AIR LINES : DEPORTEE
KENNETH E. HALL SEPTEMBER 24, 2018 HOUSTON
AIR LINES: STORIES OF A RETIRED FLIGHT ATTENDANT
"Good-bye to my Juan, good-bye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesús y María
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane;
And all they will call you will be 'deportees'. ---Deportee - (aka. "Plane Wreck at Los Gatos")
Words by Woody Guthrie, Music by Martin Hoffman
They came down the jetway, the two of them together - a uniformed Immigration officer and a sad-faced man. Neither spoke a word for a few minutes - they all just stood there until it was time to board the aircraft.
I greeted them as they approached. The official gave me an envelope containing documents for the undocumented alien. "I have a deportee," the officer told me, and that was all he said. There was no-one standing there to wave goodbye to the man, and I doubt it if there would be anyone waiting for him at the other end of our flight. His stay in the United States was over - at least for now. He had, I guess, come across the border illegally, and so would be returned to his country of origin.
I never saw his name - perhaps he had no name, for all anyone seemed to care; all he and those like him were called by everyone concerned was "Deportee," as if in that one word everything that needed to be known was said. Our Inflight Service Manager escorted the man to his seat, way in the back, and that was it.
During the flight, I served him food and soft-drinks and did my best to make him feel welcome. By federal regulations, I was not allowed to serve him any alcohol - but I really wanted to slip him a whiskey. If anyone could really use a drink at this moment in his life, it was this guy. But I didn't give him his whiskey - I had a law to obey, and disobeying laws is what got this fellow in trouble in the first place.
I was never a fan of illegal immigration; this man knew he was violating the law by coming without papers, and getting sent back home was the price they paid. This didn't stop him from being a human being.
I have had a number of deportees on my flights over the years. I would love to have been able to talk to them - to find out what their stories were. But he was just a "Deportee," the flight back to El Salvador was short and there was much work to do between Houston and there. This all happened every now and again.
Very recently I heard for the first time, a song about a planeload of people that left Oakland, California, eventually bound for Mexico, their homeland. They were the stereotypical nameless farmworkers we see everywhere, laboring hard in the fields picking fruit and then getting sent back home. They all would have spoken about hard times in their hometowns in whatever country they came from, and that they survived the dangerous journey north to find employment. It was hard work that they did - all outdoors - rain or shine - and it didn't pay much, but it was a living just the same. Funny thing, though: if they worked in the orchards, they were not allowed to eat the fruit they picked.
What kept them going was knowing that if their luck held out, they could make some money to send back home to their families. But luck was nowhere to be found on that fateful day the song sang about. *Something happened and the plane went down near the town of Los Gatos, California. Many of those people were killed, and there were newspaper articles about the tragic crash. A list of the Americans on board was released, and the Mexicans on board - they were listed by the authorities as "DEPORTEES." Only that and nothing more...
The song says: "You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees". I wondered if when they were buried, did their graves simply say: "Deportee"?
*So I did some research on this song and found that it, in fact, was based upon an actual event.
Wikipedia says: "On 28 January 1948, a DC-3 plane carrying 32 persons, mostly Mexican farm laborers, including some from the bracero guest worker program, crashed in the Diablo Range, 20 miles west of Coalinga, California. The crash, which killed everyone aboard the plane, inspired the song "Deportee" by Woody Guthrie."
Some of the passengers were being returned to Mexico at the termination of their bracero contracts, while others were illegal immigrants being deported. Initial news reports listed only the pilot, first officer, and stewardess, with the remainder listed only as "deportees."Only 12 of the victims were initially identified. The Hispanic victims of the accident were placed in a mass grave at Holy Cross Cemetery in Fresno, California, with their grave marked only as 'Mexican Nationals'." Their bodies were burned in the wreck - beyond recognition - so they could not be positively identified, but the INS had their names, so why not put their names on the mass-grave marker, out of respect for the human beings who died?
I am not justifying illegal immigration. People who enter ANY country should do so according to the laws of that country. It is a FELONY to enter Mexico without papers and Mexico has its share of people whom they deem undesirables - and so they, too, become Deportees. Recently, this issue has become highly politicized, and when that happens, the subject itself becomes the most important thing and the very people who are at the center of it become forgotten!
My point here, as is the point of the song, is that although these people were deported, they were human beings, deserving of the same dignity and respect as anyone - regardless of race, color, nationality, or even legal status.
These are the words to the song, written by American folk-singer Woodie Guthrie:
Deportee
(aka. "Plane Wreck at Los Gatos") Words by Woody Guthrie, Music by Martin Hoffman
The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps; They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border, To pay all their money to wade back again.
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria; You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane, All they will call you will be "deportees".
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life; My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees, And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on; Six hundred miles to that Mexican border, They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves!
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains. We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes, Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills, Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves? The radio says, "They are just deportees".
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit? To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil And be called by no name except "deportees"? |
© 1961 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications, Inc. & TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc. (BMI)
This is a link to the lyrics: https://www.woodyguthrie.org/Lyrics/Deportee.htm
This is the song, nicely done by Peter, Paul, and Mary and Tom Paxton - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecd8DYi67mw
No comments:
Post a Comment