Working Men's Culture

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Interesting. Tell me more about what you mean by "Labor Art" and such in the first place; I don't have a good enough sense of it to know if it is still around. Do you mean, like, railroad songs (John Henry and such)?

http://www.ibiblio.org/john_henry/music1.html

(I like 'John Henry' :wink: )

Well, yes: (and other) performed art, paintings, literature, traditions etc.

Studs Terkel.
The Mexican Muralists
Lotta music...
back tomorrow....

From the Grateful Dead Album, Workingman's Dead, Cumberland Blues:

I can't stay here much longer, Melinda
The sun is getting high
I can't help you with your troubles
If you won't help with mine
I gotta get down
I gotta get down
Gotta get down to the mine

You keep me up just one more night
I can't stop here no more
Little Ben clock says quarter to eight
You kept me up till four
I gotta get down
I gotta get down
Or I can't work there no more

Lotta poor man make a five dollar bill
Will keep him happy all the time
Some other fellow's making nothing at all
And you can hear him cry

Can I go, buddy, can I go down
Take your shift at the mine
Gotta get down to the Cumberland mine
That's where I mainly spend my time

Make good money, five dollars a day
If I made any more I might move away

Lotta poor man got the Cumberland Blues
He can't win for losing
Lotta poor man got to walk the line
Just to pay his union dues

I don't know now, I just don't know
If I'm coming back again
I don't know now, I just don't know
If I'm coming back again

From the same album, Easy Wind:

I been balling a shiny black steel jack-hammer,
been chippin' up rocks for the great highway,
live five years if I take my time,
ballin' that jack and a drinkin' my wine.

I been chippin' them rocks from dawn till doom,
while my rider hide my bottle in the other room.
Doctor say better stop ballin' that jack,
if I live five years I gonna bust my back, yes I will.

Easy wind cross the Bayou today
cause there's a whole lotta women, mama,
out in red on the streets today.
And the rivers keep a talkin',
but you never heard a word it said.

Gotta find a woman be good to me,
won't hide my liquor try to serve me tea,
cause I'm a stone jack baller and my heart is true
and I'll give everything that I got to you, yes I will.

Easy wind going cross the Bayou today
there's a whole lotta women
out in red on the streets today.
And the rivers keep a talkin',
but you never heard a word it said.

From the Rolling Stones, Beggar's Banquet album, Salt of the Eart:

Let's drink to the hard working people
Let's drink to the lowly of birth
Raise your glass to the good and the evil
Let's drink to the salt of the earth

Say a prayer for the common foot soldier
Spare a thought for his back breaking work
Say a prayer for his wife and his children
Who burn the fires and who still till the earth

And when I search a faceless crowd
A swirling mass of gray and
Black and white
They don't look real to me
In fact, they look so strange

Raise your glass to the hard working people
Let's drink to the uncounted heads
Let's think of the wavering millions
Who need leading but get gamblers instead

Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter
Empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows
And a parade of the gray suited grafters
A choice of cancer or polio

And when I look in the faceless crowd
A swirling mass of grays and
Black and white
They don't look real to me
Or don't they look so strange

Let's drink to the hard working people
Let's think of the lowly of birth
Spare a thought for the rag taggy people
Let's drink to the salt of the earth

Let's drink to the hard working people
Let's drink to the salt of the earth
Let's drink to the two thousand million
Let's think of the humble of birth

As a child, i was raised by my grandparents. My grandfather was a station master and telegrapher for the CB & Q for 44 years (1913-1957). All of the old railroad men, who were not too haughty about their position (as were the Conductors and others of their ilk who lived close to God), would teach a child I've Been Workin' on the Railroad:

I've been workin' on the railroad
All the live long day
I've been workin' on the railroad
Just to pass the time away
Don't you hear the whistle blowing?
Rise up so early in the morn.
Don't you hear the captain shouting
"Dinah, blow your horn?"

Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?

Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah.
Someone's in the kitchen, I know.
Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah
Strumming on the old banjo.

Fee, fie, fiddle-e-i-o.
Fee, fie, fiddle-e-i-o-o-o-o.
Fee, fie, fiddle-e-i-o.
Strumming on the old banjo.

Being just a liddly, whenever i heard the lyric about "someone's in the kitchen with Dinah," i pictured my grandmother in her kitchen, and had vague thoughts of someone flirting with my grandmother while my grandfather was at the depot. It made me somewhat uneasy . . .

Heh! Heh! Set. Some songs scared the bejeeeejus outta me when I was a kid.

Walter, it seems that things have become somewhat sophisticated since I was a skinny little youngun. In the area where I grew up, king coal and the railroad were the basis for the economy:

Oh, a nine pound hammer,
Is a little too heavy,
Oh a nine pound hammer,
Is a little to heavy,
Oh a nine pound hammer,
Is a little too heavy, Lord,
It killed John Henry
(it killed John Henry)
But it won't kill me.

Oh, I'm sowing on the mountains,
And I'm reaping in the valley.
Oh, I'm sowing on the mountains,
And I'm reaping in the valley.
I'm sowing on the mountain,
And I'm reapin in the valley, Lord
You're gonna reap,
(You're gonna reap)
Just what you sow.

All done a capella punctuated with the "clink" sound of the hammer.



I used to think John Henry laid the rails, but he was the typical guy who drove the spike that opened the hole for blasting, to create the railroad tunnels.

The real person in danger was the shaker (I can understand that term) who held the spike. Yikes.

I saw a documentary on old railroad workers a while ago that was *great* -- wish I could remember enough about it to search Google effectively. Anyway, it was these old men singing the old songs, fantastic. Loved the cadence/ rhythm.

OK, I have a better idea of the whole thing. I'd say "Roger and Me" is a modern form of labor art. There have been several books written by people who go from one job to another and describe their experiences; I'd say the king of this genre is David Sedaris with "The Santaland Diaries." (HILARIOUS.)

Will keep thinking.

Barbara Ehrenreich worked as a maid and wrote a book about it, maybe five years ago. (As opposed to being one in real life and writing about it.)

Here we go, the book came out three years ago..
http://discover.npr.org/features/feature.jhtml?wfId=1123183

The Dying Miner
(Woody Guthrie)

In a half and an hour ago,
Way down in this tunnel of coal,
Gas caught fire from somebody's lamp.
And the miners are choking in smoke.

Goodbye to Dickie and Honey,
Goodbye to the wife that I love.
One of these men not coming home,
Tonight when the work whistle blows.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

It looks like the end for me,
And all of my buddies I see.
We're all writing letters to children we love,
Please carry our word to our wives.

We, found a little place in the air,
Crawled and drug ourselves here.
But the smoke is bad and the fumes coming in,
And the gas is burning my eyes.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

Forgive me for the things I done wrong,
I love you lots more than you know.
When the night whistle blows and I don't come home,
Do all that you can to help mom.

I can hear the moans and groans,
More than a hundred good men.
Just work and right and try to see,
That this never happens again.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

My eyes are blinded with fumes,
But it sounds like the men are all gone,
'Cept Joe Valentini, Fred Gussler and George,
Trapped down in this hell hole of fire.

Please name our new baby Joe,
So he'll grow up like big Joe.
He'll work and he'll right and he'll fix up the mines,
So fire can't kill daddy no more.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

New York Mining Disaster, 1941--as performed by the Brothers Gibb (the Bee Gees)

In the event of something happening to me,
there is something I would like you all to see.
It's just a photograph of someone that I knew.

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

I keep straining my ears to hear a sound.
Maybe someone is digging underground,
or have they given up and all gone home to bed,
thinking those who once existed must be dead.

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

In the event of something happening to me,
there is something I would like you all to see.
It's just a photograph of someone that I knew.

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

A tip of my imaginary hat (i never wear real ones) to EB for the inspiration.

Ya gotta have a hat in Texas. That old sun bears down with a super vengeance.

I did spend some time in ol' Tejas there, EB . . . Fort Sam . . . i hadda wear a hat when on duty, but i never wear one in any weather otherwise. In fact the only time i wore headgear everyday while in the army was when i was overseas and was readily convinced of the wisdom of sporting a steel pot.

Other days, i just stood there while some Sgt. Major chewed me out and then told him i couldn't remember where i left my hat.

When young and very foolish, I worked quite often with no hat in 100 plus temperatures. Today I'm fighting skin cancer.

I truly regret to hear that EB. My Sweetiepie and i took our little furry friends down to Lake Ontario a week ago Sunday, and spent about two, three hours near the water. I came back as red as a beet--the Irish are about as white as they come. I avoid hot, sunny climates, and seriously do find the climate of Ontario to be charming.

Walter, you've brought back some dear old memories of childhood. In grade school, during the very late '40's and early '50's, we sang many of the old worker songs like, I've Been Working on the Railroad and The Erie Canal. They helped bring to life the history lessons of that time.

It's a shame those old songs became passe as this world became more sophisticated. It would be interesting to know how many people there are who don't want to admit their families were originally blue collar.

Can't say exactly why, but the Nun reminded me of my favorite Harry Belafonte tune from my childhood:

The Banana Boat Song


Day-o, day-ay-ay-o
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Day, he say day, he say day, he say day,
He say day, he say day-ay-ay-o
Daylight come and me wanna go home

Work all night on a drink a'rum
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Stack banana till the morning come
Daylight come and me wanna go home

Come, Mr. Tally Mon, tally me banana
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Come, Mr. Tally Mon, tally me banana
Daylight come and me wanna go home


It's six foot, seven foot, eight foot, Bunch!
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, Bunch!
Daylight come and me wanna go home

Day, he say day-ay-ay-o
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Day, he say day, he say day, he say day,
He say day, he say day
Daylight come and me anna go home

A beautiful bunch a'ripe banana
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Hide thee deadly black tarantula
Daylight come and me wanna go home

Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, Bunch!
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, Bunch!
Daylight come and me wanna go home