Rebel Voices
Page 31
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 fobs
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 1913–14 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 HELL
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.
Photograph of Joe Hill taken by International News Service on the eve of his execution.
United Press International, Inc., photo.
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. fri
ends’” (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 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
Sheet music of Joe Hill’s “The Rebel Girl.”
Music of Joe Hill’s “The Rebel Girl.”
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 OBV.-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.
P.S. 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.