Let there be light; the story of a workingmen's club, its search for the causes of poverty and social inequality, its discussions and its plan for the amelioration of existing evils

Front matter

DUKE UNIVERSITY

LIBRARY

THE STORY OF A WORKINGMEN'S CLUB, ITS SEARCH FOR THE CAUSES OF POVERTY AND SOCIAL INEQUALITY,. ITS DISCUSSIONS, AND ITS PLAN FOR THE AMELIORA- TION OF EXISTING EVILS

Contents

CHAPTER

I. — Publish to Aix the World II. — Capital and Labour III. — The Plumber and the Woodw IV. — Treason against Society V. — The Republic and Its Destiny VI.— Must One Stand Idle?

VII.— The Eviction VIII.— Humanity and Business .

Chapter I Publish To Ai,i, The World

WE were sitting in the library, my wife and I, silent, in the fading light of the October afternoon. Her attitude had not changed during the quarter hour since, returned from our walk, we had dropped into the nearest chairs, meaning to talk on many things. But the crowd of thoughts, — the significance of those influences which might have passed us by, but which instead had, by a mysterious ordaining, seized us, shaken us and reconstructed us, — our hope, our desire, our faith in the future, — all these things could find no adequate expression in such words as came to our minds, and we kept silent.

My wife was leaning forward, gazing at the smouldering embers in the fireplace, her chin resting on her gloved hands. I, with just-lighted cigar held between my fingers, sat watching her, noting unconsciously how her face, and the dark curls escaping from under the velvet of her bonnet, were crossed now and then by the rays of the western sun, which, entering through the long windows, shot athwart the room.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Thomas appeared at the door. " Miss Seiner," said he.

Immediately there entered, quickly and quietly, a graceful girlish figure, plainly clothed in black.

My wife rose and held out both hands. " Oh, Eva," she exclaimed, " I am so glad you have come ! "

" I could n't help coming, Mrs. Morton. What a surprise, your unexpected journey ! As soon as the news reached me I felt that we must all meet together once more before you go. So I hurried to find Mr. Fisher, and he will see the rest of the men, Bradley, Moore, Quail, and Valanti. We can meet at Bradley's house. You will both come, won't you, this evening ? "

She looked from one to the other of us as she spoke. " Indeed we will come," replied my wife. "Joseph and I could hardly have the heart to leave, otherwise. Who will be there, — ^just the five men and ourselves ? ' '

" The five men, of course, but others too, if Mr. Fisher can reach them in time. We have six new members, — think of it ! One of them you know already, Schubert, the man you helped so much. Then Mrs. Eldridge, Mr. Winslow, Douglas, a coloured man, brought to us by Quail, the Japanese, Okayama, and Cohen, who used to be a friend of Ezra's. We 've known him for a long time."

" You don't know what a shock it was to us, Miss Seiner," said I, "to learn of your brother's death. Dorothy was quite prostrated by the news. It seemed hard, just when there was so much for him to do, which perhaps no one else can do as well. ' '

" Ezra is not dead," answered the girl, simplj'.

Publish to All the World 3

" He lives, as all souls live in whom the Lord has reflected His own Spirit. He lives as truly as our own souls will live after they hav^e left their mortal tenements. But for all that, I miss him, oh, so much ! "

"And so do we all," remarked Dorothy, "but remember that to him was given to lay the foundation of a might}^ work. And to that work my husband and I have resolv^ed to consecrate ourselves, so far as we can be useful to it."

For some moments no one spoke. Then my wife asked :

" Joseph, have you reports of all the meetings ? "

" Yes."

" And have you put down in your diary all the incidents that brought us in touch with the club ? "

" I think so, up to the time we went to Chicago. I can easily add the rest. Why ? "

" Because it all ought to be printed. How else can we reach everybody ? There are so few people we know and can talk to, compared with the great world of men and women who might be reached by a book, if the book were only there for them."

" I quite agree. There should be a book, and I wish I could write it, but I can't. I am willing to tell all the experiences that have led me to change my social attitude, and to join in the foundation of the great work. I have never tried to write a book. How would it do to place the matter in the hands of some literary people to put it in current literary form ? "

" No, that will never do, Joseph," said my wife; " we want no novel ; there are enough of these already. The book should contain the full report of the club meetings. These will be sufficient in themseU^es to interest the people. The reports should not be changed, they should be printed just as they were delivered. It will, then, be workingman speaking to workingman, to capitalist, — to all the people."

" We can bring the matter up," I said, " at tonight's meeting."

" I think," said Eva, " that this proposal will be very favourably received at the meeting. And now I must go, as I have so many things to do before the meeting. I wish you a most delightful journey. I shall miss you both, and shall think of you often. My prayers go with you."

" Your prayers will always be a consolation, Eva," said my wife. " One of them I almost know by heart, — the one I have sometimes heard you say. Repeat it now, with us, won't you, before you go ? It expresses to me, more than any other, the true aspirations of our faith."

We all drew our chairs nearer, and Eva, clasping her hands in her lap, raised her eyes, and, with a look of exaltation on her features, ^ — features Hebraic in cast, and nobly spiritual, — repeated the prayer, my wife and I uttering the words with her, but in a lower tone :

Praised be Thou, Gracious and Sovereign Lord.

Thou who art the source of all,

Thou who art without beginning and without end ;

Thou who knowest not Injustice,

And withholdest not Mercy.

Thou only Entity !

Thou Archetype of Beauty,

Thou true Spiritual Harmony !

All-Father,

Publish to All the World 5

Our Father.

Infinite I^ove and Loveliness,

God.

To Thee do we humbly and reverently raise our voices in prayer.

We come to Thee for lyight, for Spiritual Light,

Which shall illumine our souls.

We come to Thee for guidance, for Thy help to keep us

Steadfast in the course which Thou wouldst have us follow.

Efface from our hearts, O God, any trace of enmity, any cause of dissension.

Blot out from our minds the dividing lines which we, through ignorance, have placed there.

Teach us to remember that White Men, Black Men and Yellow Men, are alike Thy children.

Teach us to know that all these are our brethren and our neighbours.

Teach us how we may learn

To know Thee through Thy works and

Through Thj^ laws, in order that we may be

Freed from all traces of idolatry.

Grant this, our prayer and our petition.

And, in Thy gracious mercy, grant this to all mankind.

Amen.

Chapter II Capital And "labour

IT was almost a year ago — eight months, perhaps, before the conversation just narrated — when I first made the experiment of addressing a workingman as one man speaks to another. The occasion was this :

My uncle had walked briskl}^ into the librarj^ one morning after breakfast, and said to me :

" Joseph, I am going to the bank. Won't you take the waggon, drive to the L,enox Avenue building, and try to fix up the difiiculty with the men ? "

Now everyone who knows my uncle, Mr. Henry Morton, knows that when he requests a thing to be done, that thing is, in his mind, already done, and admits of no discussion. I therefore replied :

" Yes ; but what is the matter ? "

" Oh, they have struck, — quit work."

"Why?"

" I don't know. I have just got word of it."

" Should I report to you the terms of any settlement before I agree to it ? "

" Perhaps ; but only if it involves some considerable loss."

" Very well." And I hurried away on m}'^ errand.

Capital and Labour 7

An hour later my uncle returned. I was already in the library.

" Well, Joseph," he began, " what about the strike?"

" It is all settled. It has been declared ofi."

" What did it cost us ? "

" It cost us nothing, but it may be quite a loss to the ironwork contractor."

' ' How so ? "

"The trouble was that the contractor had placed some orders for iron columns with a non-union foundry. When these were delivered the men went on a strike. They refused to do any work on the building if the non-union ironwork were used. On reading over the contract, I found a stipulation which called for union work from all contractors and sub-contractors. I read this to the iron man, and he spoke to the men, telling them that the non-union iron would not be used, and so the strike was declared off."

" Yes," said my uncle, " I remember the clause. I had it inserted in the contract."

" Why ? " I inquired. " Are you so fond of labor unions ? "

" Fond ? I wish they were at the bottom of the sea. No, I had the clause inserted to guard against such loss and trouble as I had with the Brooklyn buildings, a few years ago."

" But I thought you gained the victory then." " Yes, I gained the victory, but such victories cost too much money. My capital lay idle for three months during the fight with the union, and when we took on non-union men they botched the job. Besides, the heavy rains that fell before the roofs were in place warped the timbers."

" vSo it would seem the best policy to contract all biiildiug work to be done by union men."

" That is what I invariably do now. It is the best policy, though by no means the best principle."

"Why?"

" Because," replied my uncle, " the union system is vicious and un-American. It is not free competition ; it is coerciv^e, oppressive and tyrannical. It brings you and me into contempt. Consider ; here are a lot of boors, many of them foreigners, who dictate to us, their employers. The wild talk of unscrupulous politicians does much to encourage these rascals in their defiance of law. They hear that they are nature's noblemen, the right arm of the nation, and more stuff of that sort. The asses actually believe it. No wonder they band together to coerce the very men on whom they are dependent."

" What remedy is there for this state of things ? "

" I wish I knew a remedy. All I can think of is counter-combinations among employers, but that is not always practicable or even possible."

" But is n't this trouble decreasing ? "

" On the contrary, it is increasing. The impudence of the unions is almost incredible. For example, I had for several years a most obedient and trustworthy man as care-taker in my Eighth Avenue buildings. He was a good carpenter, and I was ready to help him along, so I put him to work on some of my unfinished houses. What was the result ? The poor man was constantly insulted, called a ' scab ' and other vile names, and threatened with bodily harm. In the end he had to quit the job.

" I am beginning to think that serious results will follow the excess of freedom allowed to this raw and

Capital and Labour 9

ignorant body of men. Instead of flaunting the libertycap before their eyes, we should show them the yoke of law, the strong, restraining arm of centralised power. They clamour of liberty ; but liberty, to them, means licence, — licence to rule, to dictate, to trample on the law. There is but one really effective way to deal with them. We should strengthen and centralise authority, then stimulate this rabble to commit those excesses for which they are only too ready, and crush them once and for ever."

"That reminds me. Uncle Harry," I said, speaking in a lower tone, ' ' that the woodworker you sent for is sitting out in the hall, waiting for his orders. He has probably overheard our conversation, and if he is a union man, as is likely, he must be considerably edified by your comments. ' '

" Oh, well," replied my uncle, " that does n't matter much. These union men all know my opinion anyway. I '11 set him to work on the bookcases in the library annex, and when the plumber comes while I am out, will you explain to him about the gas fixtures ? ' '

" Yes, certainly," I replied.

This library annex was a small addition to the house, made necessary by the exigencies of my uncle's business, and recently constructed. A door connected it with the library, of which it was iu reality an extension, and in the two rooms was transacted most of the business connected with the care of my uncle's property and my own.

My uncle, having given his instructions to the woodworker, departed. Shortly there arrived the expected plumber, whom I took into the library extension, where I gave him the necessary orders about his work. Then I returned to my desk and my own duties, leaving lo Let There Be Light

both workingmen in the adjoining room, through the half-opened door of which came presently a cheerful noise of pounding and hammering.

Left alone in the library, I worked for some time, absorbed in my correspondence. At length I realised that the noise of hammering had ceased, and, looking at my watch, I perceiv^ed that it was after twelve o'clock. From the next room came the sound of voices. The workmen were eating their dinner, and were conversing meantime. The woodworker was speaking; I recognised his deep bass tones.

" It would have made your blood boil to hear the old man. He hates the workingman ; he showed it in every word he uttered. He is a good example of his class. I wish the day were here when we could give these swane what they have earned."

Ah, this was interesting ! So we were swine, my uncle and I ! I would do some listening on my own account ; and, leaning back in my chair, I waited for the plumber's reply. It came promptly, though not quite in the form I had anticipated.

" I can understand," he said to the woodworker, " why you feel as you do ; but you seem to forget that it is natural for men in their position to think and talk in that way about organised labour. Suppose you somehow got as much money as they hav^e, how would you act ? Would you sit here and talk on familiar terms with a plumber ? Would you double or triple the rate of wages ? Would you spend your time trying to better the condition of the poor ? Or would you perhaps divide your money wdth us workingmen ? Of course not. I guess that you, as a rich man, would feel about the poor, ■ and about organised labour, just as these people do."

"That may be," the woodworker answered, "but

Capital and Labour n

it only goes to prove that private ownership, capitalism, is degrading and demoralising. I know you are opposed to collectivism ; but tell me, what will the present system result in ? Do you know what the old man said this morning ? He said that the only effective way to deal with organised labour was to strengthen central authority, goad the workingman to excesses, and then crush him forever. What does that mean ? It means that these swine of capitalists want power to reduce still farther the measure of our bread, to take from our children still more of their opportunities for education by sending them to the factory instead of the school. They even rob us of our right of charity by withholding from us the means of caring for our aged, our feeble, our helpless and our unfortunate.

" They are willing to do all this and more too, and are not ashamed to employ centralised power in the form of state and national bayonets. And for what ? What but to swell their unrighteous absorption of the earnings of labour that they may wallow the more in the trough of luxury !

" Cheaper, cheaper ! is their constant cry, but when Vv^e purchase we find it is dearer, still dearer ! Only what we have for sale, our toil, our energy, our tradescraft, and our time, — these things, through their cunning and rapacious cruelty, are made cheap. And when they sell to us our food, our clothes, and our shelter, — these, with devilish cunning, are made dear. Thus do the capitalistic ghouls seize us on both sides, and feed fat on human flesh and blood."

" You overdraw the picture, I think," said the plumber. ' ' You see but one side, the power of capital ; but is there not an effectual force in organised labour which is able to counteract the evils you complain of?

If capital seeks to crush us by centralising authority, can we not overcome it by our votes ? Does not labour, by its votes, and by its organisation, in fact ward oflf inj ury ? Do we not hold the balance of power, and thus, in a measure, dictate our own terms ?

' ' So far as I can see, our real weakness lies not so much in the power of our antagonists, as in our own lack of efficient organisation. Take the American Federation of Labour, for instance. If this organisation wields the influence it does with only some six hundred thousand members, how much greater would that influence be, were its membership doubled or trebled ! And yet there are workingmen enough in the United States to form an organisation of five millions, or even more, if we include agricultural labourers.

" It seems to me we would better work together toward increasing the strength of our organisation, instead of whining about the power of our antagonists.

" And, by the waj^, what was done at the last club meeting ? I meant to be there, but work prevented."

" Well," the woodworker replied, " we decided on a name, ' The Twentieth Centur}' Club.' Ezra was elected president. The subject for the next meeting is ' The Republic and Its Destiny.' You are the first speaker. I am to be censor. ' '

"Isn't the subject rather far-fetched? I thought we were to discuss the industrial problem."

" So did I. But in order to cover the entire field it was decided to begin discussion with government, — this government, — and so to work toward the central theme of our inquiry."

' ' Do you think it will all end in any practical good ? ' '

" I can't tell yet," answered the woodworker. " I hope so ; in some form or other. ' '

CHAPTER III the; pIvUmbe^r and the; woodworke;r

THIS conversation began to interest me unexpectedly. I felt inclined to take part in it, and I walked through into the adjoining room, to the evident surprise of the two men, who, seated near each other, were eating their bread and meat, and drinking their coffee, as they talked.

" Perhaps I should have let you know that I was in the next room," said I, " but my mind was occupied with various ideas which your conversation suggested, and it only occurred to me this moment that you were probably not aware of my presence. ' '

" We thought you were at lunch," replied the plumber, " or we should have been more careful in some of the things we said."

The plumber was a stout man of perhaps forty-five. His eye was clear and his glance penetrating. His face, with its reddish beard and its shaven upper lip, appeared to me characteristically that of the American workingman. In fact he seemed almost a counterpart of that figure which, with paper cap, leather apron, rolled-up sleeves and hammer in hand, is used by our sculptors to typify " Labour."

Taking a seat at the table, I addressed myself first to 13 the '.voodworker. The latter was evidently of German birth, as his accent had indicated, — a man of thirtyfive or so, of medium height and good build, of light complexion, slightlj^ bald, and wearing a moustache.

" It seems to me," I began, " that my uncle, Mr. Morton, whom you saw this morning, may be regarded as at one pole of the question under discussion, and 3'ou at the other. And both of you, therefore, may be fairl}' called extremists."

" Who that is poor, and w^ho that is rich, is not an extremist ? " he answered.

My first impression of the woodworker had been that he represented a low order of intelligence, but this impression was modified when he began to speak, for then his face took on that animation, caused by interest in the subject, peculiar to the intellectual German. It was then, in his expression, and in the earnest intensity of his manner, that could be discerned those pugnacious, tenacious qualities which reminded one of a Luther or a Moltke, — a plain simplicity in repose, animation in intellectual exercise.

" I am what 5'ou call rich," I said, " and 3'our friend the plumber is what some call poor, yet neither of us is an extremist."

" But if I am to be condemned as an extremist," pursued the woodworker, " so must you condemn your uncle, whom you call an extremist also."

" I condemn neither. Such natures are as neces.sary to social development as is the conserv^ative mind ; in fact, more so, for we owe much to the radicals. They are the originators, the initiators, the promulgators ; and as such they deserve our high esteem. The conservative mind checks undue impetuosity, sifts, weighs, eliminates, and amends. There lies its value.

Plumber and Woodworker 15

" Your club meetings," I continued, " are likely to result in good, provided these two qualities of mind are represented in your association ; and, judging by you two, I should say they were. But tell me, are your discussions limited to collectivism ? "

" We have laid out no programme yet," replied the plumber, " but we don't mean to confine the discussions to socialism. In fact, so far as I know, we have only one member who believes in it."

" I feel interested in your club," said I. " Can you let me see the reports of your debates ? I should be glad to read them over. ' '

" We have no way of doing that," the woodworker answered. " The debates are not in writing, and we can't afford a stenographer."

" I would attend some of the meetings myself," I said, " if I were asked."

The plumber looked toward his companion. " We will propose your invitation at the next meeting," said he. The woodworker nodded assent.

' ' Thank you. Let me hear from you. And now, in case I am invited to some meeting which I am unable to attend, I have another proposition to make. Suppose I send my stenographer to take down the debates. I will have him report them as fully as you desire, and then put his report into typewriting, one copy for each member, if you are not too many, and one for me.. How will that do ? "

" Very well, indeed," replied the plumber, with a pleased, eager look. " That will give us a chance to compare the arguments and analyse them."

"Well, then," said I, " I will send the stenographer."

The woodworker had seemed to reflect for a moment.

' ' Perhaps we ought to place your offer before the club, and have it acted on in the regular wa}'," he said.

" Quite so," I replied. " Make the offer in my name. And now, before I go, I will present myself My name is Morton, Joseph Morton, and I live here with my uncle, Mr. Henry Morton. Call on me here at any time. I shall be glad to see j-ou."

" My name," said the plumber, " is James Bradley."

" And mine is Frederick Fisher," added the woodworker,

" I am happy to know you, gentlemen. And your club, — how many members has it ? "

" Six," the plumber answered.

" All workingmen ? "

" Yes, like Fisher and myself"

" Then I shall expect to meet 5^ou all soon." And, turning, I left the men to their work, and re-entered the library.

No sooner was I alone than doubts entered my mind as to the wisdom of my course. Clearly, the proposition I had made, if it led to anything, would result in other relations with workingmen than those to which I had been accustomed. In fact, those new relations had already begun. I could no longer speak quite as before to the two men whom I had invited to meet me, in certain ways, on an equality. What would be the result, to me, of such a constantly increasing change in my social attitude ?

Of my uncle's feelings I had no doubt. He had sufficiently expressed them ; and he would hardly sympathise with my friendship for men who called him " swine" and " ghoul." To be sure, he had called them " rascals" and " asses," but that would hardly seem to him suflScient reason for shaking hands with

Plumber and Woodworker 17

them. I could count on his strong disapproval of my course.

And what was my own real motive ? Was I to hear the case between capital and labour, and perhaps render a voluntary judgment against myself? Did I desire to take up practical philanthropy ? Was I anxious for popularity ? Had I not acted thoughtlessly and on the spur of the moment ? Suppose I actually followed a course that indicated sympathy with the working classes and perhaps with socialism, and suppose that fact became known among my friends and in my club ; would anyone attribute to me my real motive ? They would all either think me crazy, or would credit me with laying wires for an entry into politics. The inconsistency of my various attitudes could not fail to strike me. Which of them were false ? Let me consider.

First, as to my club and my friends. What was the club to me, or I to it ? To me it was a lounging place, a place to kill time. To the club I was a member, a unit, and that was all. What special good was society to me ? Why should I encase myself in conventionalities for its sake ; why wrap myself in social bandages ?

Did I need the aid of society in order to accumulate money ? Had I not all the wealth my ambition craved ? What if, through me, some practical good could be achieved for the working classes ; what if I could aid in lessening the continuous strife between capital and labour ? Was not this a grander, nobler cause than merely following the rut of convention ?

"Yes, a thousand times," came the answer. And this conclusion of the reason, — how closely it linked itself and became of a kind with the spontaneous impulse which had prompted my offer to the men ! Should I retreat ? Never.

Out through the door of the library extension came the phunber and the woodworker.

" We have finished our job," announced the former, " so we will say good-afternoon."

" Good-afternoon," repeated the woodworker.

" Good-afternoon, gentlemen," said I, advancing, and shaking hands with each of them. " I shall expect to see 3'ou again." And in a moment the street door closed on them.

"What 's this? What 's this?" exclaimed my uncle, who had entered during the leave-taking, and stood with amazement depicted on his face.

"What?"

" Oh, this smirking and hand-shaking. How much did 3'ou give them ? " •" I did n't pay them."

" Did n't you slip a quarter or half-dollar into their hands?"

" No, I gave them no money."

" Did you give them some beer ? "

" Well, what 's all this smirking and hand-shaking about?"

There was nothing for it but to tell my uncle the truth, and I did so, relating in a few words what had taken place. He listened intently. When I had concluded he had raised his hand, and, bringing it down on my desk with a thump that set all the papers dancing, exclaimed :