7/18
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| Satuday in the Park |
I spend most of the day at the annual (virtual) WoodyFest, celebrating the life of Woody Guthrie. Usually in Okemah, Oklahoma, but due to the virus, coming to us from all over the country via ZOOM.
I check out the presentation by my friend Tom Breiding from Wheeling, West Virginia. He’s the artist in residence for the United Mine Workers. A tour guide for immersive explorations of Appalachia. A singer-songwriter who I am very happy to have had open for me at a club in Pittsburgh. He’s talking about Appalachia. The poorest region in the country. Parts of 23 states in Appalachia, but only West Virginia is wholly in Appalachia and thus the heart of Appalachia. I learn about the origin of the term red neck. It began with working people wearing red bandanas in support of striking miners. The bosses and owner referred to these “ignorant hill billies” as “red necks.” And now the term remains without respect for its origin, only its derision of hard working mountain people.
Tom’s stories take me back to growing up in Washington, Pennsylvania. I remembered the day I came home to find our neighborhood cordoned off by the FBI and needing to show ID and be questioned to enter. I later learned that our neighbor Ken’s father Jock Yablonski had just been murdered along with Ken’s mother and sister. Jock was running for President of the UMW against boss Tony Boyle. Jock was the organizer of Miners for Democracy. It would take years before Boyle would ultimately come to trial for the murder.
I spent two summers working for a local law firm for that was buying up the next down level of mining rights to be opened in 40 years. (That’s about now. )I learned that all local houses, including our new suburban home, had coal clauses absolving the coal rights owners of any responsibility should the house fall in.
When I returned to Pittsburgh, my former steel worker organizer friend turned unemployed organizer was working with the miners. (At one rally of miners, I was to give the benediction. Just before my big moment, they announced the location of the buses. I spoke to the backs of 5000 rapidly departing miners. ) I would take my youngest son to rallies with me and to this day he (and me too) associate camo much more with miners than military. He would see someone in camo and say “look dad, a miner….”
He told of demonstrations. Strikes. Encampments. Confrontations with private armies. And even massacres. That never ending flow of resistance to oppression and organizing for justice and freedom that has continued throughout history. If there is anything in life that is holy, that never ending stream is it. That unity of the people in the face of power and oppression, that is what is inspirational, sacred to me. I am glad to “come from there…” and will always hold on to that as part of who I am.
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| in the park |
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| BLM vendor |
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| BLM vendor |
Take a long walk through the Park. Lots of birthday parities. Picnics. I talk with the BLM vendor for awhile. On 5th Avenue, Maxwell’s has now become one of the”official” side walk restaurant with a “wait to be seated “ and all. The oasis outpost feel is gone so I’ll back to my own neighborhood.
Don’t necessarily intend to, but I watch all 4 hours of the “Woodyfest.” My friend Tom. Graham Nash of Crosby, Stills and Nash and the Hollies. Now looking very senior and sage. One of our elders. (Well, me too, I guess.) Mary Gautier who I was introduced to buy my brother and took a writing workshop from. One fine writer. Emma’s Revolution. And so many more. Amazed that Woody has inspired generations to keep that sacred flow going. Next year in Okemah. Bucket list.
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| ....and still we die.... |
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