow
workers from Rockford. The "bulls" were so outclassed physically and were
so
insignificant looking in comparison with the I.W.W. boys that it must have
been painful to see them singing and cheering unmolested in an exclusive
and
sedate graveyard like Graceland. But the singing continued until it was
quite dark and the trees and buildings blurred into gloom with only a few
lights twinkling from out the shadows--and even then it continued. Finally
small groups wearing carnations and ribbons walked slowly towards the
station singing or humming or talking in low voices among themselves.
As no cremating could be done on a holiday a committee of five returned to
the cemetery on the next day (Friday), accompanied by numerous members of
the I.W.W. and friends. It was learned that the body had been stripped to
the waist in order to make photographs and to take the necessary
measurements and casts for a marble bust.
A few laurel and other wreaths were saved from the floral offering, in
order
that they might be sent to some of the local unions of the I.W.W. in
different parts of the world. The I.W.W. button was removed and also the
cuff-links and necktie. These are to be preserved at headquarters and, in
due time, placed in a shadow-box frame with an oil portrait of our
song-writer. The casket handles were also saved and will be melted up into
a
plate on which can be engraved, "Don't waste time mourning for
me--organize," which plate is to be used with the portrait mentioned above.
After some little delay, the casket was wheeled through an underground
passage to the crematory room, where it was to be finally fed to the
flames.
The interior of this crematory is finished entirely in white. The walls are
of white tile and even the steel doors of the furnace are enameled white.
The body was here identified for the last time and, at a word from the
committeeman in charge, it was wheeled to the doors of the blast chamber,
which creaked open to receive it. Within was a stone slab on a level with
the doors and the casket. The whole interior was already tinted a rosy red
with the fires that were soon to consume the body of our murdered
song-writer. The casket was suddenly pushed out onto the center of the
slab.
The steel doors creaked together and the tiny room was all white once more.
Only the roar of the fire-blast could be heard growing louder and
louder....
In order to do all that was incumbent upon it, the committee was obliged to
witness a small part at flames. The interior of this cremation. A small
circular hole in the far end of the furnace was reached after traversing a
dark and narrow passage-way around the side of the blast room. Through this
aperture the committeemen, one at a time and each with feelings all his
own,
viewed the flame-lashed casket containing the fine body and placid features
of Joe Hill, dreamer, poet, artist, agitator, with four purple bullet holes
in his young chest as punishment for the crime of being "true blue" to his
class--and to himself.
The murdering of martyrs has never yet made a tyrant's place secure, and
the
death orgy held by that heartless bunch of Mormon murderers on the
nineteenth of November, in spite of the protests of the President and many
noted men and women, and in spite of the protests of tens of thousands of
working people all over the land, has done more to cement together the
forces that are about to overthrow the ghoulish Capitalist system than
anything that has happened in decades. The state of Utah has shot our
song-writer into everlasting immortality and has shot itself into
everlasting shame. Thank goodness, neither Joe Hill nor the I.W.W. will
ever
be found dead within the boundaries of Utah!
24
Ralph Chaplin's tribute to Joe Hill was one of the most frequently
reprinted
poems about Hill to appear in the I.W.W. press. Other poems to Hill's
memory
were written by I.W.W. members Cash Stevens, Richard Brazier, C.O.G., John
Nordquist, T-Bone Slim, and Covington Hall. As writer Barry Nichols stated
in a recent mimeographed I.W.W. publication, Wobbly (Berkeley, 1963): "The
rich ore of Joe Hill's life and legend has been mined by many writers and
poets.
Joe Hill is found in books of fiction by Archie Binns; Elias Tombenkin;
John
Dos Passos; Margaret Graham; Alexander Saxton; and a number of others. He
is
found in plays by Upton Sinclair; Louis Lembert; and Arturo Giovannitti. He
is found in poems by Kenneth Patchen; Kenneth Rexroth; Carl Sandburg;
Alfred
Hayes; and Carlos Cortez. Writers who deal with Joe Hill in folklore
include
B. A. Botkin; William Alderson; Wayland Hand; and Ray McKinley
Lawless....Joe Hill appears in every kind of book from cultural studies to
regional history books to books on revolutions and national history...."
This version of Chaplin's poem is from the ninth edition of the I.W.W.
songbook.
JOE HILL *
Murdered by the Authorities of the State of Utah, November the 19th, 1915
By RALPH CHAPLIN
High head and back unbending--fearless and true,
Into the night unending;
why was it you?
//
Heart that was quick with song, torn with their lead;
Life that was young and strong, shattered and dead.
//
Singer of manly songs, laughter and tears;
Singer of Labor's wrongs, joys, hopes and fears.
//
Though you were one of us, what could we do?
Joe, there were none of us needed like you.
//
We gave, however small, what Life could give;
We would have given all that you might live.
//
Your death you held as naught, slander and shame;
We from the very thought shrank as from flame.
//
Each of us held his breath, tense with despair,
You, who were close to Death, seemed not to care.
//
White-handed loathsome power, knowing no pause,
Sinking in labor's flower, murderous claws;
//
Boastful, with leering eyes, blood-dripping jaws...
Accurst be the cowardice hidden in laws!
//
Utah has drained your blood; white hands are wet;
We of the "surging flood" never forget!
//
Our songster! have your laws now had their fill?
Know, ye, his songs and cause ye cannot kill.
//
High head and back unbending--"rebel true blue,"
Into the night unending; why was it you?
25
In an undated letter sent by I.W.W. member George Carey to Miss Agnes
Inglis
about 1951, Carey describes how he finally disposed of a packet of Joe
Hill's ashes thirty-four years after the May 1 ceremonies in every part of
the world during which Hill's ashes were "scattered to the winds."
Carey,who
had been active in the I.W.W. since the 1909 Spokane free speech fight,
sent
the empty packet to Miss Inglis. She included this letter, and the packet,
in her correspondence files in the Labadie Collection.
CIRCUMSTANCES RELATING TO THE DISPOSAL OF A PORTION OF THE ASHES OF JOE
HILL
The tragedy of Joe Hill was destined to have a profound influence on my own
life. It was at a mass meeting scheduled to raise funds for his defense,
held in the city of Toledo, that I first met the girl whom I later married.
She is still with me, the mother of my two daughters and her hair is now as
white as my own.
It was at the first Convention of M.T.W. I.U. #200 held in Cleveland that I
first participated in a ceremony intended to carry out his last wishes. I
was Chairman of that first convention and as I recall the bit of ashes were
brought to the gathering by F.W. Ben Klein. It was a memorable scene,
tarnished only by the fact that the meeting was addressed by one Harold
Lord
Varney of whom it is better to be charitable and say nothing.
I little imagined then that I was destined to receive and be custodian of
another portion of his ashes for many long years. Often during those years
I
should have been more than glad to have some group of the wobblies dispose
of them as Joe had willed, but I was disappointed. My possession of them
was
no secret.
I had found the packet amid the ruins of the I.W.W. Hall in Toledo after
the
place had been wrecked by hoodlums after a so-called Palmer Raid. That must
have been in 1919 or thereabouts. I was Secretary of Local Toledo at the
time but there was no activity and nothing could be done at that time. Many
times down thru the ensuing years I brought up the affair hoping that we
could do as he desired but for some reason or another the I.W.W. would have
none of it. Communists and Socialists both volunteered more than once to
gain publicity thru him but I could see none of that. An anarchist woman
pleaded with me to let her have them that she might have them in a ring "to
wear forever." My only retort was that she was unlikely to last forever.
It was on June 26, 1950, that I finally decided to try and carry out Joe's
last wish to the best of my ability and to make sure that no other group or
individual would make capital out of his body. At that time I was living in
a bungalow on the bank of Hollow Brook near Peekskill. It was just after
the
bitter clash of two hideous ideologies at that very spot. The so-called
"Robeson Riots" had taken place within earshot of my home.
On this early June morning I awoke to one of the most beautiful June days
that I have ever known anywhere. Nature seemed to have outdone herself that
day when I awoke to the realization that I was grown old and that I had an
obligation to carry out. The thought came to me. I was all alone. Why not
do
as he requested? Here was a spot. The grass was green, there was a yard
covered with flowers and trees. Birds were singing all over the place. No
place could be more fitting. I arose and walked out into the garden and
with
no more ceremony than a murmured "Good Bye, Joe," I carefully scattered the
contents of the little envelope over the soil. I felt at ease. My pledge
had
been kept. Never now would I have to fear that some individual or group not
in sympathy with the ideals of the I.W.W. or of Joe himself would sanctify
his mortal remains or make capital of his final disposal.
An enclosed letter from Bill Haywood requested the ones who disposed of
them
to send in a report of such proceedings to him for the Archives of the
I.W.W. But Bill also is gone these many years. I am sending a copy of this
to the General Headquarters of the I.W.W. altho in my opinion they have
strayed far from the ideals for which Joe Hill gave his life. The envelope
and another copy of this letter will be given to the Labadie Collection,
General Library, Ann Arbor, Michigan. (U of M)
GEORGE CAREY
Fellow Worker:
In compliance with the last will of Joe Hill, his body was cremated at
Graceland Cemetery, Chicago, Illinois, Nov. 20, 1915.
It was his request, that his ashes be distributed. This package has been
confined to your care for the fullfilment of this last will.
You will kindly address a letter to Wm. D. Haywood, Room 307, 164 W.
Washington St., Chicago, Ill., telling the circumstances and where the
ashes
were distributed.
WE NEVER FORGET
JOE HILL MEMORIAL COMMITTEE
(This message was printed on the empty envelope which had contained a
portion of Joe Hill's ashes. It was sent to Miss Inglis by George Carey.)
