If Freedom Can Be Won (For Hywel Francis)

strange to them, thought we didn't understand the English language. One poverty worker studied communicating with the poor, and he came down from Washington to visit some clients with the local worker. They went to see an elderly woman, and the visiting expert kept talking to her in a sort of pidgin English, using one-syllable words, trying to explain his program. When he got up to leave, the lady whispered to the local worker, "That feller's not right bright, is he?" But you know, a lot of those people who came down to change us have met and married local folks, and not only have they come to like us, they imitate us. For a hundred years now, people have complained about how strange we are, and then they join us! People are still saying we are strange, but steal our coal, our music and tales, accents, crafts and dances, and make theses and dissertations and books out of them, even plays and musicals. In the process some of them become our friends for life, move in and wear overalls, CAT hats, and stud-hoss boots, and drive pickups. Then they quit talking so much and get modest on us. Give us competition along that line; tear up a banjo, old-time style, and then say, 'Shucks, I'm just learning." When everybody gets in on your act, it ain't no act at all. We may have to start flaunting something or other. Maybe start bragging on our kids. I sure do hate to change though. If Freedom Can Be Won (For Hywel Francis) What would he say? This dusty miner rolling in his grave . . . To the young one stepping to the line? Would he give wise lines With hope served in large platters? Or would he measure it like it is? Lean as whip from the hedge? Could he say, "By damn I'd do it again in a heartbeat! Put the grimace up front Wear it on the shoulder dragging the cable That binds us all . . ." Could he signal strength with the coldness of his eyes? Would we know that where the message lies Whispered to the Hemlocks in the wind It is seldom heard? Could he tell us then that they must rise From the belly of the hill And ring true Like a red edged shovel striking a hard seam? Would we know If freedom can be won It can be lost? Would he make us clever hawks Ever watchful of the hatchlings call Ever willing to lend a shoulder to the cable That binds us all. -James B. Goode 86 ...