Mess Hall

Fine dining, three squares a day, as much as a man could want to eat, these were the sentiments of the workers at the dam, who ate at the Anderson Brothers' big tent or mess hall. With a cigar chewing cook and a lot of bull cooks (servers and bus boys) the meals were served three times a day to over a thousand men. Lunch of course was packed in wrappers, sandwiches and fruit. But breakfast there were eggs, meats, biscuits, gravy and lots of coffee. At dinner there were steaks and chops, potatoes and rice, vegetables of all kinds, with cream pies and cakes. The men could eat as much as they wanted, which in the beginning was quite a lot. Once they figured the effect of eating so much (hard to do when it's extremely hot working conditions) they cut back on the food but still poured on the salt by a recommendation for their health. Without enough salt in the diet, sweating all day like they were, salt was a saviour.
To sit with a group of seven other men at a table discussing the day's work was pleasurable. But what really counted for many men might have been the feeling they were getting taken cared of. They did not have to worry where the food was coming from, it just was and plenty of it. A false sense of security?
A continuation of the times they'd just left behind, but even more so, for being so desperate?
Nonetheless, camaraderie was high. Food was decent, even if it got tiring as the days turned into weeks then months without any time away from the job. The real pleasure then had been taken out of the equation. It wasn't every man for himself, oh no, it was every man for every man for every man the job must get done.

Hero's Journey part IV

Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey is an archetypal pattern that forms the underlying structure of every story ever told, even the story of our own lives. The fourth step of the 12 steps to the journey is The Crossing of the First Threshold.

"The Crossing..." in summary, is the point where the person actually crosses into the place of adventure, leaving the known rules and laws of his/her world and venturing into the unknown and dangerous realm where the limits are not known.

In the novel, Hard Luck, the protagonist, 14 year old Jake Adams has come to the Hoover Dam out of necessity. His parents are dead, his baby brother in an orphanage, the current economic depression has forced him to travel west from his home in Oklahoma. What he finds when he arrives is a picture of tragedy balanced by hope.

As he proceeds to get a job mucking and is glad for it, at the same time he wants to be like his buddy Eddie who work as a dynamite nipper. It's not until Jake realizes Eddie isn't going to encourage him, that he begins his fight as an underdog, thus crossing the first threshold.

Now he must not only communicate his desire but prove he will strive for it by engaging in activities that will ultimately strengthen the outcome of his journey.

The law

The law doesn't measure attitude it measures justice. In 1931, this was the reality in Boulder City. The town was owned by the U.S. Department of Reclamation. The town prospered, the people that lived there even those that do today are comfortable, there's a feeling a safety that permeates the streets lined with trees, a park in the center of town and a community that continues to thrive.
Diversity however? Not so much. Oral histories of citizens that lived here while the dam was being built will say there were no Blacks, Asians, and if there were Mexicans they cannot remember. According to historians Native Americans did work on the dam because it was believed they could scale the canyons better than a white man.
Nevertheless, was it only the law of the town, not the attitude of the people that made Boulder City a study of a worthwhile community?

If attitude is 99 percent what makes a person "positive" and worth being around, then the law that existed in Boulder City, 1931 was meant for people with good attitudes and the attitude would be of a people that respected the law and the ways and means of measuring justice.

Hence, attitudes change and so does the representation of these attitudes. The laws may change, but they are positioned to represent justice. What is justice? It is what the law decides it is and living "under" the law means by way of society you are just.

The sage of sagebrush

Sagebrush was everywhere in 1931, when the workers rode the transports from camp to the dam site.

With stems smooth and silvery with evergreen wedge-shaped leaves, the plant is part of the Artemis family named after the Greek virgin goddess of the hunt and wild nature. It is Nevada's state plant.

It can also grow the size of a grown man up to seven feet tall. It's stout at its trunk with silvery branches and dense clusters of tiny yellow or cream-colored flowers that bloom in late summer. It's seeds are tiny and black and each plant may produce up to one million seeds.

The sagebrush supports many wildlife species, such as pronghorn, mule deer, grouse and many small mammals. Sage grouse use large clearings in the sagebrush habitat to conduct spring mating dances. Early morning, one can see in these areas, known as leks, males inflating yellow air sacs upon their chest, puffing up their feathers and spreading their tail feathers before strutting around the lek in the attempt to bond with one or more females. The sagebrush then can be said to act as audience.

The leaves contain aromatic oils with a turpentine fragrance, and after a rainstorm, they perfume the air with a sweet, pungent aroma. For those that come upon sagebrush in the desert, it is delightful. There is so much of it everywhere, it can be said to give the feeling of prosperity. Especially to the men that came upon its abundance, after being so long out of work, and on the streets, standing in line for bread.

When it was actualized, when the men felt they had suddenly "hit it rich" by getting a job at the dam, three square meals a day and a bed to sleep in, suddenly men, like sagebrush, were everywhere.

Yet prosperity is not worth much unless it is useful beyond the day to day requirements for living. And it is known that sagebrush is not only an abundance of color amid the parched desert, it can be used for fuel or as Native Americans once did, used in building. The leaves and the seeds can be eaten. And the leaves, which contain camphor, can be used medicinally for coughs, colds, headaches, stomach aches, fevers and to relieve pain during child birth! Poultices of wet leaves can be applied to bruises to reduce swelling.

Beyond that, Navajo weavers would boil the leaves and flowers to create a yellow-gold color, used to dye wool. The Ute's used the shredded bark for candle wicks.

The men working on the dam made the dam prosperous, and each man had a use far and above his function as a worker. His thoughts created a tempo for the time. His communication with others offered insight to aid in understanding and perspective. In other words, what we see before us is outright amazing, no matter if it's the sight of something along the road. But it's the thing itself that harbors the real amazement. We must get closer still to what interests us. Study it in action.

The Lonely Road

The dignity of work and the bridging of class, these were the themes of the 1930's, when author Nevil Shute wrote the novel, The Lonely Road.

The truest test for a human is to find him or herself on the lonely road of life and to make one's way forward, despite the sadness of regrets or loss, regardless of hope unrealized.

The most joyful of times is in the unexpected pleasures...of finding oneself in the midst of nature, with or without others nearby, nature bearing heavy of earth and sea, the surrounding of living things one knows really so little about.

To work hard is to realize dreams. To understand another, step down lightly in his shoes.

Brother, can you spare a dime?

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?", also sung as "Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?", is an American songs of the Great Depression. It was written in 1931 by E. Y. "Yip" Harburg and composer Jay Gorney.


They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob,
When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job.
They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead,
Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime;
Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?



The song asks why the men who built the nation by working on railroads, in the cities building skyscrapers, who fought in the war, who worked so hard as farmers, all the work now supposedly done, what was being given to them, but bread lines.

It was a song that may have reminded the workers on the Hoover Dam that now the greatness of the country was being reformed upon resilience, the ability to bounce back, rather than through industry, the ability to build and grow, which sadly and shockingly had displaced so many.

It was songs like this that were etched in each man's mind, amid the noise of jackhammers, shovels, the jumbo's rolling in and out with men readying the way for dynamite. The music carrying feelings that these men might not otherwise have been able to understand, helping them to relate to eachother. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Oral histories

What I love about this project are the connections I am making with museums and universities, newspapers, and now, hearing the oral histories from that particular time and place. Okay, so I'm not talking to the residents of Boulder City that lived there in '32, but resources are coming my way that include the oral history as told by these people.

So, after touring the dam this past week, romping through the museum in Boulder City, staying at the famous Railroad Pass Hotel, and researching like crazy at UNLV, the outcome is rededication. My own oral history of the process of collecting data is told by way of this blog. I'm hoping that here is a place, space and time, to look at the dam from many perspectives in order to gain perspective.

In this I feel satisfied. Even if only I am the reader. It is encouraging to use language in this way. What we express is a gift and often unto ourselves.