My old man was a good old man
Skilled in the moulding trade
In the stinking heat of the iron foundry
My old man was made
Down on his knees in the moulding sand
He wore his trade like a company brand
He was one of the cyclops' smoky band
Yes, that was my old man
My old man wasn't really old
It's just that I was young
And anybody over twelve years old
Was halfway to the tomb
He was loyal to his workmates all his life
Gave his pay packet to his wife
Had a few jars on a Saturday night
Yes, that was my old man
My old man was a union man
Fought hard all his days
He understood the system
And was wise to the boss' ways
He says, you want what's yours by right
You have to struggle with all your might
They'll rob you blind if you don't fight
Yes, that was my old man
My old man was a proud old man
At home on the foundry floor
Until the day they laid him off
And showed him to the door
They gave him his card, said, things are slack
We've got a machine can learn the knack
Of doing your job, so don't come back
The end of my old man
My old man he was fifty-one
What was he to do?
A craftsman moulder on the dole
In nineteen thirty-two
He felt he'd given all he could give
So he did what thousands of others did
Abandoned hope and the will to live
They killed him, my old man
My old man he is dead and gone
Now I am your old man
And my advice to you, my son
Is to fight back while you can
Watch out for the man with the silicon chip
Hold on to your job with a good firm grip
'Cause if you don't you'll have had your chips
The same as my old manMonday, 22, September, 2008
My Old Man–Ewan McColl
Filed under: Social Commentary — williamthecoroner @ 08:34
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Definitely a lack of foresight and planning.
My father was a UMWA man all his life as was his brothers and father before him. In 1953 at the age of 51 he was laid off from the coal mines as was his brothers. Grandpa died in a cave in in 1941.
The three brothers pooled their resources and bought two combines and three flatbed trucks and went on the road combining and hauling wheat. They made enough that first year to buy another combine. The following year they replace the trucks with two semis and trailers.
Their families took over the business and finally sold it for a nice sum in the 1990s. My father and uncles didn’t sit around a whine about losing their jobs. They did something about. They weren’t parasites on the public dole, they learned new job skills, started a business and prospered. The union cast them aside when they could no longer pay their dues.
My father said the best day of his life was when he was told the union couldn’t help and he’d be dropped from the rolls because he hadn’t paid his dues.
I belonged to the teamsters once for about three months. Then I saw there was no future in it.
Comment by Crucis — Monday, 22, September, 2008 @ 16:27 |