His Truth is Marching On
Chapter 1
Tom Joad dragged his feet on the dirt through another field already picked from. His clothes were barely washed and he was thinner than before. He still managed to keep hi head parallel to gravity and his eyes open. The dirt on his clothes stood as a symbol to the burden he carried due to the practice of dirty men.
A Model T Ford pulled up beside him and the man inside rolled down the window. He had dark hair, a light complexion and glasses. He was wearing a pinstripe suit a fancy blue shirt and black dress pants. "Where are you heading sir?" he asked.
Tom turned to face him. "I'm makin' my way to Sacramento," Tom responded. "That's where the government men are aint they?"
"What business does a man like you have with the government of California?" the man interrogated. "They want nothing of Okies or Arkies of any of the migrants like you. You are hardly even fit looking enough for the government to bother with you."
"I don't care what they want," Tom replied. "I care about the thousands of souls out here who are desperately looking for a way to make a livin'. There's children cryin' 'cuz they ain't got enough food to eat, and grown men and women starving even more 'cuz they be feedin' their children more than they feed themselves. There are babies bein' born dead 'cuz their ma's aint fit enough to keep them alive. Hell my sister is due to give birth anytime if she ain't done so already. I may never know if I'm an uncle or that baby is born dead. I want justice sir; that is why I must go to the government."
The man looked down at his feet on the floor of the car. His bottom lip rose up over his upper. He looked back up and turned to Tom. "Your one hundred ten miles from Sacramento," the man replied. "I can take you up about thirty miles to San Francisco."
"I'd appreciate it very much sir," Tom replied. "My dogs are very tard."
"Hop on," the man said. "You look like you've got a mighty good soul to do whatever it is you do."
Tom trotted across the road to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened the door quickly and sat down in the passenger seat. He looked to the man in the driver's seat. "I aint got no soul sir," Tom started, "jus' a small piece of a big one."
"Well then I say you got a mighty fine piece then," the man said.
"Thank you sir," Tom replied. He looked to the kind driver as he put his foot on the gas and started driving north to San Francisco. The sound of the motor and the wind through the windows made Tom look around. He let out a sigh and tried to start a conversation, "My folks don't even know where the hell I am right now. For all they know I could be dead. But I promised ma that I'd always be around. Wherever there's injustice to people like us, I'd be there. If this is what it takes so people can be treated like people and not some kind of slave then that's what I'm gonna do."
"Why is this happening?" the driver asked.
"I don't know," Tom shrugged. "I'm guessing that nobody's really got any money and they hate us for being here takin' jobs they think should be theirs."
"They being Californians?" the driver asked.
"That's right sir," Tom answered. "The law people don't like us either. They kill good men an' women. I've seen one shoot at a man for just talkin' the truth. He missed and got a lady in the shoulder. They killed my good friend Casy. He used to be a preacher. Then they killed him for spreadin' the truth too. I watched an officer kill him. I went mad I tell you. I went and killed the damn man for that. Oh boy did I get a nice knock for that one. Now they all be lookin' for me you see. But I ask you, who is right? Maybe neither of us is right but the government sure ain't."
"You still want to go to Sacramento even though they will arrest you on the spot, maybe even kill you?" the driver asked.
"Like I said sir," Tom started, "if this is what it takes for people to be treated like people then that's what I'm gonna do. If I have to die then this little piece of soul I got will live on and join the other pieces of soul who came long before me like Casy and others. One day all our little pieces of soul will join but we will always be there. We are incomplete without each other. We are all gonna die in this world someday anyway, why not make my death meanin'ful for peoples' life?"
"I'll take you to Sacramento," the man declared. "Forget San Francisco. You're a man on a mission, and I'm a man looking for a story. A story about a man on a mission is what the people want and it's what they will get."
"You really don't have to sir," Tom insisted. "It's too much to ask of you."
"No sir it isn't," the driver declared. "My name is Charles White. You can call me Charles. I am a reporter for the New York Times. You sound like you will make an impact. At least your story is compelling. If Sacramento can bring me a better story than San Francisco so be it. I'd go to China for the best story, but it sounds to me like I'm going to Sacramento.
"My name is Tom Joad," Tom replied. "I used to help my pa out on the farm pickin' cotton. Then the soil wasted away and we had to leave to survive. We bought ourselves a vehicle and made our way to California cuz these flyers some government men handed out said there was work up here. Lo an' behold there's work but too many people for it. There ain't as much work and as much money as the people claimed. And eventually that brought me here."
"Well then Tom I'm going to get you what you need and you are going to give me what I need," Charles affirmed. "You will speak your truth and I'll take that truth and put it in words for the whole city of New York to read. That's millions of people Tom. Millions of people will hear what you have to say."
"I don' care who hears what I say unless they are goin' to get my people treated like real people," Tom informed.
"And I can help you with that," Charles assured. "I can see the front page now. His Truth is Marching On," Charles boasted as he pretended the title was written in the air. "What do you think?"
"I think you got a piece of soul that's a little bit stranger than most," Tom admitted.
"But isn't that the beauty of what I've been given?" Charles asked.
"I suppose it is," Tom shrugged. "I suppose we were all created in His image in one way or another."
Charles nodded and Tom rested his jaw on the fist made by his right hand. "Aint it funny that I only now realize the things that Casy was tryin' to get into everybody's heads before he was dead?" Tom asked. "I believe things happen for a reason but ever since the government kicked us off our land I can't seem to find a good reason why."
Charles just sighed and Tom remained silent. Hours passed and the two men reached the city as the sun was setting. "We're going to have to wait until the morning to go to the State Capitol so you can speak to somebody," Charles stated. "We'll have to stay at the American River camp on the outskirts—that is if you want to not be sought out by the police."
"I suppose you know better than I do Charles," Tom added. "How do you know about this camp?"
"I'm not the only journalist out here," Charles explained. "I've heard things from a few of my buddies over here. We get to know a lot about places before we've even seen them. We hear about them, we read about them, and we live for them. There are always stories to be heard. If we can find stories somewhere we always know them."
"So there's more people like me there," Tom inferred.
"Exactly," Charles assured. "There are plenty of Oak— midwestern migrants. There all in the same situation. They wouldn't turn you in, that's for sure."
"Might as well bring me there then," Tom said. "I aint got anywhere safer to go."
They drove off to the outskirts of town. Tents were pitched in many areas. Some people preferred sleeping in the custom made truck beds on the jalopies they had. Each one rusted on the sides but still getting people around. Tom walked through the grass with Charles at his right. People didn't pay any attention to him as he walked slowly inspecting the campground.
"It's just like the other camps," Tom said. "These people are just holdin' on to faith in God. Other than that they've got nothin'. They don't even know why they continue to live."
"I never knew the situation was this bad," Charles admitted. "It's nothing that I ever would or could have imagined."
"This is reality all over the state Mr. White," Tom explained. "Nobody's got anythin' but each other. Can't trust anybody that aint your kind."
"It's a shame," Charles sighed.
"This ain't even the worst," Tom replied. "The worst is when you see 'em fightin' mad 'cuz they ain't getting treated fairly an' the police just beat 'em, or shoot 'em, or arrest 'em. We ain't doin' anythin' wrong—I don't think so anyway. The more we fight, the more we lose. The less we fight the more they push us around. We can't win no matter what we do."
The sound of footsteps forced Tom to look around. A thin woman with long gray hair like an overused toothbrush and a slightly wrinkled face stood facing him. She was wearing a dirty white cotton dress and was barefoot. Her baggy green eyes stared into Tom's as if she could read into his mind. "You ain't new to this are you sir?" she asked Tom.
"No ma'am," Tom replied. "Unfortunately I know this way of livin' too well. What are you lookin' for."
"It's what you're lookin' for sir," she said. "You've got yourself an empty stomach. You're lookin' for food. I don't have much but I've got enough to feed you an' your friend here for the night."
"I appreciate it ma'am but I feel it's too much to ask," Tom responded. "I can survive a day without food every now an' then."
"It's been a long time since I've had company eatin'" she objected. "I buried my husband an' my daughter with these two hands." She raised her hands for Tom to see. By this time Charles had turned around too. The hands were blistered and cut open.
"Those hands have seen too much work," Tom stated. "How long have you been on your own?"
"Three months," she answered. "For the past three months I've been makin' my own money, cookin' my own food, goin' long distances just to survive, an' lookin' for somethin' to live for. I am just one woman, an' I beg you for the favor of company that you might also eat with me."
"I suppose if you find it a favor then we can't object," Tom replied. "The name's Tom Joad." Tom extended his hand.
The woman met his hand with hers and lightly griped as not to irritate her skin. "Joad," she spoke aloud. "I heard that name about a week ago. I ran into a family with the last name Joad last week. I was around the Salinas area."
"How many were there?" Tom asked.
"I can't remember the number," she admitted, "but there was this heavy set woman, an' this young thing that had just given birth an'…"
"Ma an' Rosasharn!" Tom exclaimed. "The baby that's my niece or nephew. How are they?"
"That's right Rosasharn was the name of the woman," the woman recalled. "The baby was dead at birth. The poor girl was still devastated. An' there was two children and two men. The plump woman and her husband was talkin' about how both of their older sons had recently separated from them. One was getting' married and the other was on the run. Judgin' by your circumstance it seems you are the one that's on the run. I ain't have a care for what but I just know you are on the run.
"I ain't on the run anymore ma'am," Tom explained. "I'm here to tell the government the truth about what's happenin' out here. Somebody's got to do somethin'. An' as long as I'm already the one they wanna kill it might as well be me they kill."
"Ain't no reason to waist your life," the woman protested. "You only got but one here."
"So did plenty of great people," Tom admitted.
"Better get to eatin' then," she insisted. "It sounds like your getting' yourself into somethin' big tomorrow."
"Thank you very much ma'am," Tom replied. "I only hope to repay you soon."
Charles looked up at Tom and then covered his upper lip with his lower one, exhaling through his nose. He then kicked at the dirt and walked back to his tin lizzie and stayed in it for the rest of the night.