there once was a union maid
who never was afraid
of goons and ginks and company finks
and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid
she went to the union hall
when a meeting it was called
and when the Legion boys came 'round
she always stood her ground:
oh you can't scare me, i'm stickin to the union
i'm stickin to the union, i'm stickin to the union
no you can't scare me, i'm stickin to the union
i'm stickin to the union till the day i die

~woody guthrie~, "union maid"

suffice it to say there are things going on that i can't talk about. so in lieu of that, here is a story:

there once was a young man who escaped tsarist russia after being jailed for distributing anti-tsar leaflets. at 15 he jumped a ship bound for america and settled in to a new life in new york city. he was alone. in the bronx borough he found a home among other jews and working class men. after a time--several years, i would think--he met the love of his life, and married her. they had a daughter. along about the same time, there were labor strikes and disputes erupting around the country. there were riots. the conditions of the working people were exposed, and the young man joined the industrial workers of the world organization. their motto was one he could believe in: an injury to one is an injury to all. and in the earliest days of long-lasting labor unions in america, this young man (who was not quite as young anymore) rose in the ranks to become a vocal participant in union movements. he and his wife raised their daughter to believe she could be anything. they told her that she was as good as any boy and that she could achieve just as much.

as his daughter grew, she met a young man from the bronx as well, a young man who was in the IWW and spent his time working for his father and organizing within his local. over time they fell in love. he liked to write her love letters in green ink. she called him penny. and after they married they joined a group of young radicals in establishing a socialist society outside of the city. of course they didn't live there, but they spent their summers there. this group of young friends built a dock on the lake, built a meeting house and a common barn, camped on their sections of the land they had bought together, and eventually even built true houses on them. as people do when they are in love, the young woman (who was not quite as young anymore) and her husband had children: three boys. they spent their years in new york but their summers in three arrows, as the community was named, after a symbol from the young woman's father's days in russia, meaning down with communism, capitalism, and fascism. they believed in equality, in sharing their lives and lands and money with their friends and neighbors, they believed that everyone had a duty to help better the world. the boys grew up riding the subways and running in the woods. they played baseball, they went to school, they read and fought and were as boys are. but they also heard the stories of their grandfather's involvement in the union, of their father's involvement. they had songbooks full of union anthems. all of their lullabies were such. and in their hearts at first, and then their heads, they came to believe, as their parents and grandparents, in equality first. in strength in numbers. in unions.

by 1963, the focus of rights in america had shifted, from rights for the working class in the early 1900s, to rights for women in the 1920s, and onto civil rights for african-americans. on august 28th, 1963, dr. king's voice rang out on the lincoln memorial and the washington monument, the mall between them blanketed with people singing, crying, believing. the two younger boys (who were not as young anymore) were there. in their genes they had inherited big eyebrows and a passion for baseball, and a deep seated belief that everyone deserved rights as a human being among men. the youngest, especially, worked for the civil rights movement. he marched. he sang. he wrote. he stood up for others, as his father and grandfather and mother and grandmother before him.

as the man grew he met a woman with fiery hair and a loud laugh. they had two dogs, and a house on the prairie in kansas (far from home for both), and then a son. they moved west in the pioneer tradition, and then they had a daughter. these two spent summers in three arrows with their cousins. they all heard the stories of their great-grandfather and great-grandmother, their grandfather and grandmother, their dads and moms, in their work to stand up. they heard the lullabies and sang the songs and grew up believing in the worth of every person around them. they joined the unions they could join. and at family reunions, funerals and birthdays and anniversary celebrations, they sang songs of freedom and never forgot to remember who had brought them to where they stood.

after their grandfather died, their fathers crawled into the old attic and found his original union membership card, signed in green ink.

and the daughter, this proud descendant of brave men and brave women, well, someday she'll sing the songs to her own children. and then to their children. but for now, for tonight, she settles in with memories that were bequeathed to her, of long ago days when a young boy jumped a ship-- and in that one act, started a legacy.