Come all of you good people, and listen while I tell,
The story of Chief Aderholt, the man you all knew well.
It was on one Friday evening, the seventh day of June,
He went down to the union ground and met his fatal doom.
They locked up our leaders, they put them into jail,
They shoved them into prison, refused to give them bail.
The workers joined together, and this was their reply,
“We’ll never, no, we’ll never, let our leaders die.”
They moved the trial to Charlotte, got lawyers from every town,
I’m sure we’ll hear them speak again upon the union ground.
While Vera, she’s in prison, Manville-Jenckes is in pain,
Come join the Textile Union, and show them you are game.
We’re going to have a union all over the South,
Where we can wear good clothes, and live in a better house.
Now we must stand together, and to the boss reply,
“We’ll never, no, we’ll never, let our leaders die.”
The story of Chief Aderholt, the man you all knew well.
It was on one Friday evening, the seventh day of June,
He went down to the union ground and met his fatal doom.
They locked up our leaders, they put them into jail,
They shoved them into prison, refused to give them bail.
The workers joined together, and this was their reply,
“We’ll never, no, we’ll never, let our leaders die.”
They moved the trial to Charlotte, got lawyers from every town,
I’m sure we’ll hear them speak again upon the union ground.
While Vera, she’s in prison, Manville-Jenckes is in pain,
Come join the Textile Union, and show them you are game.
We’re going to have a union all over the South,
Where we can wear good clothes, and live in a better house.
Now we must stand together, and to the boss reply,
“We’ll never, no, we’ll never, let our leaders die.”
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2015/4/22 - 19:27
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Parole di Ella May Wiggins (1900-1929), cantautrice, attivista sindacale e membro dell’International Labor Defense (IDL, il “Soccorso Rosso” americano), uccisa proprio nel 1929 durante lo sciopero alla Loray Mill, fabbrica tessile del gruppo Manville-Jenckes, a Gastonia, North Carolina
Canzone dedicata - ma giusto nel titolo - ad Orville Aderholt, uno sceriffo della contea di Gaston, il quale nel giugno del 1929, nel bel mezzo di uno sciopero piuttosto duro che si protraeva già da qualche settimana, decise di fare una spedizione notturna all’accampamento degli scioperanti con l’intento di requisirne le armi. L’idea non fu ben accolta dai manifestanti, tanto più che i poliziotti non potevano esibire un mandato del giudice... Beh, successe che qualcuno sparò e ci scapparono un morto - chief Aderholt, per l’appunto - e diversi feriti, tra poliziotti e lavoratori.
Naturalmente l’incidente diede occasione per inasprire la repressione e tutti i dirigenti sindacali vennero arrestati, compresi i referenti della National Textile Workers Union (NTWU), Fred Beal e Vera Bush (di cui alla terza strofa). Privati dei loro dirigenti e scoraggiati, i lavoratori furono ripetutamente attaccati da squadracce di picchiatori (strikebreakers, crumiri, vigilantes,...) e cacciati dalla contea. In uno di questi attacchi l’autrice di questa e altre canzoni, che costituiscono di fatto il racconto di quegli eventi, fu uccisa.
Ella May Wiggins aveva 29 anni, era madre di nove figli (quattro dei quali morti di pertosse a causa dell’assenza di cure), era stata abbandonata dal marito, era operaia tessile a 9 dollari la settimana, era attivista sindacale ed era comunista.