America our nation has been beaten by strangers who have turned our language inside out who have taken the clean words our fathers spoke and made them slimy and foul
their hired men sit on the judge’s bench they sit back with their feet on the tables under the dome of the State House they are ignorant of our beliefs they have the dollars the guns the armed forces the powerplants
they have built the electricchair and hired the executioner to throw the switch
all right we are two nations
America our nation has been beaten by strangers who have bought the laws and fenced off the meadows and cut down the woods for pulp and turned our pleasant cities into slums and sweated the wealth out of our people and when they want to they hire the executioner to throw the switch
but do they know that the old words of the immigrants are being renewed in blood and agony tonight do they know that the old American speech of the haters of oppression is new tonight in the mouth of an old woman from Pittsburgh of a husky boilermaker from Frisco who hopped freights clear from the Coast to come here in the mouth of a Back Bay socialworker in the mouth of an Italian printer of a hobo from Arkansas the language of the beaten nation is not forgotten in our ears tonight
the men in the deathhouse made the old words new before they died
If it had not been for these things, I might have lived out my life talking at streetcorners to scorning men. I might have died unknown, unmarked, a failure. This is our career and our triumph. Never in our full life can we hope to do such work for tolerance, for justice, for man’s understanding of man as how we do by an accident
now their work is over the immigrants haters of oppression lie quiet in black suits in the little undertaking parlor in the North End the city is quiet the men of the conquering nation are not to be seen on the streets
they have won why are they scared to be seen on the streets? on the streets you see only the downcast faces of the beaten the streets belong to the beaten nation all the way to the cemetery where the bodies of the immigrants are to be burned we line the curbs in the drizzling rain we crowd the wet sidewalks elbow to elbow silent pale looking with scared eyes at the coffins
we stand defeated America
Newsreel LXVII
when things are upset, there’s always chaos, said Mr. Ford. Work can accomplish wonders and overcome chaotic conditions. When the Russian masses will learn to want more than they have, when they will want white collars, soap, better clothes, better shoes, better housing, better living conditions
I lift up my finger and I say tweet tweet
shush shush
now now
come come
REPUBLIC-TRUMBULL STEEL MERGER VOTED
There along the dreamy Amazon
We met upon the shore
Tho’ the love I knew is ever gone
WHEAT OVERSOLD REACHES NEW HIGH
Dreams linger on
the first thing the volunteer firefighters did was to open the windows to let the smoke out. This created a draft and the fire with a good thirty mile wind right from the ocean did the rest
RECORD TURNOVER IN INSURANCE SHARES
AS TRADING PROGRESSES
outside the scene was a veritable bedlam. Well-dressed women walked up and down wringing their hands, helpless to save their belongings, while from the windows of the upper stories there rained a shower of trunks, suitcases and clothing hurled out indiscriminately. Jewelry and bricabrac valued at thousands was picked up by the spectators from the lawn, who thrust the objects under their coats and disappeared
BROKERS LOANS HIT NEW HIGH
Change all of your gray skies
Turn them into gay skies
And keep sweeping the cobwebs off the moon
MARKETS OPTIMISTIC
learn new uses for cement. How to develop profitable concrete business. How to judge materials. How to figure jobs. How to reinforce concrete. How to build forms, roads, sidewalks, floors, foundations, culverts, cellars
And even tho the Irish and the Dutch
Say it don’t amount to much
Fifty million Frenchmen can’t be wrong
STARSPANGLED BANDIT GANG ROBS DINERS
MURDER BARES QUAKER STATE FANTASIES
Poker Slayer Praised
Poor little Hollywood Rose
so all alone
No one in Hollywood knows
how sad she’s grown
FIVE HUNDRED MILLIONS IN BANK DEAL
Sure I love the dear silver that shines in your hair
And the brow that’s all furrowed
And wrinkled with care
I kiss the dear fingers so toil worn for me
CARBONIC BUYS IN DRY ICE
GAB MARATHON RUN FOR GOLD ON BROADWAY
the broad advertising of the bull markets, the wide extension of the ticker services, the equipping of branch brokerage offices with tickers, transparent, magnified translux stockquotation rolls have had the natural result of stirring up nation-wide interest in the stockmarket
Poor Little Rich Boy
William Randolph Hearst was an only son, the only chick in the richlyfeathered nest of George and Phebe Hearst.
In eighteen fifty George Hearst had left his folks and the farm in Franklin County, Missouri, and driven a team of oxen out to California. (In fortynine the sudden enormous flare of gold had filled the west;
the young men couldn’t keep their minds on their plowing, on feeding the swill to the pigs, on threshing the wheat
when the fires of gold were sweeping the Pacific Slope. Cholera followed in the ruts of the oxcarts, they died of cholera round the campfires, in hastilybuilt chinchinfested cabins, they were picked off by hostile Indians, they blew each other’s heads off in brawls.)
George Hearst was one of the few that made it;
he developed a knack for placermining;
as a prospector he had an accurate eye for picking a goldbearing vein of quartz;
after seven years in El Dorado County he was a millionaire, Anaconda was beginning, he owned onesixth of the Ophir Mine, he was in on Comstock Lode.
In sixtyone he went back home to Missouri with his pockets full of nuggets and married Phebe Apperson and took her back by boat and across Panama to San Francisco the new hilly capital of the millionaire miners and bought a mansion for her beside the Golden Gate on the huge fogbound coast of the Pacific.
He owned vast ranges and ranches, raised cattle, ran racehorses, prospected in Mexico, employed five thousand men in his mines, on his estates, lost and won fortunes in mining deals, played poker at a century a chip, never went out without a bag of clinkers to hand out to old friends down on their uppers,
and died in Washington
a senator,
a rough diamond, a lusty beloved whitebearded old man with the big beak and sparrowhawk eyes of a breaker of trails, the beetling brows under the black slouch hat
of an oldtimer.
Mrs. Hearst’s boy was born in sixtythree.