I am not unaware that leaders betray, and sell out, and play false.
I nursed men back to sanity who were driven to despair. I solicited clothes for the ragged children, for the desperate mothers. I laid out the dead, the martyrs of the strike.
From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
My address is like my shoes. It travels with me.
What one state could not get alone, what one miner against a powerful corporation could not achieve, can be achieved by the union.
I went West and took part in the strike of the machinists – the Southern Pacific Railroad, the corporation that swung California by its golden tail, that controlled its legislature, its farmers, its preachers, its workers.
I’m not a humanitarian, I’m a hell-raiser.
Sit down and read. Educate yourself for the coming conflicts.
Glory to Man in the highest! For Man is the master of things.
The strike of the miners in Arizona was one of the most remarkable strikes in the history of the American labor movement. Its peaceful character, its successful outcome, were due to that most remarkable character, Governor Hunt.