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Showing posts with label Encounters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Encounters. Show all posts

Sunday, September 01, 2013

Celebrating the Proletariat: Labor Day 2013


From Marx and the Proletariat (Philosophy & Philosophers)

prōliˈte(ə)rēət/

noun

workers or working-class people, regarded collectively ."the growth of the industrial proletariat"
synonyms: the workers, working-class people, wage earners, the working classes, the common people, the lower classes, the masses, the rank and file, the third estate, the plebeians; the lumpen, the lumpenproletariat. derogatory: the hoi polloi, the plebs, the proles, the great unwashed, the mob, the rabble.

Labor Day, an annual celebration of workers and their achievements, originated during one of American labor history’s most dismal chapters. In the late 1800s, at the height of the Industrial Revolution in the United States, the average American worked 12-hour days and seven-day weeks in order to eke out a basic living. Despite restrictions in some states, children as young as 5 or 6 toiled in mills, factories and mines across the country, earning a fraction of their adult counterparts’ wages. People of all ages, particularly the very poor and recent immigrants, often faced extremely unsafe working conditions, with insufficient access to fresh air, sanitary facilities and breaks. Congress would not legalize the holiday until 12 years later, when a watershed moment in American labor history brought workers’ rights squarely into the public’s view. On May 11, 1894, employees of the Pullman Palace Car Company in Chicago went on strike to protest wage cuts and the firing of union representatives. On June 26, the American Railroad Union, led by Eugene V. Debs, called for a boycott of all Pullman railway cars, crippling railroad traffic nationwide. To break the strike, the federal government dispatched troops to Chicago, unleashing a wave of riots that resulted in the deaths of more than a dozen workers. In the wake of this massive unrest and in an attempt to repair ties with American workers, Congress passed an act making Labor Day a legal holiday in the District of Columbia and the territories. ~ from HISTORY.com
A Brief History of Labor day
This weekend—Labor Day Weekend—is the one time each year Americans celebrate the hoi polloi, the plebs, the proles, the great unwashed, the mob, the rabble. Sometime in the last 119 years since the first Federally affirmed Labor Day, the meaning has been lost to picnics, beginning of school, a few parades, and lots of alcohol consumption.



For a lessening few, this is a time to remember and celebrate the working men and women of the United States. I suppose there are many ways to this; I rather prefer the music of the proletariat to any other.

Woody Guthrie

 There are all sorts of songs: some are humorous; some are motivating; some celebrate heroes; some remember tragedies. Below are a few that I was able to locate as videos on the Internet: 

HUMOROUS: High Sheriff of Hazard (Tom Paxton)


MOTIVATING: Which Side Are You On (Pete Seeger)


Tragedies: Ludlow Massacre (Woody Guthrie)


HEROES: Joe Hill (sung by Paul Robeson)



That’s all for this Labor Day weekend post. If by chance you are interested in learning or hearing more, may I suggest:

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Please

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Wee Hour Encounters

It’s been another one of those nights of which I have too many these days. After chairing a meeting last night and completing the follow-up to it, I went to bed at 1:30 this morning. By 4:00 a.m. I still wasn’t asleep, so I got up.

What does one do when sleep won’t come? I decided to replenish my depleted supply of cigarettes. (Please don’t tell me what I already know: I shouldn’t smoke).

My trip to the only place nearby—a drug store--that is open and sells cigarettes resulted in one of those brief meetings that the Existentialists used to say make up so much of our lives. The clerk at the drug store recognized me as I walked in; this wasn’t my first wee hour trip to purchase cigarettes! She smiled, pulled two of my brand from the shelf, and we talked. We talked for a long time. We talked about her tatoos and we talked about Alex, the cat who owns me.

It must be rather lonely working the 11-to-7 shift at a drug store. No one came in during the half hour or so that I was there. I wonder what she would have been doing had I not made my cigarette run. Stocking shelves?

Of course, she isn’t the first all-night clerk I have come to know. There was a young man who worked similar hours at a convenience store. We used to talk a lot, too. We had some things in common. In those days I was helping a friend manage a night club she owned. On my way home in the wee hours I would often stop—you guessed it—for cigarettes.

Now this young man played in a local band. I admit that I had never heard of it, but there are a quite a few local bands whose name and music I’ve not encountered. For example, one night we had seven bands playing at the club. Each had just released their first CD and the guy who booked our music thought that having them all perform on the same night would draw a crowd. It did. The only problem was that most of the crowd was made up of the boyfriends and girlfriends of the band members. And they expected discounted drinks. I have no idea how much money we lost. I had never heard of any of those seven bands. And I haven't heard of any of them since that night.

This young man who clerked all night and played in a band wanted me to help his band obtain a gig at the night club my friend owned. But that wasn’t central to our conversation. We talked about everything from the Louisville music scene to Zen Buddhism. He was well versed in many subjects—and more than that he reminded me of an old college chum that I had not seen in many years.

After the night club went out of business, I didn’t stop by that store at 3:00 a.m. However, several months later I encountered that young man out side the Hard Rock Café in downtown Louisville. We had another first-rate conversation and this time I mentioned that he reminded me my college buddy. You guessed it: this young man was the son of my friend.

Chance meetings are sometimes so delightful! I have had many of them through the years. I hope to have many more. I also hope to get to the point when I can again sleep though the night!