folktranscripts

[folktranscripts]

What I want, is for every greasy, grimy tramp in the country, to arm himself with a knife or a gun, and stationing himself at the doorways of the rich, shoot or stab them as they come out.

Lucy Parsons, Late 1930s May Day Rally.

[folktranscripts]

I guess the most outspoken person I ever met, did a lot of time for it too, 37 times in jail. ' Guy that took me off the freight trains when I got back from Korea, and many of you have heard me speak about him before, and are tired of it. Yeah I was just cruising the country drunk most of the time, angry at what I'd seen and done, and didn't know if I could live in the country any more. There was a house down in Salt Lake, I was on the Western Pacific freight trains coming south out of Ogden, Utah. I heard there was a house outside the Roper Yards in Salt Lake, with a lantern on it, and inside it was warm, 'cause it was real cold out, it was early spring, and there was food, and a clothing barrel, so you could change your duds. And I found it, it was called the Joe Hill House of Hospitality, one of the Catholic Worker houses. Dorothy Day's people, you know and Peter Maurin. But mainly I found old Ammon Hennacy, in his late sixties, Ammon Hennacy had come out there to start the Joe Hill House. Ammon Hennacy was a Catholic, Anarchist, Pacifist, draft dodger in two World Wars, tax refuser, vegetarian, wise guy, one man revolution in America, he called himself. I think that about covers it. Ammon was tough, but not hard. He was tough without that brittle hardness a lot of tough men have that would shatter if you struck it too hard. "Love in Action" Dorothy Day called him, using Dostoyevsky's words “Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams.”. ' He had that harsh, dreadful love, and little chisel shaped fingernail that he'd jab at you. I've got scars from that damn thing. He would back you into a rhetorical corner from which there was no philosophical escape hatch, he had you dead to rights, you'd say "Ammon I'll change, I promise, I'll change, just please don't talk to me anymore!". Oh god, the man could talk, oh boy he could talk. He just didn't do free speech he flogged it to death. He never went to the ballot box, Ammon didn't, you know. Ammon Hennacy's body was his ballot. ' He cast it on behalf of the people around him every day of his life, and he never had anything, he just got the satisfaction of knowing he was doing the right thing. You could never tell him he hadn't voted. Like I said, that body ballot. He'd say, "Yeah I did, I did vote, I just didn't assign responsibility to other people to do things, I accepted responsibility and made sure things got done." Little bit of a different way of looking at voting isn't it? Think about it. Many times we stood up in front of Federal District Judge Rader(?), that old fart, and Ammon would have been picketing against war taxes illegally, it didn't matter, he'd still hold his sign up there and pass out leaflets and talk, fasting every day for the years since Hiroshima, long fasts. He'd get busted for picketing illegally, and he'd stand up but he'd never plead innocent or guilty, he plead anarchy. And Judge Rader(?) would say "Anarchist?! What is an Anarchist Hennacy?" And Hennacy would say, "Well an Anarchist is anybody who don't need a cop to tell him what to do." ' Fundamentalist Anarchist. I like that. And Rader would say, "But Ammon you broke the law, what about that?"  And Ammon would say, "Aw Judge, your damn laws, the good people don't need them and the bad people don't obey them so what use are they anyway?". He had that kind of short-hand that pares the fat off all the arguments. “Anybody who doesn’t need a cop to tell him what to do” on Ammon Hennacy - Utah Phillips (1999)

[folktranscripts]

Let's see, let's try one of Woody Guthrie's old Robin Hood bandit songs. Let's see if it's still in my head:

--

If you'll gather 'round me, children A story I will tell 'Bout Pretty Boy Floyd, an outlaw Oklahoma knew him well

It was in Oklahoma City.. nope

It was in the town of Shawnee On a Saturday afternoon His wife beside him in his wagon And into town they rode

A deputy sheriff approached him In a manner rather rude Vulgar words of language That Mrs Floyd overheard

Pretty Boy grabbed a log chain And the deputy grabbed his gun In the fight that followed He laid that deputy down

Yes, he took to the trees and timber To lead a life of shame Every crime in Oklahoma Was added to his name

Yeah he took to the trees and timber Down by the river shore But Pretty Boy found a welcome At every farmers door

There's many a starving family The same old story told How the outlaw paid their mortgage And saved their little home

Others tell of a stranger Who stopped to beg a meal Underneath the napkin Slipped a thousand-dollar bill

It was in Oklahoma City Upon one Christmas Day Come a whole car load of groceries With a note to say:

"Well, you say that I'm an outlaw You say that I'm a thief Here's a Christmas dinner For the families on relief"

Now, as through this world you'll ramble There's lots of funny men Some will rob you with a six-gun And some with a fountain pen

And as through this world you ramble And through this world you roam You won't never see an outlaw Drive a family from its home Pretty Boy Floyd - Utah Phillips (Woody Guthrie, 1939?)

[folktranscripts]

Would you have freedom from wage slavery Then join in the grand Industrial band Would you from misery and hunger be free Come on, Do your share lend a hand

There is power, there is power In a band of workingfolk When they stand hand in hand That's a power, that's a power That must rule in every land One Industrial Union Grand

Would you have mansions of gold in the sky And live in a shack, that's away in the back Would you have wings up in heaven to fly And starve here with rags on your back

There is power, there is power In a band of workingfolk When they stand hand in hand That's a power, that's a power That must rule in every land One Industrial Union Grand

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

There is power, there is power In a band of workingfolk When they stand hand in hand That's a power, that's a power That must rule in every land One Industrial Union Grand

So 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, lend a hand

Power in a Union!

There Is Power in a Union - Utah Phillips (Joe Hill, 1913)

[folktranscripts]

This is Joe Hill's best song. We almost missed it. The chorus is:

There is power, there is power In a band of workingfolk When they stand hand in hand That's a power, that's a power That must rule in every land One Industrial Union Grand

I'll teach you the chorus:

There is power, there is power In a band of workingfolk When they stand hand in hand That's a power, that's a power That must rule in every land One Industrial Union Grand

Have you got that again? Do you understand the chorus? Everybody know it now? Alright!

There Is Power in A Union (Intro) - Utah Phillips (Joe Hill, 1913)

[folktranscripts]

Well this is the longest session I have ever been in in my life, and my voice is about to fall apart, so I'm going to sing the last one, rather we are. I bet if I was to make book right now 'bout what that song was, I wouldn't make very much money. Which one is it? "Solidarity!" Well alright, I mean what the hell.

--

When the union's inspiration through the workers' blood shall run There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one But the Union makes us strong

Solidarity forever, solidarity forever Solidarity forever For the Union makes us strong

Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite   Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?   Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?   For the union makes us strong

Solidarity forever, solidarity forever Solidarity forever For the Union makes us strong

It is we who ploughed the prairies, built the cities where they trade Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid Now we stand outcast and starving 'mid the wonders we have made But the union makes us strong

Solidarity forever, solidarity forever Solidarity forever For the Union makes us strong

All the world  that's owned by idle drones is ours and ours alone   We have laid the wide foundations, built it skyward stone by stone   It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own   While the union makes us strong

Solidarity forever, solidarity forever Solidarity forever For the Union makes us strong

They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel can turn We can break their haughty power gain our freedom when we learn That the Union makes us strong

Solidarity forever, solidarity forever Solidarity forever For the Union makes us strong

In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold Greater than the might of armies magnified a thousandfold We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old For the Union makes us strong

Solidarity forever, solidarity forever Solidarity forever For the Union makes us strong Solidarity Forever - Utah Phillips (Ralph Chaplin, 1915)

[folktranscripts]

There I am in Spookaloo, city of magic, city of light. Ensconced upon my porch in broad daylight, 'round about noon, my rising time. Drinking something of a potable beverage, playing my guitar, long after everybody in the neighborhood has packed up their lunch box and gone off down to Kaiser Aluminum to put in their shift. This enrages my neighbors. One in particular across the road, a little retired banker fellah, been known to cannonball his rotundity across the road, stand there and publicly berate me for my sloth and indolence. "Why don't you get a job!" He says, well now you've heard about all that. Well now me being hip to the Socratic method, fires back a question.  "Why?"  "Why" he says, taken aback "If you had a job you could make three, four, five dollars an hour"  I said "Why?" pursuing the same tact. He said "Hell! You make three, four, five dollars an hour you could have a savings account to save up some of that money"  I said "Why?" He said "Well, you save up enough of that money, young fellah, and pretty soon you never have to work another day in your life"    I said "Hell, that's what I'm doing right now!"

-- I guess pretty soon I'll be heading back to Spokane. Take up my task of wintering in. I do a little light farming or heavy gardening, whichever. Do you know, that kind of farming is hard if you're in this traveling profession. Of course when you sing like I do you've got to be ready to travel with considerable alacrity. I've got a Greyhound bus ticket in my back pocket all the time. But you see, quite often I'm not back in town in time for my plowing, or my planting, that's awful. Well now one time I was sharing a platform in New York City it was with a bunch of high power labor politic-o's. Uh, it was a benefit for the farm workers, that's what it was. I remember Richard Chavez, Cesar's brother was there, and so was Bella Abzug, former congresswoman from the state of New York, remember her? Wonderful woman! I mean she was loud, vociferous, big hats, she was yelling at that audience, a righteous beef it was, about how the Feds, the FBI, had been opening her mail for ever so long. Well, I knew the Feds had been opening my mail for at least twenty years, reading all of my personal, radical mail, and it never bothered me, 'cause I figured them Birds had to learn that stuff somewhere and it might as well be from my mail. But then it occurred to me in my predicament that having the FBI open your mail might come in handy. I sent Sheila, my partner, a letter through the United States Mail and I said in it "For gods sake don't plow up the back yard that's where the guns are buried!" National Guard rolled up, dug up the whole backyard in time for me to come back and plant the damn thing.

Hallelujah I’m a Bum (Monologues) - Utah Phillips (1983) 

[folktranscripts]

Oh, why don't you work like other folks do How can I get a job when you're holding down two? Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I went to a house and I knocked on the door And the lady says, "Scram, bum, you've been here before" Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I went to a house and I asked for some bread And the lady says, "Scram, bum, the baker is dead" Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

Oh, I like my boss, he's a good friend of mine That's why I am starving out on the breadline Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I like Jim Hill, he's a good friend of mine That is why I'm booming down Jim Hill's main line Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I went to a bar and I asked for a drink He gave me a glass and he showed me the sink Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

Whenever I get, all the money I earn The boss will be broke and to work he must turn Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

Why don't you save all the money you earn If I didn't eat, I'd have money to burn Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again Hallelujah I’m a Bum - Utah Phillips (Harry McClintock - 1928)

[folktranscripts]

Oh, why don't you work like other folks do How can I get a job when you're holding down two? Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I went to a house and I knocked on the door And the lady says, "Scram, bum, you've been here before" Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I went to a house and I asked for some bread And the lady says, "Scram, bum, the baker is dead" Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

--

There I am in Spookaloo, city of magic, city of light. Ensconced upon my porch in broad daylight, 'round about noon, my rising time. Drinking something of a potable beverage, playing my guitar, long after everybody in the neighborhood has packed up their lunch box and gone off down to Kaiser Aluminum to put in their shift. This enrages my neighbors. One in particular across the road, a little retired banker fellah, been known to cannonball his rotundity across the road, stand there and publicly berate me for my sloth and indolence. "Why don't you get a job!" He says, well now you've heard about all that. Well now me being hip to the Socratic method, fires back a question. "Why?" "Why" he says, taken aback "If you had a job you could make three, four, five dollars an hour" I said "Why?" pursuing the same tact. He said "Hell! You make three, four, five dollars an hour you could have a savings account to save up some of that money" I said "Why?" He said "Well, you save up enough of that money, young fellah, and pretty soon you never have to work another day in your life"   I said "Hell, that's what I'm doing right now!"

--

Oh, I like my boss, he's a good friend of mine That's why I am starving out on the breadline Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

I like Jim Hill, he's a good friend of mine That is why I'm booming down Jim Hill's main line Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

--

I guess pretty soon I'll be heading back to Spokane. Take up my task of wintering in. I do a little light farming or heavy gardening, whichever. Do you know, that kind of farming is hard if you're in this traveling profession. Oh course when you sing like I do you've got to be ready to travel with considerable alacrity. I've got a Greyhound bus ticket in my back pocket all the time. But you see, quite often I'm not back in town in time for my plowing, or my planting, that's awful. Well now one time I was sharing a platform in New York City it was with a bunch of high power labor politic-o's. Uh, it was a benefit for the farm workers, that's what it was. I remember Richard Chavez, Cesar's brother was there, and so was Bella Abzug, former congresswoman from the state of New York, remember her? Wonderful woman! I mean she was loud, vociferous, big hats, she was yelling at that audience, a righteous beef it was, about how the Feds, the FBI, had been opening her mail for ever so long. Well, I knew the Feds had been opening my mail for at least twenty years, reading all of my personal, radical mail, and it never bothered me, 'cause I figured them Birds had to learn that stuff somewhere and it might as well be from my mail. But then it occurred to me in my predicament that having the FBI open your mail might come in handy. I sent Sheila, my partner, a letter through the United States Mail and I said in it "For gods sake don't plow up the back yard that's where the guns are buried!" National Guard rolled up, dug up the whole backyard in time for me to come back and plant the damn thing.

--

I went to a bar and I asked for a drink He gave me a glass and he showed me the sink Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

Whenever I get, all the money I earn The boss will be broke and to work he must turn Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again

Why don't you save all the money you earn If I didn't eat, I'd have money to burn Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again Hallelujah I’m a Bum - Utah Phillips ( Harry McClintock, 1928)

[folktranscripts]

The bum on the rods is hunted down as an enemy of mankind The other is driven around to his club, is feted, wined and dined

And they who curse the bum on the rods as the essence of all that's bad Will greet the other with a winning smile and extend a hand so glad

The bum on the rods is a social flea who gets an occasional bite The bum on the plush is a social leech, bloodsucking day and night

The bum on the rods is a load so light that his weight we scarcely feel But it takes the labor of dozens of folks to furnish the other a meal

As long as we sanction the bum on the plush the other will always be there But rid ourselves of the bum on the plush and the other will disappear

Then make an intelligent organised kick get rid of the weights that crush Dont worry about the bum on the rods get rid of the bum on the plush

Two Bums - Utah Phillips (George Milburn, 1930)

[folktranscripts]

And the new dirt's a falling on a new made coffin The new dirt's a falling on a new made coffin Way over in that union burying ground

(Oh tell me whose that, they're letting down, down)

Oh, tell me, who's that they're letting down, down? Tell me, who's that they're letting down, down? Way over in that union burying ground

(Another union organizer)

Another union organizer Another union organizer Way over in that union burying ground

(A union mother, a union father)

A union mother, a union father A union mother, a union father Way over in that union burying ground.

(A union brother, a union sister)

A union brother, a union sister A union brother, a union sister Way over in that union burying ground.

(Every new grave brings a thousand members)

Every new grave brings a thousand members Every new grave brings a thousand members, Way over in that union burying ground. Union Burying Ground - Utah Phillps (Woody Guthrie, 1976?)

[folktranscripts]

See now this is a song you 'aught to learn, it's not a wobblies song, well now wait a minute, any song a wobbly sings is a wobblies song, hell that could be Jingle Bells. Okay, we'll accept it. I think this is a particularly important song, simple as it is, it's just almost like a jingle. Uh, because we know who Joe Hill was, we remember the name Frank Little, we remember the name Wesley Everest, killed by the lumber barons(?) during the Centralia Massacre. We know the names of our martyrs, our Tom Mooney's our Sacco and Vanzetti's. Uh, but the real heroes of the labor movement are all the ones that are buried in those unmarked graves scattered all throughout the West, all throughout the world, who just came to town, or into the camp, or into the mine to do a job. That's all. Until the door flew open at midnight, and those hooded figures grabbed you and dragged you out and hung you under a railroad bridge like they did to Frank Little in Butte, Montana for resisting a bosses war, the First World War. So many of them though, thousands of them, dragged out and killed and left lying like garbage on the edge of town. They're the ones that we owe, the ones that didn't get into the history books. See, and we've got to remember that, they were just there to do a job. Woody wrote a song about that, Woody Guthrie, easy as pie, every verse is pretty much like the one before so, you'll catch onto it.   Union Burying Ground (intro) - Utah Phillips (1983)

[folktranscripts]

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night alive as you and me Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead" "I never died" said he "I never died" said he

"In Salt Lake, Joe, great god" says I "I'm standing by my bed They framed you on a murder charge" Says Joe, "But I ain't dead" Says Joe, "But I ain't dead"

"The Copper Bosses framed you Joe they shot you Joe" says I "Takes more than guns to kill a man" Says Joe "I didn't die" Says Joe "I didn't die"

And standing there as big as life and smiling with his eyes. Says He "What they forgot to kill went on to organize, went on to organize"

From San Diego on up to Maine in every mine and mill, Where workers strike and organize Says He "You'll find Joe Hill" Says He "You'll find Joe Hill"

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night alive as you and me Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead" "I never died" said he "I never died" said he Joe Hill - Utah Phillips (1983)

[folktranscripts]

Well now I aught to sing about Joe Hill. Joe Hill was in prison in Utah, well let me tell you how... let me tell you about that. My memory has been jogged about that. I've worked at every kind of dumb job you can imagine, every kind of scumbag boss believable. Viners for Delmati, all the way to working in state service, down in the, as a rat in the basement. Uhhmmm, oh yeah I used to come to work eight o'clock every morning, take the basement stairs down, the governor would take the stairs up and we'd shake hands as we passed each other in the hall. My my, the kind of thing that would drive you crazy, I mean not mad, I'm already mad, I don't mind that, that's what the situation requires. But I mean crazy which is mildly uncontrollable. Was married at the time, living on five hundred and twelve dollars a month, with uh five of us in the family, tryna buy a house, debt consolidation loans to consolidate my debt consolidation loans. Before Aman Hennessy taught me that credit was evil, I gave it up.

I'd take long walks at night to try to sort my thoughts out. Trying to put together what my Mother had said, she was a CIO organizer. With what my thoughts I was feeling, I'd walk to Sugar House, 'bout 21st south and 13th east. When we moved to Salt Lake in '47, that was a big red sandstone prison. Sugar House Prison. Well, 'bout 52-53 it was torn down for a city park, Sugar House Park. Well, I'd gotten the plans, since I worked at the Capitol, surveyors plans, and I could walk, at midnight, through that park, and I could stand right on the spot where that white kitchen chair was that Joe Hill was tied to when he was shot. I would stand and look at the stars and look at the moon and think about what the hell it was that I was doing with my life. Before Joe died, before the sun came up, he passed a little piece of paper out through the bars to a guard. He gave it to a reporter. On that paper was written the words:

“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? Ah, If I could choose, I would to ashes it reduce, And let some merry breezes blow Them 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” Joe Hill (Intro) - Utah Phillips (1983)

[folktranscripts]

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? Ah, If I could choose, I would to ashes it reduce, And let some merry breezes blow Them 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 Joe Hill’s Last Will (Written in his cell, November 18, 1915, on the eve of his execution)

[folktranscripts]

As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray Are brightened by a beauty a sudden sun discloses And the people hear us singing, bread and roses, bread and roses

As we come marching, marching, we battle too, for men For they are woman's children, we'll mother them again Our days shall not be sweated from birth until life closes Hearts can starve as well as bodies, give us bread, but give us roses

As we come marching, marching, a hundred million dead Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread Small art and love and beauty their trudging spirits knew Yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses, too

As we go marching, marching, we're standing proud and tall The rising of the women is the rising of us all No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes But a sharing of life's glories, bread and roses, bread and roses

Bread and Roses - Utah Phillips (James Oppenheim - 1911)

[folktranscripts]

Up in Lawrence, well the laborers that worked there were contract laborers, brought over from France and the Low Countries. Not good enough to be citizens, but good enough to work their whole lives out, spitting up blood at the looms. Not good enough to vote, for all the good it'd do 'em. Well they struck, most of them women, 27 thousand, who were dying at the average age of 26, 'cause of the dust in the weave rooms, can you imagine that? Uh, well they struck, the issues were of course; wages, hours, and conditions, like any strike. When the women met, and talked about it amongst themselves, decided; wages, hours, conditions, that's important. But it takes more than those three things to be a woman. It takes more than those three things to live any kind of decent human life. The next day, parading down the street, at two years of parades, the news paper reporters noticed that there was a young woman carrying a large sign which said; "Bread Yes! But Roses Too". And Lawrence became the Bread and Roses Strike, they marched those two bitter years, hell they had to ship the kids out of town 'cause there was no way to feed 'em. What they sang was "Bread and Roses". Bread and Roses (Intro) - Utah Phillips (1983)