Showing posts with label Colorado Fuel and Iron. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Colorado Fuel and Iron. Show all posts

Friday, October 18, 2024

There Was Blood on the Coal in The IWW Colorado Strike of 1927

Less than an hour after Colorado Rangers shot up the IWW in Walsenburg killing two Mexican members, these miners gathered to protect it from renewed attack.

On October 18 the Great Colorado Coal Strike of 1927 began.  Despite being one of the most important and dramatic industrial struggles of the 20th Century chances are that you never heard of it even if you are fairly well versed in labor history.

That’s because it doesn’t fit tidily into the grand narrative that has been constructed for labor history which says that the great period of industrial upheaval which began roughly about the time of the Great Railway Strike of 1877 ended in the wave of patriotism caused by Americas entry into World War I and the glittering era of universal prosperity ushered in with the Roaring Twenties.  In this account, labor agitation does not resume on a wide scale until the Depression when it finally succeeds due to the beneficent support of the New Deal.  Moreover, the organization which successfully called over 8,000 miner across the state out on strike was supposed to have been crushed to insignificance by the post-war Red Scare prosecutions which had jailed literally the entire leadership of the union on Federal charges and under various state criminal syndicalist statutes.

Here is the forgotten story.

The Colorado coal fields had been a particularly vicious labor battle ground since the 1890’s because the industry was largely under the control of a handful of powerful corporations instead of multiple local operators as was common in the eastern coal fields.  Colorado Fuel and Iron Company, owned by Rockefeller interests, and Rocky Mountain Fuel Company were the largest of these companies and often were in virtual control of the state government.  The use of state Militia to support the companies’ own large security forces and local sheriff’s posses composed of gun thugs selected by the bosses, resulted in repeated and brutal suppression of organizing efforts and strikes.

The 1914 Ludlow Massacre when Colorado National Guard troops opened fire with machine guns on a camp of striking coal miners and their families was one of the most famous atrocities in the long mine wars in the state.  It's legacy was still keenly felt in 1927.

The United Mine Workers (UMW) made the Colorado mines a major target in the early 20th Century.  Legendary agitator Mother Jones was active there including her famous recruitment of striker’s wives to replace their jailed husbands on the picket lines.  But despite years of effort, the mines remained un-unionized.  The struggle came to a head in a 1914 strike at Ludlow.  Strikers and their families, evicted from company housing set up a tent and shanty town.  The town was attacked by Colorado National Guard  troops using machine gun fire and grenades.  It was burned to the ground.  Two women and 11 children died in the flames.  Three union leaders, two rank and file members, one child, a bystander, and a Guardsman (killed in the cross fire) were killed by bullet wounds.  Scores more were injured.  After a spasm of retaliation attacks on mines and more battles with the Guard, the strike petered out and the UMW mostly withdrew from the state and turned its attention eastward.

But the conditions that had led to earlier conflicts had not changed.  Miners still worked for up to 12 hours a day, six days a week.  They were required to buy their own tools and even their own blasting powder.  They were not paid for time in the mine not directly related to the extraction of coal, which included not only the frequently long trips to the mine face  from the surface by tram, but also necessary safety work like installing and maintaining shoring timbers.  In the most isolated mines, workers were paid in script redeemable only in company stores that offered shoddy goods at inflated prices.  The familiar company town system kept most workers perpetually in debt to the companies and thus virtual serfs.  Safety was also an issue.  In addition to almost daily fatal accidents the region had seen several major disasters including 121 miners killed in an accident at a mine in Hastings in 1917, 31 miners were killed in explosions at the Oakdale and Empire mines and in 1922, and  27 were killed in mines in Sopris and Southwestern in 1923.

Pre-teen and teen age miners pose outside a Colorado mine with the mules from the tram carts they were charged with loading.

The Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) had supposedly been smashed when the government launched nation-wide raids in 1919.  101 union leaders in Chicago, including General Secretary William D. “Big BillHaywood, the secretaries of most affiliated Industrial Unions and the entire General Executive Board were sentenced to prison.  Another 48 leaders were tried and convicted in Kansas.  Hundreds of others were tried and convicted in state courts.

But the Feds misunderstood the rank and file nature of the organization.  With their big name leaders in jail and Haywood fled to the Soviet Union, ordinary delegates, un-jailed local leaders, and rank and file members stepped up.  The union actually grew in numbers and continued significant organizing drives in the woods of the Pacific Northwest, on railroad and other mass construction projects, among both dock workers and seamen for the IWW’s Marine Transport Workers Union, and among California migrant workers.  It was a 1924 internal split that actually did more damage than the raids and imprisonment.  Membership fell and gains in most of the battle ground industries were lost.   But the union was not dead yet and turned to new ground.

A rare photo of A. S. Embree, one of the IWW's toughest, most experienced, and respected organizers who slowly and steadily built an Wobbly presence in the Colorado coal fields.

When the state of Idaho released A. S. Embree from prison after a criminal syndicalist rap, the veteran organizer relocated to southern Colorado.  Embree had a long record as an organizer of hard rock miners, particularly in the copper industry and had made a name for himself in campaigns in Butte, Montana and Arizona.  He was a survivor of the Bisbee Deportation and one of the most respected Wobblies.

Embree started slowly at first working with veterans of the 1914 strike and some long-time Colorado Wobs.  He soon had a network of stationary delegates throughout all three of the state’s big coal fields.  He started with general educational work, circulating copies of the IWW newspaper Industrial Solidarity, pamphlets, and tens of thousands of “silent agitatorstickers which were soon found at mine heads, on tram cars, and in any place miners gathered.

Particularly important were copies of literature and periodicals in several different languages because the miners were largely immigrants from Eastern and Southern Europe or were Spanish speaking recruited both from the large local population and from Mexico.  Slowly a network with contacts in every mining community and most mines in the state was built up.

The massive response among Colorado miners to a strike in support of Sacco and Vanzetti signaled that the time was ripe for a new mass strike of the state's powerful mining interests.

Still, given the violent history of the region, there was a reluctance to move too soon against the mine owners.  But Embree noticed that material circulated by the IWW’s General Defense Committee in support of Sacco and Vanzetti struck a genuine note of sympathy and solidarity.  On August 21 the IWW called for a general strike against the executions of the Italian Anarchists.  Response in Colorado exceeded beyond anyone’s expectations.  More than 10,000 miners went out in all sections of the state, virtually closing down the industry.  To prevent retaliatory firings workers at many mines stayed out for three days.

Clearly the time was ripe for action.  The IWW called representatives of all mines to a conference at Agular on September 8 to iron out demands—a daily wage of $7.50, union check weigh men, payment for “dead work” and recognition of pit committee at each mine.  To comply with the rules of the Colorado State Industrial Commission a strike date was set with more than the required 30 day notice.  The workers offered to allow the Commission to conduct elections at each mine to ascertain that the action had the support of members.  The Commission refused to act and when the strike began as scheduled on October 18 ruled that it was illegal and declared any meetings or picketing by miners to be illegal and subject to being broken up by the Colorado Rangers, state police usually called the militia by strikers.

State Militia (National Guard) troopers conduct a check-point stop of an auto.  Strikers also called the re-activated Colorado Rangers militia causing confusion in some accounts of the strike.  Every attempt was made to prevent strike leaders or rank and file members from traveling between towns and mines.

Although the strike was led by the IWW, pit committees were open to all miners who supported the goals of the strike including remaining members of the UMW and members of independent and company controlled unions at Colorado Fuel and Iron mines concentrated in the southern field.

About 8,400 miners walked out and 113 mines across the state were closed and only 13 still running were still running with scabs. The majority of miners in the state were on strike, about 8,400. In the northern field only the Columbine pit located just north of Denver remained open, limping by with limited production by 150 scabs. In the southern field frequent mass gatherings on the coalfields called more and more of the miners still at work out to join the strike despite inducements to join the scabs by offers of premium pay and improved conditions. Picket lines were almost constantly harassed by the police, and arrests were frequent. Union halls were raided and smashed.  Strikers were arrested in mass and moved from one jail to another to prevent access by IWW lawyers.   Others were deported to the state line and told that they would be shot on sight if they returned.  But the strike held and it expanded.

Amelia Sablich, the 19 year old daughter of a jailed became a famous strike speaker and picket line inspiration known as Red Milka for the defiant bright red dress she always wore.

Workers fought back with ingenuity.  In one country jail, miners refused to be released when their sentences expired to prevent more strikers from being imprisoned.  In the southern fields the 19 year old daughter of a Croatian miner, Amelia Milka Sablich gained fame as Red Milka.  After the arrests of her father and older sister she donned a bright red dress and with fiery rhetoric led marches against scab mines.  She was jailed twice herself and physically fought a policeman to a draw.

In November the IWW dispatched a squad of “singing agitators” south from Lafayette to Walsenburg by car caravan—a new tactic.  Despite being harassed by mounted Ranger and buzzed by state owned airplanes, the squad held successful meetings in several towns and camps, reviving sprits and leaving behind miners who could sing the anthem Solidarity Forever in a dozen languages.

The Columbine Mine, the lone operating mine in the north, became a focus of attention.  It was operated by Rocky Mountain Fuel Company.  Josephine Roche, a well-known liberal with strong sympathy for unionism had just inherited the firm from her father but did not yet exert total day-to-day control. She told reporters that she would welcome union representation at the mine, but not the IWW.

For two weeks strikers had been rallying daily outside of the Columbine gates in the town of Serene.  On earlier marches Roche had ordered that the picketers be served coffee.  Other mine owners, however, were determined to break the strike at Columbine.  They induced Governor Billy Adams to reactivate the Colorado Rangers, who had officially been disbanded before the strike largely due to their reputation for being used as an employer’s armed force.  With questionable legal authority the Rangers under the command of Louis Scherf arrived sometime in the night of October 17/18.  They were heavily armed with rifles, hand grenades, and three 50 caliber machine guns which they deployed at the mine tipple where coal was loaded onto railroad cars and on trucks including one near the water tank.  Together the guns commanded an enfilading field of fire.

In the wake of the bloody attack on marching miners and their families at the Columbine mine, the establishment press hailed National Guard troopers and the Colorado Rangers as heroes.

Just before dawn 500 miners and many of their wives and family members arrived at the shut gates of the town of Serene.  They marched behind three U.S. Flags and as usual were under orders to carry no weapons.  They were surprised to find the Rangers out in force and heavily armed, although not in uniform.  As the marchers neared Scherf announced that they would not be admitted to town and that their gathering was illegal.  He demanded to know, “Who are your leaders?”  The crowd responded with cries of “We’re all leaders!”  After some discussion Adam Bell was selected to go forward with a flag bearer to ask that the gates be unlocked because the town was public and the strikers had children in the school and business at the Post Office.

Bell was struck in the head by a baton and a guard tried to seize the flag from its 16 year-old bearer.  As a struggle for the flag ensued, a volley of tear gas was fired one striking a Mrs. Kubic in the back as she tried to get away.  Miners began heaving the teargas grenades back into the town and the injured Bell let up a cry, “Let’s Go!” leading an assault on the gate.  Bell was soon surrounded and beaten unconscious. Mrs. Elizabeth Beranek, mother of 16 children and one of the flag-bearers, tried to protect him with her flag.  The police turned on her, beating her severely.

Wave after wave or enraged strikers scaled the gate to be met with truncheons and lengths of iron pipe in a desperate hand to hand battle.  Despite inflicting severe injuries, the outnumbered police retired to a line at the mine gate 150 yards inside the town.

21 year old Jerry Davis grabbed one of the fallen flags and led hundreds of angry miners  through the smashed gate. Others scaled the fence east of the gate.  As the miners closed in Scherf fired twice with his .45 automatic signaling a volley of rifle fire.  At least two of the machine guns opened up a withering crossfire.  The miners and their families ran leaving scores of bodies on the ground both dead and wounded.

John Eastenes, a 34 year old father of six children and Nick Spanudakhis, 34, both of  Lafayette, died at the scene.  Frank Kovich of Erie, Rene Jacques, 26, of Louisville, and Davis died hours later in the hospital. The American flag Davis carried was riddled with seventeen bullet holes and stained with blood. Mike Vidovich of Erie, 35, died a week later of his injuries.  The total number of injuries may never be known because many miners were afraid to seek medical attention.

Despite the bloodshed, the strike continued.  And so did daily violence against strikers and their families both on picket lines and in towns.  On January 12, 1928 the IWW hall in Walsenburg was attacked and riddled with bullets.  Wobblies Chavez and Martinez were killed.

The strike petered out in February when owners granted significant concessions, but not recognition of the IWW.  In the southern fields dominated by the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company wages were boosted by a dollar a day.  Increases of 50 cents were won in the north.  In all parts of the state pit committees were recognized, weigh men elected, and some grievance procedures were adopted—at least temporarily. 

Josephine Roche was already a noted progressive reformer with pro-labor views when she inherited principle ownership of the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company, one of the two main coal operators in the state.

In the southern fields the Colorado Fuel and Iron company announced that in the elections that it supervised, miners voted not to allow IWW members back on the job.  In the North Josephine Roche announced her intention of eventually recognizing the UMW, which had taken no part in the strike.  But even this was not followed up on until 1929.  The willingness of the UMW to “scab” on the IWW led to bitter feelings between the two unions that would only intensify as both contended in the Illinois coal field wars later in the decade.

Roche later ran unsuccessfully for Governor of Colorado as a labor Democrat and served as Assistant Secretary of the Treasury under Franklin Roosevelt.  She continued to be associated with the UMW as one of three directors of its welfare and retirement fund until forced from office amid charges of mismanagement and corruption in 1968.

Although the IWW valiantly led the strike, it ended with no job representation.  A few locals hung on for a few years and had some influence in the non-union pit committees and Wobblies were frequently trusted and elected as weigh men.

The Rocky Mountain Fuel Company went bankrupt in 1944.  The Colorado Fuel and Iron business records were donated to the Steelworks Museum of Industry and Culture.  The records conclusively proved, as if anyone ever doubted it that the company had systematically spied upon, disrupted, and sought to discredit the IWW during the 1927 strike. 

On a personal note Red Milka, the young heroine of the southern coal fields, went on to study at the IWW affiliated Work Peoples College in Duluth, Minnesota where one of her instructors was the young Canadian Fred W. Thompson.   He would go on to be a legendary IWW organizer, officer, editor, labor historian and my personal mentor.  He was the principal co-author of our 1975 book The IWW: Its First Seventy Years and was the best man at my wedding in 1981.  That made me connected by only three degrees to the Colorado strike.

 

Monday, April 21, 2014

National Poetry Month—A Centennial of Death at Ludlow



Yesterday was the 100th anniversary of the Ludlow Massacre, probably the most brutal episode in the decades of open class warfare that gripped the U.S. from the Great Railway Strike of 1877 to the eve of the nation’s entry into World War II.  The story of that horrific morning at a squalid encampment of families of striking Colorado coal miners who had been evicted from their company housing is missing from the history you probably studied in high school.  And not by accident.
Briefly, in the summer of 1913 a strike for better wages, the 8 hour day, an end to child labor, and recognition of the United Mine Workers of America (UMWA) broke out across the southern Colorado coal fields up and down the Eastern Slope of the Rocky Mountains.  It was just the latest instalment in a series of bloody battles between largely immigrant miners and the powerful corporations that dominated the industry including the Rockefeller owned Colorado Fuel and Iron.  It would not even be the last. 
Ten years earlier the legendary Mother Jones had been active in an earlier strike, urging miners to defy injunctions, leading marches, and organizing mine wives to take their husbands place on the picket lines.  There had been mass arrests, deportations, random shootings.  Mother Jones was arrested and President Theodore Roosevelt dubbed the old rabble rouser “the most dangerous woman in America.”  That strike had been broken and worker returned to wretched conditions in the virtual prisons of the company towns.
Early in the 1913 strike, workers got the upper hand by effectively blocking the canyon heads through which scabs would have to pass to get to the mines.  The company responded, as usual, by evicting the strikers, and then harassing the tent colonies that they set up.  There were also mass arrests, detention in open-air bull pens—virtual concentration camps—deportations to the state line, and random assaults on strikers and their families.
To beef up their already sizable force of mine “guards” called the Fuel and Iron Police called on the services of the Baldwin–Felts Detective Agency.  The Pinkertons may be better known and reviled by unionists as scab herders and strike breakers.  They could, and did bust heads or use firearms, usually in the guise of “protecting” scabs.  And they were notorious for planting operatives as spies and occasionally framing union official.  But for sheer brutality, Baldwin-Felts was unmatched.  It was less a detective agency than a hired army.  The agency had cut its teeth in the mine wars of West Virginia and left a trail of bodies and brutalized victims in its wake.  I worked best were local authorities were firmly in the pockets of the bosses and willing to look the other way at any violation of legal niceties.  That was certainly the case in Colorado where the governor and most county official were beholden to Rockefeller interests.  Companies that hired Baldwin-Felts did so with the intention of settling a strike by body count.
Scores of agency men arrived on the scene heavily armed.  An armored car mounting a .50 caliber machine gun and known to miners as the Death Special was built for their use.  In addition to escorting scabs, the agency harassed the miners’ squatter camps with the car and agency snipers regularly peppered tents with gun fire at night, wounding several.  Local leaders and rank-and-file members who were caught out alone were often beaten or shot.
Despite the harassment and intimidation, the strike held up.  In October Governor Elias M. Ammons called out the National Guard openly on the side of mine owners.  Under the command of Adjutant-General John Chase, a veteran of the Cripple Creek Strike ten years earlier imposed virtual martial law.  Although violence somewhat abated, arrests and detentions soared, a strict curfew was imposed, and all meetings and picketing outlawed.

Mother Jones, fresh from being released from West Virginia imprisonment, rushed to the scene.  As she had before, she organized the women in support of their husbands and tried to arrange food and clothing relief for the striking families, especially the large numbers of children in the camps.
The strike endured through the brutal winter, but action seemed to pick up as spring neared.  It looked to many as though the use of the Guard and gun thugs had essentially broken the strike.  Many mines were able to operate with scabs.  Anger built among the strikers as did attacks on scabs, and when they could be found vulnerable, Baldwin-Felts gunmen.
Infamous Company A, Colorado National Guard Cavalry



The deployment of hundreds of Guardsmen, however, was nearly bankrupting the state government.  Believing that it had the upper-hand, most were de-mobilized.  But a brand new unit, designated Troop A of the cavalry was created with members “recruited” from the Fuel and Iron Police and Baldwin-Felts, their pay subsidized by the company.
 Mother Jones was arrested by Chase and held in confinement and was eventually deported to the Kansas state line.  The strikers’ wives organized a march in the main city of the mining district, Trinidad.  The orderly march drew hundreds of women and their children.  Under Chase’s order cavalrymen from Troop A charged the women, injuring and arresting several.
After a scab was found dead near a railroad line on March 10, camp near Forbes was attacked, burned and residents sent scattering.  Harassment at other camps increased.  Dug-outs were built under many tents for cover when sniper fire erupted.
Early in the morning of April 20, three Guardsmen entered the camp at Ludlow demanding the “release” of a scab they claimed was being detained there.  The respected leader of the camps Greeks, Louis Tikas volunteered to go into town to negotiate with the officer in charge.  But on the way he saw that machine guns were being set up on Water Tank Hill, just south of Ludlow commanding the camp.  He ran back to the camp to alert the miners who armed themselves to protect the camp.  Some tried to outflank the machine gun position.  A fire fight broke out and lasted most of the day.
Members of Company A arrived to reinforce the members of Company B already on the scene and set up a second machine gun which set up a crossfire.  About 150 guardsmen also poured rifle fire into the camp.  At one point a freight train pulled up along the camp allowing many of the women and children to escape to the Black Hills above the camp.
Others found shelter in the dug-outs under the tents.  By early evening Guardsmen were entering the camp.  Guardsmen soaked the tents with kerosene regardless of who might be inside.  By 7 pm the camp was ablaze.  The next morning the bodies of two women and 11 children were found huddled together in the dug-out under one tent. 
Tikas and two other known union leaders were captured.  Lieutenant Karl Linderfelt, who had several run-ins with Tikas during the strike, broke a rifle butt over the Greeks head.  Later, Tikas and the two others were found shot to death.  Tikas was shot three times in the back.  Their bodies were left on a rail way embankment for three days as a “lesson” for other strikers.
The exact death toll in the camp may never be precisely known and is estimated at between 19 and 25 with many more injured.  The three executed men, the women and children, and three other men were identified.  Three company guards and one Guardsman also died that day, at least some of whom were caught in their own cross fire.
As word spread among the camps, so did the outrage.  Miner’s organized their own militia armed mostly with Winchester 30-30 rifles obtained by the union for self-defense and assorted private arms went on the offensive.  For ten day well organized units attacked mines, scabs, Baldwin-Felts thugs, and gunmen.  Scores were killed on both sides in merciless fighting.  The governor re-activated more Guard units, but fighting did not stop until Federal Troops intervened on the order of President Woodrow Wilson who disarmed both sides.
The strike officially struggled on until June when UMWA official conceded defeat.  The union then all but abandoned Colorado.  In 1927 an new mine strike, this time led by the Industrial Workers of the World would erupt in both the northern and southern coal fields and another bitter chapter of the coal wars would be written.
Meanwhile Mother Jones and surviving women testified before Congress.  An investigation was launched which mainly confirmed the strikers accounts of the events, but no action was taken against Guard officer or the company.  Public outrage soon faded.  Then came the all-too successful attempts to blot the whole thing from American memory.
In 1944 on the 30th anniversary of the massacre Woody Guthrie wrote one of his angriest songs.  When it was later released, it revived interest in the massacre.
Today, the UMWA owns the massacre site where a monument was dedicated there in 1919.  It was vandalized and badly damaged in 2003 and restored and re-dedicated by the union in 2007.  This week dozens of events in Colorado commemorate the anniversary.
Of course poetry was inspired.  We’ll start with that Woody Guthrie ballad.

Ludlow Massacre 

It was early spring time that the strike was on
They moved us miners out of doors
Out from the houses that the company owned
We moved into tents at old Ludlow
I was worried bad about my children
Soldiers guarding the railroad bridge
Every once in a while a bullet would fly
Kick up gravel under my feet
We were so afraid they would kill our children
We dug us a cave that was seven foot deep
Carried our young ones and a pregnant woman
Down inside the cave to sleep
That very night, you soldier waited
Until us miners were asleep
You snuck around our little tent town
Soaked our tents with your kerosene
You struck a match and the blaze it started
You pulled the triggers of your Gatling guns
I made a run for the children
But the fire wall stopped me
Thirteen children died from your guns
I carried my blanket to a wire fence corner
Watched the fire ‘til the blaze died down
I helped some people grab their belongings
While your bullets killed us all around
I will never forget the looks on the faces
Of the men and women that awful day
When we stood around to preach their funerals
And lay the corpses of the dead away
We told the Colorado governor to call the President
Tell him to call off his National Guard
But the National Guard belong to the governor
So he didn't try so very hard
Our women from Trinidad they hauled some potatoes
Up to Walsenburg in a little cart
They sold their potatoes and brought some guns back
And put a gun in every hand
The state soldiers jumped us in a wire fence corner
They did not know that we had these guns
And the redneck miners mowed down them troopers
You should have seen those poor boys run
We took some cement and walled that cave up
Where you killed those thirteen children inside
I said, “God bless the Mine Workers’ Union”
And then I hung my head and cried

—Woody Guthrie

William M. Jones commemorated Mother Jones in this poem which he read at a state convention of West Virginia union a few years earlier.  Utah Phillips frequently recited it in his performances.

The Charge on Mother Jones


The patriotic soldiers came marching down the pike,
Prepared to shoot and slaughter in the Colorado strike;
With whiskey in their bellies and vengeance in their souls,
They prayed that God would help them shoot the miners full of
     holes.

In front of these brave soldiers loomed a sight you seldom see:
A white-haired rebel woman whose age was eighty-three.
“Charge!” cried the valiant captain, in awful thunder tones,
And the patriotic soldiers “CHARGED” and captured Mother Jones.

‘Tis great to be a soldier with a musket in your hand,
Ready' for any bloody work the lords of earth command.
‘Tis great to shoot a miner and hear his dying groans
But never was such glory as that “charge” on Mother Jones.

—William M. Jones

In 2007 David Mason, the acclaimed Poet Laureate of Colorado release his novel in verse, Ludlow.  It is currently being adapted as an opera by Lori Laitman.  Mason will participate in several of this weeks’ events.  Here is a short excerpt introducing one of his characters.

Excerpt from the Novel Ludlow

“Luisa,” Too Tall stopped to touch her hair.
“Lass, this man’s your new employer. Chin up.
Let’s look at you.” She saw the man’s good shoes
when he stepped down, the trousers, buttoned vest.
“George Reed,” said Mr. Reed. Don’t be afraid.”
He swung his hat off, a man of thirty years
with blue eyes and a blond mustache, his hair
parted almost down the middle. “That’s it,
good girl.” His mustache bristled when he smiled.
“She’s not much older’n mine. You say she can read?”
“She’s had it hard,” said Too Tall.
                                        “There’s plenty
around here had it hard,” said Mr. Reed.
“But we could use the help if she can work.
You can work, can’t you, young lady? Luisa,
right? Luisa, you can work, can’t you?”
Luisa nodded. “That a girl. Good girl.”

They loaded up her apple crates of clothing,
Bible, the wooden santo her mother brought
from a village far away, the carver’s name
made shiny by the rub of hands: abuelo.
“No tiene uno ni madre,” said
a voice behind her. “Good lass. Good lassie.”
“Work hard and don’t forget us,” said Mrs,
“Good-bye,” said the house, the hens, the risen dust.

—David Mason