In Honor Of The 100th Anniversary Of The Founding of The Communist International-From The Archives- *Brother (Or Sister), Can You Spare A Dime?- A Personal Saga

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Clip Of Yip Harburg's Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?'" done by Tom Waits. Wow.

Commentary

Build A Workers Party That Fights For A Workers Government!


Banks are failing. Unemployment is way up. Housing values are headed toward the floor. Retirement accounts are taking a beating. And that is only the grim news on an average day. Other days ratchet up the doom and gloom from there. The whys and wherefores of that news, however, is not what I want to comment on today. One of the very few virtues of growing up 'dirt poor', first in an old housing project and then in an old shack of a house on the wrong side of the tracks in another part of town is that even now I am personally inured to the vicissitudes of the economy. Hell, when I was young hard times were the only times. I did not, except by rumor, know there were any other kinds. That came later.

All of the above is by way of making this point. I have been broke more times than I could shake a stick at, both by choice and by the fickleness of fate. I have been flat broke, dead broke, broke six ways to Sunday and every kind of broke you can think of. At one time I almost make a religion of it. I have been in the clover plenty too but that has always been a very near thing.

Let me put it this way. I have leisurely strolled across the Golden Gate Bridge. I have slept huddled, with a newspaper for a pillow, under the Golden Gate Bridge. I have eaten at restaurants where one does not ask the price, or need to. I have eaten gladly from Salvation Army soup lines. I have sat idly on hopeless park benches in nameless forsaken towns. I have sat idly, drink in hand, in a beach chair on some deck watching the surf rise and fall on the rocks at Bar Harbor. I could go on but you get the idea. Here is my accumulated wisdom though-it is much better to have the dough. But just in case the times get even worst than they are now I am keeping in shape. Brother (Or Sister), Can You Spare A Dime?


"Brother, Can You Spare a Dime," lyrics by Yip Harburg, music by Jay Gorney (1931)

They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob,

When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job.

They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead,

Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time.

Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime;

Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,

Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,

Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,

And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.

Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,

Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,

Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,

And I was the kid with the drum!



Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.

Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

*"Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?"- The Songwriting of "Yip" Harburg

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Clip Of Yip Harburg's "Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?" done by Tom Waits. Wow.

Commentary

Virtually every odd ball political call- in show that I have listened to lately and virtually every other audio/visual commentary source that I have paid attention to, as well, concerning the relationship between today’s economic downturn and the Great Depression of the 1930’s has felt obliged to flesh out its analysis with a rendition of “Yip” Harburg’s Depression classic “Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?”. And, seemingly, give the economic numbers they are not wrong to do so, except that instead of Yip’s dime today it should be a dollar, although that destroys the rhythm of the piece. It seems fitting today that this space should recognize the work of Brother Harburg.

Actually, not for the first time here, the recently departed Studs Terkel should be called to account for my interest in Yip. While reading Stud’s book "The Spectator” about various cultural trends and personalities that he witnessed in his long life I noticed that one of his interviews was with Yip concerning the genesis of “Brother”. Yip gives a pretty straight forward account of how he wrote it in 1931. The only comment that I would add is that the various versions that I have heard, Bing Crosby’s being the most outstanding, tend to do it in an upbeat 1930’s Broadway show tune cadence. There is, seemingly, none of the darkness that I think that Yip was trying to get at about the plight of working people that built all the wealth, fought all the wars and then were placed on the scrap heap. I believe that I heard Dave Van Ronk do a classic raspy Von Ronk-type rendition of “Brother” long ago that caught the pathos of ex-World War I soldiers down on their uppers. I have not been able to find a copy yet.

One final point. For those who may not think they are familiar with Yip Harburg you actually do know some of his other musical work. Like “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” in “The Wizard Of Oz”. More importantly, for consideration in this space, when the anti-Soviet “red scare” of the 1950’s put the hammer down on the entertainment industry Yip was ‘blacklisted’. Yes, indeed, I knew there was something wrong with that “Rainbow” song. It was way, way too hopeful about future prospects. I guess it was true what the old McCarthyite witch hunters of the 1950’s said- there ‘really’ were ‘reds’ under every bunk bed trying to corrupt the morals of America’s youth. I’m with Yip on this one though. I’d give you a dollar anytime.


"Brother, Can You Spare a Dime," lyrics by Yip Harburg, music by Jay Gorney (1931)

They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob,
When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job.
They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead,
Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime;
Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?



The Free and Equal Blues

Written by Yip Harburg, sung by Josh White

I went down to that St. James Infirmary, and I saw some plasma there,
I ups and asks the doctor man, "Say was the donor dark or fair?"
The doctor laughed a great big laugh, and he puffed it right in my face,
He said, "A molecule is a molecule, son, and the damn thing has no race."

And that was news, yes that was news,
That was very, very, very special news.
'Cause ever since that day we’ve had those free and equal blues.

"You mean you heard that doc declare
That the plasma in that test tube there could be
White man, black man, yellow man, red?"
"That’s just what that doctor said."
The doc put down his doctor book and gave me a very scientific look
And he spoke out plain and clear and rational,
He said, "Metabolism is international."

Chorus

Then the doc rigged up his microscope with some Berlin blue blood,
And, by gosh, it was the same as Chun King, Quebechef, Chattanooga, Timbuktoo blood
Why, those men who think they’re noble
Don’t even know that the corpuscle is global
Trying to disunite us with their racial supremacy,
And flying in the face of old man chemistry,
Taking all the facts and trying to twist ëem,
But you can’t overthrow the circulatory system.

Chorus

So I stayed at that St. James Infirmary.
(I couldn’t leave that place, it was too interesting)
But I said to the doctor, "Give me some more of that scientific talk talk," and he did:
He said, "Melt yourself down into a crucible
Pour yourself out into a test tube and what have you got?
Thirty-five hundred cubic feet of gas,
The same for the upper and lower class."
Well, I let that pass . . .
"Carbon, 22 pounds, 10 ounces"
"You mean that goes for princes, dukeses and countses?"
"Whatever you are, that’s what the amounts is:
Carbon, 22 pounds, 10 ounces; iron, 57 grains."
Not enough to keep a man in chains.
"50 ounces of phosophorus, that’s whether you’re poor or prosperous."
"Say buddy, can you spare a match?"
"Sugar, 60 ordinary lumps, free and equal rations for all nations.
Then you take 20 teaspoons of sodium chloride (that’s salt), and you add 38
quarts of H2O (that’s water), mix two ounces of lime, a pinch of chloride of
potash, a drop of magnesium, a bit of sulfur, and a soupÁon of hydrochloric
acid, and you stir it all up, and what are you?"
"You’re a walking drugstore."
"It’s an international, metabolistic cartel."

And that was news, yes that was news,
So listen, you African and Indian and Mexican, Mongolian, Tyrolean and Tartar,
The doctor’s right behind the Atlantic Charter.
The doc’s behind the new brotherhood of man,
As prescribed at San Francisco and Yalta, Dumbarton Oaks, and at Potsdam:
Every man, everywhere is the same, when he’s got his skin off.
And that’s news, yes that’s news,
That’s the free and equal blues!