The Lonesone Death of Hattie Carroll

El 9 de febrero de 1963 Hattie Carroll, camarera negra de 51 años, trabajaba en el Emerson Hotel de Baltimore cuando William Devereux "Billy" Zantzinger, terrateniente de Maryland de 24 años, le exigió otra copa y, como consideró que no se la servía con urgencia, la golpeó con un bastón. Unas horas más tarde falleció. La hemorragia cerebral producida por el golpe unida a sus problemas de hipertensión le produjeron la muerte. Era madre de diez hijos.

Hijo de un constructor de Washington, Zantzinger fue acusado de homicidio. Su estado de embriaguez, su amnesia sobre el suceso, y especialmente sus relaciones, hicieron que tres jueces lo condenaran sólo a 500 dólares de multa y seis meses de cárcel. Su ingreso en prisión se retrasó hasta que finalizó la cosecha de tabaco en sus tierras y una vez allí se le destinó a cocinas. A los tres meses salió por buena conducta. El otro día la prensa informó de su muerte. Quizá temió la llegada de Obama.

Bob Dylan no permitió que este infame episodio fuera olvidado e incluyó en su álbum The Times They Are A-Changin' (1964) esta canción.

William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.