Authors Note:
I wrote this today for an english assignment i got. The assignment was to write a diary entry for the "Migrant Mother" (its a famous picture of a woman from the dust bowl. google it) which included dialect and a history of how she came to be in this situation. In this english class we are currently reading Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, that is the reason he assigned this paper.
A Prayer for the People
When we was home in the panhandle o' Texas, i thought ta myself: Things can't get none worse than this. We was all breathin' dirt an' them crops wouldn't never hardly grow. It was a hard way ta live, tryin' ta farm a lan' that was alrea'y farmed too much, an' never was fit ta farmin' in the firs' place. But we didn't never give up hope. We all worked that fiel' day an' night. Pa, Grampa, an' Jim, our oldest boy, worked it from sunrise ta sundown, then me an' them younger boys come out an' then we worked 'er 'til the men come out again. Didn't do no good far as I 'member. That farm was just plain tar'd out from being worked so many years without changing crops. An' then them darned winds wou' blow the topsoil all 'roun' , an' it wou' settle down against houses, an' fences, an even that one dead tree by the road which we cut down later ta sell for firewood. It wa'n't no way ta live. A human bein' deserves better 'en that, 'cause a human bein' knows down in there soul tha' it ain't no way ta live. An' that knowledge eats 'em up inside.
But a' leas' we had food then. Wa'n't much, but we had it. An' it filled us up enough ta work another day. We wa'n't full, but we wa'n't starvin' neither. But jus' when we got used ta living like that, we was kicked off our own lan' 'cause 'pparently we didn't own it. We worked 'er, yes, an' God knows how we toiled over that piece o' lan'. An' we built a house on 'er, with a tool shed an' barn, an' they was all painted white like them li'l woo'en churches. But we didn't own 'er. Not on paper, anyhow. She was in our hearts much as any other family member, but the Bank owned 'er. The bank owned 'er on paper. So when the machine came, thing they call a 'tractor,' we was told ta scram. An' we did it too. Wa'n't none o' us gonna argue with the Bank. The Bank was the devil 'sfar as we was concerned, an' ain't no good Christian gonna argue wi' the devil 'cause he'll jus' twist your min' ta his way o' thinkin'. Jesus can argue with 'im, but none o' us should be doin' it. We ain't Jesuses.
We sold all our stuff—every li'l thing that belonged ta us—ta get 'nough money ta buy a car. An it wa'n't no fancy car neither. Them salesmen knew what was goin' on. They understood the situation better 'n we did at the time, an they wasn't 'bout ta sell us a car cheap. They're as much the devil as the Bank is, an' there ain't no way they is goin' ta heaven. We got on the road an' headed for California, 'cause a man Pa knew said there's 'nough work out there for half the country. An' we took his word for it too. Wa'n't too hard ta get there, couple parts broke down 'long the way, but we made it there in less than a month. Thats when the real problems started. See, there was a lot of work in California. But there was more 'an enough people lookin' for work. So the wages were the lowest I've ever seen, an' it was hard ta get a job for any wage. We went a week without findin' a single job ta do. Had to live in a place called Hooversville where all the people were poor and starvin', and cops come by to harass folks that done nothin' wrong. Thats when Grampa died, 'though i think his soul died long before. We buried 'im in the ditch on the side o' the road 'cause we couldn't spare no money for a funeral.
Jim left us and hitched a ride with another young man 'cause we didn't have 'nough food lef' ta feed the entire family. They headed north lookin' for work. We ain't seen 'em since. Pa finally got a job pickin' fruit for fifteen cents an hour. I don't rightly know how we is all goin' ta survive on that li'l money, but we got ta. Can't die now after everything we've alrea'y survived. Don't think Jesus would let us get this far only to sit by an' watch us starve. Wou'n't be no savior if he did that.
I've been doin' some thinkin' 'bout whats goin' on in California an' what makes everything seem a million times worse than it is, is that there are so many poor hungry folks livin' in the most beautiful state in the entire country. We sit and stare across the road every day upon them beautiful oranges, yet here we are starvin' to death an' can't do nothing 'bout it. If we try to feed ourselves we get pumped full o' lead from those men carrying them shotguns. But if we don't try, then we starve to death. And on the most beautiful lan' I ever lay eyes on. It don't seem to make no sense. Guess I'm jus' not smart 'nough to un'erstand. Thats what that cop said, anyway. He told me “You damn Okies jus' don't get it, do you?! California ain't no charity. We don't have enough food to feed the whole damn world.” Well, might not be 'nough to feed the world, but they sure got 'nough to feed all o' California.
Today them cops came by an' told us to clear out. They was gonna burn the place ta the groun'. I guess that's the way Hooversville's always been, cause the people who'd been there longer tol' us the cops is always tryin' to get ride of the poor homeless people. So we jus' followed everyone else to another Hooversville couple miles away. After we got a li'l settled in, a lady dressed all fancy like came an' talked ta me. Looked strange ta see someone who was properly washed and whose clothes weren't faded an' torn. Said she wanted ta take a pitcher o' my an' my family. Then I said “Miss, you haven't tol' me whose side your on. You for the people here or 'gainst them?” Her voice was nice an' soothin' like a light spring rain shower. She said “Ma'am, I don't rightly know whose side I'm on. I'm not really taking sides, just going to get some pictures of what's going on here and bring them to places where people don't know about this. I want people to know what you and your family and everybody here is going through. I want them to see your suffering and feel bad about it. Maybe people will even come and help you. And after this mess is all over with, then people will be able to remember what happened forever. These pictures will be the evidence that proves what people like you went through just to stay alive every day.” There was a long silence, and finally I said to her “Well, if thats really your reason, then you can take as many pitchers as ya like. Me an' you is on the same side.”
Mary Watson, October 1936
, this was better than anything I wrote about the depression. I liked the last line. Sorry I'm not helpful my friend, but it's 9:30, I should be painting right now.