“Saga of Ella May Wiggins”
They stopped off the spinnin’
…and shet down the warps,
So all the folks could take a look
…at Ella May’s corpse.
Twas a sad, sad, day and
…many a man did weep,
As they looked on Ella’s face
…in its last and final sleep.
Her children were a mournin’
…and a cryin’ out their eyes,
Fer their maw who had done went
…to her home up in the skies.
“I’m returnin’ to the mountains,”
…as often Ella said,
But she’ll never see the mountains
…fer poor Ella May is dead.
Now folks I’ll tell the story of how
…I seen poor Ella die,
And maybe you’ll forgive me
…if I sometimes stop to cry.
The folks in town had beat us up
…almost beyond belief,
And when the cops rush up on us
…we killed the police chief.
Nobody knowed who done it
…but ‘round us bullets sang,
An’ folks were all a shouting’
…by God we’ll lynch this gang.
So all the striker boys
…was languishin’ in jail,
Cause we couldn’t raise the money
…to git ‘em out on bail.
The leaders called a rally
…to give the boys some cheer,
An’ fore the day was over
…thet rally cost us dear.
The vig’lance committee said,
…“no speaking we’ll abide,
If we have to put some bullets
…in them dirty Roosians’ hides.”
The strikers from Besmer City
…were all loaded in a truck,
And blood now stains the seat where
…Ella May was struck.
We were a-comin’ down the road
…and the driver he did swear,
When a car filled full of vigilants
…crashed into us there.
Both sides were all excited
…and let some bullets fly.
An’ I looked ’round just in time
…to see poor Ella die.
A stray ball had caught her
…an’ she gave a sudden start,
As the leaden slug smashed
…into poor Ella’s heart.
Then ever’thing was quiet
…and ever’thing was still,
Fer the man who had shot her
…really hadn’t come to kill.
I watched thet man, his body shrank
…an his face was awful still,
“My God,” he said, “that I would live
…to see the day I’d kill.”
But they had a scrumptious burial
…and all the folks thet came,
Comforted the mourners sayin’
…“Ella looks just the same.”
Said leaders: “we’ll take her kids
…and shout out till it rings.”
But the town folks took the kids
…an’ put ‘em at Barium Springs.
Ella had had four husbands
…an’ each she had loved dear,
But when the poor gal got bumped off
…nary one of ‘em was near.
And now the strike is over
…And people has most forgot,
Of the death of two poor people
…They don’t keer, like as not.
Then can’t get up much feelin’
…twixt the owner and the hand,
But mabe it’s just because
…they both can’t understand.
Men say mill folks are rotten
…an’ mean down to the core,
But if you seen your chillern starve,
…wouldn’t you ask fer more?
The owners say they can’t pay more,
…the workers can’t live on less;
It seems like God should take a hand
…to clear us of this mess.
This piece first appeared in the Fall 2015 Music Issue (vol. 21, no. 3).
Annette Cox focuses on the southern textile industry and has published in the Journal of Southern History, Business History Review, and the North Carolina Historical Review. She has presented papers on textile history at international conferences in Montreal, Paris, Scotland, Japan, and Portugal.
Header image: Gastonia, N.C. Loray Cotton Mill, from North Carolina Postcards, the North Carolina Collection, Wilson Library, UNC–Chapel Hill.