Goldfield Labor Wars 1907

I illustrated this cover to go with my story, published in Harbinger Asylum
I illustrated this cover to go with my story, published in Harbinger Asylum

Wobblies Unite The Workers

The headline read “Anarchists Growing Bolder At Goldfield” -The Goldfield Sun, and the year was 1907. Goldfield was becoming a company town and the gold miners had their defense: their union.

Goldfield had been ripe for capitalists, politicians, rebels and anyone with unbridled ambition to take action and cause a ruckus. Goldfield was a clean slate, an open book in 1903. Small mines were about to start turning huge profits. By 1907 the town had grown into a substantial 24 hour town, the largest in Nevada. 20,000 residents lived here and the mines were being consolidated.

Vincent “The Saint” St. John was a professional agitator. With the backing of already famous agitator Big Bill Haywood, his union, the Industrial Workers of the World, the IWW or the “Wobblies”, believed in “One big union”.

In 1905, with their rallying cry “Workers of the World Unite”, the IWW split from the Western Federation of Miners. The WFM’s secretary-treasurer and Socialist William “Big Bill” Haywood opened the first IWW convention in Chicago, June 27th, 1905: “This is the Continental Congress of the working class. We are here to confederate the workers of this country into a working class movement that shall have for its purpose the emancipation of the working class from the slave bondage of capitalism.” Chicago hosted that inaugural IWW convention. In attendance were labor movement standouts Mother Jones and Eugene Debs.

Haywood went on.. “When the corporations and the capitalists understand that you are organized for the express purpose of placing the supervision of industry in the hands of those who do the work, you are going to be harassed and you are going to be subjected to every indignity and cruelty that their minds can invent.”

Laborers of America, especially in the West, were open to the idea of socialism, not state socialism but a socialism for the people: socialism “with its workboots on.”

Climbing out of mines, workers were being subjected to newly installed changing rooms at the mines to be used under observation to prevent “high grading” which is the term for stealing gold ore in their clothing and amongst tools. Until then, the act had been regarded lightly. Miners considered high grading to be a God-given perk of the job. After the banking scare that year, script (company store coupons), was being used to pay wages in lieu of cash.

St. John, the young, successful union agitator, who had earned a reputation for violence in the miners’ strike in Cripple Creek, Colorado, 1901, was now here in Goldfield. “ organization which asks no quarter and will give none; whose battle cry is ‘an injury to one is an injury to all’; an organization which recognizes no division among  workers…”

Harry Jardin, a friend and cohort in St. John’s radical union, went on to bid, unsuccessfully, for the single Nevada congressional seat on the Socialist ticket in 1906. “Get an ax and use your ax at the system that makes slaves of you…” Jardin advised.

St. John and Jardin were among the union leaders indicted for conspiracy for the 1907 Preston-Smith murder trial, where in an act of self-defense, shot a restauranteur during a picketing dispute. Said St. John, “If they pack the jury to hang our men, we will pack hell full of them.” Many years after his death Morrie Preston was pardoned of this killing.

Later, the radical Big Bill Haywood put in his bid for Governor of Colorado while in jail. He had been detained for allegations of the murder of the Idaho Governor, Frank Steunenberg.

Wingfield Consolidates the Mines

All the miners knew was that mine owners like George Wingfield and Senator George Nixon, co-owners of The Goldfield Consolidated Mines Company, were impinging on their right to happiness. These mine owners were the same men who also happened to possess large financial interests in the banks. It was a national bank scare as shares were dropping. The union made demands.

Wingfield: “Compromise be damned. The Goldfield mines will stay closed down until hell freezes over before we open them to let a lot of anarchists tell us how to run our property.” He had the upper hand. Diamondfield Jack Davis, gunman/murderer, was Wingfield’s bodyguard. Wingfield also had the backing of the patriarchs in his newly formed Goldfield Business Men’s and Mine Owners Association.

On December 6th, President Teddy Roosevelt sent troops to Goldfield.

Subsequent to the troop occupation, wages dropped, unions were banned from Goldfield. The miner’s strike ended April 3rd, 1907. Their leaders had been taken out of commission.

Roosevelt eventually sent a presidential commission to investigate. Their findings were stated “The action of the mine operators warrants the belief that they had determined upon a reduction in wages and the refusal of employment to members of the WMF, but that they feared to take this course of action unless they had the protection of federal troops, and that they accordingly laid plans to secure such troops, and then put the programme into effect.”

There was rumored to be a bribe of $50,000 to Governor Sparks. Ida Crouch Hazlett -journalist -The Socialist: “Everything points to the fact that Governor Sparks was paid $50,000 for getting the troops in here. He is nothing but a drunken sot, as tough and disreputable as they make them, and nothing else could be expected.”


Goldfield -The Last Rush on the Western Frontier

-Sally Zanjani

The Ignoble Conspiracy -Radicalism On Trial In Nevada

-Sally Zanjani and Guy Louis Rocha

Radicalism In The Mountain West -1890-1920

-David R. Berman

Cat Sitting Fishbowl Stint pt. 5

Christmas Eve Went Like This

Just got back from dinner at Carl & Patty’s; spaghetti and garlic bread. Good company. Others were there as well, Dave & Patty. We all have radio shows on KGFN. We’re all friends. It’s nice having friends. I miss family. I know they miss me. Gotta remember to cal them.

Work on the Tex Rickard house is rigorous. It’s clean, clean. Super clean and being done in glazes so this means it takes time, painting the details right and I don’t rush it. Days turn into weeks with this one.

There are bricks and shingles. My oils lay down in various ways so the tricks come out. I don’t want to have to outline every single brown shingle or every red brick. That’s the challenge here.

So I worked on a different painting after that ordeal. It’s interesting we get to publish our thoughts as we’re painting them, these days.

So this other painting, it’s very van Gogh. Vincent burped out color, almost impatiently, but his drawing style showed up on the canvas as well. He drew into paint, that’s what Picasso did alot as well. This painting is like that.

I had said to myself the other night that Vincent would have not liked the desert; it’s hard to exaggerate colors here. Colors are a bountiful gift and this painting sings. It’s friendly and delightful, but the sky is overcast and the landscape is not sun drenched.

An indulgence I dip into is lots of blue, in the ground, in the buildings, on the walls, the shadows of everything, blue. I love playing with that. I let myself go with this one.

I had started with blocks of color I let dry over night. It was a very brief underpainting so then I was able to let loose and render forms with that color already there for ground areas.

The white was also dashed off unbridled in a few spots. There’s a camper in this painting and it stands out, even beside the red broken down car beside it.

I could walk you to this spot. It’s right by my house and not a typically beautiful location, looking toward some shacks and trailers, but the ridges miles behind, that’s nice to see as a back drop.

So it all lined up nicely in the photo I thought, so this painting came from the lines of that photo shot a month ago.

I call this painting, tentatively and in jest, yes, Fruit Cocktail Desert, yes desert. It’s so bright and lively. Saturated desert scene.


Christmas Day (and Night)

For lunch I was invited to have dinner at the Dinky Diner. I walked down there and it was a full house. Completely full of locals there for Christmas Dinner together. It was such a great thing. For those of us with no family here it was wonderful and the feast was excellent. Small town excellence.

It’s kind of always on our mind, the solitude here. Goldfield is not just out in the country, it’s very remote desert. It’s 4 hours to civilization. Alot of us keep to ourselves and that’s how we’ve ended up here. I’ve done it all and so have many others so we know what we’ve got in our little town.

I took a coffee to go and said my Merry Christmases, hugs and off I was, back to the little camper to paint.

Once nestled in, another canvas was started late Christmas night. It’s the other standing bus at the Car Forest. By the way, I did forget to call family until it was too late. That 3 hours time difference slipped my mind.

I had called this hill One Car Hill because for a long time it only had the one car, which happened to be the first car I ever painted here, years ago. Now it’s burnt. Someone lit it on fire, probably Rippie and the paint was all burnt off but you can barely see a head from what I painted so long ago. Anyhoo, a yellow pick up was added to the hill top and then the big white bus started to stand there.

But the way they’re situated, the way they stand, the way the other two cars stand in front of the bus, it’s as if they all sprouted from the same seedbed. And the thick fog that day, behind the cars and concealing the ridge behind, it makes for a great painting. We’ll see.

But I started on that one Christmas night.

While I paint this bus, I think of the End of the World party and how much has changed here. We had 100 people visit that day but only 20 came to camp around our house. Port-a-potties were not needed. Nice burn though, damn nice burn. The rain let up and Rippie lit it up for a small crowd. Las Vegas newspaper was there. Jeeze, that was 6 months ago.


Cat Sitting Fishbowler, Part 4

Day 3, Evening

8:30 PM, Nina Simone moans. 4 canvases here means dabs here & there and most interestingly, they’re all different genres it seems.
Mister White Whiskers wants out again. He just came in!
She wails sex like in the dark, Nina. Time for propane heat.
These moments can pass unnoticed as insignificant. Take note. Take heart. Godspeed.
Mark art from these; poetry or publication in abstract of the moment’s feeling. You Tube it, Tumber, Google + it. Sing out. Yell to the the mountain top and share it. We have this in common, that we can all put it in a certain perspective if we try. Make a story of it or a picture; maybe somethin’ in between. Whether it’s a story of your trip to the post office or laundry day, or leaning against the juke box last night. See the beauty (or horror) and share that.
Cooking the contents of a can: stir fry vegetables, cost $1.80. Looking forward to eating this.
To spruce it up I made it into Thai. Added a couple spoons of peanut butter and then garlic powder, garlic salt and black peppercorn ground in. Oh and coffee creamer- Irish cream.
It really is good.
For the last couple bites I’m adding more peanut butter. Ewwwwww.. THAT’S awesome! It’s chunky peanut butter. Not the first choice for my teeth, but tasty.
The vegetables are thin slices of carrot, watercress, bean sprouts and those lil’ corns cobs. Peanut butter is so nice with spice. It’s a dampening effect. Insulation. I tried to get  a pic of me eating it for you but the camera’s card was full AND battery’s dead!
I got the grooviest jazz goin’. Ornette Coleman from 1959.
Day 4, Morning
I should have emptied that card last night. Ornette put me to sleep after a few painting dabs. The fog this morning is killer. I’m about to go out & shoot. You gotta’ see this.
Digital frenzy. Went out in the ‘hood a bit. Historical documentation never ends. Atmosheric effects galore! The sun would come and go, filtered by these grounded clouds and consequently, the whole landscape would come and go too. I don’t know if I got many shots of the well lit moments but it’s mysterious how they become concealed so quickly.
Boesch Home, I’m told, was lived in by an old miner who was blind. He had laid a wire along the ground that he’d follow to get him to work & home every day.
This is the edge of the mining districk. One of the state’s longest continually running bars is over here. The Sante Fe is exactly the kind of place you’d expect; leather horse tools hang from the porch’s banisters.
Goldfield was so much more densely populated at one time. It’s hard to imagine.
When the lighting is right, I’ll have to get some shots of this cabin’s interior.
It’s that simple existence that’s become so foreign to us. I woke from my nap after shooting the Christmas Eve fog, thinkin’ about Mr. Boesch’s little place. I didn’t notice if any electricity had ever been connected. He wouldn’t really need lights except for visitors. Right across the street is the Sante Fe, though. Maybe he would have just taken them over there during a visit.
Seeing the stuffing come thru the walls puts things into perspective. I guess the miners would have worked during the winter. Temperature doesn’t change much down in the hole, I guess.
Mr. Boesch claimed he could feel the ore with gold in it. I believe the story is he was actually rich. He just preferred the simple life.

Cat Sitting Fishbowler Part 3 -Journaling and Photos

Day 2, Evening

A record day on the blog site yesterday I think. Viewers are checkin’ up on me. It’s almost Christmas; lazy bastards -nuthin’ better to do. Suppose I’ll paint tonight.

(click these to see the slideshow blown UP!~)

Last night, cleared this little table and this day bed. I needed space for patient painting.

There are only so many places I could be in this trailer. I’ll list them all:

Day bed, here where I am now. Table & chair, about 2.5 feet from my head at the moment, where my booted foot is right now. Kitchen, starting about one foot past my foot and ending 6 feet beyond that. I’ll call it.. the pantry; that’s just beside the kitchen which is where the cat bowl is on the floor beside the old propane heater.

In these images, you’ll see some shot yesterday of the old high school, during my walk back to the camper. I wish to fishbowl from this building at some point. As you can see, the building needs some attention and I’m all about bringing the noise! It’s a cause I’d like to be involved with. There’s money for preservation if we can get the cause publicized. I don’t know if they really understand what fishbowling could do for them. Readers, please email me back if you have specific ideas where to find money for this historic and most beautiful school house.

Bedroom is beyond this room, about 7 ft. from my foot. There is a porch this is really just a space beside the camper, otherwise, this is the extent of the this abode. If I stand on my left foot, my left hand reaching one wall, stretching my right foot reaches the other wall for the width of this camper trailer.

The train I’m letter is just beyond that silver trailer over there across the way. Whiskers is purring. Stupid dog barks outside. Whiskers looks at me as if to say “should I be concerned?” This evening he showed me the food he prefers by jumping toward it (in the pantry) from the kitchen counter, 3 feet away from him. I’m thinking of offering Mister White Whiskers cat nip; I’m drinking a beer. Let’s PARTY Mister Whiskers!

Took some pictures, alot actually. You’ll see them taken from this end of the camper to that end. 12 feet in distance, I’d say. Time to play and paint. Cats don’t get bored; I like that.

This painting I’m about to embark upon, it’s horizontal in ratio and based on photos of a sunset I took a month ago. Orange, purple, electrified! Concentrated glow.

Day 3, Afternoon

There’s a pretty thick fog outside right now. It’s morning. I’m going out to shoot and then post on the blog here. Also, I’m out of tobacco. Probably walk home for that. I was puffin’ away last night while painting. BUT THIS PAINTING -it’s turning out really well and easy. Yes, no distractions really helps alot.

The 2 books of art I brought to look at are on Van Gogh and Monet. Vincent wrote such beautiful letters and his impoasto paint is impressive, the way he just does it and ends it. I thought of him last night while applying my goops of white and yellow. It’s hard for me to just stop. Thnx for the help, Vincent.

You have to leave this place every day to do your dootie. You know what I’m sayin’? Number two; but it’s great because that most basic of functions the body needs gets us out of our cave by necessity.

The windows of this thing are like chest level when standing.

Monet could get colors to harmonize and clash at will. Looking at his work, you see he only cared about color effects. I care about translucence.

I woke at 11 today. I had excellent sleep, worked late last night I guess. No clock in the camper so today’s filtered sunlight made it hard to tell the time ’til I checked my laptop.

Mister White Whiskers was out most of the night. He got the oily gourmet stuff for breakfast.

I did end up taking that walk home in the biting wind today. Took a couple dumps, downed coffee and gathered a few supplies: canvases, my easel, vodka, cool aid mix, socks, tobacco, color harmony book, hydrogen peroxide for me teeth. Zak and Alison are not home at the moment. They’re possibly getting a ride to Reno for Christmas, but have apparently not left yet. I like the clown head he laid on the table here. I like the sunlight in our house. A couple ATVs came for a quick visit to the Car Forest during my quick visit.

I’m bringing a few onions as well. I was thinking about Diogenes. See his statue in “Cat Sitting Post 1”. They say this philosopher only ate onions and lived naked in a barrel. He was the original cynic.

Maybe I’ll finish this canvas of the Tex Rickard house tonight. Probably record some CDs of my radio show for the parents.

On my walk home today, I was thinking of wants vs. needs. I like the simplicity.

Cat Sitting Fishbowl Stint part 2 (photos)

Just a handful of images. I’m staying in this tiny camper till Christmas and I’m lovin’ it. Last night I just wrote and today I’m starting a couple canvases. I’m going to be updating you of this exciting time in my life. There’s no crapper, only a urinal.

As always, you can click on an image to see them blown up.

I walked down to our cafe for breakfast and some writing time. We’re glad it’s open again. No gas yet, just food. Nice atmosphere. Of course every time I go there I know everyone. It’s a bit much, actually, especially when I’ve just awakened and then had to brave the chilly wind with ice sickle tears at the corners of my eyes when I walk in. I finished letter to my mom and dad and then after breakfast, walked over to the post office to mail them off.. a little late.

I received a letter from a friend, Christmas card and commending me for what I’m doing in life. The letter was addressed “Chad Sorg, c/o Goldfield Chamber of Commerce, PO Box __________.. I’m not on the board of the Chamber any more, but the letter found me easily. The new reining President is Bobby Patterson, who happens to be my #1 choice for the job. He has my total support!

At home, our PO Box is 53, here in Goldfield, 89013 if you’d like to send something. Money’s always good too.. but yeah, our house is called End of the World, so just for fun, why don’tcha’ address it to that name next time, see if it gets to me.

I love the rust and the ruins and the joshua trees. More images to come, from my lil’ trailer hide away, especially once I get a painting done. Mr. White Whiskers likes the night life apparently. I worried about him all night till he finally knocked this morning just before dawn. He doesn’t seem to like salmon; what’s up with that!?? Our heater kicks ass!

And I JUST COULDN’T WAIT to show you this newest canvas..

Bus Burn Painting, Oil, 12 x 16

Pseudo-Whining, If You’re Into That Sort of Thing

If you’re looking for images to peruse thru, look to the last post or the one before that. I’m kinda’ cranky at the moment and I’m not in the mood to appease you so I’ll just write here, with no pictures.

I don’t know if it’s the time of year or if i’m just feeling non-productive or because I’m lonely or what. I’m not one of those “oh i hate the holiday season” types, but I’m kinda’ blah these days… about a week or so. I told my roomate yesterday it’s been feeling like ‘Groundhog Day’ lately.

I’m reading this book about people like me, who the author considers “self-actualizing persons”. I’m the type who does not love comfort and money enough to sacrifice for it. I’m the type always exploring myself and my place in this world and I don’t have a career I’m pursuing the way most people do, and I consider my art my life. I am my art, and by that distinction, I can consider myself one of these “self-actualizing persons”. I still feel like something’s missing though.

But ya know, I feel like something. I feel special. I feel like a gift to the world, in a certain way, and I say it this way because you can view me as eccentric or self centered or whatever and I think that’s fine. It is invited.

I’ve always taken pride in this little fact about myself, but then again, I have moments of weakness where I’m looking at all the conveniences I could have if I were a money kinda’ guy, but I’m not, and here we are, back on my blog… making no money and exposing my own moment of self-pity.

It’s this way whether I live in the city and with a girlfriend or whether I’m living this way which is the opposite of that.

I dunno. I have to stop writing now, so I’ll just do that. Good day.

What to Do While You’re Weird

Random Chart Random Chart 2Sometimes I make random drawings, like charts & stuff when I’m getting my brain warmed up. I’ve been working on logo designs, so these are the side results. Click these images to blow them up  & have a look.

Circle Drawing

Fluttery Thing


Yellow Blue

Firewood is important to keep our place warm. You see smoke from our chimney if we’re home. Here’s what it looks like when ash is pored outside in our front weeds.

The frost this morning was pretty interesting at 7am today.

The following shots are from my new painting studio which is in my bathroom since the water’s not hooked up in there any way. Lighting is good and I’ve been working on the space in there, even winterized the window.

And then, there’s the letters from my train job. The words go across the sides, about 8 feet across. It’s been too cold to paint them on the side, as of yet. My masking material is very sticky and hard to deal with, razor blades are fun.

My life. Whaddaya’ gonna’ do.


Frost at 7am SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAMy studio ShowerFrost on Jawbone SANYO DIGITAL CAMERA



Episode Roger and Episode Life


What to do if you’re weird..

First of all, you have to accept it: you’re weird. Whatever the mood was that conjured up this perception, you have to then accept that: I’m lonely, I’m scared, I made a mistake, I’m just different.

At this point it would be good for you to be an artist of some kind. Work with whatcha’ got, or even if not, and just make something. Even if it’s a shelf that’s a strange angle, make that-OR-clean the dishes if that’s a weird thing for you to be doing at this moment. If the wind is blowing, devise some kind of windblock out of big sheets of stuff you may have in the yard, such as a car hood or hollow panel doors, and stand them up in a strategic windblock spot.

I was thinking of this kind of talk in order to possibly relate to you, my reader, but then I started thinking, life is stranger than fiction; I will continue just talking about my real life and hopefully that will entertain you. It wasn’t that windy for me today.

I come in each week to the radio station, here, dark, lights on so the street traffic can see me. I create these shows for my small community and maybe that’s the kind of environment that’s needed to immerse oneself with what it is to write a song. What does it take for them to give it flavor but make it mean something?

I’m writing a song. Zak has this real folksy riff that I’m working with. I haven’t gotten back to him yet with my lyrics, really. We’ll have to work on the song and put it all together & make it fit pretty. I’ve written a BUNCH of words for it. Some rhyme, sometimes they don’t. There’s a certain carefree feel to the riff and I’m happy about that. I want the message to feel happy or at least melancholic like ‘it’s alright’. I think I’m calling it “End of the World”, so that could be ironic.

The Roger Episode..a.k.a. Episode Roger. It’s an entire episode of Roger Whittaker and Roger Miller. Now before you poo poo it and think, um, whatever you might think about that, I’m requesting you listen. It’s on tonight (Friday, Pacific time) 11pm..

The Rogers, though, they both have their unique voice to give daily life an artistic twist. Whittaker was born with an authoritative voice and Miller, well, he’s a smartass, but he’s able to join the low balls with the high brows.

It’s in the way that you do it, right? The WAY that you put your song together. It’s the way that the chords go together and how they end up feeling. The message is not always in the subject matter, per se. Sometimes, it’s the raw abstractness of it all. To abstract (verb) from life and from time, monotonous or glorious.

But we all have different worlds to move around in. We do it different.

Audio Sorgfield. For (pretty much) 25 continuous episodes I’ve been making radio episodes for KGFN, 89.1 FM. I want you to tune in tonight at 11 Pacific, OR I guess you’ll just have to go to the station’s site and look at the schedule page. Easiest to just go to the bottom to see what times throughout the week I’m on.

& fer godssakes, please comment.

Here’s an excerpt from the article. I’m also showing you the proposed cover design. Blow it up. It’s the illustration I’ve been telling you about. Harbinger Asylum’s spring issue!

“Goldfield had been ripe for capitalists, politicians, rebels and anyone with unbridled ambition to take action and cause a ruckus. Goldfield was a clean slate, an open book in 1903. Small mines were about to start turning huge profits. By 1907 the town had grown into a substantial 24 hour town, the largest in Nevada. 20,000 residents lived here and the mines were being consolidated.
The headline read “Anarchists Growing Bolder At Goldfield” -The Goldfield Sun, and the year was 1907. Goldfield was becoming a company town and the gold miners had their defense, it was their union..”


Wood Is Important

The historic Gans/Nelson fight in ’06 here-it was a stadium to seat over 7000 people, constructed on the spot of wood, and it was erected temporarily-quickly dismantled and shipped off, by rail, for the next fight in another town.

The only trees to speak of here in town are Joshua Trees, which are not really wood-wood. There was one mention, in an old article from the early days, just after the first people started to populate this place; they said before anyone was here it was a “forest”. That was back before they tried to call the mining district Granpah, when it was simply called Rabbit Spring.

It remains this quizzical mention that people still ponder. Was the writer suggesting that there were real trees here or a grove of Joshua trees or what? And was it ‘full’ of trees? Back then they could cut those cacti down with no legal consequences. I’d love to see more of those “trees” here. They’re coming back. An old gal told me they’ve, just recently, started growing more heartily, around here, in the past decade.

I’ll have to do an upcoming post, just on these strange life forms. Ya’ know, 10 miles north of here and 10 miles to the south, they abruptly stop and that’s always made me ponder nature’s deeper game plans.

Shacks here have come and gone. Fires, floods, yeah, but simply stolen for firewood as well. There are stories of the old days when telephone poles would disappear, and living here, I’m not surprised. As you can see from my photos here, they’re sometimes simply left to deteriorate on their own. It’s a shame. I wish we could gather these old shacks and rebuild them along the main drag for tourists to marvel at.

Wood is important.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Zak and I dismantled a shack with an outhouse the other day for someone and most of the wood will be used to reside her old house, but leftovers, we’re already chopping up with a borrowed chainsaw for our woodburner. It can get pretty cold and it takes a lot of energy to keep the heat up. Wood is energy.

Yesterday I got to tool around Goldfield and shoot some shacks. It was pretty cloudy-just before sunset-but I was interested in capturing the town as it is, not as a magazine would like to depict it. It’s a town that has wanted to die out but people have never completely let that happen.

The few brick buildings that remain will never go away.. and then there’s that corrugated steel that just rusts for a couple hundred years.

I call it the “Goldfield Look” and I’m interested in reviving the look and making “a thing” of it. Robert Rauschenberg would be lovin’ it. Architectural Digest, are you listening?

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: