I went West and took part in the strike of the machinists - the Southern Pacific Railroad, the corporation that swung California by its golden tail, that controlled its legislature, its farmers, its preachers, its workers.

God almighty made women and the Rockefeller gang of thieves made the ladies.

I nursed men back to sanity who were driven to despair. I solicited clothes for the ragged children, for the desperate mothers. I laid out the dead, the martyrs of the strike.

What one state could not get alone, what one miner against a powerful corporation could not achieve, can be achieved by the union.

Some day the workers will take possession of your city hall, and when we do, no child will be sacrificed on the altar of profit!

I'm not afraid of the press or the Militia.

Your ancestors fought for you to have a share in that institution over there. It's yours. See the school board, and every Friday night hold your meetings there. Have your wives clean it up Saturday morning for the children to enter Monday. Your organization is not a praying institution. It's a fighting institution. It's an educational institution along industrial lines. Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living!