DEPORTEES
Words by Woody Guthrie / Music by Martin Hoffman


Live performance with his mother Ellen Verdries

* 03/01/03 - Bridges Auditorium: Claremont, CA
* 08/08/03 - Santa Barbara County Bowl: Santa Barbara, CA.


Ben and Ellen at Bridges Auditorium - Photo by Summer - Source : benharper.net


Lyrics

The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting,
The oranges are piled in their creosote dumps.
They're flying you back to the Mexico border,
To pay all your oranges to wade back again.

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 trucks till they took down and died.

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees".

Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
When contract is out, we've got to move on.
Six hundred miles to the Mexico border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

We died in your hills, and 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.

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees".

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, it shook all our hills,
Who are 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 and rot on our topsoil,
To be known by no name except "deportees"?

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees".
All they will call you will be "deportees".


Original lyrics

The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting
The oranges are piled in their creosote dumps
You're flying them back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again

(CHORUS)
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane
And all they will call you will be deportee.

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 the 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 which shook all our hills
Who are 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 and rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except deportees?

© 1961 Ludlow Music, Inc.


Info

By Joe Offer - The Mudact Café

"Full name of the song is "Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos)." Woody Guthrie wrote the lyrics in 1948 after reading an article from the New York Times. Joe Klein's Woody Guthrie biography says Woody used to chant the lyrics to the song, with no particular tune. I've searched all over, and haven't found a Woody Guthrie recording of the song - I think maybe he never recorded it."

From the New York Times, January 29, 1948
32 KILLED IN CRASH OF CHARTER PLANE
California Victims Include 28 Mexican Workers Who Were Being Deported
FRESNO, Calif., Jan. 28 (AP)
A chartered Immigration Service plane crashed and burned in western Fresno County this morning, killing twenty-eight Mexican deportees, the crew of three and an Immigration guard.
Irving F. Wixon, director of the Federal Immigration Service at San Francisco, said that the Mexicans were being flown to the deportation center at El Centro, Calif., for return to their country.
The group included Mexican nationals who entered the United States Illegally, and others who stayed beyond duration of work contracts in California, he added. All were agricultural workers.
The crew was identified as Frank Atkinson, 32 years old, of Long Beach, the pilot; Mrs. Bobbie Atkinson, his wife, stewardess, 28; and Marion Ewing of Balboa, copilot, 33.
Long Beach airport officials said that Mr. Atkinson, formerly of Rochester, N.Y., had logged more than 1,700 hours flying time as a wartime member of the Air Transport Command. The guard was identified as Frank E. Chaffin of Berkeley.
The plane, which was chartered from Airline Transport Carriers of Burbank, was southbound from the Oakland airport, when it crashed in view of some 100 road camp workers.
Foreman Frank V. Johnson said that it "appeared to explode and a wing fell off" before it plummeted to the ground. A number of those in the plane appeared to jump or fall before the aircraft hit the earth, he added.
The wreckage was enveloped in flames when the fuel tanks ignited. Not until the fire died down were rescuers able to get near the plane. By then, there was nothing to be done but to extricate the bodies.
The scene of the crash is in the mountains about twenty miles west of Coalinga, seventy-five miles from here in the rough coastal area.

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