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° ILIIIBMmf ®The Main Stem

By William Edge

New York

VANGUARD PRESSCopyright, 1927, by

Vanguard Press, Inc.

VANGUARD PRINTINGS
First—June, 1927

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICATo L. H. M.

Without whom these experiences had never
been set down; without whom my own
growth and development through these
experiences had never taken place.THE MAIN STEM

CHAPTER I

It was dark when the "quittin’ wissel” blew. I had
sneaked off five minutes earlier to wash up; and now
that I was free again—until tomorrow—I rushed out
of the stove factory into the snow-covered street.

Dark! By God! I hadn't seen the sun since I had
run away from home a month ago. In the morning,
when the alarm went off, it was dark; dark when I
had finished breakfast in the hash house; dark when
I punched the time clock of this damn’ stove factory.
The factory was always gloomy. Even the corners
which were lighted by dazzling glass bulbs, were dirty,
sordid, cobwebby. And at quitting time, when I went
up towards 55 th Street, chased by a biting wind, it
was dark.

It was lonely, too. Breakfast for a month alone.
Then, painting stoves—alone. Lunch alone in a bar-
room crowded with Polacks who smelled vilely and
talked gibberish. And in the evening—but things
had brightened a little in the evenings. That tall guy
—"Slim” they called him—had seemed to take an
interest in me. He was about twenty-seven, I guessed.
He, too, ate at Mrs. Marston's every night.

There was something big and fresh about him. He
was not like the others who ate at Mrs. Marston’s.
He worked in the open, even in this cold weather. He2

THE MAIN STEM

always brought in with him a little of the clean out-
doors. His face was tanned, not black with grime
as were the faces of the other factory workers at
the boarding house.

And he had made special efforts to talk with me
recently. He had even suggested that we might go to
a show together some night. He had called me Blondey,
There was a certain flattery in that, I felt. Every-
body else had called me "hey you.” "Hey, you, pass
de beans.” "Hey, you—de guy wit de new overhalls—
help Ed carry dese stoves to de shippin’ room.”

§

I soon reached Mrs. Marston’s eating place. She
had a room in the rear of her husband’s saloon where
she fed about thirty men every night. In the center
of the room was a long table covered with white oil-
cloth. It was set when I arrived, and two or three
men, leaning low over their food, had already begun
eating. Within ten minutes the table was surrounded
by a large company of factory workers. They ate
fast and said little. One could see black finger-marks
on the white oilcloth as the meal progressed. Little
puddles of soup and light brown coffee spotted the
table.

Mrs. Marston presided over the whole efficiently and
silently. She ran a boarding house that served good,
German food. If you didn’t like it, you could leave it.
You would go far before you could eat like this for
thirty-five cents. Mrs. Marston never said this; she
hardly said anything; but her attitude bespoke as much.
And, in truth, that Dutch lady’s dinners were A
number one; they stuck to your ribs.

I sat eating and watching for Slim. He was alwaysTHE MAIN STEM

3

a little late. Dinner was nearly over when the door
opened and he entered. The man opposite me hady
fortunately, already finished. Slim sat in his vacant
chair while Mrs. Marston cleaned off a place, wiped
off the grease and black finger-marks, leaving before
Slim an eighteen-inch square of dazzling white oilcloth.

"Well, Blondey, whaddye know?”

"Nothing much.”

"How’s the stove factory?”

There was a strange light in his eyes as he asked this
question. I did not know Slim well enough yet to
catch the significance of this glance, but I remem-
bered it.

"Oh! the stove factory’s all right.”

"Y’oughta get a job outdoors. Stove factory’s a
hell of a place.”

"Isn’t it too cold?” I inquired, thinking of the wind
which had chilled me on the way.

"Naw—yah gets used to it. I got a good job; eight
hours. You work ten. Mine’s clean; yours is dirty.
I get fresh air. You breathe the lousey air of a stinkin*
factory. They’re gonna need a new guy on our gang
in about a week. Come around, and I’ll interdooce
yah.”

The prospect of working on a gang with Slim was
pleasant. I had been strangely drawn to him from the
first moment I had seen him. I promised to report
with him in a week.

By this time nearly everybody had left the table.
Slim and I were alone. He said, "Say, yah know, I
said we oughta go to a show together. Whaddya say
tomorrow night?”

"Sure thing.”

"W’ere do we go?”4

THE MAIN STEM

"Suit yourself.”

He gave me again that strange look. Was it mock-
ery? Why did he seem to grin that way?

"Well, let’s make it George Arliss in Drink water’s
■Hamilton.’”

I had expected him to suggest a burlesque or a movie.
Instead he was suggesting one of the finest plays given
in Cleveland during the early part of 1918. I was con-
fused for a moment by his choice, but reassured myself
with the thought, "Well, anyhow, he eats as sloppily as
any of the others.”

My amazement and confusion grew as he continued
speaking. He spoke of Alexander Hamilton, of the
adoption of the Constitution, of George Washington
and Thomas Jefferson. He spoke in a peculiar,
jumbled way, mixing in rough, workers* speech with
the vocabulary of science and of the academic historian.
He spoke grammatically. I was listening to the words,
not to the thought they conveyed:

"These two guys epitomized two schools, with George
on a back seat. ... In the meantime, the several states,
unable to agree upon a course of action . . . then the
bastard tried . . . but, under the circumstances, no
other financial policy was compatible with the ... of

course, the son of a b-----made plenty of jack out of

his lousey plan.”

"Say,” I finally asked, "who are you? You’re not
the ignorant laborer you pose to be.”

Slim looked furtively at me; then he glanced towards
the end of the room, where the stove was. Usually
two or three diners sat there for a while after dinner.
But tonight we had been left in sole possession. Slim
laughed an embarrassed little laugh. He spoke:

"Why are you here? Love affair? Fight with dad?THE MAIN STEM

5

Knock a guy down? Knock a woman up? You don’t
belong here either. . . . No, I don’t mean that I want
an answer from you. I don’t care a damn why you’re
here. I just meant that I, like you perhaps, have certain
reasons for being here.”

"You know,” he went on more confidentially, "you’re
the first person who’s ever asked me why I’m here—
why I’m down and out. It’s part of the ethics among
fearers of overalls not to ask why.”

He stopped for a moment and gazed absently at the
red sides of the stove. Then he resumed in a changed
tone. "Would you think it, to look at me, that I’m a
promising young lawyer, and a rich woman’s husband?
Ha! Ha!”

His laugh haunted me for hours afterwards.

"Also, I was fullback on one of the greatest Pacific
Coast teams three years ago. That was 1915. St. G—
College. Well—here comes Mrs. Marston. She’ll want
to clear off the table. Do you want to take a walk?”

§

The next evening we went to the theater together
to see George Arliss. We sat in the peanut gallery.

"Do you notice,” Slim said, "that the applause up
here is more reserved? The people down there,” he
pointed to the orchestra seats, "come here because it
is the correct thing to do. The people up here come
because they really want to. The critical intelligences
are with us in the loft.”

This, and many other things that Slim said, gave me
an uneasy feeling about my companion. He spared
no opportunity to criticise and ridicule the well-to-do.
Must be a sort of socialist, or something, I thought.
Besides, he always seemed to expect me to agree with6

THE MAIN STEM

him, and that made me want to squirm. On the other
hand, there was a fire and animation when he spoke
which was very pleasing. His face, mobile as an actor’s,
lent an added emphasis to his words. He seemed keenly
interested in me, in what he was saying. I had never
had any one talk to me, to me alone, so intently in
my life.

After the play we stopped in Ninth Street to get
some pie and coffee.

“Say, did you read in the paper about this fuel con-
servation business? What do you think of this lay-off
we’re going to have?”

Slim was referring to the order which had been issued
by Assistant Secretary McKinley for a general stoppage
of industry during five days. The order had been
issued in the early part of 1918 to conserve fuel for war
purposes. It meant a good deal to me.

“Well, it simply means that for five days it’ll be all
outgo for me, and no income.”

“Are you in need?”

“No, but I’ll have to go easy. I’ll lose twenty dollars
by it.”

“Hell, you know what? I’m going to play around
during those five days. Then I’m going to beat it to
Pittsburgh. I’m tired of Cleveland. Hell of a hole.
I’ve been here too long already.”

The words hurt me. Lose Slim! Slim go off anc
leave me! Loneliness again. The dark factory, the dart
mornings before work and the dark evenings aftei
work. Nothing to look forward to after a day at
the stove factory. Again the empty, dreary life befon
I had met him.

“It doesn’t do a fellow any good to stick to one jot
You get stale at it. They want to promote you, anTHE MAIN STEM

7

make you assume obligations. You get to be a pusillani-
mous, spineless, damn’ scissorbill. Guess you don’t
know what a scissorbill is? It’s the name the I.W.W.
have for a worker who loves his wife, his boss, and the
capitalist system at large.”

"Are you an I.W.W.?”

Hell, no! Not me! They’re too naive for me. I
don’t believe in direct action. I admire them though.
I’ve been in Western mining camps when to be a
wobbly meant jail, a beating with police clubs, stoning.
But they proclaimed their faith like Christian martyrs.
Say, would you like to go to a meeting of wobblies?
I’ll take you tomorrow.”

The I.W.W. meant adventure to me. I knew almost
nothing about their deep social philosophy. I felt only
that to go to a meeting of the I.W.W. should prove as
2d venturesome a thing to do as to attend a conference
of dope-peddlers or yeggmen. "Of course I’d like
to go.”

Slim looked at me meditatively. "You’re an inter-
ting lad. Do you mind my asking if you ran away
om home, and if so, why?”

Yes, I had run away from home.

"Good,” said Slim. "There are damn' few youngsters
ming from a sheltered, bourgeois environment who
ve guts enough to beat it.—Were you an only child?”
‘Yes.”

"iThat helps to explain it on psychological grounds.
Werk you in love with a girl?”

"Well, I suppose every young fellow my age has a
drl.”

"Fine, fine. Sort of couldn't get along, eh? And
:hen the girl, too, wasn’t it? But why didn’t you enlist
nstead of working in a stove factory?”8

THE MAIN STEM

"I may—some day. Most of my chums are getting
commissions. I’m a little too young to be going after
shoulder straps. But if the war keeps up, and if I
can pull a few wires, I may try. Might even go in as
a buck private.”

"H’m, you’re an interesting lad. The college campus
and the battle ground of industry are quite different,
aren’t they? Yes, quite different.” He nodded his
head slowly, as if he were remembering something.
"Well,” he sighed, "let’s get out of here and go home.”

We soon reached Slim’s house. "Good night,” he
said as he entered. "See you tomorrow at ten.”

I continued up the street to do battle with the lake
wind. One thought filled my mind as I walked. Sl’m
would leave Cleveland in five days. I couldn’t be
without him. I couldn’t go to the stove factory day
after day without some sort of intelligent, sympathetic
companionship. Well, why not? Why not go with
Slim to Pittsburgh? It would be great fun. It would
be a sort of hobo life, for Slim had hinted that he
planned to stay in Pittsburgh only a few weeks, and
then move on. After that—other sights.

I turned around and went back to Slim’s. I enter ;d
the hall of the boarding house. Suppose Slim shouldn't
want me? Perhaps he would think I was too green arid
soft to be a hobo. I was strong enough, but I laq^d
the hardness and toughness of Slim. I looked too . T|-
fied, too much like a dude disguised as a worker fot* tile
Bal Boheme.

Slim answered my call from his bed. I walked into
his room.

"What’s the matter?**

"This trip, this sort of hoboing you’re planning to
start on—may I go with you?”THE MAIN STEM

9

"Sure, if you want to go.”

My heart bounced with joy.

"Where are you planning to go?”

"Well, I’m planning to tour the East. By this time
next winter I expect to be back home in California.
Might set up as a lawyer again. Always been thinking
of getting back.”

I lay abed that night with visions of myself as an
accomplished tramp. Some day we should have a large
law office, Slim and I. Walnut furniture, impressive
desk clocks with gold initials, oriental rugs, buzzers,
stenographers, telephones. Maybe there would be pretty
women clients—women who wanted divorces and a
little consolation. Othello-like, I should win them with
my tales—strange yarns of freight riding, mysterious
streets of vice, broken men and women.CHAPTER II

The next day, unable to work by government decree,
we were swinging down Euclid Avenue in our good
clothes. Slim had a fairly decent-looking business suit.
Dark, tanned, tall, well-muscled, he made a good
appearance. His face, with its deep lines, emphasized
by a prominent jaw, made him look like a hard-boiled
top-sergeant in civvies—tough and warlike, but with
a capacity for tenderness and deep feeling. His chest
was very broad, and he stood more erect than any
man I had ever known.

Near the aqueduct we entered a building such as is
used for offices by fifth-rate business organizations. A
long, shaky stairway with worn, brass guards on each
step, led to the second floor. The unfinished walls held
great plasterless areas in which laths were visible. The
glass of some of the doors had been broken, and boards
had been nailed across them. Dirty aqd fly-specked
bulbs depended from the ceiling. The whole was per-
vaded by a stale odor of toilets and oiled flooring.

After climbing two flights Slim opened a door into
a vestibule. Beyond was another door which opened on
a large, square room, with posters, charts, and cartoons
on the walls. We looked at these decorations with one
eye cast towards the few poorly dressed men who were
lounging about. They were smoking, chewing* and
spitting into large, flat boxes filled with sawdust. TheyTHE MAIN STEM

it

sat in the center of the room, around a little stove,
talking in low tones. Slim and I had dressed up in
good clothes, and our white collars and business suits
drew suspicious sidelong glances from the stove group.

The poster that interested me most was the pyramid,
a poster showing a crowd of miserable, agonized workers
supporting a huge platform on their backs. The plat-
form had five or six superimposed stages on it, each
smaller than the one below. Hence the name, pyramid.
On each stage was a group of the non-productive
workers of society, each with its appropriate legend.
Beside the soldiers were the words, "We shoot at you.”
Beside the clergy were the words, "We fool you,” and
so on.

The room gradually filled with more men, and soon
there was a bustling sound. The lecturer for the
evening had arrived. He was a socialist alderman, who
made it his practice to address various revolutionary
organizations, always telling them what a lone socialist
officer could not do. The lecture was mostly a bid for
support by the I.W.W. of Socialist Party activities. I
may be pardoned for explaining that socialists, anar-
chists, I.W.W.’s, members of the Socialist Labor Party}
and of the Workers’ International Industrial Union are
not all the same. To the average man they are all
damned socialists. But this is not the viewpoint of the
revolutionary. There are recognized differences be-
tween them, and they are very jealous about supporting
each other’s candidates.

Well, Alderman Ginsberg told us, first, that a solitary
socialist alderman could not change the world; and
secondly, that we are all friends, all down-trodden
brothers, and that we should stick together, fellow-
workers, and make an intelligent, organized kick, to12

THE MAIN STEM

get rid of the'xbums on the plush ( ^e idle rich).

When Alderman Ginsberg stppped talking he left the
hall for another engagement, and the meeting was
thrown open for general discussion. Slim rose and
made a heated protest against sabotage, telling the
I.W.W. present that they would never achieve their
ends by direct action. He accused them of dissolving
sugar in gasoline to make it carbonize in the cylinders
of automobiles and trucks. He accused them of putting
tacks in oats to kill horses.

A murmur of disapproval went through the small
audience, and a hot-headed fellow rose to speak.

"Fellow-workers, I’ve ben watching these two white-
collared guys hangin’ around here this afternoon, and all
I gotta say is, we can’t afford to let no damn’ agents
provocateurs walk in like this was their jungle. Two
men lookin’ like dicks come in here, critisizers our
tactics, an’ here we lets ’em in, lissens to ’em talk, an*
don’t do nuthin’.”

He went on, his fist shaking at us, his eyes blazing,
while I sat in mortal terror. If they throw us out of
the window, I thought, as I heard the calls of approval
elicited by the speaker, will we fall into the Cuyahoga,
or is there a street down there? "White collared bas-
tards!” Is the Cuyahoga frozen? "Dajnn* agents pro-
vocateurs.” Perhaps we’re ijot so near the river as I
had thought. I may have mixed myself up. Anyhow,
why should the^ throw us out of the back windows?
The side windows might do just as well. "Goddam
scissorbills.” They might simply throw us down the
stairs. If I remembered to relax, no bones would be
broken. "Capital and labor.” "Karl Marx.” "Rus-
sian Revolution.” He was still shaking his fist. His
eyes were still burning.THE MAIN STEM

13

A calm voice from the rear of the room boomed.
"Fellow-workers.” The words were magical. The
speaker stopped in the middle of a sentence. Folding
chairs scraped as the sitters turned to look at an old,
scholarly man, bent by years, labor and study. There
was dead silence.

The chair recognized him.

"Fellow-workers, the I.W.W. cannot survive if it is
intolerant. You boys know that I have been a member
of the wobblies ever since we started. I was a delegate
to the convention in Chicago in 1908, when we split
from the Detroit I.W.W., now the W.I.I.U. I helped
to give birth to this organization. I—well, I won’t
talk about that; you all know me.

"If I had thought, ten years ago, when my mind was
torn between the problem of direct action and political
action—if I had thought that I should live to hear such
intolerance as I’ve heard tonight, I should have gone
over to the other side. If we really and truly believe
in our theory of direct action, then let’s try to convince
these men. If they are sincere, we may convince them.
If they are agents provocateurs, they will not truly be
able to report that we are a wild, uncontrollable, hot-
headed group.”

This speech, from a respected wobbly in high stand-
ing, had its effect. His well-directed words drew warm
applause from his hearers.

When the meeting broke up, a little later, the wob-
blies had loaded us down with their literature. The
patriarch shook hands with us:

"I am a little skeptical of the efficacy of direct action
myself. The change must be in the mind, not in the
gasoline; in the heart, not in the oats. But read those
pamphlets. Good-bye.”14

THE MAIN STEM

§

''Well, how did you like that?” Slim said when
we were in the street again.

"I thought they were going to knock hell out of us
when you told them that you disagreed with their
ideas.”

"Oh! They’re all right. But, of course, they don’t
believe in political action. Now me—I believe in po-
litical action. That’s why I’m a member of the Socialist
Labor Party. I like to twist their tail. Every chance
I get, I bawl out the wobblies for their campaign of
direct action. It amuses me. I get a big kick out of it.”

Slim was elated. He was, as I later learned, boyishly
playful under his bulldog exterior. One of his chief
amusements was to tease, to tease me, to tease those
who were not of his political faith, to tease religiously-
minded persons. He did not do it in a proselyting
spirit. He did it to get a kick out of it. He loved to
juggle words in such a manner as to confuse other
people. With the ultimate effects of his words he was
only partially interested. If Slim was a revolutionist,
he did not repel one by taking himself too seriously.

§

During the next few days I met many of Slim’s
friends in Cleveland. One especially, James Ralston,
seemed to be a favorite of Slim’s, and I, too, became
rather intimate with him. For a Socialist, he lived in
a surprisingly fine house near Wade Park. I had not yet
shaken off the feeling that Socialists were economically
inconsequential. It took me a long time to realize
that Ralston could hold down a good job, live respect-
ably, and still be a Socialist.THE MAIN STEM

Many of Slim’s acquaintances belonged to the Socialist
Labor Party. There was much talk about the Russian
Revolution, the American Proletarian Revolution, 'Gene
Debs, and Big Bill Haywood. But most of all they
talked about Daniel de Leon. "Danny,” as he was
affectionately called, had been the brains of the party,
the editor of its journal, the heir of Marx and Engels.

Through Slim I came to know de Leon’s work.
Although I never fell completely under the sway of its
relentless dialectic, I have often admired de Leon’s
boldness, keenness and wit. He is, perhaps, the least
appreciated of the great Socialist leaders of America.

§

In a few days we were ready to leave Cleveland.
Slim had amused himself by poking fun at the luggage
I had brought with me from home. "What’s this?
Tower of Will. My lord!” He opened to a page and
read:	"To gain control of the eye, fix your eyes on a

point and will not to relax a steady gaze during five
minutes. Breathe deeply.”

"Say, did you ever read this rot? What’s this? Oh!
I say, old man, it’s a dinner coat. Might come in handy
some time when we invite the Countess de Boob to have
dinner at the Hotel Hinky Dink.”

The Tuxedo, the book, and many other censored
belongings were sent home by parcel post.CHAPTER III

Slim and I rode the "cushins” into Pittsburgh. It was
during the World War, and riding the "cushins” was
the only safe course in the East, according to the bums
we had consulted. There were a lot of soldiers guarding
the railroad tunnels and bridges, prepared to take a
crack at any ’bo seen on the trains. Besides, we had
enough money to pay our fare.

It was late winter, and Pittsburgh was glacial. As
we walked rapidly down the street which leads from
the station, Slim and I loosed these arguments through
chattering teeth:

"If you want to get a job, why in hell don’t you stop
at the next drug store, look up the classified ads in the
telephone book, and find out where the employment
agencies are?”

"You’re a gay cat all right, all right. There are a
lot of good reasons. First place, you look like a bum
already, just as I do. You haven’t shaved for a week;
your nose is snotty with the cold; and your sleeve shows
where you’ve wiped it off. Your face is dirty and
your pants look like helL They’d give you the bum’s
rush. Second place, it simply isn’t done. No stiff
ever got information about a job through a telephone
book. The telephone book is a dispenser of information
to the bourgeoisie; the working plug has his own chan-
nels. And it is to these channels of information that we

16THE MAIN STEM	17

must go. . . . Hey, Jack, d’ye know where a stiff can
find a job?”

This last sentence Slim addressed to a tattered, purple-
nosed fellow who was wearily walking in our direction.

"Dey got some purty good jobs on de windows down
by Chicago Joe’s saloon. I’m shippin’ out fer a job
meself dis evenin’. ’Leven hours’ pay, ten hours’ work,
forty cents an hour. De flophouse is free and de chuck
is tirty cents a trow. I axed a stiff dat’s been dere wot
it was like. He says de java’s good and de flops ain’t
crummy (lousey).”

“Where is the place, Jack?”

“ ’Sup aroun’ Johnstown.”

“And where is Chicago Joe’s?”

“Ye go up dere about two blocks. Dat’s de main
stem. Den ye goes up like dat,” and he waved to the
right. “Wen ye gits near de river, ax any stiff, an*
he’ll tell yez.”

As we parted, Slim looked at me triumphantly. “Do
you see why a telephone directory is inadequate? We
have already learned where the employment agencies
are; we have heard of a job which has been recommended
by a chap who’s been there; and we’ve heard of Chicago
Joe’s. Why, man, the gestic words ‘Chicago Joe’ are
alone reason enough to avoid a ’phone book.”

In spite of this, Slim and I met, a few years later, a
super-tramp who consulted the telephone directory.
His name was Bozo, a name which fitted him superbly.
He would call up the passenger station, find out the
hour of an express departure, and would then lay his
plans to “deck the cannon-ball on the fly.”

Soon our feet were treading the main stem. As we
slowed our pace, Slim said:

“We are now on the ‘stem’ or ‘main stem,* or ‘mainx8

THE MAIN STEM

drag,* as you have just heard that worthy say. The
main stem is the principal street from the hobo’s point
of view. It is not the main residential street; it is not
the main business street; it is the hobo’s street. On this
street 'stemming’ flourishes. 'Stemming’ is hobohemian
for panhandling. It is on this street that the homeless
have put their stamp of approval. Here the bum finds
friends; the drunk finds fellow drinkers; the red finds
his comrades; the dope-fiend finds peddlers. Here it is
that nickels and dimes can be coaxed from passers-by.”

In a few minutes we were in the employment agency
section. The place was striking because of the absence
of women and children. The slave market of every
city is the most masculine portion. Stiffs were standing
on the curbs, deciphering the scrawly blackboards
behind the windows of the employment agencies. A
few drunks were entertaining a little group of job-
hunters.

One of the drunks was being applauded with hearty
laughs as he exhibited a hiding place for his razor. His
ragged four-in-hand tie was open at the top and closed
at the bottom. This formed a long pocket into which he
could slip his razor. While we passed he acted as if
he were about to be attacked; he wheeled on his imag-
inary antagonist, whipped his razor from its cloth
scabbard, and performed murder. Then he wiped the
blood from his razor, pointed critically to a nick in
it, closed it carefully, and rammed Durandal back into
its cloth sheath. This pantomime provoked much
laughter from the shivering bums.

Another drunk was behind his cheap and battered
straw suitcase, which stood on end. He acted as if he
were selling something over a counter; and his sales
speech was like this:THE MAIN STEM

19

"Today I am selling this magic collar button for only
five cents, half a dime. It will not tarnish, rust, break,
bend, or color the skin. It was invented by his Nibs,
the Right Honorable Prince of Wales, London, England.
He couldn’t wear the ties of the new mode without this
button, which permits the scarf to be flat, and does not
tear the fine silk of the most luxurious tie. Ye better
buy it now. You’ve heard of Shakespeare, who said,
'Here today and gone tomorrow?’ Well, I’m not that
kind of a guy. I’m here today and gone tonight

§

In the slave market, buddies on former jobs find
each other again, much as American tourists meet their
former fellow-passengers in Westminster Abbey, the
Louvre, or at the American Express. They discuss pos-
sibilities as they see them. We met a laborer .whom
Slim had known in Cleveland. Since his departure from
the Forest City, he had worked on two or three of the
jobs advertised, and had informed himself thoroughly
about two or three others. He warned us against
them all.

"De flops is crummier’n hell. Dey feeds yer condensed
horse manure. An’ de pay ain’t nuttin.” This, with
variations and repetitions, was his opinion of all the
jobs.

One never accepts a job lightly. One walks about,
reads every board, discusses the probabilities with other
job-hunters. Much information is thus passed along.

A typical day for a stiff about to hire himself out
might be like this:	Shorty decides, for reasons of his

own, that he wants to get a job. Perhaps he has been
on a spree, and faces either work or panhandling—
something the work-stiff is not clever enough to do20

THE MAIN STEM

permanently. Perhaps he is going to reform, and
become a regular-working, patriotic citizen. This is
not a joke. Migratory workers are forever waging a
futile fight with respectability and a steady job. Shorty,
convinced, then, that he must work, goes into the
employment agency district. He reads on one of the
boards:

GANDYDANCERS
Neer Elisabeth, New Jers.

35c an hour, io hours
Overtime after 8 hours.

Free camp Meals 30c

This looks well; but no need to rush things. Shorty’s
neighbor on the sidewalk, a dark-skinned fellow, is
also deciphering the sign. Shorty says:	"Say, Blackey,

y’ever been on that ’Lizabeth job?”

"Yeah, hell of a hole. De jamocha is rotten. De
goddam chuck dey hands yer is rotten. . . . Ya got a
butt on ya, Shorty?”

Shorty has a butt, and a friendship has begun. After
a few hours’ reading of boards, discussion of possibili-
ties, avoidance of jobs which require a medical exami-
nation^ Shorty and Blackey decide on a job at Hog
Island. The employment agent has told them to report
at four in the afternoon. It is now about twelve.

Blackey has long ago confessed that he is dead broke,
or "clean,” and Shorty has confessed that he has "a
little jack,” one "iron man.” Frequently the Shorty’s
have two iron men, but admit only one. When
a friendship has been of long standing, such "holding
out” is treason. But at the beginning it is both over-
looked and easily kept secret.

The stiffs spend their dollar together according toTHE MAIN STEM

21

their standards of consumption. Frequently tobacco
and liquor are more imperative than food. Sometimes
a migratory will spend his last dime on a stale, marbled
chocolate bar. Sometimes he will get a shave or a hair-
cut. At four they report for the job, perhaps sober,
perhaps drunk. They are then conducted by the man
catcher to the station, and shipped at the employer’s
expense to their destination. Here they go through
the necessary employment routine, are fed, and are
assigned beds in the camp.

The new job is usually as bad as the old one had
been. There is a sardonic hobo poem which describes
the futility of changing jobs:

Things are dull in San Francisco,

"On the bum” in New Orleans;

"Rawther punk” in cultured Boston,

Famed for codfish, pork and beans.

"On the hog” in Kansas City;

Out in Denver, things are jarred;

An they’re "beefing” in Chicago
That the times are rather hard.

There’s a howl from Cincinnati,

New York City, Brooklyn, too;

In Milwaukee’s foamy limits
There is little work to do.

In the face of all such rumors
It seems not amiss to say
That no matter where you’re going
You had better stay away.

§

Slim and I passed over many possibilities until we
found the United States Employment Service, which22

THE MAIN STEM

was advertising for workers in the Westinghouse fac-
tory in East Pittsburgh. We had asked a few job-
seekers about the treatment there. They had recom-
mended the place'provided we had enough money to
feed and shelter ourselves for two weeks.

It is a matter of great concern to the prospective
worker whether "de comp’ny feeds yer” or whether
you “feeds yerself.” It is a matter of at least twenty
dollars. If the company serves meals and provides a
roof, one can accept a job without a nickel in one’s
pocket. If, however, the company does not advance
board, one usually has to wait two weeks for pay day.
In the meantime, one must pay one’s own room rent
and board.

At the employment agency we received little cards
which were to be presented to the employment officer
at the Westinghouse. The next morning we were to
report for work, about seven-thirty.

It was near dinner time by now, and we found a
hash-house called “The Busy Bee.” The air of the place
was thick; there was a greasy odor of frying. Many
bums had taken refuge from the cold in this warm,
cheery restaurant. They sat over the remains of their
liver and onions or Hamburger with Spanish sauce,
loathe to go out into the freezing air. We, like them,
sat a long time in front of our well-cleaned plates before
summoning up enough courage to go out into the wind
and the weather. When, at last, we stood out in the
cold night, we could smell the greasy odor of the res-
taurant clinging to our clothes.

Up the street we rented a little room above a saloon.
There was already one occupant. We did not discover
him until we had been in the room a few minutes.
From a cot in the corner we heard a cough. Turning,THE MAIN STEM

23

we saw a head of thin, gray hair against the blue striped
ticking of a dirty, old pillow.

“You stiffs gonna turn in here?” he greeted us, in
the piping voice of senility.

"Yes, dad, this is where we flop.”

"They ain’t no crums in here now. Hope youse guys
ain’t got ’em.”

"We’re all right, dad.”

"Youse guys work?”

"Got a job at the Westinghouse.”

"Me, I don’t work. Ain’t done a tap o’ work for
fifty years. I mooches de stem.”

We found out from him that he was a beggar. He
turned over nearly all his gains to the saloon-keeper,
who gave him in return a, bed, free lunch and plenty
of whiskey, year in and year out. No matter how poor
the pickin’s on the stem; no .matter how ill the old
fellow might be, he was always assured a bed, plenty
of hot dogs, and limitless whiskey. This regime had
seemed to agree with him, for he boasted seventy-five
years. The old man talked volubly while we got into
bed, offering us a drink from the quart bottle which
he kept under the covers. Finally, the room was
darkened, and we fell asleep.

All night long the old beggar coughed and coughed.
Jie woke us up frequently. After the coughing had
subsided, he would take a drink, smack his lips, sigh,
and turn over.

Early in the morning we made ready to leave. The
barkeeper was just getting up. When I gave him a ten-
dollar bill in payment for .our lodging, he found that
he had left his till money in his room. I went upstairs
with him to get my change. I gaped at the spectacle
before me. Here, in this slum neighborhood, in a houseTHE MAIN STEM

*4

containing bare, drafty rooms with fallen plaster and
rickety stairs, was 2 two-room apartment of richness
and splendor.

The saloonkeeper’s private suite was as romantic and
unexpected as a secret passageway. One thought of
trapdoors, of concealed closets, of scantily-clad women
behind screens, of all the mysterious trappings of melo-
drama. The walls were wainscoted; the lighting came
from concealed brackets; the furniture, though mere-
tricious, was heavy and expensive. It reminded one
of the sinister rooms of Chinatown tong mandarins, as
described in highly colored dectective stories.

It was still dark when we went out to get breakfast.
After our ham and eggs, we got on a street car bound
for East Pittsburgh. When we had ridden about half
an hour, we«realized that all passengers who worked in
plants other than the Westinghouse had got off. From
the conversation of the remaining occupants we could
tell that most of them were bound for the big electric
company.

The conversation turned on one point. Would the
car arrive on time, or would it be late? If it arrived
late the employees would be docked half an hour for
tardiness. The passengers cried out to the motorman,
asking him to hurry. Some said, Hell, they didn’t give
a damn if they were late. Others said they had not
been late for a year, and they hated to break their
records.

When we got off the car, the matter was still in
doubt. The final whistle had not yet blown. Some felt
they could check in before startin’ time. Others doubted
their ability. The whole car-full crowded the exit door.
Each man, as he touched the ground, sprinted towards
a gray mass with pale, orange windows, and disappearedTHE MAIN STEM

*5

in the early morning dimness. A moment later a long,
low moan sounded; it grew louder and louder, until it
frightened one by its prolonged roar. Then, slowly, it
stopped. The “startin’ wissel!” One could hear a soft
hum of machinery, which increased as one approached.
The humming became more distinct; the day shift was
at the machines.

§

The process of hiring us at the Westinghouse was a
long affair. Physical examination, interview with a
placement official, vaccination, sighing of insurance
contract—all these things took the heart out of the day.
One curious thing was that an interviewing official had
a fan, the breeze of which was between him and the
person interviewed. This carried the breath of the
applicants to the right of the official, a protection from
the traditional garlicky breath of the bohunks, and
from contagious disease. I once told a priest about this.
“Ought to have one in the confessional,” he said.

On one of the blanks, the amount of education of
the applicant was asked for. “What shall I say?” I
asked Slim. "Sixth grade,” he replied. And I saw that
he had filled his out in the same manner.

As soon as we had been vaccinated, Slim said, “Let’s
beat it to the lavatory.” We entered the room, took
out our handkerchiefs, soaked them with water, and
then washed off the vaccinated area. Our precautions
seemed successful, for neither of us was bothered by a
sore arm.

The lavatories of the Westinghouse deserve some
space. Sanitary provisions for workers are usually very
poor. But the Westinghouse, like many larger firms,
realize that cleanliness is profitable. Everything was az 6

THE MAIN STEM

spotless white. The singing of ventilation fans could
be heard. There was a clean smell of camphor.

Later in the day when the whistle for the first dinner
hour blew, we walked out to a little restaurant across
the street. Here many grimy workers were already
seated at counter stools, ramming down stew and
canned beans. After our lunch, we went through a
tall gate and wandered about Westinghouse premises.
The place was tremendous. The yard in the rear of
the building was lined with rails. Electromagnets on
travelling cranes were picking up odd pieces of iron and
dumping them on scrap heaps.

We opened a door, unexpectedly finding ourselves on
a black, sandy floor, where men in scanty clothing were
pouring liquid metal into small, dark cubes of sand.
The sparks flew as the red straam flowed into the
mould. Through another door we could see a huge
hydraulic press squeezing pieces of fibre into the shape
of an aeroplane propellor.

This was the first of many walks that we made
through the plant during the dinner hour. There was
always virgin territory left. There was a lathe as large
as a house, which threw off steel shavings half an inch
thick. Once we saw a roomful of girls tap-tapping
away with little hammers. They seemed to be making
boxes. The room smelled, strangely in this plant, of
perfume and powder. We stopped a while to look at
their bare arms and swelling muscles. I had seen
,very few women since I had left home.

§

When we finally received our assignment slips, we
found that we had been placed in different parts of theTHE MAIN STEM

27

plant. Slim was to work on a milling machine; and I
was to become a bandsaw operator. We separated after
deciding on a meeting place.

One of the first things I noticed when I entered the
bandsaw room was that nearly every older employee
had at least one stump in place of a finger. The whiz-
zing saws had taken their toll. Saws were flying every-
where, and with them their shrill whine as they pro-
tested against the resistance of materials. In the rear of
the room was a circular saw which screeched intermit-
tently. And beneath it all was the steady drone of
motors.

My job was to saw large squares of a fibrous material
called "micarta” into smaller blocks five by seven
inches. One of the older men showed me how to un-
twist a saw, how to mount it, how to saw, and how to
use a jig. He showed me how suction was used to
eliminate dust, and where to keep my fingers in order
to minimize danger.

The inspector condemned nearly everything I had
done the first day. He held a rule on the sawed sur-
faces, peered at them against the light, used his square
on some pieces, and threw them aside in disgust. The
corners were not square. After a few days I improved
somewhat, but I never became an adept at the micarta
business.

Life consisted of sawing blocks of micarta eternally.
I had no idea what these blocks were used for—not
that I cared. At the end of the day’s work I felt
the fatigue which resulted from watching my fingers
all day long as they worked within an inch of a spinning
band saw.28

THE MAIN STEM

S

The intimacy of a room for two taught me a great
deal about my new friend.

"Hell’s bells,” he called out to me one evening, "stop
that damn* washing and take a rest. You work all day
and wash up all night. Come in here and let’s talk
things over.”

Reluctantly leaving the dingy bathroom, I entered
the room that we had rented in Turtle Creek. There
were a bed and two chairs. In one corner was a little
sheet-metal stove, with a pile of wood beside it. Slim,
in greasy overalls, with a dirty grey sweater, was glanc-
ing through a paper. On his fine head, and his square,
fighting jaw, played shadows from the sputtering gas
flame.

He spoke. "Have you ever written your mother' or
father since you sent them the things from Cleveland?”

"No.”

"Well, you’d better do it. No matter how much you
may feel estranged, they’re yours, you know. When I
went to Alaska as a kid, my father used to feed every
bum who came to the door because, he used to think—
to feel, rather—that there would be some sort of trans-
fer of his act of kindness, a transfer which would re-
dound to my benefit. He felt that his generosity would
cause others to feed me if I were hungry. I mention this
because you probably don’t realize how strong father-
love is; I didn’t.”

I had always wanted to find out more about that
Alaskan trip.

"Why did you ever leave home and go to Alaska?”

"It’s all a long story, and goes back to my grand-
father, an Austrian noble who married his housekeeperTHE MAIN STEM	19

at an advanced age. Do you want me to tell you the
whole history?”

**I certainly do.”

"On the day of the second wedding, the sons by the
first marriage, with a medieval feeling of sullied honor,
scattered in shame to the four corners of the earth. My
father, who was one of the injured sons, roamed the
earth for a number of years. Peru, Egypt, Constanti-
nople, Mexico, California—he lived in all these places
and a whole lot more. Perhaps I inherit my wan-
dering instinct from him. He will tell you of the
unequalled coffee he once had in a Syrian town; of a
pretty girl he flirted with in Guayaquil; of the fellow
who shot at him in Cairo. Well, one day he met a
pioneer’s daughter in Nevada, married her ten days
later, jerked a guy out of a stage coach to give his bride
a seat, and settled in California. In the course of time,
I was born in San T------the only child.

"The old dad never was successful, financially. But
he always spoke of his noble blood and illustrious ante-
cedents. I would go to school with my posterior show-
ing against threadbare pants—but, damn it, I was an
Austrian nobleman. That feeling that I was better than
anybody else gave me a devil of a lot of trouble, espe-
cially when my soles were so thin that a wet sidewalk
gave me wet feet. In spite of everything, however* I
Was better than anybody in the school—the teachers,
the pupils, the principal. But sometimes I had no lunch.

"As a child it was tolerable. As an adolescent, the
problem became graver. On top of it all I became a
star athlete in high school and had to accept from my
socially inferior, but financially superior, classmates,
money with which to buy athletic equipment. They
willingly gave it because I could run the hundred in30

THE MAIN STEM

ten and a fifth, and I could average seven or eight yards
every time I carried the ball. Ah! It all hurt my
pride.

"Worst of all, I fell in love with a rich girl. Now
that I’m in my late twenties I can see that I should
probably have proved acceptable to this girl if I had
gone after her. But as an adolescent I saw only my
poverty; and my poverty sealed my lips.

"One day I had an opportunity to become rich. A
well-to-do chap of my acquaintance decided to run
away from home and go to Alaska. Would I go with
him? Would I? I’ll say I would. Gold! Alaska!
A triumphal return home—and the girl!

"God, how we froze up there. I, who had been
raised in San T---- and had seen only a few wander-

ing snowflakes—how I suffered. Gold? Hell! I saw a
few pieces of silver on paydays after a week’s work
on the railroad. And the mosquitoes!

“Pride kept us up there two years. Finally we came
home, broken in spirit. My companion’s parents’out-
fitted him and sent him to Stanford. I got a job in a
cannery. The girl had married, and I had the exquisite
pleasure of passing her new home every morning when
I went to work and every evening when I returned.

“One day I met a priest, an old friend of the family’s.
He asked me if I could still run and play football as
I could in the old days. I told him that after two
years in Alaska one could lick old Mr. Devil himself.
He laughed. In a few days I was guardedly approached
in a letter—and to make a long story short, I received

an offer of $500 a year if I would attend St. G------

College. The offer did not mention track or football.
But I played my end of the game square.

“I studied law, and upon graduation I was offeredTHE MAIN STEM

3i

a position in the District Attorney’s office. My work
was praised, but inside me there was a streak of wild-
ness and untamableness. I couldn’t make a go of it.
I beat it. For a year or more I fooled at odd jobs in
Frisco. Then I went to Arizona. I led the life of a
lonely prospector. I had much happiness in living alone
and studying in my hut.

"It was then I met Grace Arnold. She was a rich
woman connected with the Arnold soap people. I
put the boots to her out there under the sky. She used
to insist upon my marrying her—something I refused
to do for a long time. But finally cupidity—no, not
Cupid—got the better of me. It was hard to with-
stand the lure of her money.

"The marriage was duly solemnized. My education
began. I wore everything from Harris tweeds to swal-
lowtails. I lived in elegant Colorado camps and in
sombre city houses. Try to visualize me. I couldn’t
say *hey, flunkey* to hotel waiters. I couldn’t swear.
I couldn’t tell people what I really thought of them.
I had to drink wine instead of whiskey.

"I think I should have committed suicide had there
been no alternative. Fortunately I had had enough
experience as a poverty-stricken wanderer to know that
hoboing was open to me. My experience both in Alaska
and Frisco had given me a fund of information as to
how to take care of myself, though broke. Ah! That
is a thing worth knowing. To know that you can
escape any disagreeable situation by donning overalls,
cutting down your standard of living, and battering
your meals if you want to.

"One day, last summer, I sneaked out of a very lovely
house in Detroit where we were staying, and got a job
on a lake steamer. But the lakes didn’t agree with me.THE MAIN STEM

32

I got off at Cleveland where you met me. And that
ends my objective record.

"As for what went on inside me during all those
years, that is a little harder to tell. While I went to
college my best pal was a chap by the name of Mike
Stone. He was interested in all sorts of strange ideas.
He was, in fact, a socialist, a revolutionist, a member
of the Socialist Labor Party. He is a little runt, but
with the dynamic personality so often associated with
little runts. It was through him that my general
resentment against society became crystallized into the
socialist philosophy.

"I have done a little soap-boxing in San Francisco.
Some day I may throw all of my energies into the
S. L. P. But for the present I have been content to
have my socialist philosophy and to do what my fancy
dictates. Some day I may return West to work heart
and soul for the revolution. I believe I ought to be
valuable, with my legal training, in defending strikers
who are under injunction, or radicals of any sort who
are thrown into prison for exercising their right of
free speech.”

Thus finishing his account of his life, Slim ate his
half of a pie we had bought, took off his shoes, loosened
his belt under his overalls, and crawled into bed.

"Jeeze, you do waste a lot of time getting into your
pajamas,” he said to me,\ "and your clothes must be
cold as hell in the morning.”

I laughed. While I was unlacing my shoesj some-
thing occurred to me.

"I don’t see why a person with your temperament
isn’t in the war. I should think you’d be crazy about
getting into this mess.”

Slim’s eyes dropped a little. "Well, to begin with,THE MAIN STEM

33

Fm not crazy about getting into war. At heart—or
perhaps it’s my head—Fm a pacifist. That is part of
socialist philosophy. I can’t see any point in pitting the
workers of America against their fellow-workers in
Germany.”

He hesitated. **My imagination has not been fired
by the great drama of the war. Except, perhaps, avia-
tion. There seems to be a chivalry on both sides, a
gallantry, which I should love. The dropping of
wreaths by Germans for fallen French fliers—the affairs
of honor up there in the clouds. Ah! I have enough
feudal traditions in me to thrill to that! But—well.
You see, I’ve read a lot in my life, don’t you know.
I’ve read in workers’ camps, with poor light—and—as
a matter of fact—as a matter of fact—it seems my eyes
have been pretty badly strained.”

He turned his face to the wall and continued. **My
number was drawn early in the draft; and they turned
me down on account of my eyes.”

Poor fellow! - It had wrung his heart to tell me this.
That he should have to confess physical imperfection.

§

In the evenings and on Sundays, Slim and I visited
Homestead, Braddock, McKees Rocks. Everywhere it
was the same thing—lots of children and dogs, women
washing clothes on the pavements in front of their
doors, meek eyes among the workers who went in long
files to and from their work. I believe the good people
thought we were detectives, for we often wore the
ordinary business suit.

On one of our walks we saw a little boy sliding down
a snow-covered bank in a dish-pan.THE MAIN STEM

33

"Isn’t it a pity,” said Slim, "that that little kid can’t
have a flexible flyer sled?”

"Oh!” I replied, "He’s enjoying it as much in his
dish-pan.”

"Damn you! Your month as a proletarian hasn’t
taught you much. One can get used to anything.
If you had to live on punk and water, you’d probably
get used to it. But if you were served a planked steak,
you eyes would light up, wouldn’t they? Well, this
kid is used to his dishpan, and is squeezing every atom
of fun out of it. But I’d like to see his eyes light if I
could walk over and say, 'Here, kid, this flexible flyer
racer is yours.’ Do you think he would return to his
dish-pan?”

"No, but you are simply raising his standard. So
long as his standards are low, he is not dissatisfied.”

"How do you know his standards are low? Perhaps
he has seen ads of flexible flyers and wants one more
than anything in the world. Anyhow, low standards
are not socially desirable. I think Mill once said that,
between being a contented hog and a discontented
human, he would choose being a human. If, indeed, this
boy is completely happy with his dish-pan, he is lowering
the standard of society. And that would be un-patri-
otic, un-American, un-Godly, and would break up the
family and nationalize women.”

A little further along on this same walk we came upon
a gang of young hoodlums, all armed with toy pistols.
Slim spoke kindly to the few who had not fled at our
approach. "Hey, youse lousey-eared, yeller galoots,”
these two or three shouted to their cautious companions,
"dese guys is all right. Come on back.” They came
back and told us wild tales of how they had to watch
out for dicks for they were the kids that swiped grubTHE MAIN STEM

35

from a barge further down the river. "My ole* man
gave me hell de odder night ’cause I didn’t bring home
no spuds,” one of them declared. Their vocabulary of
obscene terms was so large and flexible that it compelled
admiration.

As we walked off I asked, "Is it possible that this gang
of wild daredevils will grow up to follow their sheep-
like fathers to the mills?”

"Probably not. Like that bright, pretty girl we saw
yesterday, who will unquestionably become a prostitute
rather than the wife of a mill hand, these bright care-
free kids will probably become gunmen, burglars,
forgers and gamblers. In these communities, the creain
of society furnishes recruits to the ranks of criminals.
That, at least, is my theory. Jack London seems to
think that kids are by nature, carefree, happy, whole-
some, active and gay. But then comes the 'Piper’ who
destroys gayety, happiness and joy. The kids lose their
joyousness as they grow up. By the 'Piper’ Jack London
means, of course, industrialism.”

The bright, pretty girl Slim had referred to was a
waitress who had served us. She hovered about our
table, smiling demurely, and we tried in our clumsy way
to flirt with her. Neither Slim nor I was a ladies’ man,
and we were somewhat embarrassed, especially when
Margaret was explaining to the cook, "I makes eyes at
all de fellers. If dey fall, dat’s deir fault. If dey don’t
fall—well, dat’s deir fault too.”

§

Our walks in the vicinity of Pittsburgh led us into
many minor adventures, adventures of meeting people.
One day we found a pretty sixteen-year-old girl whose
picture we took with my vest pocket kodak. "SheTHE MAIN STEM

3*

is so pretty,” I said. "Yes,” was the reply, "like a violet
blooming on a dunghill. It is amazing how an occa-
sional Apollo or Venus transcends this environment.”
"We saw a few gay Italians; and Slim, who knew a little
of the language, captured their hearts by references to
ravioli, Dante, and the papafighi of Dalmatian coasting
vessels. A papafighi, as nearly as I could make it out,
is a sort of defiant top gallant royal on certain Adriatic
ships.

Perhaps the most delightful adventure was with a
young wobbly, about twenty years old. It was the
first spring-like day, a warm, pleasant day between the
two last cold spells of the year. We found the youth
lying in the sun on a bank of the Monongahela, with
a fish line dangling loosely from his large hands. As
we came upon him, Slim said:

"Hell of a time of the year to try to catch fish,_ain’t
it, Jack?”

The fisherman turned around just far enough to see
us, and said calmly, "Just an experiment, Buddy, just
an experiment. If I don’t catch any fish, I don’t have
to cook ’em. If I do catch some, I’ll have some to eat.
So there you are, so there you are.”

His philosophy, his literate accent, his handsome face
and body, won our interest. Slim continued:

"Up in Alaska we used to catch fish through the ice,
but this sort of thing is dif ...”

"Yeah,” the boy broke in, "this place is different
from any place I’ve ever seen. It’s the most hostyle
damn* place in the world. One week ago today I lost
my purity. It was so damn* cold and everybody was
so damn* hostyle, I had to go to Jesus Christ for a flop”
(he had slept in a mission, or at the Salvation Army).
"Work or fight, they tell you. Here I am, a youngTHE MAIN STEM

37

man about to start life, and I am told to work or fight.
Did Carnegie get his start that way? If Carnegie had
gone to war at my age, or had gone to work in a steel
mill, do think he would have had the leisure or the
intelligence to rob people of all this?” He waved his
arms to include all the steel mills about. “Hell, work
or fight.”

“All my life I’ve been looking at the want ads in the
papers. I thought maybe I could find one which said:
* Wanted, by rich family, young boy, twenty years old,
tall, blond and hero-like, to take place of late son.’ But
I’ve never seen such an ad. I’ve had to be exploited in
order to make a living.”

All this he said with a mocking seriousness which
permitted us to see an ironical, fanciful mind. To Slim
his speech showed more. He was sure that the lad was
a wobbly.

“I’ll bet you’ve got a red card in that shoe,” Slim
said smilingly* as he pointed to one of the fisherman’s
boots.

The boy’s lips turned up a little, admitted nothing,
and went on irrelevantly. "I saw a damn’ scissorbill
yesterday and asked him what he’d like most to eat in
this world. And what do you think the jackass said?
Mulligan! My God! Imagine a man saying mulligan!
The ignorance of such a man! I guess, though, if I
lived in this hell-hole long enough, I’d forget all about
filet mignon myself. And I’d think mulligan was the
best thing in the world. These fawning, dough-faced
flunkeys give me a pain in the seat of my pants. Why,
these idiots ain’t got guts enough to join even the A. F.
of L. In one of those steel plants over there, they’ve got
a minion of capitalism who walks in a path the shape
of a figure eight. You know why? To prevent these38

THE MAIN STEM

ignorant, lousey fools from listening to the blandish-
ments of some labor fakir from that cock-eyed federa-
tion of labor.”

"That’s all true enough, comrade,” Slim replied, "but
you’ve got to give these people around here credit for
some nerve. Right down there, before you were born,
your dough-faced flunkeys had a war with the powers
that be.” Slim was pointing in the direction of Home-
stead. "They fought three hundred Pinkertons, who
were coming up the* river in a barge. You wouldn’t
think it, but the scissorbills that you see around here,
set this river afire with burning oil, and they had a
ten-pounder brass cannon mounted behind a barricade
of steel rails. They had a real decent fight here, as
good as Yakima Valley, Ludlow, or Mesaba Range.
The dicks raised a flag of truce every now and then; but
these stiffs let out a big laugh every time they saw it,
and shot it down.”

After a little more talk we asked our wobbly friend
to feed his face with us, but he refused. He had
exhibited such a nervous, temperamental nature that
we did not know how to insist. Reluctantly we said
good-bye. He stretched out in the sun again, with his
fish line dangling.CHAPTER IV

In a few weeks we decided to leave the Westinghouse
and go to Baltimore. I left Pittsburgh with the feeling
that I had learned much. With my own eyes I had
seen the microscopic division of labor, the integration
of industry. I had been in a town where a great labor
conflict had once taken place. I had signed a contract
entitling me to a pension If I was a good little boy, and
didn’t go on strike.

We bought a ticket to Baltimore because shipments
were not available, and because we had enough money.
On our way we stopped at Lancaster to deliver a very
personal message to the sister of James Ralston, Slim’s
friend in Cleveland. We also stopped at Harrisburg
long enough to see the State Capitol and to take a walk
along the Susquehanna. The ice was breaking up by
this time, and huge cakes were speeding down the river.

§

When we stepped out into the street from the station
in Baltimore, Slim said something which has always
stuck in my mind as typical of him.

"It’s good to come into a new city with the feeling
that you’re the mental and physical superior to every-
body in it.”

Now, Slim did not mean this literally. He would
probably have been willing to admit that there were

3940

THE MAIN STEM

men in Baltimore who could write better poems or
novels than he. There were pugilists who could have
felled him in one round. He meant that, as a wanderer,
as a migratory, he was entirely free from obligations
to superiors. He had no social position to protect, no
employer to bootlick. He was like a fly, that could
light on the king’s nose, or a beggar’s. The migratory
worker’s position is so low that he can afford to be a
simon-pure equalitarian. He can snub a bank president
or a bishop. He has something like the freedom of a
court jester who can impudently say things which might
mean death if uttered by a peer. It was that sort of
superiority that Slim meant.

§

In Baltimore, after leaving our suitcases in the care of
a friendly saloon-keeper, we made application for a
job at Magnolia, between Baltimore and Havre de Grace.
We were taken by train with a hundred bums to the(
government reservation. At the edge of the reservation
we were searched for arms and liquor. A few bottles
were confiscated by the soldiers. When they searched
my little bundle, they found the vest-pocket kodak that
Slim and I had been taking pictures with. This looked
suspicious to the soldiers, and I was declared under
arrest. Slim protested and he, too, was placed under
arrest. We were taken to the guard house and put into
a cell. The officer who was to decide on our fates
was nowhere to be found. We stayed in our cells, not
daring to communicate, except by signs and lip move-
ments, for the guard house was so small that even a
whisper could have been heard anywhere. It happened
that I had an I.W.W. pamphlet and a few leaflets on my
person. These I quietly took out of my pocket andTHE MAIN STEM

4i

began to chew, offering Slim a bite. He, realizing the
danger of our being found with inflammatory literature,
chewed his good share. The soft, mushy cud we stuck
to the under side of the bunk in the cell. After all
heresies had been thoroughly masticated, I became
hungry for a smoke. “Sergeant, can I light a butt?”

"Well, youse guys ain’t regular prisoners yet, so I
guess yez rate a smoke.” Not only that, but he invited
us into the hall where things were more comfortable.
Slim could be very ingratiating if he wished, and it was
not long before the soldiers and we were exchanging
impure anecdotes and cigarettes. One of the soldiers
said, “Well, you guys don’t seem ter give a damn
if yer in de brig er not.” We felt flattered, but we
did give lots of damns.

About six in the evening we were led, with several
civil and military prisoners, to the mess hall. We were
flanked by a dozen soldiers with loaded rifles. I had felt
more self-reliant on other occasions, though there was
no real danger, of course. After dinner—and Uncle
Sam’s soldier boys and prisoners ate better food than I
had been accustomed to eating as a migratory—we went
back to the guard house. All the captives except us
were locked in their cells. While we waited for the
famous captain who was to interview us, two soldiers
brought in a very happy drunk. He was put in the
cell which we had formerly occupied. The carouser
took his arrest with extreme affability and condescen-
sion.

“I—needsha resht—hie—anyhow.”

“Pvest, me eye,” said a soldier, “you’ll be on the---

(latrine) squad.”

‘Sa goo’ joke!-----(latrine) squad! ha! ha! di’ joo

shay?-----(latrine) squad? Goo’ joke on you, General!42	THE MAIN STEM

Ha! Ha! Wot woo* my musher shink of her—hie—
darlin’ boy?”

At last Captain Brown came. We were glad to find
in him reasonableness and courtesy. He heard our
story and demanded two things; that we leave our camera
in his custody during our stay on the reservation; that
we permit him to develop and print all the pictures in
the camera; and that he be permitted to destroy any
picture he saw fit. Upon our compliance with this
logical demand, he freed us, saying, "good night, good
luck.”

Although it was late, the employment office was still
open. We went in and very soon received an identifi-
cation badge with our numbers, and an assignment to
a bed in one of the bunkhouses. We entered the bunk-
house, found the beds side by side, and got under the
covers. The blankets were dirty and vile smelling;
there were no sheets. We adopted, therefore, the simple
method of migratories when rolling in; shoes under the
pillow for safety; all other clothing kept on, but
loosened.

Not far from us, clustered around a stove, was a
small group of men listening to a thirteen-year-old
boy:

"My ole man was the dirtiest son of a b--yer ever

seen. He snatched every nickel I made an’ bought
chewin’ terbacca wid it. Hell, I’m makin’ four bucks
a day carryin’ water! Guess de ole man can’t buy no
terbacca now. All’s I gotta say is, I hope he’s chewin’
on a blanket.” And be blew a thin stream of grey
smoke from his lungs. The men encouraged him to
talk more about his old man, and he, delighted with
the attention he was getting, compared his former low
estate as a serf to his father to his present position o fTHE MAIN STEM

43

an opulent free man. He had bought rubber boots
and a radiolite wrist watch. One of the men asked
him if he was still in a condition of innocency. "Hell,
no! I goes to de Heifers’ Den every pay day.”

"Look out,” said one of his elders, "or ye’ll be goin'
aroun’ here wit’ a dose of Cupid’s Itch.” Everybody
laughed at this.

§

The next morning I was awakened by the sound
"cheeboola.” One man would call out this sound joy-
ously, and another would reply with a laugh. "Chee-
boola,” said a man near me. "Cheeboola,” came from
the other end of the bunkhouse. Then, "Cheeboola,
cheeboola, cheeboola, cheeboola,” from everywhere. At
first it reminded me of the chatter of a monkey house,
and I came to call the bunkhouse the "monkey house.”
When I had reached the point of identifying the sound
as a word, I asked one of the men what it meant. But
he was a Pole who "no spick Anglish.” Most of the
men in the bunkhouse were Poles. At breakfast I for-
got about cheeboola. But next morning I was again
awakened by the sound. A Pole told me it meant
"onions,” but his vocabulary was too small to explain to
me why a houseful of men should shout "onions” for
a quarter of an hour every morning.

The camp was typical of other camps as I came to
know them during the remainder of 1918. There were
a dozen or more long, low, wooden barracks, each
capable of housing from two to three hundred men.
Inside there were long rows of double decked bunks,
separated from each other by about two feet. v Near
either end, and in the middle, were coal stoves. Around
the stoves were crude chairs draped in the evening with44

THE MAIN STEM

the drying shirts, socks or underwear of workers who
had been delousing. The place had an odor compounded
of stale air, stinking feet, tobacco smoke, and the insecti-
cide which was sprayed on the blankets during the day
by the crum boss (manager of crums, or lice; hence,
the caretaker). It was here that workers clustered
after dinner for social intercourse, and spat great
streams of tobacco juice into sawdust filled boxes. They
discussed their past adventures of throwin’ their feet
(begging for food), and moochin’ the stem (pan-
handling). There was a merciless yard-dick in Chey-
enne; in Chi (Chicago) you kin get the biggest glass
er beer fer a jit. The bar-keeper in K. C. (Kansas City)
would cash a pay check at any time, an’ if he knowed
a stiff was up agin it, he would feed ’im. But, speakin*
a wiskey, yer kin buy de best wiskey in de woild in a
little saloon—can’t ’member de name—in Council
Bluffs, right near de freight yards.

Frequently one of the stiffs around the stove was
drunk, and he would be goaded on by others to supply
merriment. I remember one of them who wailed, over
and over, a timeless chant, of which this is the expur-
gated edition:

** TVas the goddam wiskey,

An* a gay young laydee,

Made a goddam monkey
Outa me.”

On another occasion I remember listening to a thera-
peutical discussion as to whether a dosa salts or vinniger
an’ pepper was the proper specific for indigestion. The
disputer who championed the mineral that made Epsom
Downs famous, won the popular decision. To a stiff,THE MAIN STEM

U

a dosa salts is almost the only, and certainly the best,
medicine that he knows. Like the alchemists who
attached value to rare, picturesque or excrementary sub-
stances, the working plug has faith in nasty things to
cure disease. Urine is recommended as a lotion for
chapped hands and for some forms of blindness.

Convenient to all the buildings was the mess hall.
Here, on the long table, mealjs were served. During
1918, the usual price for a meal in a workers’ camp was
thirty cents. The method of payment varied. Often
scrip, good for meals and tobacco, was given to the
workers immediately after employment, and the amount
that the scrip represented was found deducted from
the pay enevlope. There was always speculation in
scrip. A new worker, needing something he could
not buy with scrip, would sell some of it for cash to a
worker who had seen two or three pay days. Scrip
sold between twenty and fifty per cent lower than the
amount of the employer’s valuation.

The food varied, not only from camp to camp, but
within the camp itself. At Magnolia the meals were
fairly good. Salt pork and beef liver were the chief
meats. The punk (bread) did not taste as if it were
made of sawdust. The java was served hot, and was
fairly well flavored. Here, as elsewhere, tradition had
it that all food was doped with saltpeter for the purpose
of mitigating sexual desire. The result to be attained
by the employer was that workers would stay on the
job instead of roaming the red light district of Balti-
more, or invading the Heifers’ Den.

Meal time was a silent time. Each person as he sat
down scanned the table anxiously for the best pieces
of meat, and would reach for them, quietly and
expertly. The pieces were usually attacked with a fork;46

THE MAIN STEM

but in an emergency, the fingers were used. The men
ate rapidly, never saying a word to their neighbors,
unless the food was not brought in swiftly enough.
Then they would swear at the waiter: goddam flunkeys!
W’y in ’ell don’t dey bring us some grub? Ain’t got
nuttin’ ter do all day ’cept feed us. Hir, there! ye
goddam flunkey! Bring us some a yer stew ’at tastes
like horsemanure.”

It was safe to swear at the waiters. The employ-
ment official usually hired the old men and kids to work
in the kitchen.

§

The first morning that we reported on the job, the
timekeeper told us to find Paddy, a foreman. We
waited for Paddy with a gang of stiffs who worked
under him. They were toasting their feet and their
gnarled hands over a fire, built in an ash can. Gruffly
they made room for us—gruffly because a fire can
heat only a few persons; and the more there are, the
less heat there is for each.

Soon Paddy arrived; and a moment later the whistle
blew. Paddy ordered us to the sand and gravel piles,
with wheelbarrows. Our job was to feed a large con-
crete mixer. Some of us would fill our wheelbarrows
with sand, others with gravel. Then we stood in line.
At a signal from Paddy’s bony arm, we rolled in our
barrows one by one, and dumped them into the pan of
the mixer. Then, a big cornfield negro, his face
blanched, would pour in a few sacks of white cement.
At another signal from Paddy, the engineer raised the
pan, dumping its contents into the whirling barrel of
the mixer. Here water was added through a hose,
while the negro would beat the bottom of the upraisedTHE MAIN STEM

47

pan with a long handled shovel to shake all the sand
and gravel loose. At the end of an hour the timing
was perfect. Everybody was ready when the pan of the
mixer was lowered. Sometimes we were ready a little
before. Then we would sit on the wheelbarrow handles
and roll a cigarette, or warm our frozen fingers over
a fire.

Slim and I worked under three foremen, all in two
weeks. The personnel of our gang also changed daily.
The labor turnover was amazingly rapid. In the par-
ticular type of labor that I was familiar with, unskilled
labor on big war jobs, I should estimate that few men
lasted on one job longer than three weeks.

The reasons for this turnover were many, most of
them traceable to labor conditions before the war. The
quality of migratoriness is not inherent in an individual.
It is not an instinct. It is a learned response, an
adjustment to one’s environment. Our system of pro-
duction, with its booms and depressions, requires a
reserve of men who are employed only part of the
time. Intermittent employment breeds the habit of
wandering around for other jobs. The laborer, to sur-
vive, must migrate ceaselessly to find work, to find a
warm climate when there is no work, to reach towns
which have the reputation of being hospitable to its
unemployed.

American workers entered war-jobs with the habit of
migratoriness firmly intrenched by an economic system
which requires that a certain proportion of its members
shall always be foot-loose. The emergency of the war
could not, in a few years, break down the habits which
industrialism had built up during a lifetime.

There were, besides, other considerations, less funda-
mental, but highly important. The food, for example.4«

THE MAIN STEM

It was, at best, of low quality. Perhaps for thirty
cents one could not expect much. But what employers
did not seem to realize was that we should have been
glad to pay a little more for good food. The situation
became a vicious circle. Workers left because poor
food or lousey beds drove them away. Employers
refused to improve living conditions because, after all,
the men were restless, foot-loose floaters. And so it
went; and nothing was done about it; and it took
perhaps twenty men to fill one job annually. This was
expensive; but contracts were awarded on the cost-plus
basis.

It must be remembered, too, that the camps promoted
sexual uneasiness. On nearly every job one could work
for weeks and never see a woman. Now and then
the "big superintendent” might drive by with his wife.
But that was all. We had to go to the cities to see
women. There was no provision for home life.

5

Our tasks were more varied than our foremen. One
day we would haul ties for a short spur which was
being built to one of the buildings. We knocked down
discarded concrete forms, carried fire wood, shoveled
coal. When we ran out of work for half an hour or
so, our foreman would exhort us to look busy. The
foreman is afraid he will get the reputation of having
idle men on his gang; and even when there is an interval
between one job and the arrival of materials for the
next, one is expected to look busy. On such occa-
sions, Slim and I followed the example of two Poles.
When work ceased, these two Poles would scurry
towards a lumber pile, get a plank and carry it between
them. They would deposit it somewhere—anywhere—THE MAIN STEM

49

walk away, return, and carry it back to the lumber
pile. This futile process they would repeat until another
job was assigned to the gang. The foreman was proud
of them.

I learned to develop skill with proletarian tools. Slim
watched me struggling with a shovel one day and said,
“You’ll have to learn to use your arms less and your
body more in loading the shovel and in throwing the
dirt. Use your thigh against the handle when you dig.
And when you throw, remember the skill you developed
in tennis, baseball, or golf—the follow-through. It’s
the same sort of knack at the end of your stroke that
enables you to get distance.”

We often competed, along with other stiffs, for
the honor of being the one who could throw farthest.
If we unloaded from the top of gondolas, it was amaz-
ing how far a shovelful of black diamonds (coal) would
be made to go by an expert.

One more lesson on shovel handling. Slim was again
the teacher. "A shovel is a hell of a dangerous instru-
ment if properly handled. It should be used like a
bayonet, not like a flail. This is a general principle of
fighting. The short, quick thrust, straight ahead, is
more effective, and provides better defense, than a
mighty swing, which leaves you open and unguarded.
The Romans knew this when they adopted the heavy
short sword. I have seen some terrible battles up in
Alaska. A whole row of teeth can be knocked out by
one short, quick jab to the mouth.”

My education continued on the black diamonds.
“We are now on a gon-do-la. This is an open car, and,
when empty, can comfortably accommodate ever so
many bums, provided the shacks are friendly, and the
yard dicks not too hostyle. Nailing a rattler, whether50

THE MAIN STEM

you choose the gondola or the side door Pullman, calls
for a concatenation of skills not acquired in a day.
You should always tackle the forward step, because the
motion of the train will throw you backwards. If you
grab the rear step, you may be whirled completely
around into the space between the cars, with such force
that you will lose your grip and fall on the track. On
the front step you can swing only just so far, for the
side of the car will stop your swing. And if you should
fall, it would be beside the track, not on the track.”

s

The work day, which began at six, seemed intermin-
ably long, not only to me, to whom the ten-hour day
was new, but even to the oldest work-stiff. Through-
out the day men asked each other:	"Wot time is it,

Jack?” and they would then compute the hours and
minutes before quitting time. In the morning, when
the hands indicated nine, I always drew a sigh of relief.
True, there were still two hours of work until dinner;
but the terrible half hour between eight-thirty and nine
was past. The ends of the morning and afternoon
working units of five hours went fast enough. But the
middle was intolerable. I used to resort to subterfuges
to keep myself from realizing what time it was. I
would try not to look at the sun. I would try not
to ask anybody the time in the hope that eleven or five
would come before I realized it. Sometimes I fooled
myself cruelly. I was sure it was nine. I had certainly
worked three hours already—nay, three and a half, per-
haps. Then I would look at the sun. It looked like
eight o’clock. I asked somebody what time it was.
Eight o’clock! The words fell on my ears like a prison
sentence on an accused.THE MAIN STEM

5i

$

One day, a beautiful spring day, we suddenly decided
to quit, even as we were walking towards the job. I
remember looking at the bloom in the east and realizing
that I could not possibly work until the crepuscular
pink glowed in the west. We went to the foreman and
asked him to fire us in order that we might get our
pay immediately. If we quit, instead of being fired,
we would have to wait a week,; until the next, regular
pay day. But the “goddam, whippersnapper straw
boss,” as Slim called him, would not give us our time.
A rule had just gone into effect that foremen were
not to fire, except for cause. The trick of getting fired
in order to receive pay was demoralizing the office force.
There was nothing to do but come back for our money
on the next, regular pay day.CHAPTER V

Our plan was now to “do” Baltimore. This was Slim’s
first visit to the East, and he was anxious to see the
cities. We had very little money between us, but
enough, we thought, to keep us in Baltimore until pay
day.

It was in a happy mood that we walked along the ties
from Magnolia for ten miles, throwing stones at the
telegraph posts, and arguing about whether we had
just seen a male or a female cardinal. After about
three hours’ walk, we decided to take the train for the
remainder of the distance. We stopped at a little store
in one of the small towns, bought some cake and
cheese, and waited until a local came along. Soon we
were in Baltimore.

. Our first step was to go to the bar-room where we
had left our clothes. The owner of the saloon replied
sullenly and indistinctly when we asked for our prop-
erty. I caught the words “swiped ’em.” Somebody
had swiped ’em! Our suitcases stolen! My regular
clothes gone! Nothing left but these damn’ working
togs! Overalls, a knitted toque, and heavy shoes! I
could not dress up now and shake off the feeling that I
was a migratory. I must wear these coarse clothes
until I had enough money—a long time hence—to buy
another good suit.

“Are you styre?”

“Yep.”

5*THE MAIN STEM

53

"How? Where? When?”

But 'it did no good to ask. The clothes were gone.

We were heavy-hearted as we trudged towards the
municipal baths we had heard about. It seemed to
me as if the last link between me and my former life
was broken. I visualized myself as a bum, wandering
the face of the earth, too proud and too disreputable to
return to my former friends. The shower at the muni-
cipal bath house revived my spirits, however. For those
baths, let all bums thank whatever gods may be. For
five cents you get a clean, sweet smelling, rough towel;
you get soap, all the hot water you want and need to
remove three weeks’ dirt and smells. I have had many
baths in Baltimore’s municipal showers, and each was a
tonic worth many dollars. None of the other cities
that we visited had similar baths; or, if they had, they
were not well-known. The stiffs did not talk about
them on the stem, in the doss-houses, in the saloons.

From the bath we went to the barber’s; and from the
barber’s to a restaurant. Here we strained our resources
buying fried oysters. Slim had never eaten a Chesa-
peake oyster. He declared nothing in the world was
more delicious, not even the Pismo Clams of his beloved
West Coast. We ate nearly fifty of them. Then we
rented a room. It was near a market, between Balti-
more Street and the Waterfront. The house had once
been a brothel, but legislation had scattered the former
occupants to solitary rooms nearby. It had a large
parlor, an imposing staircase, and commodious bath.
Although it was in a cheap section the comfort of the
house, especially the plumbing in each room, made it as
desirable as many rooms in expensive neighborhoods.
Fifty cents a night for each was cheap enough—pro-
vided there were no more fried oyster orgies.54

THE MAIN STEM

Slim insisted on going to the Socialist Party head-
quarters. I refused. It was late. I was tired, and
looked forward to sleeping in a room with windows
open, in a room unperfumed by insecticide, perspiring
feet, smoke and stale air. So he went alone.

About eleven he came back and roused me. He was
bubbling over.

“Had a hell of a fine evening. Rose Pastor Stokes*
was there. She was introduced by a Jew with a fine,
melodious voice, who said our dear, dear Rose was back
with us again. Damn those S. P. pink-pretties. They’re
nothing but liberal bourgeois. They can draw a full
house with their diluted revolutionary theories! Well,
when Rose of Washington Square finished talking—she
didn’t say anything—I got up and made a speech telling
them that they’d never get anywhere with their milh*-
sop tactics of 'boring from within,’ and 'revolution by
evolution.’ When I had finished, Rose said to me, with
an attempt at charm:	'Oh! how I admire you militant

reds.’ Militant reds, hell! Intelligent reds is what she
means. She invited me to spend some time at her home
if ever I got to New York. Told her I’d come for vic-
tuals, not veneration.

“I met a young chap, keen as a whip, Johnny Crew.
He knows his Danny de Leon. No crack-brained
bourgeois radicalism for him! He, like me, was there to
scoff. He also invited you and me to come up to see
him while we are in Baltimore.”

After cussing out Mrs. Stokes a few more times; after
praising Johnny Crew, and drawing invidious com-

*Slim sometimes ridiculed only because he was good at it. 'My own
knowledge of Mrs. Stokes, gleaned from the news-sheets, would not lead
me to make aspersive comments on that lady’s philosophy or attitudes
towards life. I have sometimes even doubted Slim’s story, for he loved
adventure; and when there was none, he invented it.THE MAIN STEM

55

parisons between Johnny, who read Danny, and ’Gene
Debs, who, he said, was selling out the cause of the
workers, Slim crawled into bed.

The next day we wandered about Baltimore, read
the inscriptions on the monuments, listened to some
darkies singing as they loafed on the waterfront:

Ah wen’ tuh a gypsy
Tuh have mah fohtshun tole,

De gypsy stole,

Mah sweet jelly roll.

Oh! Tell me, how long
Do Ah got tuh wait,

Kin Ah do-oo it now,

Oh, mus’ Ah hesitate?

Ah ain’ no shofah -
An’ Ah ain’ no shofah’s son
But Ah’ll oil you cahburatah
Till de shofah come.

Oh! Tell me, how long
Do Ah got tuh wait,

Kin Ah do-oo it now,

Oh mus’ Ah hesitate?

Another "blue” began:

Fo’ de fat-legged ladies
Weah de fat-legged pants. . . .

But I have forgotten the conclusions which were
drawn from this incontestible fact.J6

THE MAIN STEM

That evening, as we were walking by the gate of a
freight yard, a soldier who was on guard whispered
softly to us:	"Say, one of you gents got a butt?” I

gave him a Camel, and as I helped him light up, he said:

"Would youse do a feller a good turn? Me an* me
buddy is dyin’ fer a li’l drink this cold night. Here’s a
dollar. Go on down to the barrel house an’ git us a
pint of dago-red.” With bowed head he blew warm
air noisily into his chilled hands, as his right arm en-
circled the ordered rifle. "All right,” I said. Slim and
I had some qualms about buying liquor for a soldier,
because we believed there was a law or order against it;
but we bought the pint and cautiously gave it to the
anxious lad, who was as apprehensive as we. For this
service the soldier-boy gave us half a dollar, which we
gladly accepted.

§

The eve of our pay day had arrived, and we found
ourselves absolutely broke. We had to spend a whole
night in Baltimore before going to Magnolia for our
pay.

"We should worry,” said Slim, as he spent our last
sou on a deck of butts. "Johnny Crew will put us up
for the night, stake us to car-fare to Magnolia, and to
breakfast.” His confidence in Johnny Crew was beau-
tiful to see. Our landlord would unquestionably have
trusted us for the night, and would have lent us the
sixty-eight cents needed to make the Magnolia trip.
But Slim wanted to see Johnny Crew.

The unwelcome visit we made to Johnny’s pleasant
home had its humorous aspects; but it shook Slim’s faith
to learn that a man who admired Danny de Leon would
not receive two disreputable looking bums with openTHE MAIN STEM

57

arms. We slept there, to be sure, but not on Johnny’s
invitation. Slim simply pulled off his shoes two hours
after angling for an invitation, and said to me “Better
take off your kicks, Blondey; your feet’ll feel better
in the morning.” Poor Johnny could do nothing. Slim
took a quarter off our host’s chest of drawers, and tossed
it to see which of us would sleep on the floor, and which
would share the mahogany four-poster with Johnny.

Next morning, about five-thirty, Slim was stirring.
Johnny, I think, had not slept a wink.

“Old man,” Slim said, “I think Blondey and I had
best be leaving.” Then, as he carefully counted three
quarters from Johnny’s chest, he explained: "Comrade,
thanks for the loan. We’ve both got a big pay coming
today, and we’ll send you these six bits by mail.”

A few minutes later we walked out into the deserted
streets. Slim was swearing away at a great rate.

“The lousey-eared bum! The white-livered, yellow-
bellied, petit bourgeois! That’s fine solidarity for you!
A red who won’t do more for a fellow-red than he did
for us ought to join the ranks of the bourgeois, and
believe their damn’ philosophy. Every one of his quo-
tations from Danny de Leon now seems sacrilege.”

As Slim’s anger abated, his hunger increased. On
every one of the white doorsteps, for which Baltimore is
famous, was a bottle, or two, of milk. And on some
of them were bags which had been left by the baker.
Without stopping, Slim leaned over, and, in his big
hands, caught two small bottles of cream. A little
further down the street he picked up with equal skill
a greasy baker’s sack. It was too early for harness bulls
or pedestrians to bother us. We stuffed the loot inside
our shirts, and went to the Mt. Royal Station. There
we had a good breakfast of snails (buns) and cream.58	THE MAIN STEM

Then we went to the place labelled "Gentlemen,” and
washed up.

We debated as to who should go to Magnolia to get the
pay. Again we flipped one of Johnny Crew’s quarters,
and I lost. I had to make the trip.

The last thing Slim said before my train left was:
f'When we get that pay, I wonder what we ought to
do about that bastard’s six bits. Which do you think
would torture him most—to send him ten dollars and
subtly comment on his miserliness; or shall we send him
nothing?”

I arrived at Magnolia about an hour before paying-
off time. The early spring thaws and showers had made
of Magnolia a sea of mud. My legs, in mud up to thq
calf, would suck and slush as I slowly pulled them
out.

It was pleasant to sit down and watch other men
work. It was pleasant to sit with two identification
tags in my pocket, and to realize that each one repre-
sented a sum of fifty dollars and forty cents—the net
wages which were due each of us. I went to the pay-
master’s window about twenty minutes before opening
time. Soon a line began to form behind me. At last
the paymaster appeared, about ten minutes after the
published time. But he did not open the window. We,
who were in line, could see him talking to a friend,
lighting a cigarette, looking over some papers, answering
a telephone call, and making another.

One negro in line said:	"Wish dat man would

hurry.” And another answered him:	"Dis am de fust

time Ah’se evah seed you in a hurry. Wha’ fo’ you
in a hurry now, niggah? Ah ain’ nevah seed you jump
at a shovel in double quick time. Ah ain’ nevah heerd
you say to de boss: 'Boss, gimme a shovel, quick! Boss,THE MAIN STEM

59

Ah’se gotta have a wheelbarrah right dis minit!’ No sah!
You takes a wheelbarrah like dey was cat dirt on de
hannels.”

Finally, having seen the paymaster do everything
except pay, I rapped at the window and yelled:	“Will

you please tell me what your office hours are?” The
sarcasm had its effect. He opened the window, and,
with a livid face, said through the bars:	“You goddam

bohunk, you goddam insolent bastard, I’ll pay you sons

of b-----off when I get damn’ good and ready. Now

get at the end of the line.”

I argued with him, told him I was entitled to my
wages, had earned them, had come earliest, and was
therefore privileged to be first in line. He called to the
deputy sheriff in the office, and told him to put that
“fresh guy” at the end of the line. By this time some
of the men behind me had yelled:	"Hey, Blondey, cut

the argument. We fellers want ter git paid before next
week. Wotcha tryin’ ter do? Chew de fat wit’ de
inkslinger?” These unsympathetic calls, and the ap-
proaching deputy, made me feel that it would be wisest
to go to the end of the line.

My anger was cooled by the thought that perhaps
such a scurvy clerk would refuse to give me Slim’s pay.
It was not entirely regular* for payment to be made
simply because one held some one else’s identification
check. I thought that, in a pinch, I might be able to
get some help by appealing to Captain Brown, who
still held my camera.

When I finally presented my check, the young,
smoke-exhaling paymaster gave me a lecture on hu-
mility. He was in a good humor by now, and told me
that I had had an excellent opportunity to learn cheaply6 o

THE MAIN STEM

that insolence brings its own sad reward. He gave me
Slim’s pay without question.

The total of the pay envelopes was one dollar less than
Slim and I had computed. I looked over the itemized
list on the outside of the envelope; $66.90 for wages,
right; $16.50 for meal tickets, right; $1.00 for, what
the devil? One dollar for Red Cross! How, where,
when? Not that I objected to the gift; I objected to the
high-handed way in which our employers had collected
it. This was not my last experience with this kind of
deduction. Employers generally took out from twenty-
five cents to a dollar for the Red Cross. In this way I
joined the Red Cross about a dozen times in one year.

I went to Captain Brown for my camera. He had not
seen me since our meeting in the cooler. He gave me
the empty camera, the developed pictures, and some
advice. A young, intelligent, well-educated man like
me ought to do something more noble than pushing a
wheelbarrow.

At the Magnolia Station I learned that I had missed
the train I had planned to take, and that I would have
to wait two hours for another. It was already dark,
and the prospect of waiting did not please me. Soon a
rattler came by. As I ran for it impulsively, I remem-
ber Slim’s injunction not to take the rear step. On the
step I began to think of the warnings I had heard that
during war time armed soldiers guarded the bridges.
"To hell with ’em,” I said to myself, and climbed into
the gondola. The ride was without incident. There
was no thrill at all. We simply lumbered along, and I
was estimating the length of time it would take us to
reach Baltimore. After perhaps an hour’s ride, I jumped
off the train within sight of a Baltimore street car, and
ran down into the street.THE MAIN STEM

61

Soon I was at the station. Slim was waiting for me.
"I thought maybe wealth had turned your head,” he
said. “What kept you so long? And how did you
get there? There’s no train in from Magnolia.”

"Oh! nailed a rattler,” I said breezily. Slim’s face
lighted, both at the matter and the manner. "You’re
improving, Blondey. Follow me and you’ll wear
diamonds. But, say, Fm dying for want of food. Let’s
get six dozen fried oysters, and the twelve slices of pickle
that go with them, and four orders of hash-brown, and
a quart of strawberry ice cream.”

So we went, and ate nearly all that Slim‘had men-
tioned. When I told him of my experience with the
paymaster, he hissed, "That lickspittle! That damn’
Johnny Inkslinger! Shows you what I mean when I
speak of the class struggle. The class of clerks, ground
down from above by the bourgeois, and from below by
the proletariat, nevertheless has capitalistic sympathies.
Those petits bourgeois, oppose the worker instead of
casting their lot with him.” He also had some unflatter-
ing remarks to make when I pointed out that one dollar
had been taken out of his pay for charity.

We slept in our old room again. The next day Slim
had fried oysters for breakfast; we had seven full meals
that day, and in every one the piece de resistance was
fried oysters. Between meals we replenished our ward-
robe.

There wasn’t enough money to buy a suit of business
clothes. We bought heavy shoes, flannel shirts, cordu-
roy trousers, and a cap. All these things we bought at
small Jewish shops. Most of these shops have an oily
fellow, a "puller-in,” stationed at the door. If he sees
anyone interested in the window display, he will wax
affable according to his lights, and will entice the pro-6z

THE MAIN STEM

spective customer into his shop. Other shops, the more
pretentious ones, often have a loud buzzer in the win-
dow, which, with its monotonous drone, is designed to
attract attention. One should not, perhaps, indict a
whole class; but I have always been disgusted with the
cringing, mendacious owners of these stores. They wil1
sell any kind of goods to make a sale.

The reason we did not go to good stores to buy our
clothing was that when a working plug meets a white
collared salesmen, he is as self-conscious as when the
salesman is surrounded by haughty footmen, waiters,
marble halls. I had been on the road for only four
months, but I had already developed a fear^of places
frequented by the relatively well-dressed members of
the middle class. The department store, where I could
have bought things from a disinterested clerk, more
cheaply than in the small shoddy stores^ seemed to me
an imposing, forbidding structure, filled with rich,
frowning men, and supercilious women, ready to pounce
on me, to ridicule my dirty clothes, and to scorn me.CHAPTER VI

With the help of Israelite friends, Slim and I soon
looked moderately respectable. We wandered around
Baltimore, picking up a few books at second-hand
stores, and reading them in the evening. I read a few
plays by Oscar Wilde, and some essays by Shaw, pub-
lished in miniature. This was a novel experience for
me, as I had rarely read good literature before without
the prod of school credits.

When our money was nearly spent we went to the
employment agencies. We wanted to work a week or
so, and get enough money to visit Washington, D. C.
Then we would return to Baltimore, to take the boat to
Philadelphia.

We got a job at Curtis Bay, not far from the city.
A boat, somewhat larger than a tug, took us from the
Baltimore waterfront to the job, where a dock was
being built. It was the best job we had landed yet.
All about us was the bay; there were no dusts; there
was no danger; and the work was clean and easy. We
hauled planks to carpenters, sharpened axes and hatchets
for them, helped to drive large spikes, and chopped
timbers.

§

The camp was fairly good during the first few days;
but soon the food became steadily worse. The bony
and gelatinous neck and shoulder pieces were disappear-

*364

THE MAIN STEM

ing entirely from the lamb stew. There weren’t enough
canned peas, or petrified baked beans to satisfy hunger.

The bunkhouse seemed to be clean; but one day I
found that I was crummy—lousey. I must have acted
as if I were very much upset by this discovery, for Slim
said after I had boiled up. "Even in the movies, a se-
duced heroine doesn’t make so much fuss over her de-
virginization as you made over a few crums.”

The remainder of our ten days’ stay was marked by
a few interesting events. A carpenter fell off a low
scaffold, apparently from heart failure. He lay seem-
ingly dead for hours, while we walked around him as we
carried our planks. When quitting time came, about
four hours after the man’s fall, no physician or nurse
had yet come to see if there were any signs of life. The
presence of the dead man made the fear of accident
or death very vivid. Suppose I should fall as if dead,
should I be allowed to bake in the sun for hours before
receiving attention? If I should break a few bones,
would I have to suffer four or five hours before a
hypodermic was administered?

Once, when we had been sent off the docks to help
a gang dig a large ditch, it began to rain, and rained
steadily. Since the ditch had to be dug that very day
(for reasons that workmen are never told), the fore-
man sent us to a supply shed to put on the black slickers
that the company had bought for its men. This ex-
hibition of paternalism annoyed me a little; but the
rain chilled one, so I put it on, as well as the rubber hat.
Slim told me that I looked like the little boy in the
Uneeda biscuit ads. One of the negroes in the gang was
reminded by the rain to evulgate this of hygiene: "Ef
yo goes home an* changes to dry does, yo ketches moreTHE MAIN STEM	65

cole; but ef yo lets yo does dry on yo body, yo wone
ketch no cole.”

§

We were soon back in the city, buying tickets for
the electric railroad between Baltimore and Washington.
Washington was my home, and I wanted to avoid it.
But Slim insisted that I go along to show him the sights.
When we arrived there, we got off the interurban car
in the heart of Washington, the terminal of the line. I
began to feel apprehensive. I was disreputable looking,
and I feared to meet old friends. Unconsciously, as
we walked out of the station, I straightened to my full
height, and frowned darkly. I should not have been
aware of my defense reaction had not Slim said: "That’s
right, Blondey, knock ’em cold.” He had read my
inchoate thoughts.

We roomed at a little hotel near the Capitol, a rather
decent sort of place for genteel mechanics and retired
sergeants.

Washington had changed. Its entire spirit was differ-
ent from what it had been a year before. The gray,
dull-looking public buildings had assumed a new im-
portance. Soldiers paced up and down in front of them,
lending an air which they had formerly lacked. Men
and women were always entering and leaving. A few
months before, people had entered the buildings at nine
and had left at four-thirty. Between these hours the
doors had swung open to only a few visitors. But now
gaily-uniformed foreign officers entered and left with
sprightly step. Important-looking men, scholarly-look-
ing men, came and went.

In the morning, the crowds which converged towards66

THE MAIN STEM

the buildings differed from the old crowds of melancholy
government clerks. Young war-workers, with buoyant
step, erased the typical clerk of past months. The girls
would walk four abreast, youthful, chattering, happy.
They were on a lark. It was not the serious business of
war to them; it was the pleasant business of being re-
leased from their Main Streets, of meeting new people,
seeing new sights, unleashing pent-up desires, energies,
passions. Even the old maids among the war-workers
had caught the infectious spirit of adventure. They
were smiling, simpering, kittenish.

At noon the streets were as bright as a carnival.
Women drove to the government buildings in automo-
biles loaded with home-made sandwiches and cakes. The
workers would crowd around to buy their lunches from
these automobiles, or from push cart vendors, who called
attention to their red, yellow and green fruit. The
parks were filled with bright-eyed, laughing girls, who
flirted with soldiers. They were young and pretty,
these war workers from the states, and Uncle Sam was
paying them enough so that they could afford becoming
clothes. The grassy squares of Washington looked like
the scene of a high school picnic, or like a college campus.
Now and then one would see a squealing, bantering
group posing for a newspaper camera man; and on
Sunday, the rotogravure sections were engrossed by the
visiting beauties.

The city had outgrown itself. Traffic policemen were
unable to cope with the new problem of heavy auto-
mobile traffic. The street cars were so jammed that
riding was uncomfortable to a degree—except for the
irrepressible war-workers, who giggled when they found
themselves squeezed between two khaki-clad youths.

One read in the paper of living conditions—how fiveTHE MAIN STEM

*7

or six girls would sleep in one room. Buildings, ugly
buildings, were being thrown up to relieve the crowded
offices and the crowded living quarters.

§

Somehow, we went broke in Washington. We took it
philosophically, however. Instead of worrying or look-
ing for a job we went to the Mall, where Caproni and
his giant planes were stationed. There were other planes,
too, all flying in a maze of imperial circles. An aviatrix
was there in an old Curtiss ship, which looked ridiculous
beside the sturdy little British gadflies, and the large
Caproni eagles.

It happened that we were near the ropes which limited
the flying field; and, as we stood there, the great Caproni
craft taxied to within twenty feet of us. Caproni him-
self stepped out and gave a courtly greeting to a dowager
in a limousine. We heard Caproni say that he was leav-
ing for New York in a few days. Slim was charmed
with the daring, the youth, and the easy manners of
the Italian flyer, and spoke of him and of aviation for
one whole week.

When we learned, about a month later, that Caproni
had been killed, he felt very sorry. “There are so many
worthless filing clerks who live to be eighty; why doesn’t
Fate let them die off young, instead of swooping down
on so gallant a fellow?”

Finally our sense of responsibility—or perhaps it was
our empty stomachs—began to assert itself. We needed
food and shelter for the night.

"I’d hate like hell to have to batter in my own home
town,” I said.

“Don’t worry, Blondey. If there’s any battering to
be done, I’ll mooch the stem myself.”68

THE MAIN STEM

We walked along in Potomac Park until about .cix
o’clock, when we were near the end of Nineteenth
Street. There we saw a big sign:

“Unskilled laborers wanted.”

We looked over a large lot, and saw that operations
had been begun on a huge building.

“Say, do those shacks over there look to you like
bunk-houses?”

"They sure do.”

“Then we’re saved. I guess they can put us up for the
night in one of those houses, and give us some slum this
evening.”

We went to the employment office and asked to be
given a job. The young, sophomoric clerk gave us
numbers and badges. We asked him if we could get
eats at the messhall. “Yep,” he said, as he wrote a few
unintelligible symbols on the sheet of a small pad. He
tore the sheet off and gave it to us. "Give this to the
fellow in the mess-hall. Wanna sleep in the bunk-
houses? Well, see the fellow in bunkhouse 81. He’ll
fix you up.”

The piece of paper was good for dinner that night
and for breakfast next morning. After dinner we went
to bunkhouse 81. The gimpy (lame) crum boss told
us to go wherever we damn’ pleased. There were plenty
of untenanted bunks. These sleeping quarters were
different from the ones at Magnolia and Curtis Bay.
The houses were narrower, and the bunks ran length-
wise. Four bunks, two above and two below, made a
unit, which was partitioned off from the next; and
each unit had its own door—something like the rail-
road coaches of European trains. Slim and I found a
little room entirely vacant. We enjoyed our privacy
very much.THE MAIN STEM

69

The next morning we reported for work on what
We learned was the Munitions Building. After about
three hours’ work, a timekeeper came around with a
regular book of meal-tickets, two tickets being deducted
for the meals we had been given on trust.

Our foreman was a Southerner who had been mar-
ried only six months, and who had come North without
his wife. He was very lonesome, and singled us out
within an hour as his confidants. He did not work us
hard; he said nothing when we sneaked away from the
job and spent three hours under the nearby willows
which line the Potomac basin. At quitting time he
Would ask us if we wanted to work overtime; and as
we wanted to make a stake quick, we always worked.

“Ah’ve got the nicest little wife in the world” he
would tell us. “Ah’m goin’ tuh send for huh nex’
week, kase Ah think this year job is good foh six oh
seven months. Ah ben sendin’ huh thuhty dollars a
week sence I ben heah, and she shoh is a happy little
woman.”

By working overtime for four days, we were each
able to claim on the fifth morning, $23.20 at the pay-
master’s window. The foreman, who could refuse us
nothing, had obligingly fired us. This meant that we
could draw our pay immediately.

During the remainder of the day we wandered about
"Washington, and in the evening, we went to the Union
Station to get a train to Baltimore. There was a con-
tinual influx and egress of travelers. Soldiers with guns,
bayonets, knapsacks and sweethearts, were going to the
trains or coming in. Through the columns of the
station, the dome of the Capitol could be seen brightly
illumined with searchlights. All this light, activity,
and strange animation made me sad. It did not seem7°

THE MAIN STEM

like home. Washington, illumined, brisk hustling,
laughing, did not remind me of the quiet little town I
called home. I had not seen a familiar face. I had
hardly revisited a familiar scene.

§

Our visit to Washington brought the war closer to
us than any other experience during 1918. We hardly
ever read the newspapers because in the camps, news-
papers were not procurable. As a result we had
few associations with such words as "salients,” "Can-
tigny,” "Chateau-Thierry,” and "Belleau Wood.” The
bums did not talk of the war. There were few fathers
among us; women were rarely met with in our world.
And so we did not meet men and women with departed
sons, sweethearts, and husbands.

Once, I heard a foreman say:	"Yez don’t look very

pathriothic this foine marrnin’. Showvel up that dirt,
so yerr Oncle Sammy can fight the goddam Germans.”
But this was all. The war did not bother us in our
world. Ours was a world of jobs, some good, some bad;
of bunkhouses, some lousey and some not; of food,
some of it palatable, some of it unfit to eat. These
were the problems of the working man’s world.CHAPTER VII

We arrived in Baltimore too late to catch the boat
which went to Philadelphia. The night was spent at our
former room in Fleet Street. The next day Slim read
Ghosts and A Doll's House to me. He was very much
pleased by the progress I was making in my education,
and he called me: “The Child of Destiny, who, a few
weeks ago was so damn’ lousey and dirty that it took
him ten days to become clean.” My customary repartee
to his frequent taunts was, “Aw, go to hell!” As he
closed the book on Nora’s leaving, he said:	“Wait

until we read some of Ibsen’s good plays. Rosmers-
holm with its super-woman; Peer Gynt, who was lov-
able because he had no guts; Brand, who was unlovable
because he had too damn* much guts.”

At six we boarded the ship. Like Benjamin Franklin,
whose city we were bound for, I carried a loaf of bread
under each arm. Slim carried eighteen inches of
salami and a quart of good, red wine. The first hour
on board we felt miserable. There were too many
well-dressed people. They looked in a superior manner
at our clothes, our rye bread and salami feast. But
the wine and the undeniably delicious sandwiches
warmed us. The haughty dowagers and their ambula-
tory mealtickets retired to their cabins. We were left
alone on deck.

It was a beautiful night. We heard nothing but
the swish of the waters and the drone of the engines.

7iTHE MAIN STEM

7*

The fresh, salt air, free from the odors of bunkhouses,
and slum streets, free from industrial dusts, intoxicated
us. Slim became talkative; and I became listenative. I
shall never forget how I listened that night. One hears
of people being inspired to speak well, fluently, com-
pellingly. This night I was inspired to listen well, atten-
tively and sympathetically. Nothing seemed more
desirable than to hear Silm speak:

"The strangest man I ever met was Jack Cartwright.
I stopped in a saloon on the main drag in Frisco one
night, and heard a man discoursing on the futility of
life. He had enough liquor to be voluble; and the deep
voice which boomed from his tremendous chest silenced
all others. He was talking about the vanity of life, and
adduced all the authorities on the subject from Ecclesi-
ates to Anatole France. ‘Look,’ said Jack, ‘even at
Aristotle’s logic. For many centuries, Aristotle’s for-
mulae shaped the intellectual life, and even the com-
mon life, of Europe. Men were persecuted who tried
to prove that Aristotle was wrong. And now—what?
Aristotle is pulverized dust; and a machine could
easily be made to show the validity of conclusions
based on major and mirror premises.*

"As the night went, Jack grew more drunk, and
quite silent. Finally, he sat motionless in a chair. The
other men took no more notice of the bore who had
been examining philosophical systems. I was afraid
that some jackroller would get his money, so I helped
him to my room, nearby. He came along, weak and
unprotesting. His six feet of muscle, sinew, and bones,
were a heavy weight for me. But he finally lay on the
floor in my cubicle of the dosshouse. I took the bed
myself, because I had to work next morning, and
because Jack was so drunk he couldn’t tell the differ-THE MAIN STEM	73

ence between the floor and the bed of King Hinky
Dink.

"Next morning I roused him and told him to come
along with me. I was pearl diving (washing dishes)
in those days. He accepted my hospitality with a mix-
ture of wonder and matter of course. We stopped in
a bar on the way to my beanery, to get a bracer; and
on the job I gave him lots of coffee. It happened that
the World War, which had just begun, was doing very
nicely; and with it, our business expanded. The boss
gave Jack a job pearl-diving and we worked together
for a few weeks. It was funny to see him washing
the greasy dishes, with his fine head cocked on one
side to keep the cigarette smoke out of his eyes, and his
large, tatooed arms white with soap suds. He kept sober
all this time, and our friendship grew rapidly. His
hobby was reading aloud. He read well, and took pride
in it. It was he who introduced me to Veblen, whose
circuitous language and irony delighted him. In that
little room, with a second bed moved into it, and an
extension to the electric fixture for better light, we
supplemented each other’s education, discussed many
things, and lived clean, happy lives, full of companion-
ship.

"One night he told me something of his past life.
He had been born in Texas. His father had been killed
in a fight when he was six. Jack had been to college,
had held a job as a bank cashier—in fact, his antecedents
were good. But he had, somehow, through drink and
through his philosophy of despair, backslided. He was
the black sheep of the family. From the bourgeois
standpoint the only thing that can be said of him in
this day of specialization, was that he was an expert—
an expert bum, a blowed-in-the-glass stiff. He knew74

THE MAIN STEM

how to panhandle, how to ride freights. He knew hobo
literature, the literature of protest, and could quote
hobo poems at will.

"In Berkeley he had sister, a married sister who
owned a pretty home, and whose daughter went to
the university. He had not seen this relative for a long
time; and on this hangs a tale.

“One Sunday Jack announced that this was his birth-
day, and that he had received through the mail an invi-
tation from his sister. Evidently there had been cor-
respondence back arid forth. Would I go with him?
He particularly wanted his sister to meet me. Of course,
I agreed, and about eleven o’clock we left.

"Jack was in a happy mood. He commented brightly
on the big, new ferries. He insisted on trying the cof-
fee and doughnuts of the lunch room. He made observa-
tions on the gulls which trailed the boat. 'It’s funny,*
he said, 'that Michael Angelo or Leonardo—especially
Leonardo—didn’t have wit enough to carve an angel
with tail feathers. Look how the tail feathers of those
gulls change in size, shape and position. Leonardo
should have known that angels can’t fly without tails.
And he had enough of a sense of humor to flabbergast
the pious by carving a beautiful statue of a beautiful
angel—with tail feathers. Why didn’t he do it?*

“At last we reached the house, after taking the cars
at the ferry pier. It was a pretty house in Berkeley.
Jack’s hand trembled as he knocked at the door. And
even my heart beat a little faster as I thought of what
an important occasion this must be for my friend.

"A Japanese servant ushered us into the living room;
and there were Jack’s sister and her pretty daughter.
The sister greeted Jack coolly. 'How do you do, Jack,*THE MAIN STEM

75

was all she said. I was introduced all around, and before
I knew it, Jack and his sister had excused themselves,
leaving me with the sweet young co-ed.

"The tete-a-tete between Jack and his sister lasted a
long time. The daughter and I talked of silly, indif-
ferent, schoolgirl things. Finally, she herself was bored,
and she played the Victrola—that last refuge of mut-
tonheads.

"At last Jack came out. 'Come on, Slim, let’s go,’ he
said. He walked out so fast, and I followed him so
close, that I believe I forgot to tell my hostesses what
a pleasant afternoon I’d spent with them.

"What had happened in the family council I don’t
know. All I know is that Jack was in rotten humor.
On the ferry going back, he saw a woman, finely dressed,
escorted by a fashion plate with a cane. He stopped
squarely in front of them and said savagely:	'Think

you’re getting pretty damn’ fine, don’t you?’ Then he
strode off. I followed him. At Frisco he said he wanted
to go to see a friend, and would I lend him a few
dollars? He did not invite me to come along. I gave
him a five-spot and I’ve never seen him since.

"My theory is that Jack was tired of the bum’s life.
Working with me, well-fed, sober, he probably decided
to go straight, to win again the esteem of his family.
But his reception was so cool that he lost heart. His
future plans, if he had any, probably needed financing
by his sister. She not only refused him financial assist-
ance, but also the assistance of placing him in a job
more worthy of his fine qualities. I don’t know. Any-
how, he was so much discouraged by his sister’s attitude,
that he didn’t give a damn about anything or anybody.
He took my five dollars, probably got drunk, forgot7^

THE MAIN STEM

about his good pal, Slim; and he is probably on the
bum again, mooching the stem and battering the
privates.”

The night was starry and quiet. The water was hiss-
ing monotonously.

Slim told me about many other things—about
Alaskan dogs, gold digging, and the mosquitoes of
south-eastern Alaska. "While I was there, there were
two prostitutes who had a high reputation. One was
named the Mucker’s Dream. The other derived her
name from the fact that, one night, she found it neces-
sary to go to the rude privy near the saloon. Her
semi-circular canals were not functioning properly, in-
asmuch as she had been drinking a few pints of rot-gut.
Cries for help were heard. When the rescue crew ar-
rived, the belle was found struggling in a sea of lime and
other substances which have no social standing. She
never lived down this malodorous incident, and her name
incorporates the common, or vulgar term for privy.”

It was very late. A chilly wind was blowing. We
went into the saloon and slept until dawn. When we
woke up, we were near land, and within an hour the
ship docked at the wharf. We were in Philadelphia.CHAPTER VIII

"This is a swell place,” said Slim, as he looked at the
grinding elevated train soaring above us. "I love the
noise of machinery—sometimes, I mean.” We walked
up Market Street two blocks from the ferry, turned
to the left, and entered a Jewish slum district. As we
passed a hallway, Slim caught my arm and said, "Look!”
I looked and saw the most beautiful girl I had ever
seen in my life. She was a Greek. Her complexion was
olive, but with a faint rose in her cheeks. Her blue-
black hair was pulled straight back and tied into a care-
less knot. The lines of her figure, not too plump, had
exactly the proper curves. This phantom of delight
almost ruined my stay in Philadelphia, because every
time I passed this hallway I hoped to see her again—
and I never did.

Every day I said the same thing when we passed
the spot:	"Wonder where in hell that damn* pretty

Greek girl keeps herself. Zo amoo zas agapo—Byron’s
Maid of Athens had nothing on that baby.”

We hired a room a little further down the street, near
a park frequented in the evening by scores of parents
and hundreds of children. The room had just been
occupied by a family, and it was easy to smell that
there had been a baby. We took the mattress into the
yard below, hoping that a little heliotherapy would
make it sweeter. There was a sink in the room, whose
water supply was dependent on the water used below.

77THE MAIN STEM

7 8

If the spigots were turned on downstairs, we could not
get a flow. With the help of a plenteous but sporadic
water supply, and two old suits of underwear used as
washcloths, we made the room habitable. Then we
washed ourselves and went out, bent on seeing the his-
toric sights of Philadelphia.

We sat in Independence Square, while Slim regaled
me with much malicious gossip about the American
Revolution—gossip which is not found in high school
and college text-books. Later in the day we came to
the tomb of Franklin, and looked through the bars at
the simple stone. More of Slim’s malicious gossip:	**I

think that just a few weeks before his death, Franklin
said that he had a 'cold approbation’ of the moral system
of Jesus of Nazareth. Besides his irreverence, he looked
upon women with as appraising an eye as Samuel Pepys.
And yet the pale-blooded writers of history have made
of this intelligent and virile man a petty milk-sop in
their own image and likeness.”

That night we ate in a little Jewish restaurant two
or three doors from our rooming house. We ate there
regularly during our stay in Philadelphia. The wait-
ress became very chummy with me. After the second
day she would pat my hand every now and again,
would chuckle me under the chin, and would call me
"Angelface.” These attentions were at once flattering
and annoying, especially as Slim teased me unmercifully
about her. "Why don’t you take the poor little girl to
a movie some night. Then take her in the park and
give her a little lovin’. She’s dying to have you put
your strong masculine arms around her slender waist.
If it’s dark enough, you can pretend it’s your old maid
of Athens, ere we part, zo amoo zas agapo.”

"Oh! go to hell.”THE MAIN STEM

79

§

Our period of loafing came to an end, and the period
of working for a living began. The professional name
we now bore was "gandydancer.” I had heard the
word before, had liked it, and had always hoped that
Fate would some day permit me to gandydance. We
worked on the road bed of a spur of railroad which
was being built beyond Camden to a filling plant. A
train operated by the company, left Camden every
morning with a crowd of sleepy workers, many of
whom, like us had come across the ferry from Philly.

Our first contribution to gandy-dancing did not suit
the foreman. He had told us to spike the rails to the
ties, and gave us each a sledge and spikes. I had never
done this work, and Slim was no expert with the sledge,
either. But we went manfully to our task. Slim swung
at the spike. I, opposite him, also swung at the spike.
We were not very successful with this first spike, but
we had already improved our control. After about
fifteen minutes of wild swinging, the foreman came
towards us and said: "You fellers will kill each other,
swingin* them damn* sledges. Come on up here and
help them dagoes tamp down the track.”

This was an easy job. All we had to was to shovel
dirt between the ties, and the other workmen spread
it and tamped it to form a bed for the road. For two
weeks we were gandydancers. Our dance was easy,
pleasant. Slim and I worked side by side and we talked
of many things.

Every now and then our attention was attracted to
a gang of shines (negroes), who were straightening the
track. Ten or twelve would stand with crowbars
rooted in the ground, and resting against the side of the8o

THE MAIN STEM

rail. .The foreman, fifty feet beyond, would squint
down the track and, if the track needed straight-
ening, he would holler to his dusky crew. Then the
negro gang would wait for a signal from their leader,
Shorty, a diminutive lame negro who looked exactly
like a chimpanzee. When Shorty gave his signal, they
would all begin pulling at their crowbars, continuing
the pull rythmically. This moved the rails.

Shorty’s signals were always funny. He would sing
in a monotonous voice, screaming when it came time
to pull. Sometimes he would stand apart from the
group and give grotesque signals faintly similar to those
of a college cheer leader. At other times he would talk
rythmically about the job. "Ef yo niggahs doan pull—
Pull—Pull, y’ain gonna get no dinnah. Dis am easy ef
you’all pull—pull—Pull, togefah.”

Concerning this, Slim said:

*'I have heard of sailor’s chanties—songs of coopera-
tion when weighing anchor or hoisting halyards, or
whatever they hoist; but I’ve never seen anything, like
this.”

Soon our stake was earned and our pay collected.
"Now for Broadway, Blondey, ye dam’ole woik stiff,
Broadway and its bright lights.”CHAPTER IX

Our visit to New York was unintelligent. Slim spoiled
it by hanging around Washington Square in the hazy
and unexpressed (but obvious) hope that some pretty
villager would flirt with him, or that some Bohemian
would discover him, find him congenial, and would
lead him to an adulating crowd of villagers. In Frisco,
Slim had fared well with a group of well-to-do Bo-
hemians who lived vicariously his adventurous life,
and who were delighted with his flair for picturesque
speech—a speech strangely combining the vulgar, the
filthy, with the academic and scientific.

Our goal, then, had been Washington Square, which
we soon gained from the Grand Central Station. We
sat there, saying little. To me it seemed silly to arrive
in New York and sit in the sun on a hard bench. But,
like Sancho, I wanted to bask in reflected glory if
Fortune should smile on my Don Quixote. So I stayed
and waited while Slim was in reverie.

I have come to know Slim so well since those days
that I can confidentlly reconstruct this as resembling
his fantasy:

Floyd Dell might come by here and sit beside us. He
would begin talking. Slim would show him that his
social theories and philosophy were all wrong. The
Liberator is a heap of pink-pretty junk.

Floyd Dell, being reasonable, would listen engrossed.
Of course, some things were good in the Liberator.

8182

THE MAIN STEM

Take Boardman Robinson’s cartoons, for instance. But
on the whole, not really revolutionary. The editor
would be captivated. He would say, "I want you
fellows to meet some of the gang.” We should follow
him. Up the rickety stairs of some old house, down
a dark hallway. In front of a door we should stop.
Floyd would reach above the door, get his key, unlock.
"Sit down, smoke up fellows. Yes, that’s a clever
canvas. Fellow by the name of Allen did it. Poor
fellow! Killed himself last week.” Then our host
would go out, knock on a few doors, open a window
at the end of the hall, and call out to the tenants of
the house next door.

Soon the room would be swarming with people.
Floyd Dell had caught a tuna—a picturesque, swagger-
ing Westerner, over six feet tall, one hundred seventy
pounds, dark, sinister, sophisticated-looking. He wore
his panache as jauntily as Cyrano. That was it! Cyrano!
Or the Sea Wolf, or the Devil’s Disciple, or Don Juan,
or Byron. Such would be the comments. Bobbed-haired
girls would be there, pretty, lustful girls. But he would
spurn them. Edna Millay would be there. She would
take one good look at him, retire into another room, and
pour out a burning sonnet with the theme:

My heart burns at both ends,

It will not last the night,

If, Ah! my love, and Oh! my Slim,

You do not hug me tight.

This was something like what Slim must have
thought. But this is what we said:

"Wonder how much that kid makes shining shoes?”
"Well, now, take it that he shines twenty pairs a day.THE MAIN STEM	83

That’s two dollars. What do you think the polish costs
him?”

"Fifteen or twenty cents, maybe.”

"That would be over a dollar seventy-five clear.”
"Yes, but I guess his brushes wear out pretty fast.”
"But, then, he gets some tips. ...”

§

After a few hours’ sitting, Slim was ready to find a
place to sleep. As we wandered about, a watery-eyed
plug came towards us and panhandled us. He began
with a hard luck story, but Slim cut him short:	"Aw,

can your fairy story, Jack. Here’s two bits you can
spend foolishly. Now tell us where a guy can flop.”
"Right down 'here, at Bleecker Street, is de Mills’
Hotel. Good place fer a flop.”

We walked to Bleecker Street, and looked into the
huge white structure, with its large hall and imposing
staircase. "That crummy bum was kidding us. This
is no place for two guys like us,” I said. And we
began to walk away. But just then we saw three stiffs
enter the building. "There’s something cock-eyed about
that,” as the last bum’s ragged coat disappeared through
the door. "Let’s take another peek.” We went in. It
was, in truth, a doss house—no, not a doss house. It
was a real hotel for laboring men.

Downstairs there was a large reading room with com-
fortable chairs, in which stiffs were dozing. Near this
was a dining room where a satisfactory meal could be
had for thirty cents. Our rooms were side by side
on the third floor. There was only one narrow bed to
a room. Each was a pigeonhole, with electric light, a
window, a chair, and a cot. The room fitted the cot so
exactly that a narrow strip of concrete floor, two feet84

THE MAIN STEM

wide, was the only clear space in the room. But then,
we had paid only twenty-five cents each, and the bed-
ding smelled sweet. It was a luxury, the clean floor
and the clean bedding.

We went out, locking our doors, and in seach of a
place to wash up. We asked a man in the hall where
a guy could wash up. He, being a veteran guest,
replied:

"If yer just wants ter polish yer mugs, ye’ll find de
toilet down dat hall to yer left. But if yer wants ter
take a full-lengt’ and wants ter boil up and de-louse,
ye’ll haf ter go to de basement. Dey got showers an’
a tub, an’ a dryin’ machine.”

We went back to our rooms, unwrapped our little
bundles of dirty clothes, and took them to the base-
ment. There, in abundant hot water, we washed our-
selves and our clothes, putting them into the dryer. In
a little while they came out hot and stiff. There were
a number of men there, some of whom possessed only
one outfit of clothes. They stripped and washed their
only outfit, then waited for it to dry. "This shoit feels
swell,” said one of them to us, as he pulled his faded,
sweet-smelling, khaki shirt over his hairy chest.

That night, with the feeling of smug satisfaction and
well-being that a parvenu feels in a fashionable hotel,
we read the ads of a New York paper for jobs within
the city. "Look,” Slim said as his eye wandered from
the help wanted column, "It says that the Washington
Square Players strut their stuff at 8:30. That gives us
half an hour. Let’s go.”

We went. It was a rare experience for us to hear
well-spoken English, to sit among well-dressed people,
to come in contact with things other than jobs, flop-
houses, slums. There were three one-act plays. OneTHE MAIN STEM

8 S

was named The Rope; and another paraded lightly
and cleverly the philosophy of a thoroughly modern
family. What we liked about this play was that it poked
fun at the very type of person who wrote it, and at
the actors and management which produced it. "When
people can laugh at themselves, they are wholesome.
The third play had something to do about somebody’s
going to the poorhouse, I believe.

So back to our hostelry and to bed. The next day,
which was my birthday, we served time faithfully in
Washington Square. About noon we meandered slowly
back to the hotel for one of the cheap lunches served
there. On our way we stopped in a bookshop. It was
presided over by a woman with, bobbed hair who looked
wonderingly at our rough clothes, but who was very
courteous and helpful. She showed Slim a dozen books
on Russia. I had a sort of cold interest in the details
of the Russian revolution, and preferred the novels.

When Slim finally joined me at the novel counter,
his eyes were bright. "Have just found a copy of
Bonger. William A. Bonger’s Criminality and Economic
Conditions. Look, here’s a curve that shows clearly
how crime increases as economic conditions are in a
slump. Great book! Have heard of it for years, but
could never get hold of it. It’s a tremendous prop to
the materialistic conception of history. What have you
been looking at? The Jungle. Not bad. Oh! here’s
The Iron Heel. Good book. Think I’ll buy it.” He
paid for his books and we walked out.

Before eating lunch Slim excused himself for a mo-
ment. When he returned he presented me with the
copy of The Iron Heel. Inscribed on the flyleaf was:
"I am giving you this because it is one of the novels I
have enjoyed most in my life, and I want you to share86

THE MAIN STEM

it with me. Best wishes to you on your birthday.” My
eyes were damp when I had finished reading.

All day we sat in Washington Square, reading Jack
London’s book aloud to each other. "Listen to this.”
Slim read, deeply moved. It was a dialogue between a
fictitious capitalist and Ernest Everhard, equally fic-
titious leader of American revolutionists. The capitalist
was speaking:

"When you reach out your vaunted strong hands
for our palaces and our purpled ease, we will show
you what strength is. In roar of shell and shrapnel
and in whine of machine-guns will our answer be
couched. We will grind you revolutionists down
under our heel, and we shall walk upon your
faces. . . . What if you do get a majority, a
sweeping majority, on election day? Suppose we
refuse to turn the government over to you after
you have captured it at the ballot-box?”

To this, Ernest, the young revolutionist, replied:

"And we shall give you an answer in terms of
lead. . . . And in the day that we sweep to victory
at the ballot-box, and you refuse to turn over to
us the government we have constitutionally and
peacefully captured, and you demand what we are
going to do about it—in that day, I say, we shall
answer you; and in the roar of shell and shrapnel
and in whine of machine-gun shall our answer be
couched.”

Slim stopped reading. His eyes glowed. "Man, this
social revolution that Jack London has written aboutTHE MAIN STEM

8 7

will take place before we die. An intelligent fellow
like you ought to cut loose from bourgeois ideology. The
red flag is tugging at the staff. But before it flies free,
leaders must be developed. . . . Oh! hell, you always
look fishy-eyed when I talk about the revolution.”
Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he continued:

"By God, I like you all right—now. But some day,
when the carmagnole is being sung, when the red army
is taking possession of industry, I’ll have my men put
you up against a brick wall and pump your damn’ car-
cass full of lead.”

$

Jack London is perhaps the hobo’s favorite novelist.
The hobo reads, and often he reads very good stuff. In
every large city there are hobo book stores which make
a specialty of radical periodicals, for, even if the hobo
does not generally belong to a socialistic society, he has
been taught to think about the class struggle. He may
read the Hobo News, or he may read Jack London, or
the Masses, or the Industrial Standard. In any case, he
reads. The Western Story Magazine and the Detective
Story Magazine seem to be favorites.

Both of these magazines have a section in the rear
devoted to those who disappear without a trace. It is
called "Missing.” Here are some excepts from this
section:

Zookie, Agnes.—Still love you. Roaming around
the country, making no headway without you. Write
to A. G. Klavicord, Denborough, N. Mex.

Reese, Harry S.—Your mother is very sick; please
communicate with her at once. I will not interfere
with your plans. Daddy.88

THE MAIN STEM

Caballo-, Leon.—Last heard of in San Trancisco in
1914. Age forty-one years. Dark complexion, good-
looking, well-educated. Please communicate immedi-
ately with E. G., care of this magazine.

Sooks.—Write me at once. I am worried. Am at
the same place. No one holds anything against you.
Dad.

S. L.—No word from you since June, 1914. I am
heartbroken. Please write to mother.

Hard, Lucy.—Left home several years ago, taking her
baby with her. She is five feet, six inches tall, twenty-
three years old, has red hair, and freckles. Her husband
wishes her address. A. A. Hard, Round Hill, New York.

Tom.—No one knows where I am. Am willing to
work and help you. Remember your promise. Write
to me at Back Bay. Billy.

Jensen, Paul.—Have waited three years for you.
Please come back. Annie.

Ramsey, Edward.—Please try to forget the past and
bring June back to me. Ethel.

Jamison, Harry.—Have news of your buddie, Jack.
Please send your address to Mrs. Louise Stone, Linden,
Indiana.

In all these notices one can read between the lines
a story of maladjustments; of adolescents who could not
get along with their parents; of parents who thwarted
their children’s desires; of husbands whose wives were
unfaithful; of men whose wives were too drab; of un-
requited love, of drunkenness and ruin.

§

Two nights later we found that we had twenty-five
cents between us. But our hotel room was paid for,THE MAIN STEM

8 9

and it is an axiom in Hobohemia that a roof over one’s
head is more important than food. We bought a paper,
looked for jobs in New York City, and found practi-
cally nothing within the city itself. Next day we
applied to the few likely places, but they did not want
mere “bohunks.” Late in the afternoon after being
without food for twenty hours, a stiff in the Mills
lobby who had joined us in talk, suggested that we
apply at the docks, unloading freight from the cars
which were towed over on scows. “Ye goes down to
de Bowery where de slave-market is an* looks for de
sign ’bout woikin’ on de docks. Wen ye gits on de
job dey’ll have yer unloadin’ flour an* iron an’ stuff til’
midnight. Den ye goes on de fruit. Ye’ll be runnin’
yer truck fer about ten minutes wen ye’ll see a busted
crate; an’ if ye don’t see a busted crate, bust one open
wen nobody ain’t lookin’. Dey’ll let yer eat all de fruit
dat rolls on de floor.”

We followed his advice, and were hired on the Bowery
with a troupe of other hungry stiffs. Here we were
herded in a big gang, led by the man-catcher through
New York. When we passed the Tombs, many witty
remarks were made. Four or five members of the gang
were familiar with the interior. “My private suite is
up dere on de secon* tier.” “Dere’s no-o place like
home,” one of them sang.

Finally we reached the big dock—not until I had
felt mortified when stared at by pretty girls and pros-
perous-looking men. It was ignominious to be part of
a gang of bums, herded through the streets by an em-
ployment agent.

§

During the first part of the night we unloaded long9 o

THE MAIN STEM

bundles of thin iron rods. Three men were needed for
each bundle, one at each end, and one in the middle.
Slim and I took the ends, and a Jewish fellow of about
forty elected to work with us, holding up the middle.
He had a beard, a stooping carriage, scholarly face, ahd
soft hands, unaccustomed to work. We tried to talk
to him but he was uncommunicative. He seemed to feel
very much out of place among his "goy” fellow-
workers. We might have felt more sympathetic
towards him if he had tried to do his third of the work.
But he soldiered on the job, leaving to Slim and me
nearly the entire burden of the heavy rods. Once, as
we were returning to the car for a load, Slim winked
to me and made a motion that we lower the iron, until
the Israelite, fearful lest the iron drop on his toes, should
take his part of the load. While we were carrying the
next load of iron rods, we gradually relaxed our grasp;
the poor chap felt the weight getting heavier and heavier
on his soft palms; the rods were going down—down—
down. Presently they would fall on his shoe tops,
crushing his toes. He clutched the iron with all his
strength, and turned towards me with the expression
of a trapped animal. "Aie, aie! Don’t raise down mit
de iron.”

This phrase amused a number of the workers, and
soon the expression, "Don’t raise down mit de iron” was
taken up mockingly by three or four youths. They
rolled the r’s delightedly on their tongues. Then they
made more fun of him. "Vot’s de matter, Semke?
You look so sed. You look like your mother died.”
"Aie, gevalt, Semke, you look so sed.” "Dese damn*
goys are a bunch of ganefs, Semke. Better go back to
Rebecca.” The Jew-baiting reached its climax and
ended when one of the youths, with a well-aimed streamTHE MAIN STEM

of tobacco-juice, hit Semke in the eye. The poor fellow,
with smarting eye and soul, ran away with his hand
over his face, turned the corner and disappeared.

Finally we were sent on the fruit. On this we used
hand trucks. For about twenty minutes we trucked
crate after crate, without breaking one. The sight of
food made me desparate; and once when nobody was
looking, I gave my truck a lurch. The top crate of
oranges fell six feet and broke. Ten hungry workers
scrambled after the golden balls as they rolled on the
wharf floor. I ate nearly a dozen oranges in the next
few minutes. A little later I saw Slim waving to me
from the shadow of a stack of round boxes. He had
broken a box containing cheese. I stealthily took a big
chunk and ate it in the dark corners of the freight car
and the wharf. The stiff who had been our buddy on
the iron after Semke’s resignation, later beckoned me
over to a broken box of chocolate bars. I filled my
pockets with these, and gave Slim a few. We were
pretty well filled by now, especially as we were eating
oranges and apples quite openly all the time.

About four in the morning I felt terribly sleepy. I
had been up more than twenty hours without a wink
of sleep, and had worked devilishly hard pushing a
truck and carrying iron for nine of these hours. I
decided to find a place to kip behind the crates. After
climbing over mountains of boxes, I found a good place,
and soon fell asleep. But the foreman discovered me.
He shook me before I had slept twenty minutes, and I
worked until six-thirty. They paid us just before quit-
ting time.

We went back to the Mills hotel with three dollars
each in our jeans. Three dollars for having worked
from 7 p.m. to 6:30 a.m.! And this was war-time,92

THE MAIN STEM

when labor was making eighteen dollars a day (people
said). We had, however, eaten a dollar’s worth, so that
accounts were not so bad, after all.

All day we slept and at night we returned to the
docks. The next day we had about eight dollars be-
tween us. During the morning we slept. But in the
afternoon we got up and went down to the Bowery
to get a job outside of New York. Our plan was now
to accept a job near New York at the highest possible
wages, make a stake, and then return to New York to
see more of the big city.

There was nothing very good on the slave market,
so we wandered back to the Mills Hotel, but not before
going through the colorful East Side. “Gosh,” said
Slim, “This place doesn’t look like the hell-hole they
told me it was. These kids look happy, and their
mothers look care-free and healthy enough. If you
want to see real misery, go to rural Texas, where there
are no milk stations, clinics, or welfare workers.”

On one of the street corners stood an old, grey-headed
beggar, wrinkled, bent, dirty, blind. The rents in his
shirt showed his filthy underclothes; his toes were
visible; his trousers had a dozen patches. He leaned so
heavily against a little organ mounted on a wooden leg,
that one could not tell whether he supported the organ,
or the organ him. His withered hand slowly and pain-
fully turned the crank of his music-box—but no sound
issued. The futility of the poor beggar’s painful turn-
ing was both pathetic and funny. We laughed and
threw some change into his cup. “He ought to have a
sign T am deaf* instead of T am blind.* ”

As we walked back towards the hotel Slim said: “You
know, this wonderful Mills Hotel reminds me of some-
thing that Simon Patten discussed somewhere in one ofTHE MAIN STEM

93

books. His idea is that our modern industrial society
breaks up the home—that marriage is delayed or
avoided,, that conditions of work remove the bread
winner from a home site to an industrial site. The Mills
Hotel, with its huge male population, is a direct sub-
stantiation of his ideas. And, incidentally, it makes
the capitalist, who condemns socialism because it 'breaks
up the family/ enter the witness stand with unclean
hands. For does not his social system break up the
family as much as any socialist scheme could?”

§

That night we went to a movie, and the next day
we returned to the slave market on the Bowery. This

time we found a job in M--------, New Jersey. We did

not get this job through a regular employment agent.
We were caught on the street by a dapper young fellow
who told us that he was looking for two "good, strong,
clean-cut fellows. Work in a foundry—fifty cents an
hour. Live in a boarding house, and we’ll advance the
money to the landlady. Will give you credit immedi-
ately on the company store, where you can buy tobacco,
clothes, anything.” It sounded too good to be true.
But, the fellow seeming sober, sincere, and sane, we
accepted.

The young chap took us to M-------by railroad. Here

we were met by the superintendent in an automobile,
who asked us if we objected to working the remainder
of the afternoon, and all night. “Double time, of
course, a dollar an hour after six o’clock.” We agreed
whole-heartedly. The superintendent drove us to the
foundry floor, where we were told to shovel the black
sand, which had been used as moulds, back into con-
venient piles. The sand of-the broken moulds lay in94

THE MAIN STEM

little piles all over the floor. During the night we were
to concentrate all these little piles of sand into a few
piles which would be convenient to the moulders when
they returned on the job next morning. Slim and I
worked lustily, joyful over the thirteen dollars which
we should have earned by next morning. In a short
time we were joined by other workers. About seven
o’clock the superintendent, and a couple of laborers
brought in a box of cigars, fifty or sixty sandwiches,
and a keg of beer.

“What the hell kind of a place is this, Slim?” I
asked. “Are we dead, and have we reached the prole-
tarian paradise, or did they have a bolshevist revolution
in New Jersey?”

“I have a hunch that there’s a strike on, and that you
and I are strike-breakers.” '

I thought this over and was reminded of two Poles
at Magnolia. They had been shipped from New York
to Birmingham. When they arrived on the job they
learned that they had been employed to take the place
of strikers. The fact that they were broke, hungry,
and ignorant of all English except cuss words, did not
make them comprpmise with their conscience. “We no
work in strike,” they told us simply. They had struck
out for New Orleans. After much suffering, they
had finally made their way to Magnolia, where they
were working to send money to their relatives, and to
earn a stake to go back to New York, their home.

A little later that night the superintendent came in^
dishevelled and trembling with rage. “I saw one of
those goddam strikers behind a tool shed. He was spy-
ing on us. I knocked the hell out of him and threw
him out of the gate. I soaked him so damn’ hard he
can’t walk, and he’s lying out there in the road.” TheTHE MAIN STEM

95

strike-breakers (of which Slim and I were two) did
not applaud the super for this act. Not one word was
said. On the other hand, nobody showed concern for
the poor fellow lying in the road.

“Come on, Blondey, we can’t work here,” Slim said
to me a little later. “We’ve got to sneak out of here.
No self-respecting man would scab.”

By signs, glances and gestures, Slim and I made our
way simultaneously and un-noticed into the grounds
outside the foundry. We found ourselves in the dark,
each a little bit afraid to greet the other. Then we
walked anxiously and hurriedly towards the gate. We
fully expected to find it guarded by two or three huskies
with ostentatiously displayed gats. Instead, it was
simply closed and locked. We found it rather difficult
to scale the high, barbed-wire fence, but the feat
was not impossible. Our clothes were torn before we
jumped on the road.

“Let’s see if we can find the stiff who had the hell
knocked out of him,” Slim whispered.

We looked up and down the road, but could find no
trace of the poor fellow.

“Well, I guess he wasn’t hurt so bad, after all. I hope
that super was just letting off wind.”

We swung down the road at a good clip. Slim was
speaking:

“Perhaps you’ll think I’m going to advise a too-
cautious policy; but if you do, it’s your own ignorance.

“You haven’t yet developed the proper cautions for
a migratory worker. You have a sort of open and
above-board way of doing things that attracts atten-
tion, and sometimes makes me fear for our safety.
Strikes are dangerous things; they stir up hatred and,
like negro lynchings, depend upon the instability of96

THE MAIN STEM

the mob mind. The least false motion may cost some-
body his life. Now I advise that we walk for about
two hours as hard as we can. Then, let’s take a nap
until morning. In the morning we’ll get up and find
the nearest railroad to take us back to New York. But
we won’t board the train in M-----.”

I thought this advice good, even though I was for
being a little less cautious and a little more comfortable.
We walked along the road for nearly two hours—a road
lighted by fireflies as luminous as the fireflies in Hansel
and Gretel.

Slim was saying:	"A strike is a wonderful thing.

In the museum in Golden Gate Park in Frisco, stored
away in a room that few people visit, is a statue called
the 'Strike.’ A gaunt man, a laborer, in tattered clothes,
stands, his eyes vaticinical and brooding. With his left
hand he motions back his wife and children who are
crying for bread. But he is not listening to them, or
thinking of them. His eyes look into the future—into
a future without strikes, or the violence of capitalistic
society, or starving mothers and children. The room is
unfrequented, save a few reds who come in to see, and
who stand about in whispering groups, moved by the
feelings that the statue inspires.”

Finally we came to a large meadow. Here was our
bed. We lay on the grass, and Slim fell asleep. Me—
I was not yet tough enough to sleep out in the open
on a patch of dewy sod. The spears of grass tickled
my nose or ears. A mild dread of open places made me
anxious. Once, when I had nearly fallen asleep, I heard
a swishing behind me. I felt sure it was a snake. In-
stead, it was a silly cow, nibbling grass.

Morning finally came. I glanced at Slim’s sleeping
face, and saw that it was black. "Oh! yes, from thatTHE MAIN STEM

97

black sand last night.” I roused him by standing on
his abdomen. He caught my calves and made me fall
on the grass.

"Wake up, my dusky beauty, for jocund morn stands
tiptoe on the misty mountain tops, and your face is as
black as a shine’s. You certainly are a dirty looking
bum.”

"You’ve nothing to brag about. Your mug looks
as if Uncle Tom was your immediate ancestor.”

"Gosh, does it? And look at my pants. And, good
lord, look at yours. Gee, whiz! we are dirty.”

We got up, undecided as to what to do.

"Those willows down there look as if there might be
a stream nearby. Let’s go and see.”

We found the stream, pulled off our clothes, and pad-
died in the water. Three boys approached us.

"Say, kids, can you get us a cake of soap?”

The boys looked at us stupidly. Finally one of them
said, "Yeah, I’ll get youse some soap.”

"There’s some money in those pants.”

The boys returned in ten minutes with a bar of
laundry soap, and with two or three other boys. About
half a dozen kids stood looking at us unresponsively.
We tried to talk to them, but they would not enter
into the spirit of the bath. It seemed as if the sight
of two grown men, washing themselves and their clothes,
had struck them dumb. Before we emeiged, clean and
dripping, with a roll of wet clothes, they had left.

It took about an hour for our clothes to dry in the
bright, warm sunshine. Then we walked towards what
we thought was the direction of a town. Within an
hour we were eating breakfast in a little hash-house in
Suffern, New York. The train to Gotham would soon
be due. As soon as I had settled into the green cushionsTHE MAIN STEM

98

of the coach I dozed off. Slim woke me to point out
some scenic beauty of the Ramapo mountains. "For
Kee-rist’s sake, buy Snappy Stories or the Atlantic
Monthly, and shut up, and let me sleep. I didn’t kip
all last night.”

I woke up in New York City.CHAPTER X

"Back to the slave market,” said Slim, as we walked
out into the valleys of New York. Soon we were in the
Bowery, staring at the familiar, crazily written signs
of employment agencies: We halted long before this
sign:

Unskilled labor
Filling plant, io hours,

40 cents an hour. Time and a Vi
for overtime. Bunkhouse free
Meals 30 cents. Near South River, New Jer.

"Let’s see, that makes four-forty a day, minus ninety
cents for meals: three and a half clear. But I wonder
what a filling plant is?” We asked three or four stiffs
who were scanning the signs, before we received this
answer:	"They make yah put T.N.T. in shells. First

yah boils the T. N. T. Then yah pours the soup in
shells. Then yah bores holes in the T.N.T. wen it’s
solid, so’s’ey kin put in a fuse. Helluva job. The
T.N.T. is poison; yah lips gits blue, an’ yah face an*
hair gits yalla. They call ’em 'canaries’ wen they gets
the T.N.T. poison in their guts.”

But this did not delfer us. "What do you say to our
going up there—if it’s only for a few days? We can
stand it physically. And, mentally and morally, it
would be a good thing to get into contact with a high

99100

THE MAIN STEM

grade industrial poison.” I liked the idea. We reported
when it came time to leave for South River.

We were herded to the train, some twenty of us. A
few were drunk, a few were sick, recovering from a
drunk. There were some young men in the gang. This
was unusual, for young men were at war. In New
York we had seen more young stiffs, on the docks and
in the slave market, than we had seen elsewhere. A
large number of our former fellow-workers had been
men of about forty.

On the train one young fellow of about eighteen, very
dark, with deep-set, shifty eyes, picked us out as his
companions. He was slender, undernourished, and bore
the marks of early dissipation and degeneracy. Once
our conversation was well under way, he made the fol-
lowing claim: "Hell, all dem guys was pals of mine.
Lefty Louie, Gyp the Blood—all dat Rosenthal crowd
was me buddies. Dey taught me to shoot straight.
Hell, I’d as leave kill a man as look at ’im.”

If we had believed all this, we should have cultivated
an acquaintance with the lad. But he was so obviously
lying that we had no further interest. When he left
us Slim said: "He’s probably been to a reform school for
a year, and has developed there the habit of admiring
the criminal hero. He day-dreams about heroic crimes,
and probably imagines that he will be a famous gunman
some day.”

The train rolled along, while twenty stiffs were won-
dering what sort of job, what sort of foreman, what
sort of camp we were rolling to. Soon the man catcher
told us to get off at the next stop, for we were approach-
ing our destination. When we got off we all looked
about us eagerly to see if we could find propitious signs.
The place looked innocent—a woodland scene. But,THE MAIN STEM

IOI

as I later learned, the surrounding country was a nest
of powder mills and filling plants, with their thousands
of workers.

We were led through wooded paths to a road along
which was a high wire fence. Inside the fence were
several large, low buildings, all temporary wooden af-
fairs. This was the filling plant. There was no noise
of machinery. Here and there guards paced back and
forth. All of them were company guards, paid by the
owners. They carried revolvers and clubs. Most of
our other jobs had been on government reservations,
which had been guarded by soldiers.

We were led to the employment office. Here our
pictures were taken, developed instantly, and mounted
in little leather fobs bearing our numbers. These were
given us as identification tags. I hated the idea of being
photographed like a criminal, and scowled like a thunder
cloud at the camera. Slim still has this picture of me;
and when I last visited him at his home in California,
we looked at it again. "Look at that wild hair. You
hadn’t had a haircut for three months. Look at the
smudge on the cheeks. Look at that nasty scowl. And
under it all, 'No. 563.’ Ha! ha! ha!”

When we were all ready for entrance into ths plant,
one of the guards said:

"You fellers’ll haf to put yer cigarettes an’ matches
in this box as yer pass in. Can’t have any smoking in
this plant.” As we passed through the gate we all threw
our butts and matches into a rough box. To make
assurance doubly sure, we were carefully searched by
the guards.

Once inside the plant we were divided into a number
of groups by the superintendent. "No. 5,” he said to
a guard, waving towards one group. This meant thatzoz

THE MAIN STEM

these men were to be turned over to the foreman of
Building Number Five. "No. J2.” "No. 7.” He had not
yet designated our group. Finally he said: "These boids
are big brutes. Take ’em down to Larson.” Like the
negro slaves, described in Garrison’s harrowing editori-
als on slavery, we all hoped that Larson would be a good
fellow; and when we saw him, a big Swede, we inwardly
rejoiced, for he looked benign and tolerant.

With about eight men, Larson was unloading a freight
car filled with boxes of gunpowder. We were told to
fall to. A conveyor was mounted on the car. A con-
veyor is an affair which looks like a short ladder with
rungs about two inches apart. The rungs revolve.
When it is laid flat, a box can be slid along the rolling
surfaces. The gunpowder boxes, about the size of a
steamer trunk, rolled down into a small red shed of
corrugated iron, which looked like a large, knock-down,
metal garage. Here the boxes were stacked up to the
ceiling. The boxes, weighing about two hundred pounds,
were built up like steps, so that the workers could
clamber up to the top "stepping” the boxes up to the
roof.

We worked about an hour, ’raslin’ with the heavy
boxes. As one came off the conveyor, we would "walk”
it over to where the boxes were arranged like stairs to
the roof. We coaxed it up the first step, up the second,
and finally we reached the topmost layer. Here, we
would arrange it square with the other boxes, clamber
down the steps, and get another box. It was fearfully
hot just under the metal roof, and I wondered if the
heat and the rough handling would not explode the
gunpowder. I mentioned my fears to one of the veter-
ans of the gang. "Ha! ha! ye’ll get over dat. De
foist time I worked in dis place I come near------THE MAIN STEM

103

(soiling) my pants, I was so scairt. But dey don’t
nuttin’ explode here. Over dere, were de Mercury
Powder Company is, yer kin see a tower go up in smoke
every toid or fort day. But dat ain’t a fillin’ plant.
Dey makes de gunpowder over dere.” He was point-
ing to a nearby powder works. All I could see of it
was a chimney whose black breath troubled the sky.

It was late in the afternoon. A whistle soon blew
for quitting time. Slim and I walked back to the
employment office where, Larson had told us, we could
get meal tickets. On the way out I asked a guard for
my cigarettes. He pointed to the rough box. It was
empty. The guard grinned. "We can’t give yer no
claim checks fer yer Philip Morrises. De guys ahead
of youse makes one grand scramble for dis box wen
dey comes out. Sometimes dey accidentally takes a
pack ’at don’t belong to ’em.” I was angry—but im-
potent.

At the employment office we were given a book con-
taining three dollars’ worth of meal tickets. We went
up to the camp and entered the mess hall. Our meal
was a typical worker’s meal—greasy lamb stew, canned
corn baked into a cornstarch pudding to make it go
further, bread made of sawdust, butter made of lard,
meringue pie made of sweetened soap suds, coffee made
of—but the inventive genius of the restaurateur sur-
passes mine. Sugar was being conserved; our coffee
was, therefore, brought to us sweetened, a little.

After dinner I broke my last half dollar for a pack
of cigarettes and for two cakes of chocolate. Slim, more
wisely, bought a quart of milk. This we got at the
commissary. The keeper was a stupid, fat, sow of a
man.

He owned the concession for the mess hall, as wellio4

THE MAIN STEM

as for the commissary. He was responsible for our
daily bread, and for our luxuries. We called him "The
belly-robber.” I grew to hate his fat, his complacency,
and the nasty food he served us. Sometimes I would
say to Slim "Oh! If I could only land one good, hard
punch in that fat belly of his. I’ll bet, though, I’d
faint with disgust to feel my fist burying itself in his
fat.” Slim would laugh.

That first night I was, however, satisfied, and at
peace with the world, including the belly-robber. The
flops we were to sleep in, looked clean, the chocolate
tasted good, the job and the foreman seemed to be all
right. As I thought of Larson and our boxes of gun-
powder, something suddenly occurred to me: "Say, we
didn’t see any operations in T.N.T., did we?”

"No, but I guess that will come.”

It came the next morning. All morning we unloaded
T.N.T. into a shed. The small boxes in which it came
were nailed shut; but the fine yellow powder escaped
under handling, and filled the atmosphere with a bitter,
choking dust. There were rubber masks with sponges
in them hanging on the walls. We tried them on; but
they were all cut on the same pattern, and, designed as
they were to fit all faces, they did not fit anybody’s
face. They were hot and uncomfortable, and did not
in the least mitigate the feeling of irritation to the
mucous membranes. The peculiar, bitter taste persisted
all day. The stiffs chewed tobacco, and urged us to
chew. "A chew ’er terbacca will cut the dust.” We
chewed tobacco, but found no relief.

At noon—and a five-hour morning in T.N.T. dust
is a long time—we went out for lunch. Because it was
too far to the mess hall, box lunches had been brought
to us by the belly-robber’s minions. The place in frontTHE MAIN STEM

105

of the main door was gay. Scores of girls were em-
ployed in some of the buildings, and they came out to
flirt with the fellows, to buy ice-cream cones or lunches.
These girls did not, of course, live in the camp. A
special train, operated by the company, took them and
indigenous males from the plant to adjacent towns.

After my lunch I wanted a smoke, but I had prud-
ently left my deck of butts under the mattress in the
flop-house. All around me men were smoking. Where
had they got their cigarettes? I approached a fellow
who was on our gang. "Say, Jack, were didja get the
cigareet?”

"I bunk ’em ’fore I goes into de plant. I got a swell
place.” He offered me one. About three minutes be-
fore the whistle blew an exodus could be seen taking
place. Almost every worker had a hiding place up the
road, or down the road, or under a little bridge, or in
a wood near the road; this hiding place he furtively
reached, shielding his motions, and feinting clumsily.
There he bunked his smokes, and returned with an in-
nocent air to the entrance of the plant. Some of the
men said it was a damn’ shame that this plant could not
do like the DuPont’s, where a good place for safe-keep-
ing was provided for cigarettes, and' where a little book
of matches was to be found in each man’s compartment
when he left the mill. A worker, like a woman, is
to be won with little attentions.

When the whistle blew, we all trooped in, were
searched by the guards, as we were always searched
when we entered the plant. That afternoon Slim and
I were detailed to haul boxes of T.N.T. to Number
Ten. Number Ten was the building in which T.N.T.
was melted and poured into shells. A little car, like
a miniature flat car, ran on rails from the storage shedTHE MAIN STEM

ro6

jto the building where the powder was melted. On this
car Slim and I loaded fifteen or twenty boxes of powder;
then we pushed the car into Number Ten. Here we
unloaded the boxes. This work was not so bad as the
morning work. We were alone, and by working with
our eyes could appear tremendously busy when anyone
passed. Besides, we handled only one-tenth the number
of boxes that had been handled during the morning;
consequently the dust was reduced by nine-tenths.

Every powder shed had a guard assigned to it. The
crazy Southerner who paced up and down in front of
our shed was a nervous, fidgety fellow, of about forty.
He had the blank look of a moron, and carried a double
barreled shotgun instead of a revolver. He was con-
tinually aiming the piece at some imaginary Hun. What
battles he must have been the hero of! He looked under
the shed every ten minutes; he used more energy on
his beat in an hour than a harness bull in New York
consumes in a week. I was always a little apprehensive
lest his gun go off accidentally.

In Number Ten we saw the "canaries” which had
been described to us so vividly by the stiff on the
Bowery. "Yah lips gits blue, an’ yah face an’ hair gits
yalla. They calls ’em 'canaries’ wen they gets the
T.N.T. poison in their guts.” I said to one of them:
"Say, Jack, how much do you get for workin* in this
T.N.T. dust?”

"Sixty cents” (an hour).

"How do you like it?”

"Not so bad. It’s kinda bad at first. Butcha gits
used tuh it. Fine way to make a stake quick. Worked
overtime yesterday and made twelve dollars. A coupla
more days like ’at an’ I’ll draw about a hundred twenty-
five simoleons for two weeks’ work—clear.”THE MAIN STEM

107

This meant that if he worked every day, including
Sundays, for two weeks; and if he worked eight hours’
overtime for four or five days, he would receive one
hundred twenty-five dollars, clear of all deductions
made for meals. I computed all this rapidly, for I
had become accustomed to the intricacies of "time and
a half Saturday afternoons and Sundays,” "meals, thirty
cents,” "time and a half after eight hours.” I thought
how little one hundred twenty-five was compared to
health. But I said:

"Hell of a fine stake. You can buy yourself two
thousand beers and fifty T-bone steaks.”

The afternoon passed quickly, for Slim and I loafed
pleasantly when the supply of T.N.T. in Number Ten
was meeting the needs of the workers. The whistle
blew; we punched our time clocks as we went out,
and headed straight for the mess hall in the camp.

§

The next morning we arrived on the job a little early.
As we sat within the enclosure, listening to the jabber
of other stiffs, the train pulled in with its load of girl
workers. Soon the bell of the time-clock tinkled over
and over again as the girls, in single file, entered the
premises of the filling plant. The men stared at the
girls openly and naively, commenting on their come-
liness in pbscene terms. A discussion as to the girls’
virtue arose. The debaters quickly aligned themselves
into three schools:

1. The Externalists. These maintained that a girl’s
condition of virtue could be detected by a cursory and
superficial examination. They singled out, (as they
pointed to the breast and abdomen) the virtuous and
the sinners.io8

THE MAIN STEM

2.	The Internalists. These maintained that the ex-
ternalists were in error, and that only a thorough ex-
amination with apparel removed could answer the ques-
tion of feminine virtue.

3.	The Cynics. These maintained that both external-
ists and internalists were in error. They held that all
girls at the age of sixteen were deflowered.

A whistle ended the debate. Ten hours of work
faced us. Slim and I found ourselves under a new fore-
man, for Larson had been promoted to superintendent.
Larson, incidentally, celebrated his promotion with
Nordic thoroughness. He was not on the job for a
week; and when he finally returned to the job he found
himself in disgrace. We never heard of him again.

Johnny Simpson, the new foreman, was an ambitious
young man of thirty-five. His wife, too, must have
been ambitious or extravagant, for one day he told
us, a little sadly, "Every time I come home at the
regular quitting time, my wife gets conniption fits.
'Why didn’t you work overtime?’ she asks. 'Don’t
you know we’ve got to give the kid dancing lessons?’—
And music lessons, and electrocution lessons, and only
the Lord knows what not.”

Johnny was ambitious to become superintendent, even
as Larson had become one. But, of course, he would
have to wait until Larson’s successor was either pro-
moted or discharged. This fact worked a hardship
on us, for Johnny’s immediate objective was to make
a better record of car loadings than any other shipping
gang foreman before him. He pushed us hard. He
pushed us as hard as he dared, even to the point of fear.
One could often detect the note of fear in his voice
when, after nine hours’ hard, back-breaking work, he
would say to us: “Come on fellows—just one hour be-THE MAIN STEM

109

fore quitting time. Let’s work like hell and load this
car.” A throaty, inarticulate growling would come
from us. But workers are most docile when they growl.
We worked harder, perhaps, because we were silent and
angry than we should otherwise have worked. And
the car would be loaded in record time. Johnny would
then complacently make a little note in his book, and
say:	"Ye done noble, fellows. You loaded two cars

of 75’s today; and you unloaded one gunpowder, two
shells, and one cartridge.”

I think most of us felt proud of our record, for even
the laziest bum has some slight pride of achievement.

§

Our shipping gang was constantly changing. Work-
ers dropped out; others came to take their places, accom-
panied by the man-catcher from New York. There
were, nevertheless, a few characters who stand out in
my memory as having been permanent fixtures—per-
manent for two months. There were two negroes, Joe
and Georgia. Joe was a large, conscientious, "refined,”
married negro. He had been a small farmer in New
Jersey until the war came with steady employment and
convenient jobs. His sons had just about grown old
enough to run the farm under his direction. Every
day, including Sundays, he reported for work. He
was anxious to work overtime. His fortunes must have
prospered under his cautious, thrifty guidance. He
rarely swore; he "knew his place” but was not servile;
and we all liked him. Only once did he attract atten-
tion. Ed, another member of the gang, said to us one
day:

"Crikes! D’ye know wot Joe jes* tole me? He says
he ain* never seen his wife naked.”iio

THE MAIN STEM

**Ye ben married fifteen years, Joe, an’ ye don’t know
wotcha got yet?”

"Better give her de once-over ternight, ole man, she
may be keepin* sumpin from yer.”

Joe grinned with embarrassment at these taunts, but
said nothing.

The other negro, Georgia, was given this name when
we learned his home state. He was a young, slender
negro, ugly as Caliban in the face, but with a well-made
body. He had never been among white equals before;
but he made his adjustments easily with companions
whose economic status was the same as his own. He
rarely said anything. He never, like the rest of us,
tried to fade into the background when a nasty job was
to be done. Georgia, always willing, reserved, silent,
hard-working, was a favorite. Once he got into an
argument with a guard. Every man of the gang had
his eyes glued on the guard. Had he made the slightest
move to harm Georgia, we would have pulverized that
poor henchman. And he knew it. Fully armed, he
took all of Georgia’s back talk and withdrew with his
tail between his legs.

There was about Georgia an aura of mysteriousness.
He had come from a place hundreds of miles away. He
went into the negro flop-house, unknown and unosten-
tatiously. The first night the stranger won a hundred
dollars, or thereabouts, at craps. His luck continued un-
cannily. During all the time he was with us he was
pointed out, by superintendent and water boy, as the
shine who was cleaning up a fortune at the nigger
flop-house. He never had a buddy; he never spent his
winnings, so far as we knew. He always reported for
work. He was never found drunk in spite of the rumorsTHE MAIN STEM	hi

that he had a thousand dollars in his sock—or some-
where.

Jack was one of the most picturesque members of our
gang. He was a comic-supplement Oirishman, with a
circular band of whiskers to frame his ugly face. He,
too, was a hard worker, who appeared on the job reg-
ularly. He lived in the past, but not a more opulent
past than the present. The past was not with him, as
it was with others whose confidence I won, a period
during which a good job, a family, and respectability
had played their benign parts. No, he was a lost soul at
birth. He was:

"the son with the nervous feet
That never were meant for a steady beat.”

He had worked everywhere.

His glowing past was a past filled with friendships
for men and women. In his younger days he had had a
"buddy,” good and true, who had never held out a
nickel on him. Their money was put into a common
"pot.” They never had had but one fight; and after
that fight they wuz better buddies than they had ever
been before. They understood each other thoroughly.
"Sometimes Shorthy an* me, we use to showvel black
diamonds fer three hourrs, an* never say a wurrud.”

One day, however, Shorty took a tumble from a side-
door Pullman. If they had let Jack take care of him,
everything would have been well. But the damn* bulls
took one to the horsepittel an* t’other to thuh cooler
(jail). "When Jack was released, he learned that Shorty
had died of his injuries.

I particularly remember a discussion on the character
of Irish women of the old days. Jack was saying: "SomeIll

THE MAIN STEM

of the bulls was a-runnin’ afther me; an* when Oi got
into the room upsthairs in Pat’s saloon, Oi could hearr
’em a hollerrin’ below. Mrs. McGuire, Pat’s woife, said,
'Jack, git under my skirths, ye dam’ fool. Wot in hell
ye been afther doin’ now?’ Oi got under her skirts, an’
the bulls come into the room. They looked in the
closets, an’ they asked Mrs. McGuire about me. An*
she said, 'Oi want you to know, Misther Officer, that
Oi don’t allow no bums an’ vags in moi house.* An*
me between her legs all the toime.”

A doubting Thomas broke in: "Them women
wouldn’t let a man git under their dresses. Some whore
might, if you was pimpin’ for her. But the wife of a
rich saloonkeeper, she wouldn’t.”

"Eh? An’ who are you, young feller, to be sayin’
that? Shure, those ole toime Oirish women had hearts
of gold. They was friends to all the bums. Mrs.
McGuire was a damn’ foine woman, loike all the ole
Oirish.”

Another member of the gang was Little Slim. Lit-
tle, to distinguish him from my friend, who was Big
Slim. Little Slim was always considered somewhat
looney. He shot off his mouth a lot, though not boast-
fully. He was merely a big, idle talker. This helped
to give him the reputation of being looney. But per-
haps the greatest cause for his being considered half-daft
was that he was a clumsy worker. There is an instinct
of workmanship in even the most confirmed bum. If
it is outraged by egregious workmanship on the part of
a laborer, his fellows think there is something wrong.
Little Slim amused and disgusted us by his clumsy hop-
ping and shuffling when he carried a heavy load. He
did not walk straight when he had a two hundred pound
box of gunpowder on his back. He shuffled, he hopped,THE MAIN STEM

1X3

he would even drop it. Had he been too frail for the
load, we would have sympathized. But he was a power-
ful fellow. We therefore censured his sixth-rate work.
Men hated to be paired with him while unloading heavy
boxes, for his lack of rythmic sense made a crushed
foot imminent at every move.

There were a few others in the gang whose characters
and faces are nearly effaced from my memory. I re-
member one lad who was taken away by Federal officers
because he did not have a war-draft registration card.
Three or four times while we were on this job, Federal
officers would be at the exits of the plant, and would
make us show cause why we were not in the service.
Many of the workers were too old to fall under the age
limit (thirty-one) of the first draft. A few on the ship-
ping gang were too young. Others had exemption
papers. We were all required to submit our credentials
if there was any doubt.

§

So long as we were not unloading T.N.T. I did not
object to the hard work of the shipping gang. It was
fun to throw a box containing nine completed 75 mm.
shells into place. Slim would take one end, and I the
other. By practice we had discovered each other’s
rhythms. Then, at the proper moment, Heave! and
we would throw a two hundred pound box a foot above
our heads, cushioning and guiding its short fall as it
landed upon a neat stack of five or six other boxes.
We could have kept time to music as we lifted the box
from the conveyor, wiggle-waggled it for a moment
like a golfer about to drive. Then, Swingo! Up she
went, with a beautiful follow-through. A thud! the114	THE MAIN STEM

box was in place, and we went to the conveyor for the
next.

But there were times when I didn’t feel in a mood
for a beautiful Swingo! and Heave-o! One day the
foreman had run us ragged unloading gunpowder,
T.N.T., shells, cartridges. The new superintendent had
just told Johnny to go back to the gunpowder and un-
load a car before quitting time. We went across the
grounds, and I was told to carry a conveyor along. The
conveyors were heavy things with sharp metal edges
that cut into one’s back. I was angry—saw red. Carry-
ing a conveyor was bad enough; but the prospect of
unloading the heavy gunpowder boxes into the hot,
corrugated iron sheds, was worse.

When I reached the shed, I threw the conveyor ahead
of me as hard and as far as I could. Johnny said: "What
the hell’s the matter with you, Blondey?”

"Aw—kiss the seat of my pants.”

We took our accustomed places at the conveyor, in
a box car, and in the shed. By a sort of tacit agreement,
we had all grouped ourselves according to strength.
Slim and I, with three or four other huskies, worked
in the shed. One of the fellows, who was nursing an
injured hand, worked on the conveyor with Whitey, a
consumptive stiff. The others worked in the car. But
this afternoon I was tired, and I broke precedents by
stationing myself at the conveyor, where all you had to
do was push the boxes along—a cinch of a job.

"Blondey, ye’re cock-eyed as hell. Git in the shed
were ye belong.”

"Goddam ye, ye dirty sons of ■ - . All right.
Damn ye. I’ll get in that shed.”

Trembling with rage I got into the shed. I took the
first box that rolled down the conveyor. Jack grabbedTHE MAIN STEM

n*

the other end to help me. I pushed him away. "Get
to hell away from here.” I carried the two-hundred
pound box myself, threw it into place with an untapped
reserve of strength, and hurried back to the conveyor.
There was no waiting box.

"Say, ye damn* slow-pokes. Why in hell don’t you
roll those boxes down. Ed, you clumsy bastard, roll
down one of those boxes before I knock ye for a goal.”

For an hour I worked in a frenzy, swearing at every-
body, swearing if the boxes were not ready for me,
swearing if the stiffs were in my way, swearing at the
foreman. I was allowed the right of way, and was
permitted to work unmolested.

It was hot. The sun had beaten down all day on the
iron roof. Near the top of the shed, where the boxes
were being stacked, the heat was like that of a boiler
room. But I worked on as in a dream, with perspira-
tion running down into my eyes, with shirt and trousers
wringing wet.

At last the car was unloaded. A moment later the
whistle blew. Slim and I walked towards the gate,
punched our clocks, and went out. Not a word had
been said.

"Well, old boy, you sure did make an ass of your-
self today. But I know how I can make you do things
now. If I can make you mad, you’ll work like hell.”

Slim said this mockingly. Under ordinary circum-
stances I should have said, "Oh! go to hell.” But today
was extraordinary. I aimed a punch straight at Slim’s
jaw. He parried and punched back. I was stunned for
a moment by the force of the blow. Even in my daze
I realized what I had done. I had struck my best friend
And he had struck me! While Slim was still on guard
to protect himself from a second pugilistic venture, ITHE MAIN STEM

ii 6

turned towards the camp and walked ahead, silently
trying to rationalize my actions.

"Of course, I had been wrong to flare up so at Slim,
but, damn it all, Slim wasn’t perfect himself. Why
did he always have to tease? Why did he adopt that
mocking tone sometimes? For this once he might have
respected my rage and might have kept silent. By golly,
when you come to think of it, I’m the only person who
has been tolerant of him for so long. That experience
of his in the district attorney’s office. He said he
couldn’t stand it. Bull. Bet they couldn’t stand him.
Bet they kicked him out. Bet they got tired of his
damn* self importance. His wife! My God—how I’d
hate to be his wife! He left her? Like hell he left
her! Bet she gave him the razzberry.”

Thus speculating on Slim’s social qualities, I reached
the mess-hall. Slim sat beside me, as usual, but said
only a few words.

Within two or three days we were on a semi-pleasant
footing again. But it took months to eradicate the
memory of our exchange of blows.

There were no more long conversations in the evening,
for Slim was now working overtime every night. He

had received a letter from San T------------telling him

that his parents were in need, and Slim was sending
money home. I should have liked to work overtime to
help him; but we both looked upon our nightly
separations as a fortunate thing. We were avoiding
each other so far as possible. I was picking up new
friends.

§

Slim and I had gone nearly a month without pay. It
is a policy of employers to "hold back” a week’s payjTHE MAIN STEM

117

or two weeks*. If a pay day occurs on Wednesday, and
if one is hired on Thursday, there is no pay on the next
pay day, for two weeks have not yet expired since em-
ployment. One must wait until two weeks later. This
makes twenty-seven days without pay.

Slim and I had been hired under just such conditions.
We were not, to be sure, in want. All of our meals had
been purchased with scrip issued by the company. I sold
my thirty cent meal tickets for twenty cents, sometimes,
and bought smokes with the money. But I needed
shoes; somebody had stolen my toothbrush. My teeth
felt fuzzy and slimy.

Well, pay day finally came. The long file of men
which usually went to the camp mess-hall at six o’clock
took the opposite direction today. All noses pointed
towards the town, South River, sniffing beer, gin and
whiskey. Slim and I were walking along together, with
hurrying workers behind us and before us. "What
are you going to do with your pay?” Slim asked.

"Well, I’m going to buy a nice, cool beer first. Then
I’m going to a good restaurant, even if I do like a bum,
and get a porterhouse three inches thick, with mush-
rooms. French fried and a lettuce salad. Roquefort
and crackers. Orange ice, too. I need some shoes, too.
And, of course, a shave and a haircut. And a tooth-
brush.”

As we entered the town of South River we passed a
barber shop. For some reason it was not crowded, even
though pay day brings big business to these shops. Bums
will sometimes spend their last dimes on a shave. There
is something caressing about the ministrations of a
barber. The clean smell of soap, witch hazel, and the
cool feel of menthol creams is in pleasing contrast to118

THE MAIN STEM

the harsh soaps the bum uses, and the bad smells he
lives with.

We sat in the chairs, feeling the luxuriance of hot
cloths, the cold, moving clippers, soft hands rubbing
our cheeks, piquant lotions that made you feel clean.
When we rose from the chair we felt our smooth faces
and the prickly hair on our clipped necks. There was
a feeling of well-being.

"Now, let’s get that beer.” '

We headed towards a saloon. It was already crowded
with stiffs from our plant. A few had succeeded in
getting drunk already. They were the jovial fellows
who were as much intoxicated by the thought of
liquor as by the liquor itself.

"Look, there’s Jack. Let’s buy him a beer.” Jack
greeted us effusively. We drank a stein; and, as we were
leaving, Slim said, "Well, Jack, don’t take any wooden
nickels tonight. Don’t get drunk, and don’t let any
women get your money away from you.”

"Aw, Jasus, cut the surrmon, an’ slop up a gallon
o’ whiskey wit’ yer ole fren’. An’ if yez wants some
ladies ter help yer spend yer wages, Oi c’n tell yez
wherr ter foind some of the foinest gurruls yez everr
laid eyes on.”

But Slim and I walked away after another leave-tak-
ing. We went to* a restaurant and ordered pretty
much what I had planned to order. But our dinner
was a failure because, I suppose, we expected something
divine and received only common, ordinary steak,
potatoes and lettuce salad. Still, it was fifty times
better than camp food; and we realized it. But it fell
short of our dreams.

After dinner I bought shoes, heavy worker’s shoes.
I also bought a toothbrush and some gritty tooth-THE MAIN STEM

119

paste. I was so happy about the toothbrush that I
could not wait until we reached camp. I went up a
dark alley and, without water, scrubbed at my teeth
with the brush and paste. It seemed to me that I could
feel the hard surfaces of the enamel now instead of
the soft, green deposit which had so long offended my
tongue.

We ate five or six ice-cream sundaes, and had as
many beers and whiskeys. We bought two limburger
and onion sandwiches, eating them as we wandered up
and down the streets.

We looked at all the shop windows, and walked non-
chalantly past the girls who hummed softly as we went
by, or who said:

“Big boy, have you got a cigarette?”

"Slim, come on in.”

Finally we started to go towards camp. On our way
we dropped into a saloon to get a few last drinks. The
place was a bedlam. The hard tones of a mechanical
piano were scarcely heard above the singing, hollering,
and argument of our fellow-workers. Jack was still
here. He had forgotten all about the foine gurruls, and
was saying:

“Yez say the Oirish have never done nothin’! Well,
sirr, who but the Orish made Cook County Jail what it
is today?” His eyes were bleary, his loud speech pun-
tuated by belchings.

Little Slim was sullenly sitting at a table. Two
workers whom I knew by sight were dancing in a dis-
gustingly homosexual manner. Three barkeepers with
dirty white aprons were drawing beer, pouring whiskey,
and pocketing whatever money the drunks laid on the
counter without making change. The workers them-
selves forgot about their change. The odors were of120

THE MAIN STEM

beer, whiskey, tobacco, vomitings and other excreta.
We walked out of the blue, thick atmosphere without
our drinks, and returned to the untenanted flop house
in the camp.

Next day only a few faithfuls reported for duty,
Georgia, Joe, Slim, a few others, and I. The entire plant
was demoralized. Number Ten was deserted. Even
the ranks of the girls were decimated, we noticed, when
they entered the plant that morning.

In a few days everything was normal again. A ship-
ment of men from New York filled the places of those
who had quit for good. Many of the drunks returned.
Those on our gang told us of their adventures, how they
had waked to find themselves in a strange, deserted
building, or in a ditch, or in a woman’s bed; how they
had lost all their money, or their caps, or shirts, or even
trousers.CHAPTER XI

I Have said that Slim’s relations and mine had become
strained. He was working overtime nearly every night.
I scarcely saw him except at meals and at work. Our
evening chats were a thing of the past. Our relations
were civil, courteous, but not warm. My gregarious
instinct demanded new friends.

One day there came to our bunkhouse two boys.
They seemed better educated than the average new
arrivals. I talked to them, and the next evening we
went down to the creek to pick huckleberries. The boys
told me that they had come to "Joisey” because they
were wanted in New York for having stolen fine silks
and laces from the docks, where they had worked as
longshoremen. They had many hundreds of dollars
worth of goods in their suitcases.

As we picked huckleberries, their conversation turned
on their friends whom they had not discussed, appar-
ently, for some time. I was merely a listener.

"Were’s Bill now?”

"Damfino. Last I hoid, Bill wuz in Mexico. They
wanted him fer that job at Ginsboig’s.”

"He wuz a good feller. D’ja know ’at Lefty wuz
paroled?”

"No? Helped me brudder wen he wuz doin’ ’is bit.
Glad tuh hear it. Ever hear ennthin’ ’bout Slim Jim?”

"Sure, he’s doin’ ’is bit up tuh de island.”122

THE MAIN STEM

"Did I ever tell yer ’bout de last time de bulls nabbed
me? It wuz funnier’n hell. Dey put me big brudder
on de toid tier of de jail. I wuz on the secon’; an’ me
kid brudder wuz on de foist. We wuz all under each
odder. I hollered up an’ sez, 'Jake, wot’s happened tuh
yer?’ He hollers back, 'Remanded. Wot’s happened
ter you?’ ‘Remanded,’ I sez. Den me kid brudder
piped up—we didn’t know were ’e wuz—'Hey, youse
guys up dere? I hearn yez. I got remanded, too.* An’
’en we all laughs ter beat hell.”

The thing that struck me about this conversation
was their indifference to a jail sentence. A few months
in jail was to them a debt that they owed society in
order that they might ply their trade, as one pays income
tax. To them a jail sentence was what an industrial
depression is to a capitalist, or a charliehorse to a base-
ball player—a nuisance, an impairment of earning
capacity, but, after all, to be reckoned with, to be
borne as one bears anything which is inherent in the
nature of things.

The boys left a few days after our huckleberrying.
We had been rather friendly together, but they did not
say good-bye to me. Perhaps they had been obliged
to leave in a hurry.

Frenchy was my next new friend. He was a Bel-
gian teacher of gymnastics who had been forced to flee
from his native country soon after the German invasion.
In America he sought refuge; and, after a few unsuc-
cessful attempts at various jobs, he found a place at
light work in one of the buildings of the filling plant.

He had managed, by right of seniority, to secure a
little room of his own in the flophouse; and this room he
decorated with curtains, wild flowers, a picture of theTHE MAIN STEM

i*3

Madonna. He built himself a writing desk on which
he wrote letters home, computed his pay, and studied
English grammars. There was nothing migratory in
his make-up. His room was arranged for permanent
occupancy. He had sheets in his bed. The vermin-
infected blankets which had been given him were
sweetened by repeated washings in the brook.

The fact that we both spoke French was our first
bond. Then he became dependent on my English. I
taught him a little of the new language he was trying
to master. I helped him straighten out some questions
of payment of wages in which the company had made
a clerical error. It was his policy to draw less than
half his pay, and to leave the remainder with the com-
pany, like a bank deposit.

The poor food of the mess-hall he supplemented with
his cooking on an electric grill. He stole lettuce from
a nearby truck farm, and we had many delicious
'salaries’ with garlic, olive oil and lemon juice. Under
his bed was a crock in which huckleberries were fer-
menting, and another in which he was making 'anisette.’
A visit to his cozy room always meant a good drink and
a delicious salade, or gateau. On coolish evenings it
was 'une petite tasse de chocolat.’

My friendship with Frenchy ended abruptly. On our
shipping gang was a tall, pale, consumptive stiff, named
Whitey. His face had lines of dissipation and pre-
mature old age. His hair was white. The work on the
gang was too hard for him and I became friendly enough
with him to shield him from the hardest tasks. He was
allowed to work at the conveyor, pushing the boxes
along on the rollers. But even this left him very tired
at the end of the day.124

THE MAIN STEM

Perhaps I was interested in him because of the snatches
of song that I used to hear him sing. A singing worker
is not a common phenomenon. Between the thuds of
heavy boxes and the screech of unoiled conveyor rollers,
I would hear these fragments:

"The canary don’t sing,

And the door-bell don’t ring,

Since you stopped calling on me.”

"She was more to be pitied than censured.”

These two fragments he sang plaintively and sweetly.
At other times he sang out boldly:

"I met her in a bar-room,

In-a little New York town,

Her drawers were hangin’ down,

She wore a See-more gown,

I kissed her as I put
A yellow tulip in her hand,

*Oh!’ she said, T think
You’re simply grand.’ ”

"They wore the grass half off the hill,

But she died with her boots on still,

So wot the hell, sd wot the hell.”

Well, one night after dinner, Whitey and I were
sitting outside the bunkhouse smoking. He said:
"Ye’re a young feller, smart an’ quick, an’ y* oughta
git outa dis life. Y’ain’t a heavy drinker yet; but ye
will be soon, ’cause dis life drives any man ter drink.
An’ ye know dat ole song:THE MAIN STEM

I25

*Twas a goddam whiskey
An* a gay young laydee,

Made a goddam monkey
Outa me.*

"Liquor has made a goddam monkey outa me, Blondey.
Sometimes I gits on the water wagon an* holes on tight.
Wen pay day comes aroun’, I sez to myself *Ye can have
one drink, Whitey, ole man, if ye’ll hole on tight. Doan’
matter if ye slip a little, if ye got a good, tight holt ona
rope.* An’ en I takes my drink. But one drink! an,’
my God! I let go a de rope wid bot’ han’s. I fall in
de gutter on my royal American sitdownski. An’ I
stay in a gutter until some bull comes along an’ plays
a tune on my soles nex’ morning’.

“Now, ’ere’s jes one more little bitta advice ’fore I
flops fer de night. You an’ Frenchy ben good pals.
But I guess you doan know ’at Frenchy’s a fairy (homo-
sexualist). Steer clear of that frog if yer wants any
respec’ from de stiffs in dis camp.” Whitey coughed,
lit another cigarette, and left me.

I did not believe my ears. There was nothing ma-
licious about Whitey, of that I felt sure. But I also
felt sure that the monstrous charge against Frenchy was
untrue. “Just because he has a pretty room*, and because
he has a habit of wearing wild flowers in his button-
hole, and because his ways are foreign, these stiffs think
there’s something wrong.” So I thought to myself.

For a few days after Whitey’s information, I con-
tinued my friendship with the Belgian gymnast. But
before a week had passed, Whitey came up to me
excitedly: “If yer wants ter see Frenchy in de act,
foiler me.” We went rapidly and silently to Frenchy’s
room. Through the keyhole one could see. Thereli6

THE MAIN STEM

was a twelve-year-old boy in the room. The sight dis-
gusted me. I felt sick.

§

Three or four pay days had passed. I had been work-
ing faithfully every day, and had saved enough money
to buy a new outfit of “regular” clothes, and to put
fifty dollars in the South River Bank for safe-keeping.

The girls in the plant had begun to interest me. Their
quivering silk calves, high bosoms, and pretty young
faces made an appeal which could not long be resisted.
I had heard that in Sayresville, a nearby town, dances
were being held where the girls of our plant went to be
kissed, hugged and demoralized.

One evening, after work, I gulped dinner and went
to the brook for a bath. Then I dressed in my new
outfit. It was the first time in months that I had worn
a high collar, a white shirt, or a necktie. At twilight I
sauntered forth in my KollegerKuts. Three or four
workers whom I knew saw me, but none of them recog-
nized me in the fading light and in my swanky clothes.
I did not look like a stiff dressed up; I looked like a
college boy. And this was what made recognition
difficult for my co-laborers. When a worker dresses
up there are always tell-tale marks, as unmistakable
as the hayseed of the fictive hick. The dressed-up
working-plug wears a red necktie askew; his coat is an
ancient model; his heavy shoes violate the ensemble;
his clumping walk betrays him.

Reflecting on this I walked towards Sayresville. When
I reached the town I asked a man for the dance hall,
and soon reached it. It was an open air dancing pa-
vilion in the center of a large lot, overgrown with weeds.
I walked up the short stairs to the level of the illuminedTHE MAIN STEM

127

dance floor. Two or three young bucks were at the
rail with their tarts, hurling slang repartee at each
other. One of the tarts took my admission fee. She
threw the thirty cents into a cigar box; and then, from
another box, she took a paper carnation and pinned it
on my lapel. This was the receipt—a red carnation for
the boys, a white for the girls.

“Oh! Isn’t that nice?” I said in my best junior prom
style. I felt conscious that they were staring after
me. "Oh! Isn’t that nice?” What a damn’ fool I’d
been! But what acknowledgement should I have made?
“Gee, kid, that’s swell.” Yes, perhaps that would have
been better. Perhaps a stolid acceptance, with no ac-
knowledgment whatever, would have been best.

The floor was not yet crowded. Only a few had
arrived. I looked at every face. There, over there by
the orchestra, was a girl who worked in Number Five.
Under that wobbly Japanese lantern was a young elec-
trician’s helper whom I knew fairly well. That girl
on the rough bench was also in our plant. There were
a dozen others whom I did not recognize. The or-
chestra struck up a fox-trot.

Now, how shall I ask one of these girls for a dance?
No need of introductions, that much I knew. Which
would be best, “C’mon kid, let’s prance this out?” Or,
“May I have this dance?” How I wished these girls
were men. I could talk to the men. The formula was
simple; noun or pronoun, obscene adjective; verb, ob-
scene adverb; object, obscene adjective. All similes
had reference to hell on the unemphatic levels—hot
as hell, cold as hell, pretty as hell. On the emphatic
levels you used excreta or sexual organs as a basis for
comparison.

But these girls!128

THE MAIN STEM

If I didn’t hurry, the fox-trot would be over. I
went towards the girl from Number Five. I meant to
say something flippant, but these words came: "May
I have the honor of this dance?” She said nothing.
She merely stood up, opened her arms, and waited for
me to begin. We were off.

“You work in Number Five, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”

"Good floor, isn’t it?”

"Uh-huh.”

“If it were a little cooler it would be more pleasant,
wouldn’t it?”

"Uh-huh.”

What do proletarian girls talk about, anyhow? I
looked at her. She did not look stupid. Her pretty
black eyes were very intelligent looking. What shall
I say? She was singing softly with the music.
"K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,

You’re the only g-g-g-girl that I adore.”
Desperately I interrupted her in the middle of a
stutter. "Come on out and have an ice-cream sundae
with me after this dance.”

"I got a gen’man fren’ cornin’ an* I hafta stay here
until he comes.”

Bang! went the orchestra on the last note. The
dance was over. She slipped away from me and walked
towards a chair. I made no attempt to follow.

The hall was filling up with young people. There
were no broken, bitter migratory workers here; only
youngsters of the neighborhood, most of whom were
employed in the nearby powder works. They lived
with their parents, something which made it possible
for them to spend their money on silk shirts and frivol-
ous party dresses. Here were youths, earning four orTHE MAIN STEM

129

five dollars daily who, two years ago, chopped kindling,
washed dishes for their mothers, played tag, sailed boats.
They were adolescents now, earning money enough to
threaten to leave home when their parents reproved
them for the purchase of imitation jet beads, silver-
plated cigarette cases, five dollar neckties, fifteen-dollar
shirts.

I walked up and down the slippery floor under a
row of Japanese lanterns. There were long benches
along the guard rails, where sat girls and boys twisted
in lovers’ knots. Their faces were changeless as they
abandoned themselves to their sensations. I could hear
snatches of all sorts of conversation as I passed various
groups:

"D’ja like this belt buckle? Cost me five bucks.”

"She ain’ gonna be here tonight. Her ole man sez
they’s too many roughnecks at these dances.”

"That guy over there in a green suit? Yeah. He
woiks over at DuPont. Name’s Carter. Lives up
roun’ New Brunswick.”

"Got a job as an inspector now. Sixty cents an hour.
Over’t Hercules.”

"He’s a horse’s behind. Somepin wrong in a upper
story, I b’leeve.”

"Wen she dances, she sticks so close to you that yer
oughta wear a jockey strap to look respec’able.”

"I sez to me ole man, *Yer full of condensed horse
manure if ye think I’m gonna stan’ fer that.’ ”

I was a little bored at this unintentional eaves’ drop-
ping. I had not essayed a dance for an hour, had
spoken only to the electrician’s helper. I started to-
wards the exit. "Better go to a movie,” I reflected.

Before I reached the short stairs I looked out on the
grass and weeds surrounding the pavilion. I had heard130

THE MAIN STEM

stories about these dances! “Dey was half a dozen
of ’em, right on de grass (making love) to beat de
band.” But there was not the least flutter of a white
petticoat to brighten the moral sombreness of the
vacant building lot.

The night was too young.

I was about to leave when Charlie Clark, with a bevy
of girls, appeared. He was a young man whom I had
met at the filling plant. We had had two or three
long talks together, and many drinks, at Frenchy’s.
Our affection for each other was not at all in propor-
tion to our exposure to each other. We had been
together only a few short hours in all; but in that time
we had felt many bonds drawing us together.

"Blondey, you’re not leaving, are you? Good Lord,
stick around a while. Let me introduce you to Mary
Pickford, June Caprice, Theda Bara, and Norma Tal-
madge.”

The girls screamed with delight.

“Ain’t Charlie the great kidder?”

“He called you Mary Pickford.”

"Do I look like Theda Bara? I don’t want to be
a vamp.”

“C’mon, Charlie, hurry up. They’re playing T’m
Sorry I Made You Cry*. I love that waltz.

Norma Talmadge and June Caprice immediately
found two fellows who, within fifteen minutes, had
their ham-like paws around the girls’ shoulders. Mary
Pickford, whose name was Charlotte, was Charlie’s
quarry. And Theda Bara, Kitty, was my partner. I
danced the remainder of the evening with Charlotte
and Kitty. My self-consciousness disappeared some-
what now that I was a member of the group, butTHE MAIN STEM

131

Kitty’s reserve showed me that she did not consider
me part of the pack—her pack.

As the dance wore on couples left the dance hall to
go to a confectionery nearby. Here they loudly
clamored for ice cream, candy, and soft drinks. Some
returned immediately to the dance. Others wandered
off to consummate their love-making in dark places.
Sometimes, if they were caught slinking off, a friend
would allude, more or less delicately, to the joys of
serving Venus.

At the end of the dance we went to the interurban
trolley stop. "When the car came a flock of yelling,
screaming youngsters boarded the conveyance. A few
sleepy passengers looked at us with mild curiosity.
Charley and Charlotte, Kitty and I faced each other
after we had pulled over one of the sliding backs. I
put my arm around Kitty, because it seemed to be
part of the code of etiquette. It would have been
insulting if the escort had not shown some slight atten-
tion.

At South Amboy most of us got off the car. Kitty
and Charlotte lived in different parts of the town.
Before we proceeded to the girls’ houses, Kitty called
Charlotte. A whispered consultation. Then Charlotte
called Charlie. More whisperings. I felt like a rank
outsider; but I suspected what was in the wind. Charlie
came back to me. "Kitty is afraid to let you take her
home. Yes, of course, I know it’s preposterous, but
we’ve got to humor these damn* women. A dark
road leads up to her house, and she thinks you may
decide to—you know. Let’s kid ’em along. "Wait here
until I come back. There won’t be a car for half an
hour, anyhow. I’ll be back before then.”132

THE MAIN STEM

Smiling at Kitty’s monstrous egotism, I sat on a
nearby pile of ties and watched the two girls and
Charlie disappear between the glows of arc-lights. I
pulled out a cigarette and blew fine streams of grey
smoke into the moist night air. "As a Don Juan I
make a good work-stiff. These girls may be more
unmoral than co-eds, but give me co-eds any day.
Well, it’s been a good experience. Wish Charlie’d
hurry up. Never go to any of these damn* dances
again.”

§

But I did go once more. Charlie persuaded me.
Before going we went into a saloon and had a few
ginger ale high-balls, beers, and gin-rickeys. Then we
got on a car. I amused myself by jumping off the
step while the car was in motion, running along a few
yards, and then jumping on again.

"Hie—thash how A Number One decksh a cannon
ball ona fly.”

A number One is a half-mythical, half-real hero of
Hobohemia.

We arrived at the dance hall. Red carnations were
pinned on us. I saw a girl who impressed me very
favorably. "C’mon, kiddo, dansh.” She stuck as close
to me as wall paper during the dance. Her soft limbs
were glued to mine. "Whose poppa are you?” She
asked. "You’d make a swell poppa.” I can’t remem-
ber exactly what I replied.

But I had no desire to become this girl’s poppa after
meeting Caroline, a little later in the evening. Caroline
and I got along splendidly. Over the inevitable ice
cream she sighed, "Well, I guess before the night is up,
I’ll have a lot to confess to Father McGurk.”THE MAIN STEM

133

But I did not pursue my advantage. Before eleven
o’clock I called a taxi, left Caroline, Charlie and the
gay dancers. As I stepped haughtily into the cab, three
or four voices called.

"Blondey, come back you damn’ fool.”

"Hey! what’s the matter? Sick?”

"Don’t go.”

I felt gratified.

"Driver, take me to the Blank Company Flophouse.”CHAPTER Xn

Slim had left New Jersey. His parents had weathered
their financial storm, and he was again free to wander.
I had received a card from him postmarked at a little
town on the coast of Massachusetts.

"Plans indefinite. Shall leave for West soon. If
you want to can meet you in N. Y. C. or Cleve. Find
myself wishing for your irascible self. Am reading
crazy book by crazy Harvard psychol. Wundt emas-
culated. Address Gen. Del.”

I sat down and wrote Slim a long letter, mentioning
our fight of many weeks before and tendering my
apologies. I told him of my new friend.

"Think you’ll like Charlie. He’s a young Apollo—
crisp, black hair, curly; fair complexion, straight as
an arrow. Perhaps you’ve noticed him. He’s an
inspector in No. y. Rather frivolous, superficially.
But he has taken an interest in our books. We are
reading lots of things together. He likes Martin Eden.
But he has a convenient headache when I try to feed
him Kautsky. Admires you immensely, from my
descriptions. I think he wants to go West with us.

"I have spent most of my money, what with dances
and 'regular’ clothes. But I have enough to take a
week’s vacation in South River. I need a rest from the
grind of the shipping gang.

"In about ten days, then, I, and perhaps Charlie, shall
go to the Bowery and ship west towards Cleveland.

i34THE MAIN STEM

135

There. I’ll wait for you, and take the trip West. James
Ralston or Mrs. Marston will know my Cleveland
address in case you should not be able to reach me by
mail.”

$

Charlie decided to take the vacation with me. It
was a happy time. I wore ‘regular’ clothes every day.
In the early evenings we went swimming in the Raritan
River. In our boarding house there were clean sheets
on the beds—sheets! I had not slept between sheets
for months. I wore a pair of Charlie’s pajamas at
night, and felt effeminate, and enjoyed the feel.

At the public library we borrowed books. I read
volumes that I had yearned to read. Charlie read with
me a little—here and there an interesting passage. On
a borrowed mandolin we played the latest tunes we had
heard at the dance hall, childish melodies printed on
miniature sheets to save paper to blow up the Germans.

Charlie very soon made it quite clear that he pur-
posed to go West with me and with Slim, whose praises
I was daily singing. He had no family ties; he had
grown to be extremely fond both of me and of the
image of Slim as I painted it.

He spent his money buying books he would never
read. He talked about his school days, when he had
hated his teachers. But now all was different. Was
he not to be truly educated—educated by Slim and by
me? Not educated as one is educated in school, but
educated by stern life and pleasant books. "Gee, I
always have wanted to be educated. I even went to
night school, once, but it was awfully dry, and reading
so much used to give me a headache. I didn’t know
fellows like you and Slim existed. I thought you had136

THE MAIN STEM

to be weak and shrivelled up to be educated. This
theory of yours of learning sociology and economics
and all by bumming our way to the Coast suits me.
Better than reading it out of books.”

We were both enthusiastic about the trip West.
Finally the day of leaving came. We were happy, but
there were some slight regrets, for we had both made
friends at the filling plant. I had worked there three
months. Charlie said good-bye to Charlotte, who, he
said, had cried freely. I did not say good-bye to any-
one, but I keenly felt the loss of Whitey, Jack and even
the damn’ foreman.

We left South River in our working clothes and
mailed our good clothes to James Ralston in Cleveland.
We carried only a small bundle.

The train jerked out of Perth Amboy and we smiled
at each other.

"Well, I certainly liked that old place. I’m glad
I saw the "silk-shirt” worker—had thought it was all
a newspaper fake until I saw a few adolescents buying
them in Amboy. My greatest regret on leaving is that
I did not kill that fat, belly-robbing concessionaire.”

"Yes,” said Charlie, "it is a little sad to leave. But
I’m glad to go for there were many ugly things in that
place. Some things I wish I’d never seen. One day a
thousand shells came through without enough gun-
powder in them. The government inspector saw them
and let them go by—Gaskins was the man. So dumb,
you remember, that he’d let a turnip go by for a
sixteen inch shell. I, company inspector, happened to
see them, and got a fellow to help me put them aside
as they came through on the belt. The superintendent
was mad as hell when he saw a thousand shells on the
floor beside me.THE MAIN STEM

*37

" ’What the hell’s the matter with you, Clark?’ he
said. ’The government inspector let them go by.
There our responsibility ends’. He hollered and raised
general hell. But I said, 'Mr. Turner, I have three
brothers in France. And I, myself, was in the army,
but I got discharged for disability before sailing. Now
I know what these 75’s are used for. They’re used
for barrage fire. If there isn’t enough gunpowder in
them to carry them the proper distance, the shells fall
on our own advancing men, not on the enemy. Before
I send to France any shells that may kill my own
brothers, I’ll beat you up, or Mr. Evanson, or any other

goddam son of a profiteering son of a-----------. Get that

straight.’

"He got mad and I got madder. He cussed and I
cussed. A bunch of workers crowded around us think-
ing we were going to have a little fight. And we did,
damn* near. But in the end he actually saw my point.
I’ll give him credit for that much. The shells were
emptied and re-loaded.

"You didn’t get around the plant much, did you, and
see some of the interesting things? No? Well, did
you hear about the girl in Number Twelve that died
from T. N. T. poisoning? No? They tried to keep
that dark, but I thought even the shipping gang had
bden George to that. The story is simple. Grace’s
work was to clean the outside of shells when they came
in from Number Ten. They all had a little coating of
T. N. T. on them. Well, the gold dust (T. N. T.)
finally got her. She went home sick one day; and a
week later she was dead. That reminds me of the man
that the croakuses (doctors) killed over at the Thor
Company. They lacquered him from head to foot, the
big idea being that if they could close his pores heTHE MAIN STEM

138

wouldn’t absorb much T. N. T.—only a little through
his nose and mouth. He died, not from the T. N. T.,
but from the lacquer.”

I was aghast at these tales. As a member of the
shipping gang I had not had an opportunity to listen
to the gossip that makes the rounds. Charlie, in the
capacity of inspector, had been from one end of the
plant to the other, had spoken on a basis of equality
to foremen, and even to the superintendent. “Tell me
some more, Charlie,” I said. My friend continued:

"And then those girls. They were nothing but a
bunch of ignorant country Janes that lived in farm-
houses around Milltown, New Brunswick, Sayresville.
Meeting fellows, making plenty of money, played havoc
with their immortal souls. I took one to dinner once—
a girl who a year before had been a sweet little country
girl, feeding chickens, and doing other harmless things.
We were in Perth Amboy at the hotel which was filled
with a bunch of boys and girls drinking and dancing
close to each other. I asked her what she wanted to
eat. 'Hell, I didn’t come here to eat; I came here to
drink,’ was the answer. In our room, about an hour
later, she was so damn’ stewed that I didn’t have the
heart to do what I thought would be so easy. I left
her, paid her hotel room for the night, and went back
to the camp.

"I’d hate to make an estimate of how many illegal
births and operations took place last year. Those girls
bore babies even on the job. One girl in Number Five
went into the lavatory a pregnant woman and came
out a mother.

"The night work was rank. In Number Seven, when
work slackened up about three in the morning, I’ve
seen them go out into the dark night time and again*THE MAIN STEM

i39

and come back, looking guilty. The other workers
kidded the couple a little; then, when the shells started
coming through again, and the machines raised a racket,
everything was busy and normal.

“The brazenness of those youngsters, too. One day
some of the boys felt devilish and tied Pearl to a chair,
and by Gosh, they nearly stripped her, and then laughed
like the devil as Jimmy tickled her, while she hollered
and struggled. But I don’t think she disliked it as
much as she let on. The next day, to show there was
no hard feeling, the girls caught Jimmy, tore off some
of his clothes, and they sure manhandled him enough
to tame him down. They were frank all right. Give
’em credit for not being hypocrites.”

The train pulled into the Grand Central Station.

§

In the street Charlie debated a long time as to
whether he would go home and say good-bye to his
parents who lived in New York City, or whether it
would be best to leave, explaining his actions by letter.
He chose the easier course, turned his face from his
parents’ cozy home in Upper Manhattan, and headed
towards the Mills Hotel on Bleecker Street.

All afternoon we sat in the large downstairs room
of the Mills Hotel, composing an acceptable letter to
Charlie’s parents. The great difficulty about the letter
was that Charlie wanted to unburden his heart. He
wanted to tell them that he had met a young man who
had opened up to him the world of books, who had
made him aware of his social relations. He wanted
to tell them that he was about to become an educated
man, that he was to be in the company of Solon and
Solomon-—of two pantologists who, between them had140

THE MAIN STEM

mastered sixty-seven sciences, forty-eight languages,
and twenty-three systems of philosophy—not to men-
tion art, belles-lettres, cosmology, dinosaurs, etiology,
folk-lore, grammar, iodine, Jesuits, keramics, latitudin-
arianism, omiscience, perissology, and so on, down the
alphabet.

I had to bully him before I could get him to send
this:

Dear Mother and Father:

I have met a young man who is very friendly
towards me. He and his chum are planning to work
their way to the West Coast, and they have invited me
to go along. Just what we shall do when we get to
California, I don’t know. One of them, James Wertman

(Slim), lives in San T---------. The other, William

Edge, has, like me, never been West before. Both of
these men are very much interested in economics and
sociology and their enthusiasm for their hobby has
intrigued me into reading and studying. The other
night we read a famous work on economics by the
greatest living economist, Karl Kautsky (the last
sentence was Charlie’s unauthorized addition. I found
this out five years later when I was given this letter,
fortunately preserved by Charlie’s parents.)

I shall write you very often, and shall expect you
to answer me. I enjoyed the last glass of strawberry
jam mother sent me at South River. Tell Harry, Dick
and Bob what I am doing when you write to them;
and give Sis a kiss for me.

Your loving son,

Charlie.THE MAIN STEM

141

P.S. Our next address will be
c/o James Ralston,

0000—105th St.,

Cleveland, Ohio.

Charlie took the rough draft, over which we had been
sweating all afternoon, and copied it (with the emenda-
tion) while I went to the basement and took a shower.
That night we went to a cheap vaudeville show. The
next morning found us early on the Bowery.

§

To Charlie the slave market was a new experience.
Except as a soldier he had worked outside his father’s
store only once. That was the time he had answered
the ad which had brought him the job as inspector at
the filling plant. The technique of getting a job was
as new as to him as it had been to me nine months
before.

We, or rather I, thought that perhaps we could find
a job in Cleveland and that, with one shipment, we
could reach our immediate destination. Failing that,
I thought we could get a shipment to Buffalo or Akron.
But, after searching the Bowery high and low, reading
and re-reading signs, we were finally convinced of this
unhappy fact:	We could not ship further west than

Johnstown, Pennsylvania.

"Shall we wait a few days, or take that Johnstown
shipment?”

"My feet itch to be on our way. Let’s take the
Johnstown shipment.”

"Well, perhaps that would be best, as we haven’t
much money to keep us idle in New York.”142

THE MAIN STEM

We joined out, then, to go to Johnstown. In the
employment office we, along with twenty or thirty
other job hunters, were given a perfunctory physical
examination. At the last minute I was afraid we would
not be taken. All the men were asked to open their
suitcases so that they might be searched for firearms
and liquor. We had no suitcase. Now, when an
employer pays your fare from New York to Johns-
town, he likes to have some slight assurance that you
won’t jump off the train two stations from Johnstown.
To have a suitcase is evidence of good faith, for you
put the suitcase on the rack above your head (the
man-catcher sees to that). If you leave, you must
take your luggage, an act which cannot be done stealth-
ily. The man-catcher sees you take the suitcase, and
stops you. The alternatives are to stay on the train
or to forfeit the luggage.

I suppose we looked honest, ignorant, or otherwise
satisfactory, for we were employed without luggage,
even though a short consultation took place between
two of the employment agents over our suitcaseless
condition.

I have forgotten just how, or where, we got on the
train, but I remember trying to go into one of the
coaches other than the one provided for us. A mean-
looking fellow stopped me. "Ye joined out on de
Johnstown job, didntcha?”

"Yes,”

"Well, ye better dam-site stay in dis car, den.”

I walked back and sat beside Charlie. "Wonder
what the hell kind of job this is going to be. I hate
this damn’ business of being jailed in this coach.”

But Charlie was unresponsive. An open copy ofTHE MAIN STEM

143

Daniel de Leon’s Preamble of the Industrial Workers
of the World was in his lap. He was dozing. I snatched
the pamphlet away from him. "The damn’ fool; fall-
ing asleep with stuff like this exposed!”

We all tried to sleep as best we might on the double
seats. We would fall asleep; then the train would stop
and everybody would look drowsily out of the win-
dows, light a cigarette, and doze off again. So through-
out the night. Very early the next morning we were
wakened. I heard the conductor in the other car shout
something that sounded like Johnstown.

We got off at the station, while a careful guard was
kept to see that nobody sneaked off. Not far from
the station was a street in which a flophouse was to be
found. We entered the place, were told to go to sleep
until seven. The bedding was clean; there were only
about forty bunks in the big room. I later learned
that this was merely a reception dormitory; permanent
sleeping quarters were later provided, as I shall tell.

For three hours we slept soundly. At seven a com-
pany employee came through and roused all the slum-
bering stiffs. Breakfast came next. It was served in a
nearby restauarnt, and not in a regular mess hall.
There were other patrons in the restaurant, but arrange-
ments had quite evidently been made to feed the ship-
ment.

The strangeness of this, as contrasted with my pre-
ceding experiences, made me feel a little apprehensive.
Added to this feeling was the resentment I harbored at
being so closely guarded. It seemed as if from the
moment I had shipped out on this job* I had felt a
strange sense of foreboding.

After breakfast we entered the employment office144

THE MAIN STEM

of the Cambria Steel Plant. It was a long, long hiring
process. We waited for a dozen officials; we had a
hundred questions asked us; we filled numberless
forms; even our finger prints were taken. During
the long period of waiting Charlie and I decided to
try a scheme which had been successfully carried
through by many migratory workers; to hire out as
carpenters and reap wages of seventy cents an hour.
It had been done by Baltimore Jews at Curtis Bay.
We should try.

Finally we appeared before the last employment offi-
cial. "You say you’re carpenters? Where’d you learn?”

"Been workin’ as a carpenter on all the war jobs—
Magnolia, Curtis Bay, Camp Meade, Hog Island,” I
lied.

"H’m! You too?”

"Yes, sir. Him and me is buddies. Been together
for a year.”

"Well, report up to seventy-eight. Here, Bob, take
these men up to seventy-eight.”

Bob escorted us to that part of the immense plant
which was known as seventy-eight.

The foreman looked us over, and gave us a few
tools. "We have to build a form around a water
valve that’s under the ground. The hole has been
dug. You fellows go down there—see the hole?—
and put in a square form. The lumber’s over in that
shed.”

I didn’t exactly understand what the foreman meant,
but to ask too precisely would have been to court dis-
aster. He might find out that we were not carpenters.

Charlie and I were walking towards the hole, swing-
ing our saws, a hammer hitched to our belt.

"What he means is, build a sort of box, open at bothTHE MAIN STEM	145

ends, the size of the hole, and then drop it, standing
up.”

“No, he means, build a small box the size of the
yalve, and then cover the valve with the box.”

“Who ever saw anything like that? I tell you, it’s
to be a large box, to line the hole already dug—a box
open at both ends, and standing up, right in the hole/*

"Damn5 if I know what he means. But here’s the
hole.”

There, indeed, was the hole. At the bottom a pipe
ran through it with a valve showing. A decision must
be reached. We finally decided on the large, narrow
box, open at both ends, standing upright, and lining
the hole. We brandished the rules which had just
been given us, enjoying the process of opening and clos-
ing the segments. When we began using them in
earnest, we found that the damn’ things read back-
wards, from right to left.

“Now, let’s take this easy.”

“Yes, we’ve got to find out the exact dimensions
before we start sawing a single plank. I’ll jump down
and get the measurements of the bottom of the hole.”

We took out our new, flat pencils, and began to
scribble feet and inches on a piece of paper. When we
had computed our dimensions, we went to the lumber
shed, picked out some likely pieces, brought them over,
and, with our squares, drew beautiful straight lines on
the planks.

“This saw, my son, is a cross-cut saw; and all good
carpenters use cross-cut saws to cut things across.”

We began cutting the planks, making much
straighter edges than we thought we could. Soon we
were ready for the zero moment—assembling the sawed
pieces. About this time a man came down to us from146

THE MAIN STEM

the foreman’s shed. "You fellows don’t have to go
on with this work. An order has just come in counter-
manding the other order.”

We left our work reluctantly, like artists prevented
from putting the final touches on a canvas. There was
the child of our brains, four pieces of sawed wood,
lying on the ground. Some unskilled laborer would be
told to carry them back to the lumber-shed.

We reported back to the foreman.

"See those fellows over there? Well, they’re building
a fence. Go on over and give ’em a hand.” We went
towards the fence builders. Soon we were nailing
planks to their supports with a vengeance. There was
a kind of keen joy in hitting a nail squarely and driving
it home in three or four blows.

About eleven o’clock a time-keeper apppeared and
gave us a meal-ticket on a local restaurant, and an order
on a rooming house. At the north gate, he said, we
could buy a box lunch with the meal ticket.

It was soon lunch time. The rest was pleasant, for
our right arms were very tired from the unaccustomed
hammering. Charlie had raised two bad blisters on
his palm. We strolled to the north gate for the box
lunch. As we munched our sandwiches we talked
about the job.

"It’s lots nicer working as carpenters.”

"Yes, the foreman treats you like a hitman being;
the fello\vs you work with are a cleaner, more decent
set, pleasanter than the damn* bohunks and rounders
you meet on a shipping gang, or as a gandydancer.”

"We are getting seventy cents an hour. We can
make a stake in a week.”

"Wonder if we’re getting by with this carpenter
business? Do you think that guy stopped us fromTHE MAIN STEM

147

building the form because we were hopelessly wrong?”

“You know, I’ve been sort of thinking of that my-
self. I’ll tell you—I think we can get by if we just
follow the leader. Let that guy they call Pete take
all the initiative in putting up forms, and then we’ll
tag along and hammer nails in to beat hell. We can
drive nails as well as any carpenter; it’s the original
work of setting up the superstructure, or understruc-
ture, or whatever you call it, that takes brains and
skill.”

After lunch we continued our work at fence build-
ing. Near us all sorts of interesting things were
going on. Huge, red-hot ingots of steel went up and
down the tracks, pulled by fussy little locomotives.
Men twenty feet away would turn their backs to the
ingots, for the heat was insupportable. Now and then
a flat car with a hundred miners would pass us. They
had lamps on their caps and coal dust all over them.
Nearby was a dispensary, and there was a steady stream
of injured workmen who went in bleeding, or limping,
or on stretchers sometimes. Most of them soon came
out with clean, white bandages on their hands or heads.

When the last whistle blew, the foreman called to
us. “Let’s see those tickets you got from the time-
keeper. Now, this house is just a block from the third
stop that the work train makes. Go over to that track.
In a minute or two the work train will come along.
Jump on it and get off at the third stop, that’s Kalor-
ama Street. Then walk a block south. Your house
is number 001 Kalorama. As for the cafeteria that
you’ve got a meal-ticket for, ask the landlady; she’ll
tell you where to go.”

The work train whistled. We caught it in the nick
of time. On it were hundreds of workers availingTHE MAIN STEM

148

themselves of the company’s free transportation. There
were miners, many miners: Poles, Italians, Irishmen,
Americans, Greeks. They said little. They were tired.

"Say, Jack, does this train leave in the morning, just
like the evening?”

"No spick Eengleesh.”

"Oh, hell! Treno alia mattina como alia sera?” I
had picked up a few stray words of Italian, and I
had known a little Spanish; between the two we man-
aged.

"He says that the train leaves in the morning at
six-thirty.”

§

At the third stop we got off. Soon we were ringing
the landlady’s bell. A querulous widow came out.
"Yes, I know, Mr. Prentice telephoned to me about you
two men. There are two rooms upstairs, one is a large
room with a poor exposure, and the other is a small
room with a good exposure. Some people like good
exposure, and some people like good rooms. I don’t
know which you’ll like. I hope you boys don’t use
too much water; the water rent is awfully high. I had
a man here once who used a tubfull of water three
times a week. Heaven knows so many baths must be
weakening. What do you do? Carpenters? I had an
uncle once who was the head of fifty-two at Cambria.
He started life as a carpenter. He’s dead now. Well,
here’s the first room. How do you like it?”

It was the small room, though much larger than I
had been accustomed to for months. After we had
compared it to the large room, we decided to take it,
for the lights in the small room were better to read
by. The landlady left after showing us the bath andTHE MAIN STEM

149

telling us many things that I don’t believe I listened to.

“Say, this is fine. Notice how clean everything is?
No sheets, but clean blankets. How’d you like it,
Blondey?”

“All right, I guess. There’s something so damn’
paternalistic about this place, though. The tentacles
of the Cambria Steel Company seem to reach into
private houses and private restaurants. They guarantee
our room rent to the landlady. You notice she hasn’t
said a word about payment. She should worry. Her
dealings are with the steel company, not with us; she
knows the company will make good. We eat in private
restaurants—private restaurants affiliated with the
Cambria. Why, I believe the cops in the street are
Cambria guards. All Johnstown is Cambria Steel. In
South River it was different. True enough, we lived
in a company owned camp, which was even more
paternalistic than this. But when you got away from
the camp you could get drunk or rape women, or per-
form murder. Here there is that oppressive feeling of
the Cambria Steel Company—the Cambria Steel Com-
pany, everywhere. I feel uncomfortable. I feel as if
somebody were watching me. I feel we ought to lock
our door and stuff our keyhole if we intend to read
Danny de Leon tonight.”

"Aw, you didn’t get enough sleep last night. Come
on, let’s go to that wonderful cafeteria, get some chow,
then come back and take a nice flop.”

I had to admit that I liked the Cambria Plan of
feeding employes. We had a regular meal ticket on
the restaurant, and could eat what we pleased, porter-
house steak, or lamb stew, canned corn, or fresh vege-
tables. We were not limited by having to eat what
some belly-robber estimated was thirty cents’ worth.x5°

THE MAIN STEM

Of course, the Cambria Plan made our food bill
higher. But that did not matter. Indeed, we workers
had frequently said in South River that we’d be glad
to pay forty or fifty cents for better meals.

Surely there was no ground for complaint. Our
bed was clean, our meals were good, our wages were
high, our working companions were pleasant.

We worked during the next few days on the carpen-
ters’ gang. Very soon we found that our ignorance of
carpentry was becoming only too obvious. We did
well enough when the job was well under way, when
all one had to do was to saw boards and nail planks.
But when it came to placing uprights, to which planks
were nailed, or to fit two pieces of lumber together, we
were lost. We could not keep up our bluff. Indeed,
we did not try, realizing that we were discovered.

About the fifth night, the foreman called me into
the office. Charlie had gone home about an hour before
because of a hurt finger. The nurse had bound his
finger and sent him off. The foreman gave me an
envelope. He said simply, “Give this to Mr. Davis in
the employment office tomorrow morning instead of
reporting here. You and your buddy needn’t come
here any more.” I took the envelope and left, feeling
that things were working out satisfactorily. We were
fired. Fine! now we could get our pay—about
eighteen dollars each, clear of all deductions for room
and meals.

I put the yellow envelope into my pocket and
boarded the work-train. On the way I began to feel
curious about the contents of the envelope. I evolved
a scheme. I would buy some envelopes of exactly the
same size and color. Then I would copy the name, Mr.
Davis, on them. Whichever copy made the best matchTHE MAIN STEM

151

would be used as a new envelope, and I could open the
old with impunity.

All the time I was buying the envelopes to match
the one I had, I felt that unseen eyes were looking at
me, were penetrating my designs. Once, I nearly gave
up my scheme. I felt that the stationery clerk was
thinking:	"I know you. You’re trying to find out

what’s in that envelope, and you’re not supposed to
know. I’ll sell these envelopes to you so as not to make
you suspect anything. But as soon as you get out of
here, I’m going to telephone the police.” The sweat
broke out on my forehead; but I went through with
my plan.

Later, in our room, I found Charlie, and learned that
his finger, though severely cut was not bothering him.
I told him about the suspected contents of the envelope.
He seemed glad. We were only too willing to draw
our pay immediately.

"Real forgers, I have read in detective stories, place
the name they want to copy upside down so as not to
be bothered by the shapes of the letters. They do not
write the name; they make an inverted drawing of the
name.” I turned Mr. Davis upside down, copied his
name three or four times, until Charlie swore he could
not tell the original from the copy. Then we tore open
the envelope. The note was what we had expected:

"Dear Mr. Davis:

Nos. 7713 and 7714 don’t know the first
thing about carpentry. I don’t see how they
ever got on the gang. I have no use for them.

I suggest that you transfer them or discharge
them.

John Sargent.”THE MAIN STEM

1$2

"Tomorrow we leave for Pittsburgh. In Pittsburgh
we can surely get a shipment to Cleveland.”

Next day, after hours of waiting, Mr. Davis gave
us a little lecture on lying about our profession, asked
us if we wanted our wages, or if we preferred to be
transferred elsewhere in the plant. We left Mr. Davis
with about eighteen dollars in our pockets, after five
days of work and five days of being boarded.

As we walked out of the office a wagonload of
tomatoes went by. They were red and tempting.
Under ordinary circumstances I should have dashed
after the wagon and grabbed a handful; but the unseen
eye was still watching me, I felt. I stopped myself
after running about three yards. But Charlie ran after
the wagon and filled his pockets with tomatoes. He
offered me half; I refused. I would not be his accom-
plice.

When we got on the train, Pittsburgh bound, I felt
relieved. The shadow of benevolent paternalism had
gone. I felt like a free agent again. How I had
changed since I was last in Pittsburgh with Slim! I had
developed the strange fears of the migratory worker.
I feared policemen above all things. I felt like an out-
cast of society, a man to whom good things are per-
manently denied. I was so accustomed to harsh words
and nasty living quarters that I mistrusted, almost
to the point of being psychopathic, good meals, clean
blankets, a pleasant room. Perhaps I realized this the
more keenly because of Charlie. He had not developed
the cautions and apprehensions of a proletarian. He
was a free American with civil rights of which he felt
quite confident. I, on the other hand, felt as if every
policeman’s look was a threat. I breathed more easily
when a bull turned a corner. I remembered CharlieTHE MAIN STEM

153

and the socialist pamphlet. Good heavens! How had
he got away with it? Men were being arrested all
over the United States, and for little more than a
socialist pamphlet. His theft of the tomatoes! Fool-
hardy ass! Hope I don’t get pulled in because of his
damn’ foolishness.

I looked at Charlie as we were riding along. I was
thinking, “Too damn* good-looking for a migratory
worker, attracts too much attention. Talks about the
wrong thing on the job. On the job a fellow ought
not talk about books and theories and things. Ought
to talk about the same thing as the other workers—
whiskey, women, jobs, flophouses. Hell, I’m not a
socialist just because I read socialist pamphlets, and I
don’t want to be put in jail as a socialist when I’m not
one. Charlie is not a socialist, either. Why should
we both have to go to jail just because we read socialist
literature? . . . Trouble with him is, he isn’t cautious.
Don’t look around to see who’s watching. Blandly
does what he feels like doing. Maybe I ought to ditch
him. That would be a yellow trick, though; he is
loyal to me; I must be loyal to him. ..."CHAPTER XIII

To Charlie the slave market in Pittsburgh probably
presented the same colorful picture that it had to me,
nine months before. We went to Chicago Joe’s saloon;
we saw drunken and sober boomers looking for jobs.
Some were funny, some were pitiable; others were
anxious, or jaunty. We smiled as we passed a stand
where three drunks were hilariously buying sandwiches
with a filling of sauerkraut.

The signs of the employment agents were unpro-
pitious. Fate did not intend that we should reach
Cleveland too easily or cheaply. There was, evidently,
no way of going to Cleveland, except by paying our
way. And this we refused to do. We preferred to
stay in Pittsburgh, see the sights, and return to the
slave market, for surely there would be a shipment to
Cleveland; they sent men there two or three times a
week.

It was about six o’clock when we hired a miserable
room on the same street as the one on which the slave
market was. There were many objections to the room;
odors worse even than the ordinary slum odors, no
outside ventilation, excessive dirt, and more smells. But
there were advantages. We were convenient to the
signs which might at any hour, announce a shipment
to Cleveland. There was, also, a pretty girl in the
house. We, who in our world rarely saw women, felt
in an unconscious sort of way, that the girl’s mere

i54THE MAIN STEM

155

presence in the halls would somehow compensate for
the bad qualities of the room.

After cleaning up a bit we looked fairly presentable.
We went uptown to get dinner. After dinner we
followed a Salvation Army bunch for about fifteen
blocks. Every third or fourth block they would stop,
re-assemble their musical instruments, strike up a tune,
and yodel their hosannahs at the wretched walls. This
was the first time I had ever really listened to the
Salvation Army, and their calls to the faithful were
quite as grotesque as I had been told they were.

We went to bed rather early, but not for long. One,
or two, or three or even ten bedbugs should not frighten
a horny handed son of toil. But fifty, sixty, or a
hundred—that is past endurance. We could catch
them merely by closing our hands on the under blanket.
If one could have seen them they would have looked
like ants at war. We turned on the light and saw
perhaps twenty scurrying under cover. In an instant
the bed was clear, and inviting.

"What shall we do, Charlie, sleep on the floor, or
go somewhere else?”

"Go somewhere else, damn it all! We’ve got enough
jack, hell! Fifteen dollars apiece. Hell! that’s plenty
of goddam money. I don’t care if we have to pay
ten dollars, I won’t sleep in this rotten filth. A man
can be a bum, but he doesn’t have to be a dirty, lousey,
cock-eyed sewer rat.”

I smiled. It seemed to me that I had once been
equally eloquent and profane at Curtis Bay, six months
before, when I had discovered a few lice in the seams
of my underwear. "All right, let’s go,** I said, plan-
ning to repeat to him Slim’s phrase to me when he was
in a better humor:	"Even in the movies a seducedi56

THE MAIN STEM

heroine doesn’t make so much fuss over her devirginiza-
tion as you made over a few bedbugs.”

We went to a medium grade traveling man’s hotel.
Here in the lobby I wrote a letter to Slim telling him
something of our doings and plans. Then, about
eleven, we went to bed. Next day we wandered
through the parks of Pittsburgh, having first assured
ourselves that there was no shipment to Cleveland.
In the afternoon we went to a movie. In the evening
I said:

"Do you know that if we can’t get a shipment to
Cleveland tomorrow, we shall have to take any job we
can get? After our breakfast and tonight’s hotel bill
we’ll have only three dollars between us.”

"Yes, I know. I’ve been thinking about it all day,
but we were having such a good time playing in Pitts-
burgh that I hated to talk about work, and shipments,
and lousey camps, and the slave market.”

Next day we reported to the employment agencies,
sure that today there would be a shipment to Cleveland.
But there was none. Disappointed, we looked for the
next best job, a job on which we could make a stake
quick. We found that a job just outside of Pittsburgh
would be our best bet. The working day was eleven
hours long, a fact which meant that, at forty cents an
hour, we would earn five dollars a day. Overtime
wages were paid after eight hours. This general habit
of paying overtime rates after eight hours was not the
result of wartime necessity. It was a general practice
among employers who, in this manner, circumvented
the various eight-hour laws. The company’s books
could show an eight hour day—for were not overtime
rates paid after eight hours? But, the eight hour day
existed only on books. The usual length of the day wasTHE MAIN STEM

iJ7

ten hours. The scale of wages for the first eight hours
was lowered; during the last two hours they were
raised fifty per cent ("time and a half”). It never
occurred to us to quit after eight hours with the excuse
that we did not care to work "overtime”. Real over-
time, the sort of overtime that we were consulted about,
came only after the tenth hour. It was frequently con-
sidered an honor to be asked to work overtime, for it
meant that you were a pet of the foreman; he was
reserving the plum of high wages for you. At other
times, when a certain piece of work had to be com-
pleted, the whole gang was curtly ordered to work
overtime, irrespective of their wishes. Some workers
were glad of the opportunity; other workers, tired, and
in no great hurry to make a big stake, resented working
after ten hours.

We were to report early in the afternoon. In the
interim I had to write Slim another letter, for our
plans had changed a little. A few years later I saw this
letter again. Slim had underlined these words:
"We’ve got a swell job—eleven hours a day.” What
I had meant, of course, was that we would make a
stake quick; but he could not help smiling to think
that anybody would call an eleven-hour job a swell
job.

They put us to work as soon as we reached the place.
It was a new job and a new camp. Our shipment was
the first on this work. We began by shovelling ashes
out of low gondolas, to fill up a gully beside the track.
A light wind was blowing, and the dust filled our
eyes and nose. It was amusing to watch the men
furtively changing position so that their faces wouldi58

THE MAIN STEM

be in the lee of the wind. We changed furtively,
because the conditions of the shovelling made it neces-
sary for some to face the dust. It would not be wise
to change boldly. Others might see the strategy and
beat you to it. This continued until supper-time.
While we were shovelling away, Charlie and I made a
pact to stop smoking. We wanted to be strong—terri-
bly strong. Our strength would be the strength of
ten because our breath was pure. We threw away our
cigarettes, shovelled ashes over them, and pledged each
other our moral support.

$

At chow that night the flunkeys brought in great
enamelled dishes of lamb-stew. The odor assailed my
nostrils. Was it really stew I was smelling, or was it
a coincidence that a changing wind had brought the
breath of a nearby tannery? I looked at the ugly faces
of the workers on both sides of the table. Their
purple nostrils were dilated; sniff, sniff; one took hold
of a dish and held it under his nose. Forty bleary eyes
followed the stew.

“Stinks like a sewer,” said the scrutator, as he re-
placed the dish.

There was low talking and grumbling. Suddenly
forks leapt forward, and every man speared a piece of
bread to put on his empty plate. That, at least, smelled
all right.

“Hey, flunkey, bring us some more punk. An* if
yer got any stew ’at ain’t made outa dead horses, bring
dat in.”

I looked at my piece of bread. Wasn’t there some-
thing I could put on it—catsup, or something? I sawTHE MAIN STEM

159

a pitcher of syrup. I reached out suddenly to be sure
that nobody would beat me to it. Even as I reached,
I could see two or three hands poised to grab. But I
had possession. I tilted the tin lid of the syrup pitcher.
There were twenty flies on the surface of the viscous
liquid. Some were quite dead. Some flew away, some
were fluttering their sticky wings. "Hell, one can’t
be too squeamish.” I took a spoon, skimmed off the
flies, poured half the pitcher-full into my plate, and
passed the remainder to Charlie. There were half a
dozen other pitchers on the table, and they were all
being emptied.

"Bring us all the syrup ye got, Jack; and bring us
the punk; an’ take this stinkin’ stew outa here ’fore
I throw it outa the winder.”

And so, into twenty ugly mouths were shovelled
syrup and bread—all except Charlie’s. He had a hand-
some mouth.

After chow we investigated our new home. The
flophouse was good because it was new; the blankets,
the beds, everything was brand-new. That was some-
thing. Being assured of our sleeping quarters we took
a little walk, and soon came upon an abandoned race
track.

"Say, how do you like this? We can come out here
and take some exercise every evening. One lap every
night before going to bed would be great. Build up
strong, healthy body.”

"Exercise? After shovelling ashes for eleven hours?
You’re crazy. Besides, I expect to beat it if the break-
fast is as rotten as the dinner was. You know, I feel
empty as hell around my gizzard. A little smoke
would help things.”i6o

THE MAIN STEM

"You and me both. I’m going to stop smoking.
But when you’ve just had such rotten grub, you’ve
got to have something to cheer you up.”

We went to the commissary and bought chocolate
bars and Chesterfields.

§

Breakfast next morning was a repetition of dinner
the night before. Nothing was fit to eat except bread
and syrup. The men were saying:

"Hell of a hole.”

"How fur is it back to Pittsburgh?”

"I’m a son of a flop-eared bastard if I’ll stay here.”
"If I had two thin dimes to rub together, I’d leave
right now.”

An idea struck me as I rose from the table. I called
out:

“Hey, fellers, wot ye say we don’t work ’til they
give us some decent slum?”

They turned around to look at me. One of them
yelled:

"Attaboy, Blondey! C’mon, fellers, nobody woiks
till dey gives us some decent slum.”

Another cried:

"Dat’s wot I say. Hell, we’ll go on strike.”
"W’ere’s de goddam, belly-robbin’ son of a b— ’at
runs dis place? I’ll punch ’is jaw in.”

The foreman, who had been at the door, came in.
"Wot’s eatin’ yer? The wissel blew five minnits
ago. Hurry up, grab yer shovels.”

Some of the men were leaving. In dismay I said:
"Hey, fellers, ain’tcha gonna tell ’im ye want a square
meal before ye work?”

"Wot’s that, young fellow?” said the foreman.THE MAIN STEM

161

"Boss, the chow at this place is rotten. We gotta
eat if we wanna work.”

"Well, all right. Now, shake a leg. 1*11 see that
they feeds yez better.”

By this time I was alone with Charlie and the fore-
man. The other workers were already heading towards
the tool box to get their shovels. One word from a
person in authority had made their defection general.
Their recent enthusiasm for action had vanished as
completely as a pricked bubble. I felt a terrible con-
tempt for them. Once at Magnolia, I remembered, I
had been wronged by a member of the white-collared
gentry. It had been the paymaster, who had sent me
to the end of the line. The other workers, instead of
supporting a fellow-laborer, called out to me unsym-
pathetically, "Get back, we can’t wait here all night.”
I was hot when I thought of that—and of this. Slim
had often spoken to me about the qualities of the
hypothetical "Leaders of the Proletarian Revolution”.
Bah! Leaders who could bully the proletarians into
revoluting.

I went towards the tool chest, picked up a shovel.

After about two hours’ work the foreman ap-
proached me. He tendered me a slip. "Here’s your
time. The paymaster’ll fix you up.” Before I could
ask any questions he had walked away.

“What’s up?” Charlie asked.

"I’m fired.”

"The lousey bum.”

"Guess he thinks I’m a professional agitator after
that too spontaneous burst of enthusiasm this morn-
ing.*’

"Well, I’m glad to leave.”

"Get yourself fired as soon as possible. I’ll meet162

THE MAIN STEM

you up at the flop house. And by the gods, we’ll ride
into Cleveland on the cushions this very night. I’m
sick of hanging around here. Are you George?”

"You betcha. I’ll sit down on my royal American
sitdownski—right here,” and Charlie flopped on a pile
of ashes, "until that damn* straw boss comes back.
He’ll have to fire me if I don’t work.”

When I left Charlie was stretched out on the ashes,
his cap over his face, and the smoke of a cigarette
curling up from his slender fingers.

The paymaster gave me three dollars. I could not
resist asking him if he knew why I had been given the
razzberry.

"The foreman said you shovelled enough ashes every
hour to fill one thimble.”

"Thinks he’s funny, doesn’t he? Well, you can tell
him I said he’s a damn’ liar.”

I went back to bunkhouse. Within half an hour
Charlie came in.

"Oh! he raised all kinds of hell. Said he’d have me
put in the hoosegow. But I told him, ‘Brother, I’m
no gay cat. I’m wise, I’m gonna leave, an* I want
my time.’ ”

"Atta boy, Charlie. Follow me and you’ll wear
diamonds.”CHAPTER XIV

Two hours later we were in Pittsburgh. We took
the first train and went to Cleveland. It was early
Friday evening when we got off at Fifty-fifth and
Euclid.

"Well, my guts don’t bother me at all. I’ve had
plenty to eat. But we went broke feeding our faces.
Where do we kip?”

"Charlie, old boy, your proletarian vocabulary de-
lights me. ... I have two friends in Cleveland. One
of them is a saloon-keeper’s wife and the other is a
damned socialist. To which shall we go? Mrs. Marston
is the saloon-keeper’s wife; and her boarding house, as
well as her husband’s saloon, is down here on Fifty-
fifth, about five blocks. The other is James Ralston,
and he’s up on One Hundred Fifth, fifty blocks away.
James has all our clothes, you know. At either place
we might get some wind of Slim. There’s a bare
chance that he got here before we did.”

“Well, where do you say we go?”

"Inasmuch as I’m not planning to go to the Fire-
man’s Ball tonight, and won’t need my regular clothes,
I think it would be easier to run down to Mrs. Mars-
ton’s and let her put us up for the night.”

One had to go through Mr. Marston’s saloon before
one could enter the passageway which led upstairs to
Mrs. Marston’s domain, the boarding house. We were
soon in the bright light of the old, familiar bar room.

163THE MAIN STEM

164

Mr. Marston was behind the counter, pushing cool beer
glasses which left a wet streak behind them as they
slid along the polished wood.

"Hello there, Mr. Marston, howsa boy?”

He looked at me a little bewildered.

"Aind’t you der guy vat left here mit Vertman, sick
mont’s ago?”

"Ye-es,” I said. I had expected a more cordial
greeting. "It was nine months ago.”

"Nine mont’s. Veil, ver you been keepin* your-
selbst?”

"Oh! We kinda bummed around. Meet my friend,
Charlie—Charlie Clark.”

"Glad to meet you.”	'

"Seen Slim around? Sort of thought maybe he
might be in Cleveland.”

"Slim, du meinst Vertman?”

"Yes.”

"No. Vareisshe?”

"Don’t know. Last I heard he was in Massa-
chusetts.”

Mr. Marston, during all this time, had been filling
beer steins, flipping off the froth with his ivory ruler,
putting glasses and bottles on the counter, removing
them. Our appearance had not interfered with busi-
ness as usual. Every time he drew a beer, or reached
for a bottle, I thought he was getting a drink for us.
But every time I was disappointed.

"Massachusetts, eh? Dat iss vary far avay.”

"Yes, but he’ll be in Cleveland soon. By the way,
where’s Mrs. Marston?”

"Been in hospital. Operation.”

"Too bad. What’s the matter?”THE MAIN STEM

165

"Ach, Gott, ven a vooman is forty, dey alvass oper-
ate mit dem.”

I condoled with him more sincerely than he sus-
pected. Fifty blocks to Jimmy Ralston’s!

"By the way, any letter come here for me?”

"Letter? No, no letter.”

He was still drawing beer and setting down bottles
of whiskey—for his customers.

I turned to Charlie. "This is a hell of a mess. I
wish I could talk to Mrs. Marston. I patronized her
food more than her husband’s liquor. She’d put us
up for the night. I hate to ask him. He don’t seem
to be interested in us.”

"Let’s try the damned socialist.”

"Well, good night, Mr. Marston.”

He did not hear us.

As we were leaving I saw at a table an old pillar of
this saloon, Freddy. He had for years lived with the
Marstons, supporting the saloon of the Mister as gener-
ously as the boarding house of the Missus.

"Hello, Freddy!”

"Hello, there. Oh, yes, Slim’s side-kick. How’s
the world ben treatin’ ye?”

"Pretty fair. Meet my friend, Charlie.”

"Gladta meetcha.”

"Well, how’re you? Remember the night you went
to the Star and got so drunk you had to take three
days to sober up?”

"Yeah! That’s wen we got laid off on account of
savin* coal for the government. Had a good time that
night. Have a drink.”

At last! Not that I wanted the drink. I wanted
only the attention.X66

THE MAIN STEM

*T ain’t feelin’ so good these days. Guess I got a
touch o’ the flu.”

“The flu? What’s that?”

“Ye tryin’ tuh kid me?”

"No, what is it?”

“My God! He don’t know wot the flu is. D’ja
ever hear such ignerance? W’ere in hell youse guys
ben keepin’ yersels? Everybuddy’s ben talkin’ ’bout
it. It’s ina papers. They’re closin’ theeyaters on
account of it. In de East, de Janes is wearin’ gas masks
ina streets. Wisht I had a paper. Was a pitcher of
one of ’em tuhnight.”

We talked about the flu a while, and I formed curious
notions about this strange terror that was ravaging
our shores.

But we had to hit ’er for 105th. Jimmy Ralston’s!
Up Euclid we walked.	,

“Keep your eyes peeled for a truck. We might hop
a ride.”

Soon a motor truck did come along, filled with sand.
We ran after it, leapt in the sand, and looked at each
Other in mild triumph.

“Better than a street-car.”

“Betshure life. Say, do you feel how cold it is
beginning to get? Brrr—September, too. We’ll have to
make enough money soon to buy some warm under-
wear.”

“Yes, and socks, and shoes, and a sweater, or a
lumberjack shirt, or something warm.”

We were soon at the busy up-town intersection of
105th and Euclid. We walked towards a comfortable
looking house that faced Wade Park.

“Is this guy a millionaire socialist, or something?”THE MAIN STEM	167

"No, he has a fair job, and rooms in one of these
nice-looking houses.”

We rang the bell. "Well, well, hello, come in! Have
been expecting you, more or less, since that suitcase
came. Come right up.”

Soon we were completely settled in friendly sur-
roundings, and with good smokes.

"Here’s a letter for you. Looks like Slim’s writing.”

"It is. Postmarked South Amboy. That’s funny.
How did that happen?” I opened it and read to
Charlie and James:

"I decided to work a while until you two wild
youngsters actually were in Cleveland. As I went
through the Bowery, a little sadly, bidding good-bye
to that great slave market—that street of forgotten
men, as I believe some mushy novelist calls it—I saw
a sign which promised well. To make a long story
short, I have a job as inspector at the Mercury Powder
Company, the one we so often saw from South River.
It is a terribly soft job. I sit on my pants and frown
at the boxes of powder as they go by on the moving
belt, kid with the girls, and knock down sixty cents an
hour. If you boys plan to stay in Cleveland any length
of time, let me know. I can get to Cleveland in two
days, whenever you say so. And this job is so easy and
pays so well, that I hate to give it up until you are
ready for the next leg of our Western journey.”

We talked about many things after this. I repeated
to James the story of Rose Pastor Stokes and Johnny
Crew. James was very much interested in the working
conditions in powder mills, filling plants, and other war
industries. The conversation flowed along to other
matters. James was saying: “Blondey, since when havei68

THE MAIN STEM

you become such a keen student of Marx? When you
left here you were a damn* bourgeois. Slim even told
me that you had patent leather dancing pumps and a
Tux, and you wanted to take them with you on the
bum.”

I winced at this. It was true that it had taken me a
long time to adjust myself to the life of the laborer.
The first few weeks of my proletarian life I had taken
a supercilious, aloof attitude, not identifying myself
spiritually with the life of the worker. It was not
until Slim and I had travelled some months together
that I began to identify myself even half-heartedly
with the casual laborer. But why should James give
me away to Charlie—to Charlie who looked upon me
as a paragon among migratories?

"Well, Jimmy, about this Marx business, I don’t
know. Of course, knocking around makes one realize
that a change of some sort is necessary. But whether
I adhere to the Socialist Labor Party policy of economic
organization and education under the guise of politics*
is another matter. In spite of all the bitter attacks by
you people on reformers, I cleave, I think, to the re-
formers’ position.”

"But . . .”

"Oh! I know what you’re going to say. You’re
going to quote Danny de Leon’s booklet on ‘Reform
and Revolution’ to me. You’re going to tell me about
the poodle dog who was reformed, not revolutionized.
You’re going to tell me about the sad fate of the broth-
ers Gracchi, who committed suicide in a grove of the
Furies, because they were mere reformers instead of
being revolutionists. I still believe in reform, how-
ever.”

We went into technicalities which have little interestTHE MAIN STEM	169

except to a student of the Marxian doctrine and its
interpretation by present-day adherents.

After an hour of wrangling, I came to the point.
"Jim, we’re flat. Can you put us up for the night?
On the floor; any old place where it’s warm.”

"Oh! sure. I’ll take the cot and you fellows can
both sleep in the bed. But before we end this gabfest,
let me tell you something. You can repudiate Marx
and de Leon all you please, but . . .”

"My Lord, Jimmy, have a heart. We’ve had an
hour of this.”

"Shut up and listen to me. You fellows, both of
you, probably don’t know anything about labor condi-
tions except as you’ve seen them during this abnormal
war-time. Jobs are easy to get. Pay is relatively high.
Unemployment is almost nil. You don’t remember
the days before 1914—just before the opening of the
war—when unemployment and its attendants, misery,
starvation, exposure, stalked the workers of America.

"This hoboing, this roaming around that you’re do-
ing, is a grand lark to you. Both of you could go back
to your bourgeois homes if industrial conditions should
tighten up. But how about Whitey and Jack and all
the other men in the filling plant you were telling me
about? What are they going to do when the war’s
over, when the soldiers come back to their jobs? They’ll
be S.O.L.—that’s all.

"You’ve got to have a large body of workers in re-
serve—to hire quickly when orders come in, to fire
quickly when orders are filled. How could we have
produced all the materials for this war if there had not
been a reserve industrial army of several millions? And
how could employers have survived if, before the war,
they had had to pay wages to those millions out of170

THE MAIN STEM

their meager profits? The mobility of the migratory
worker is the result of the changing volume of produc-
tion. The hobo is the creature of an economic system
which produces for profits, and not for use. He is as
necessary as the reserve of gold—and as useless.

“You’ll get my point better if you compare modern
with pastoral society. Pastoral society was relatively
static. Everybody had his place; everybody had his
job; each consumed according to his needs, with due
regard, of course, to the state of the industrial arts.
But this is not the case in our fluid society. The phi-
losophy underlying our social structure makes competi-
tion necessary. Stated baldly, your mission in life as a
[worker is to beat somebody else to a job—and devil take
the hindmost. The hindmost are technically known as
bums, migratory workers, hobos . . .”

This was getting too lengthy.

“Sure, sure, you bet, shut up. Three cheers for pas-
toral society and the state of the industrial arts. Is
this where we sleep?”

It was late Saturday morning when, after breakfast,
we went to hunt for a job.

“Well, good-luck to you,” Jim was saying. “If you
don’t get a job, come back and I’ll grubstake you for
a few days. But you won’t have any trouble. Jobs
are open everywhere. Here’s a dollar for car-fare and
lunch. One of the nickels in it belongs to me. I want
you to telephone me as soon as you get your job, and
tell me what your new address is.”

We bought a paper and looked for jobs. Since we
were broke, the job we looked for must possess either
of two qualities; we must be paid at the end of eachTHE MAIN STEM

171

work-day, as Slim and I had been paid on the docks in
New York; or the job must provide food and shelter.
Both kinds were hard to get. Very few jobs would pay
a man every day; and the impersonal red tape which is
thrown like a barbed wire entanglement around the
paymaster’s window, is proof against hard luck stories
of being hungry and without a place to sleep. It is
not a broad statement to say that most large companies
would let a man starve to death before they would set
in motion the machinery which would pay him off on
any day other than the regular pay day. Provided,
of course, that the man is not fired. Sometimes the
company will not pay even under such conditions. I
was once discharged by a foreman in a well-known
company which makes storage batteries. I presented
my slip at the paymaster’s window:

“Come around Tuesday.”

"But I need the money now. Isn’t there a law to
the effect that workers must be paid when discharged?”

"I guess there is. Take it up with your lawyer,” he
sneered.

It was nearly a week until Tuesday. I took another
job in the meantime; and when Tuesday came, I had to
take off a day from my new job to collect what I had
earned on the old.

As for finding a job where meals were advanced and
a camp maintained, that would have been easy had we
been willing to leave the city. But we did not want to
leave. We wanted to meet Slim here. We wanted to
visit Jim often, and to have him visit us.

§

"We’ve got to find a job today. I hate to sponge
on Jimmy. Anyhow, we want to lay hands on enoughTHE MAIN STEM

i7*

money to buy warm winter clothes for that hop from
Chi to Frisco. And then, we ought to have about
twenty dollars on the side to meet an emergency.”

It was a weary round. We applied at several estab-
lishments, but there was no means of getting paid
before two weeks. Finally, from a stiff we got wind
of a camp under the viaduct.

We had a hard time finding the place in the laby-
rinthine hollow which the viaduct spans. We wandered
at least five miles among a network of tracks, beside
mills, over bridges, under tunnels. At last we found
the foreman we had been told about. He was a fore-
man of the maintenance-of-way gang of the B. & O.
“Ye want a job, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

"Too late to start work today. Come around Mon-
day.”

“Yes, sir.”

I started to go. But Charlie, who had not yet got
into the habit of submission to foremen, said:

“We’re broke, Mister; couldn’t you trust us until
Monday and put us up until then? You’ve got a camp,
ain’t you?”

“Yes, I got a camp all right. But if you fellers are
just damn’ bums, an’ how do I know you ain’t, I’m
the guy that’s got to make good for the grub you put
down.”

“We’ve got a suitcase, Mister. We’ll bring it down.
There’s lots of good clothes in it.”

"No, I tell you, damn it all. Come around Monday,
and I’ll let you work. At noon you can eat because
you’ll earn enough by twelve o’clock to pay for your
grub. Now beat it.”	*

There was nothing to do but beat it. Back to JamesTHE MAIN STEM

i73

Ralston’s for a night’s flop and meals until Monday
dinner. It hurt our pride to go back to James for food
and warmth. We walked back swearing at the fore-
man. In a quarter of an hour we were on Euclid Ave-
nue again.

"Say, this is Saturday night, isn’t it?” I said, struck
by a happy thought.

"Yes, pay-day,” was the sardonic reply.

"Well, old socks, I think we’re saved. I once heard
a bum saying that on Saturday night all the shows on
the road move along. He used to work Saturday night
loading scenery. Hey, kid, give us a paper!”

I snatched the paper from the newsboy and opened
it. Up and down the help wanted column our eyes
and fingers travelled. Finally we found what we did
not really expect to find.

"Men wanted to move scenery. Report at 6 p.m.,
009 Oregon Avenue.”

"Let’s go there right away. By the time we’ve
walked there it will be six.”

The foreman at the transfer company’s stable was a
big, jovial fellow. "Youse guys never moved scenery
before? It’s soft, w’en yer gits the hang of it. Come
back about eight. We’ll drive over, an ’en youse kin
go in the flies an’ take a look at the red-hot babies.
Pay? Well, youse only works a little w’ile. Two dol-
lars. Sure, youse gits it soon ez youse come back to
the stable.”

"Could we sleep in the stable tonight?” I ventured,
presuming on his affability.

"Ha! ha! Broke, eh? Tell yah wot I’ll do. I know
a lady wot runs the roomin house ’cross the street. She’s
a good sport. I’ll tell her tuh put youse up fer the
night if youse’ll work ternight an* termorrer. Ter-174

THE MAIN STEM

morrer we gotter bring in all de scenery an’ trunks fer
the Star’s show nex’ week, an’ I’m kinda short-handed.”
We promised to work for him as long as he wanted.
“Oh! no, you’se better git a reg’lar job. We got
plenty uh work Saturday an’ Sunday, changin’ the
shows; but we got a steady gang tuh move trunks
durin’ the week.”

§

The only vacancy the lady across the street had was
a two-room suite. One room was a bed-room, the other
room had a stove and running water. There were pots
on the wall.

“This is great, great!” as the door closed and we were
left alone. “Home cooked food tomorrow. Oh! Charlie
if you knew how I hanker for something that’s been
cooked by my own hands, something • .

"If you knew how I hanker for food cooked by
anybody’s hands. Do you know we haven’t had grub
since we ate that sandwich at noon; and do you real-
ize that we don’t eat until we’ve done a hard day’s
work tonight?”

"Are you gettin’ lank inside? Pull up your belt a
couple notches, for tomorrow . . .”

“Yes, and what’s that wobbly song you taught me?

*Kneel and pray,

Eat some hay,

You’ll eat pie,

In the sky,

"When you die.* ”

“No, pie tomorrow, you old pessimist. Fill up that
pot and let’s boil some water to see if the kitchen works.THE MAIN STEM

175

We’ve got twenty cents left out of that dollar. We’ve
got plenty of butts. I’ll buy you a chocolate bar.”

§

At the stable I found I could use the telephone gratis.
"Hello, Jimmy. Yes, landed a job. No, but we get
paid to-night. A letter for Charlie? Fine. Can you
come to see us tomorrow night? 002 Oregon Avenue.
Bring the letter with you. And—hello—can you bring
down our suitcases?”

In a few minutes the stable was all a-bustle. Neigh-
ing and tramping horses were being brought from the
stalls and harnessed to the long, low, sturdy wagons
which move scenery. "Hi, there Maude, you son of a

b-----.” "Hold still, Bessie.” "George, bring me that

bit over there.”

"Steady, steady, whoa, there.” The foreman called
to us. "Jump on the truck, fellers.”

The ride to the theatre on the long truck with tiny,
stout wheels, gave me for the first time in many weeks
the thrill of romance. I was going into the land of
troupers. I was as excited as when an Indiana farmer’s
daughter makes her first trip through Hollywood.

We drove up an alley with our wagons, dismounted
and entered the theatre by the stage door. We walked
behind the scenes through music, warmth, and light,
meeting two or three half-dressed girls who seemed to
be thinking about something far away. The girls*
paint, white and red, with black and blue about the
eyes, made them hideous. But we could not linger
long at such close quarters. Our place was up in the
flies until the show was over. We sat perched twenty
feet above the stage, and watched what went on behind
and in front of the scenery. The Irishman and the176

THE MAIN STEM

Jew were heaving their heavy jokes at each other. The
Jew said he liked his cigars short because he didn’t have
to pull the smoke so far; the Irishman found a peanut
and sang this line:

"I found a peanut, I found a peanut.”

To which the Jew queried:

"Votcha gonna do mit it?

"Votcha gonna do mit it?”

The Irishman informed him:

"I’m gonna eat it. I’m gonna eat it.”

"Vot vill it taste like?

"Vot vill it taste like?”

"Just like a peanut. Just like a peanut.”

A girl, with more energy than grace and a voice more
loud than sweet, came out and sang K-K-Katy. Dur-
ing her song she rushed from one end of the stage to
the other, and retired breathless. She went behind the
scenes and returned when the audience had applauded.
She sang and jumped and jumped and sang through
the popular song. She took three bends and an encore,
and probably told her friends that the number sure
was a belly wow.

Behind the scenes the animation was no less inter-
esting. Men and women in ridiculous clothes came out
to look at their fellows on the stage. Some of them,
making a quick change, would pull off nearly every-
thing with a beautiful lack of self-consciousness, andTHE MAIN STEM

*77

put on another costume, deftly businesslike, and with
no prudery. I was enjoying it all.

Somebody was poking my ribs. "Soon as the curtain
drops next time, Blondey, I wantcha tuh come on down.
We only got an hour tuh catch that 12:00.” It was
the big, jovial foreman.

As I came down the stairs with Charlie the chorus
girls were entering their dressing rooms. They were
taking off their clothes as they entered. But they
recognized us as not being part of the company. “Ooh!
girls, here come two men!” one of them shouted. A
few hastily covered their bare breasts with the strips of
tinselled cloth which had been their skirts.

"C’mon over here an* carry this out.” We came
over and carried out a set which had been folded into
long, narrow strips. "Watch out you don’t rip that.
Easy, easy.” We carried it out of the stage entrance
to a waiting truck. When we returned, the stage was
already bare. Huge pieces of scenery had been folded
to a width of only a few feet, and were lying on the
floor. Rugs were rolled up into tight cylinders eighteen
inches in diameter and twenty feet long. "Grab that
end. Got it? Righto! Watch it! Straight back.
Atta boy! Turn around. Lift up on yer end. Hold
it! Hold it! Now, let go.” Thud! the piece of scen-
ery which had been standing on its edge was allowed to
flop over on its side, cushioning its fall by the reistanee
of the broad surface to the atmosphere. "Now let’s
get those rugs.”

It was feverish work; but it was orderly. We worked
hard, very hard, but not wastefully. The foreman
was clever. Fresh wagons were always waiting when
the one ahead was loaded. No two gangs ever grabbed
the same piece. The men themselves displayed intelli-THE MAIN STEM

178

gence. We were being paid for this one, single task.
It was our responsibility to get it over; and we felt
that responsibility.

Soon the actors began to come out, two by two,
from the dressing rooms. "Good night, fellows,” they
called cheerily, "Good night, miss.” "Good-night,
Jim.” It was pleasant to hear this. It was the first
time that any white-collar person had shown the slight-
est interest in us. One of the girls said good night to
me personally, calling me Blondey. It warmed me like
a cocktail.

The stage was now a bare and splintered floor. A
couple of men were swinging the last trunks on their
shoulders.

"Jump on this wagon. Hurry up!” Charlie and I
jumped on the moving wagon, and sat astride a loose
piece of stage property. The driver went through the
deserted streets. Down a steep hill we went, with
brakes on. The wagon stopped. "Here, help me put
on this chain.” We got out and helped the foreman
bind the wheel to the chassis of the wagon. The chain
prevented its revolving. We went down, down, not
far from where, earlier in the day, we had applied for
a job.

Men were swinging lanterns and crying to each other.
"Here’s the car. Drive up. Speed!” At the end of a
baggage care we stopped. We slid the long, narrow
scenery and the long cylinders which were rugs, into
the car. Some of the gang were inside, pulling; others
were outside, pushing. Lanterns swung, horses neighed,
iron horseshoes fell heavily on the cobbles. "Easy, easy.
Shoot ’er in, now. Whoa, Jessie.”

It was all over in a few minutes. The empty wagons
climbed the steep hill easily. When we were on levelTHE MAIN STEM

*79

ground, the horses raced to the stable. Charlie and I
were playfully sparring on the flat wagon. "It’s cool-
ish, tonight. Brrr.” And we would feint at each other
to keep warm.

At the stable we collected our two dollars. "Remem-
ber to come back tomorrow.”

Before going to bed we went to a cafeteria on Ninth
Street and had a meal. Then we went to our room to
sleep. The next morning we reported on the job again.
This time we served with a small delivery wagon which
hauled the histrions’ trunks to the hotel. After this
we stayed on for two hours helping around the stable,
sweeping, chopping firewood, and running a few er-
rands for the big boss, the owner of the company. For
this we received three dollars.

It was a little after twelve, and time for a cooked
meal. A grocery nearby was open, although it was
Sunday. Steak, spinach, bread, butter, potatoes, let-
tuce, olive oil, lemons,—all these were turned into a
meal which, in spite of our artless cooking, was im-
measurably superior to the adulterated fare of cafeter-
ias and camps.

In the afternoon we took a nap. 'When we woke
up it was already dark. "Let’s invite Jimmy to have
supper with us.” We telephoned, and Jimmy came
soon after. With him he brought our suitcase and the
letter. Charlie tore open the letter, which was from
his parents. "Look!” I saw a twenty dollar bill. Ten
dollars was mine. That was our code of ethics. Ten
dollars for which I had not worked; ten dollars for
which I had not tossed heavy weights or shovelfuls of
dirt! Ten dollars for which I had not lifted a finger,
had not sweat or frozen, had not placed my limbs in
jeopardy. Yes, it was mine, of course! Mine, mine!i8o

THE MAIN STEM

But how could it belong to me? There was something
too absurd about consuming without producing.

"Put on your regular clothes. There’s the suitcase.
Shake a leg. We’re going to a decent restaurant.”

When we returned we were eight dollars poorer;
but what an evening we had had! We had gone into
the den of the bourgeois. We had had supper at the
Statler. It had been a swell hand-out. Pretty girls,
well gowned, had sat two tables away. Well-dressed
men and women—I had hated them—but it had been
good to see them again.

§

Next day we went back to the close-fisted foreman
of the B. & O. maintenance-of-way gang. He was
surprised to see us, but a little glad, I think. Young,
able-bodied labor was rather scarce.

"Had yer breakfast?”

"Yes, sir.”

I believe he was nettled at this.

Ten minutes later we were scooting along the tracks
on a handcar, four men in front pumping on the down
stroke, four men behind pumping on the other down
stroke. The foreman was on the side in the middle,
his foot resting lightly on the brake pedal. We went
through a short tunnel, under a bridge, over a bridge.
Now and again we would stop while one of the men
ran ahead to throw open a switch. After about three
miles of this, we stopped near an old water tank with
a scaffold around it. Eight of us picked up the hand
car, lifted it to one side of the track, and stood for
a moment wondering what would be the orders of the
day.

"We gotta take the bands offa that water tank, scrapeTHE MAIN STEM

181

off the rust, put ’em back on, an’ paint the whole damn’
business.”

It took us about half a day to distribute the gang
properly. Some refused to work on the scaffold; others
tried, but like Charlie, found they could not pay atten-
tion both to their duties and to the problem of keeping
equilibrium on a thin plank forty feet above the
ground. At the end of the day, an Indian, two Ken-
tuckians, and I, were on the scaffold, taking off the
hoops and lowering them on a rope and pulley. Below,
men scraped off the rust, sandpapered the iron strips.
Then the pieces were hauled back up, and we put the
hoops on again. Each hoop was made in three sec-
tions. By unbolting them, they straightened out into
three lengths, with very little curvature. While one
hoop was below, we on the scaffold scraped off the rust
which adhered to the wooden sides of the tank, where
the hoop had been, and painted the strip. Then, when
the long pieces of metal were returned to us, smooth,
rustless, and shiny, we replaced them, bolting three
pieces together to form a band.

It was pleasant work up there, above everybody.
It required intelligence and the solving of many little
problems. Nothing was routine. The foreman con-
sidered us the cream of the gang, and did not bully
us. He was, on the contrary, solicitous of our welfare.
A good worker is to be treated with respect—when he
is risking his neck for the good of society and the
widows who own B. & O. stock. Charlie, however, did
not enjoy his work so much. »On the ground it was
monotonous to scrape off rust—scrape, scrape, scrape
for ten hours. The foreman would bully the ground
men. They had to look busy always, to scrape off rust
even when there was no rust left to scrape off.I 8 2

THE MAIN STEM

In a few days the water-tank job was completed;
that is, the hoops had been replaced, but the painting
had yet to be done.

"Blondey, would you like to paint that tank?”

"Yes, sir.”

"Y’ever painted before?”

"Yes, sir.”

After this, for four or five days the gang would
deposit me at the water tank. They would go off to
some other job—digging a foundation for scales, car-
rying sand, or tearing down a little shack. I stayed
alone and painted—painted all day, my own master.
At night the gang called for me with the hand car.

Those were rather wonderful days. Charlie and I
had been going to a public library every night to read.
The next day I would think over what I had read,
would raise problems in my mind which that night
might be solved or illumined by books. One of the
problems was that of interest. Why were people inter-
ested in things? Why were some things interesting
and others not? Why were some good songs popular
and others not? At night I looked up the word "inter-
est” in the card catalog, found a book by De Garmo,
and read it—or, rather, as much of it as illumined my
problem. I looked up books that Slim had mentioned
to me, books by Lester Ward, Thorstein Veblen, Gil-
bert Murry, Paul Lafargue, Karl Pearson, Wundt,
Titchener, Huxley, Lecky, Havelock Ellis.

I could think of all these great and near-great souls
as I painted, painted, painted, with never a care for
foreman or anybody else. I could dream, too. One of
the dreams which most frequently recurred was this:

I would, somehow, either through marriage, or heir-
ship, come into possession of a rare fortune. Now,THE MAIN STEM

m

what the American people most need (I day dreamed)’
is education. But how secure education? By diffusing
it through a popular medium, a good magazine, say.
With my money we could sell the magazine for ten or
fifteen cents, and at the same time eliminate obeisance
to advertisers. We could hire the best writers in the
world, and, with our policy, attract their interest—
Shaw, Wells, Anatole France. Pictures? We could
have camera men in every hamlet of the globe; illus-
trations and decorations—we could have the finest
artists of the world. Slim should be editor-in-chief.
I would be second in command. I thought long before
deciding whether Charlie should come in third, or
whether we should invite Mr. Villard. Mr. Villard was,
of course, an outsider, and that was against him. But
he was the editor of the Nation, a pretty good weekly,
as journals went. Yes, it would perhaps be better to
have him. Charlie should be an associate editor with
a fine office and some prestige, but with little real
authority. And so I dreamed about the great maga-
zine. I dreamed and painted. My fantasy took other
forms. Sometimes I was a struggling author raised to
fame by early death. Like the French literary young-
sters of 1832, I yearned to die before thirty. At other
times I lived among pretty women, adulating women,
and much whiskey.

One dream which occurred to me frequently was
some way of spreading toils for the dollars of the
bourgeois. I had come to hate the middle class, and if
they had dollars to spare, I saw no reason why I should
not share them. Usually my plan was honest enough.
I would develop some eccentricity of personality, wear
picturesque clothes, and pose as a lecturer on the life
of migratories. Or I would publish some bizarre book,THE MAIN STEM

184

with baroque" illustrations and an extravagant cover
design. With proper advertisement such a book might
establish a fad, and might mean a comfortable life in-
stead of this damn* painting, painting.

On this job I invented an automobile windshield
wiper with a reservoir of carbon tetrachloride. Some-
one had told me that this liquid penetrated the sur-
face tension of water, and would prevent the rain from
adhering in vision-dimming globules. On one occasion
I almost recoiled from myself when I found that I was
day-dreaming a bank-robbery. This was going too
far. The reason all these day dreams remained in an
unrealized limbo was that I doubted my own ability as
an actor to carry them out, and that there was never
enough money to finance the bizarre clothing or book,
or tools to manufacture the windshield wiper.

§

I have since learned that such day dreams are very
common among hoboes. One hobo whom I met two
years later had planned a great work whose title was
to be “Woman.” He had, during the depression of
1920, found a job in Frisco, and had stayed there for
seven months. During this time he corresponded with
many women who advertised in the matrimonial sec-
tion of one of the newspapers. Some of these women
he had met and talked to; from others he had a stack
of letters. These conversations and letters were to con-
stitute on epoch-making work on feminine nature.
Other hobos are inventing something which will make
them rich. One whom I met and who had long worked
in a nickel-plating shop, carried around with him a
sample of the “only” nickel polish which would not
scratch. He expected to reap a fortune from this.CHAPTER XV

One day a letter came from Slim. It was a reply to
one I had written him.

"About the time you get this 1*11 be leaving for
Cleveland. Look out for me Saturday.

"I had something of interest happen today. You
know, all I do is watch the boxes go by on a rolling
belt. Occasionally I pick out a defective one. That,
however, does not keep me occupied, so I decided to
plot the rate of the passage of the boxes over a few days.
The curve of the production is something like this:

7 '8	9 to // /V / L ,3 **	5 &

"Notice that the morning is more productive than
the afternoon. Notice, also, the drop in production
about ten and four. This bears out what we have so
frequently observed, that the middle of the working
unit is the longest and most disagreeable. After that,

185i86

THE MAIN STEM

the worker seems to get a sort of second wind, and
works pretty well until towards quitting time.

"Well, here was my plan. The foreman who bosses
these people here hollers at them all day long. He is
forever saying, "Get a move on. Shake a leg. Watsa
matter? Speed ’er up.” I wanted to see if the workers
could be speeded up by bawling them out only during
the slack periods. If the foreman kept his hollering
to himself the largest part of the day, it might have
some effect during the slack periods. So I called the
foreman over. ‘Joe, look here, this chart shows . . .’
and I told him what it showed. He looked at it as a
baby or monkey follows a bright spoon with his eyes.
He listened, bored but patient. When I had finished
he said, 'Yeah, I know. Butcha gotta holler at ’em alia
time. Hey! there, Reds, step lively, this ain’t no pink
tea.’ This last sentence he addressed to one of his gang
who had stopped a moment to rub something out of
his eye.”

§

Charlie and I talked of nothing but Slim. He was on
our lips at all times. "Maybe he’ll come tonight.”
"Say, I’ll bet he’ll enjoy good, home-cooked food.
Steak, pork chops, lamb chops, fresh vegetables, instead
of lamb stew, canned com and hash.” Slim finally
came, and we were as happy as we had thought we’d
be.

"Yes, the trip was a cinch. New York to Buffalo.
Buffalo to Cleveland. Two shipments, two days, total
cost, fifty cents for some hash in Buffalo.” There was
a slight boastful note in his voice.

Of course, it was pleasant to see Slim again. It was
good to see that prize-fighter’s mug he had, to hear hisTHE MAIN STEM

187

sharp, incisive, witty words. But there was something
lacking. An integrating philosophy one might per-
haps call it. Here he was, boasting about his trip from
New York to Cleveland at an expense of only fifty
cents. With his talents he ought to be boasting about
having swayed large audiences; with his flair for indi-
vidual style, he ought to be telling about the sales of a
recent book. Our long separation had permitted me
to look at him in a new light. He was brilliant. But
why at his age, had he not done something more worth-
while than mere wandering? He was a misfit, but did
he not have enough intelligence, amiability, and adjust-
ability to change that part of his personality?

There was the rub. Did Slim have enough ability to
make adjustments to situations which would have led
him on to more useful fields? Did he have the patience
and perseverance needed to make a worth-while con-
tribution to the world? His intelligence was unques-
tioned; his restless mind had ranged wide plains of
knowledge; but for all his abilities, could he contribute
to society with the knowledge and skill he had?

§

We stayed a few days longer, having made arrange-
ments to get our pay before leaving. During the day
Charlie and I worked while Slim stayed home and
cooked for us. He visited friends, visited Jimmy, and
Mrs. Marston in the hospital. At night we had delight-
ful chats, about books, about our experiences as car-
penters, as ash shovellers, as scenery movers.

"Say, that business of moving scenery appeals to me.
Could I get a job Saturday, just to see what it’s like?”

"Most of the theatres are closed on account of the
flu. Say, what is this flu, anyway?”188

THE MAIN STEM

"Well, it’s sort of cross between grippe and pneu-
monia, I believe.”

"Shucks! Bet if the damn’ bourgeois would go out
and get a little fresh air in their lungs, paint a water
tank or dig a ditch, they would feel better.”

"You forget that the damn’ bourgeois get fresher
air than you do, old socks. Commend me to the fresh
air of the golf links as compared with the air one
breathes in a powder works, or while painting a water-
tank or in a machine shop. A bath three or four times
a week, three squares a day, cooked by your wife’s
hands, a bedroom for one or two at most, all these
things help to prevent infection.”

"Ah! poppycock! Weak, spiritless, spineless, gutless
clerks—they’re the ones that catch disease. By the way,
I’ve learned a song from a stiff in Pittsburgh that dis-
poses of your argument, or any old argument.

"It may be so, for all I know,

But it sounds so very queer,

I hate like hell to doubt your word.

But your bull------, won’t go here.

I hope you recognize the tune as Auld Lang Syne.”
"Think that’s smart, don’t you? Tell me some more
about your work at the B. & O. I was interested in
what you were saying about the industrial rather than
craft nature of the gang. You say you have carpen-
ters in the gang, as well as laborers. Together they
form one unit. That is interesting. It shows that
labor is right in industrial organization, for it must
meet that type of organization on the part of capital.”
"I didn’t tell you this interesting thing about the
water-tank job. From my perch on the scaffold ITHE MAIN STEM

189

could see below me a gang of negro women picking up
scrap. The war is said to have caused a shortage of
labor. But I didn’t realize that women were being
hired to do such heavy work. Some of that scrap weighs
over a hundred pounds. But those big, husky, black
women, in their overalls, wrestle with their load, dump
it into a wheel-barrow, and then push it to a scrap
heap.”

“Labor shortage!” He snorted. "It’s not labor
shortage; trouble is, employers are unwilling to pay
high wages to men. They can get the women cheaper.”

§

We were making plans for our trip West. Slim
said:

“I have been turning over a plan in my mind to jump
shipments which reminds me a little too much of melo-
drama. Let’s see what you think of it, though. My
plan is this:	We put on our regular clothes under our

overalls. We accept shipments; and then, when an
auspicious moment arrives, we sneak into a toilet, or
somewhere, and slip off our outer clothes, wrapping
them into a neat bundle. When we walk out, chest
up, head erect, necktie in place, white shirt, we won’t
be recognized. We could simply walk out by different
routes. Why, the man-catcher himself would think we
were the superintendent, or the. head clerk. What do
you think of it?”

"I think it would be a fine way to avoid working.
It takes a little nerve, however, to walk out of a camp
boldly, but I think all three of us have enough to meet
the emergency.”

"The biggest objection I see is that there are three of
us. It will be a little hard for three people to play theTHE MAIN STEM

190

5ame game of beating our transportation. But maybe
we could work that out.”

"It might be a good idea to appear to travel inde-
pendently. We won’t sit together, or enter the em-
ployment agency together. We’ll just pursue our way
solitarily, keeping alert for any messages we may have
Jo give each other.”

Before leaving for our immediate destination, Chi-
cago, we loafed a few days. We read half a day at the
library, and another half day was spent in our rooms,
darning socks, underwear, overalls. The life of the
neighboring houses was interesting. Many negroes lived
in this section. One day we saw a negro woman break
jup a crap game in which her husband was a player.
She stormed loud and long at the "wuthless loafahs.”

Another day a crap game was broken up in a quite
different manner. Here is the story as we learned about
it later. Liza was considered a belle among the negro
contingent. She was a very desirable prize, to be won
only by the skillful. It appears that one Ford, a rather
ordinary negro, boasted to some of his friends that he
had taken Liza up a back alley and had found her
willing. The boast came back to Liza, while she was
washing for some white folks. At that same moment,
Ford was under our back window, shooting crap in
the alley.

We heard a high, angry voice shouting unintelligibly.
We opened our window, and saw Liza standing opposite
six negroes who had abandoned their game. She was
shaking her fist at Ford.

"Yo’ low-down niggah, yo damn* snake in de grass!
What foh yo’ telling folks dat yo* (loved) me?** She
used the past tense of a little word which is being de-
scribed by modern authors as "one of those four letterTHE MAIN STEM

i$i

words, some of which were formerly in good linage.”
"What you’ tellin* people dat foh? Yo’ low, mean
snake in de grass. Damn* yo’! Trouble wit’ yo* is,
yo’ kain’t (love). Every gal ’roun heah tell me: ’Fohd
doan’ know how to (love).’ Yo’ think I let a damn’,
ignerrent snake lak yo’ (love) me?”

“Shades of Schnitzler and the pithecanthropus!
Vienna and the Neanderthal!” Slim exclaimed at this.
"Did you ever see such a paradox? Sophisticated love,
and a frontal angle of forty-five degrees!”

There was another incident one night, more touch-
ing. Next to us lived an old mother and her two labor-
ing sons. We heard loud, angry talking next door
most of the time. The fighting was three cornered.
Each brother accused the other of spending all his
money on liquor and prostitutes instead of contributing
to the upkeep of the home. And the old, hag-like
mother accused both sons of spending all their money
for drink and women. The sons, for their part, accused
the mother of extravagance in buying food; they abused
her when dinner was not served promptly.

On the other hand there were times when they
seemed, all of them, to be at peace. One could hear
them at breakfast or dinner:

"This meat is good, ma.”

"D’ye like it?”

"How much did it cost?”

"Sixty cents.”

"Swell feed fer sixty cents.”

"Well, Jim, wotcher ben doin’ terday?”

"Finished dat job I toldjer ’bout yesterday. We’re
mixin’ concrete now. Wotchoo doin’?”

"Still on de coal.”

"Aintcha finished dat up yit?”I$2

THE MAIN STEM

“Naw, de gang busted up last Sattidy, pay day.”

And so on and so on. Their prattle was pretty to
hear because it was not abusive.

One night, as we came home very late, we saw the
old woman emerging from her room in a sort of night-
gown.

The light, coming through her half-open door, fell
on one of her sons who was lying across the head of
the stairs. He was drunk, so drunk that he had fallen
there and had gone to sleep. The mother said gently:

“Please don’t wake me boy; he’s sleepin’.”

I thought of Brutus, putting a cape over his servant,
after his quarrel with Cassius.

§

Finally the day of departure came. We had said
good-bye to the kind landlady, to the foreman of the
stables across the street, to Jimmy Ralston. Our des-
tination was Chicago. We had mailed our excess bag-
gage there, in care of General Delivery.

With our regular clothes on underneath and our
overalls on top, we went down to the employment
agency section, where we separated. In about an hour
we met in a saloon.

“What do you think of that job in Garrett, Indiana?
How long does it take to go from Garrett to Chi?”

“I asked a stiff, and he said Garrett is better than
half way.”

“The fare from Garrett to Chi is less than four dol-
lars.”

"We might be able to get a shipment to Evanston,
Illinois, if we waited a day or two.”

“Isn’t worth it. If you think it over, I believe you’ll
agree four dollars is cheap enough.”THE MAIN STEM



We were agreed. First Charlie, then Slim, then I,
walked into the employment agency, and hired out.
Before going into the office, I bought some chewing
tobacco, becatise I was afraid I did not look tough
enough. My hair was cut, I was freshly shaved, in
order that I might look presentable when I assumed
the air of the superintendent or the head clerk.

Soon we were on the train, speeding westward. I
was in high spirits, for I was going further West than
I had ever gone before. At the same time, there was
some misgiving in my heart. What was awaiting me
in this new land, west of the Mississippi, which I should
soon reach?

I entered into conversation with the fellow beside
me. After a few preliminaries, he said.”

"Say, Bud, ye wanna buy a ring? Found it yestiddy,
an* I wanna raise a little cash on it.’*

At last I had met him—the ring-stiff. His game is
to sell rings, watches, bracelets, lockets, and all manner
of jewelry. The tale that accompanies the sales talk
varies in unessentials; perhaps it is an heirloom that he
would not give up under any circumstances, except that
his wife is dying. But the essential thing is the same—
a worthless ring or bracelet selling for three or four
dollars. I had heard of these sharpers often, from Slim,
from workers, from saloon-keepers. I could not help
showing my sophistication in reply:

"Don’t try to pull that game off on me, Jack. I*m
a wise guy.”

"Sail right, sail right. Thought mebbe you’d fall.
Some of ’em do, ye know. Got a cigareet?”

We talked. "Any shipments to the West Coast from
Chi?”

"I dunno, an* I don’t give a good god damn. Man,194

THE MAIN STEM

wen I gits in Chi, my feet stops itchin’. Sail right tuh
bum ‘round’ inna summer time, but wen she gits ez
cold ez she’s gittin’ now, give me good lil ole West
Madison an’ Crum Hill, an’ Bughouse Square (Jeffer-
son Park, Washington Square, respectively). Boy, dat’s
home ter me. Ef yer can’t get ’long in Chi, yer can’t
get ’long nowere. It’s de hobo’s pararrdize. Free slum
from de privates; de Molls is soft-hearter’n hell. I
could find a dozen whores to keep me troo de winter,
but dey raise too much hell wit a guy- I kin live in
Chi all winter thout doin’ a tap a work, thout goin* to
de missions fer a flop.”

His chest swelled as he made his boast.

"You a bundle stiff from out California way?” he
continued. I was flattered by this question. This was
the first time a bum had explicitly taken me for granted
as a fellow bum. I had been graduated into full-fledged
hobodom. My hands, coarse and calloused, and with
the dirt ground in, were evidences of hard living. My
vocabulary and voice passed muster. My clothes were
satisfactory; my general attitude, carriage, bearing,
stamped me as a bum.

I was flattered, but a little sad. Where am I going?
Will I always be a stiff? When and how will the change
come? Will I ever again be able to take my place as a
citizen in the world of the middle class? Will I be a
lawyer, or a doctor, or a teacher, or a realtor, or a
mortician?

The first few weeks of our friendship together, Slim
bad occasionally mentioned taking up law; and I had
vaguely expected to join him in his legal career. But
he had said almost nothing about it since then. Wonder
what he was thinking about doing now?

It amused me to think of Slim as a lawyer, settled,THE MAIN STEM

*95

docile, observing the comical etiquette of the court
room. The formalities, the hard, detailed work, the
circumlocutions of the law—a bull in a china shop.
Before a jury his eloquence and his love for grand ges-
tures might bring him success. But he would never
have the patience to work up a case to the point of
standing before a jury.

It was, indeed, difficult to imagine Slim in a bourgeois
environment. He had an almost psychopathic hatred
of men and women who dressed well; he ridiculed
formalities and courtesies of every sort; he had a Puri-
tan contempt for the innocent parties and dances of
middle-class youngsters. “The hypocrisy of the middle
class gives me a damn* pain.’*

I ought to talk to Slim about all this some time. We
can’t go on as migratory workers all our lives.

$

I slept a little. When we stopped I woke up, looked
around, greeted Slim and Charlie with my eyes, and
went back to sleep. About two o’clock in the morn-
ing, we reached Garrett.

Getting off the train gave Slim and me an oppor-
tunity to talk. “They’ll probably put us in a flophouse
for the rest of the night. Change your clothes and
get away as soon as possible, and meet us in the station.
I’ll take care of handsome Charlie. I’m afraid he won’t
get along by himself. Too damn* open and above-
board in his actions. Reminds me of you when I first
knew you. It is the irony of fate that, having made a
respectable hobo out of you, I’ve got to train another
gay-cat. But you are gratifying to the teacher, I’ll
say that, you long-legged, flop-eared, blond-headed,
good-for-nothing, lousey bum.”196	THE MAIN STEM

Twice in the same night I had been flattered, and
saddened.

Near the entrance of the camp, we were separated
into two groups, Slim and Charlie going one way, and
I another. My bunch was soon in a bunkhouse. When
everybody had rolled in, I rose and went to the toilet.
Once inside I hurriedly slipped off my overalls, rubbed
my shoes with them, took off the heavy top shirt, made
a bundle of my outer clothes, and stood, nearly immac-
ulate, in my regular clothes, with a white shirt and a
silk necktie. I washed my hands and face, combed my
hair, and then strolled out, very much afraid of being
caught jumping the shipment. There were sputtering
arc-lights all over the place. I avoided their beams.
There were soldiers about. They did not challenge me.
I walked on and on, trying to act like the superintend-
ent or head clerk taking a little constitutional at three
o’clock in the morning.

In the streets of Garrett I felt safe. I walked along
confidently now. A block or so ahead of me I saw what
I thought was Charlie and Slim. I quickened my pace
and, truly enough it was they. We were now not three
laborers in overalls, but three bucks returning from
a poker party, each with a bundle under his arm.

“You fellows made that getaway in pretty quick
time,” I said.

"We never got as far as the flophouse, even. Charlie
dropped off behind us in an alley; he entered a bum,
came out a handsome gentleman. I did the same, be-
hind a billboard.”

“Went in a bum, that out a bum, never departed
more.”

“Not a bad paraphrase.”

“I believe,” Slim said, " I have been in this townTHE MAIN STEM

i97

before. I think you take an electric to Fort "Wayne,
and from there you catch a train to Chi.”

Slim was right. We caught an electric to Fort
Wayne, and there we found that we should have to
wait a long time before being able to catch a train for
Chicago. Charlie fell asleep in one of the seats of the
station, while Slim and I talked together. Here was
my chance. The early morning silence, the deserted
waiting room, made it easy to speak confidentially.

“We’re hell bent for the Coast, Slim, and I’d like to
know what we’re going to do when we get there?”
“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re not going to work at jobs like this all
our lives, are we? I’ve had the feeling for the last
two months of skating on thin ice. It seems to me that
we’re going down, down, down. More of this and
we’ll be unable to stage a comeback. We’ll be like
Jack Cartwright. You remember the story you told
me about him on the boat that night we went to
Philly?”

“Yes, certainly Jack has gone down for good.”
“And don’t you think the same fate may await us
if we don’t plan to get out of this sort of life soon?”
“I’m almost tempted to say, what of it? Life is a
hell of a problem, however you look at it. A pet
theory of mine is that when society is intelligent enough
to rule itself sanely, it will extinguish itself. The best
solution I know to our social ills is cocoa butter, prop-
erly medicated. If there were no children—no new*
generation—the problem of social justice would vanish
when the last social being died-^say one hundred years
from now.”

“Yes, but people are going on having children.”

**I know. The damn* fools! As I see it, there are198

THE MAIN STEM

two ways of living in our present economic system.
You belong either to a group which has to kneel before
certain gods, conform to certain folkways, or you do
not.”

Slim was launched.

"If you belong to one group you have to be true to
your wife, take frequent baths, belong to a few clubs,
treat your boss as if he were really your superior. You
have Obligations. You have to use peppermints after
taking a drink. You have to listen to a lot of people
trying to impress other people with their ability to con-
sume conspicuously. Even the intellectuals among the
bourgeois are boring, trying to impress others with
their learning. They are mental parvenus. They talk
about Ideas, as if there were not more interesting things
than Ideas to talk about.

"Now, your second group is not so, but is like the
chaff, which the wind of industrialism driveth about.
The bum is good company. Not every bum of course,
but many of them. There are no professional jealous-
ies. You’re not trying so hard to get ahead that you
can’t stop and be friends. There are no Obligations.
There are no Ideas.

"As for women, you takes your choice at five dollars
a night. If you are more finicky, there are plenty of
working girls who will gratify your need for love and
devotion—until you move on into the next town.

"Now, I’m not trying to say that migratoriness is all
fun and no work. But I am trying to say that it has
its compensations. Migratoriness is, perhaps, satisfac-
tory to only a few temperaments. Some people love
the formalities and insincerity of bourgeois life; others
tolerate it, I don’t. I have on two important occa-THE MAIN STEM

199

sions made my escape from the hollowness and chican-
eries of bourgeois enviroment. I doubt that I shall
ever return to it.

"Not that I expect to do this sort of thing always.
You know of my interest in the Socialist Labor Party.
I’d like to put in a few good licks for them, soap-box-
ing, organizing, writing. I don’t believe that, at pres-
ent, the party is supporting men to do that sort of
thing; but I believe that after I get started I can make
myself valuable enough to draw a salary. I should
like that, and I could lead the same sort of life I am
now leading, only better.

"You know, Blondey—I’ve never told anybody this
before—I have a sort of faith in my destiny. Ever
since childhood, when I looked upon myself as an un-
recognized nobleman, a lord temporarily deserted by
my vassals, I felt that I was not forever destined to
eat humble pie. I feel—Oh! I know it sounds fool-
ish—but I feel that some day, somehow, things are
going to work out for me. I’m close to thirty, I know.
But I have an optimistic confidence in my ultimate
success. What form this success will take, I don’t
know.”

Slim had stopped. I looked at him, a little startled
by the silence. His stare told me that he was building
castles in Spain. "What was he thinking about? My
mind’s eye evoked a picture of Slim beside me on a
bench in Washington Square. We were reading the
Iron Heel . . . "In the whine of machine guns . .

Yes, that’s what he was thinking about! In the
whine of machine guns, Slim would be there! Lenin,
Trotsky, Slim! Tumbrils going to the guillotine.
Armour, Vanderbilt, Rockefeller. Red armies lining200

THE MAIN STEM

people against a brick wall. Crack! Crack! Crack!
The drone of aeroplanes above! Absurd tanks tum-
bling over knolls and spitting fire!

§

I heard a snore. The leader of the proletarian revo-
lution had fallen asleep.CHAPTER XVI

In Chicago we went immediately to the slave market,
Halstead Street and Madison Avenue. On our way
we passed railroad yards in which were the passenger
cars of the lines which I had come to associate with
romance. Migratory workers always use the nick-
name or initials of the lines which they ride. "Pulled
into Los on the S.P. (Southern Pacific).” "Rode into
Chi on the C.B.&Q. (Chicago, Burlington, and
Quincy).” "The shack kicked me off when I was
ridin’ the Katy.” "The Pennsy,” "The Big Four,”
"The B. an* O.” "The Santey Fay,” one hears these
names over and over again in doss-houses, at meals,
just as one hears the words "Chevrolet,” "Buick,”
"Studebaker” at dinners, receptions, and at the theatre.

I had never been in Chicago before. Some of these
names I had never seen printed except on advertising
circulars or vagrant freight cars. They brought back
stories I had heard of fights with shacks (brakemen);
long, stolen, rides over the prairies and mountains. I
thought of all this as I looked at the adventure-laden
words; Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe; The Chicago
and Alton; the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul.

I was a little afraid, too of these words. Until now
my wanderings had been a sort of joy-ride, on familiar
territory, for I had travelled all over the East before my
hobo days. But now, on these trains with epic names,
I was to plunge into lands unknown to me.

201202

THE MAIN STEM

The labor market, too, gave me a sense of the seri-
ousness of my situation. In Chicago the hobo is self-
conscious. In New York, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Bal-
timore, the hobo was an adventitious migratory. He
went dumbly from job to job, impelled by the relent-
less forces of modern capitalism. He was simply a man
beaten by an economic system. In Chicago the hobo
seemed to be a hobo by choice. The men were large,
strong, conscious of their disinheritance. They seemed
not to be the victims of circumstances; they came to
Chicago of their own free will, to "get by” during the
winter. They knew what they were about. They had
definite standards. They did not allow themselves to
be kicked about from job to job. They had worked
on the wheat all summer, or on war jobs. Now that
winter was coming, they had left for Chicago. The
hegira was not accidental; it was as conscious as the
migrations to Palm Beach or the Riviera. One can get
by in Chicago! One can live on less than a dollar a
day. Over and over I heard the stiffs on the side-walk
saying, “If ye can’t get by in Chi, ye can’t get by
nowhere.” It recurred so frequently, that one got tired
of it.

In Chicago there are so many homeless men, between
30,000 and 60,000, that their wants are cared for by
specialized business concerns which could not exist if
they did not serve such a large population. Flophouses,
eating joints, clothes vendors, flourish here as they do
not flourish on other “main stems.” Radical book-
stores, missions, and employment agencies outnumber
similar institutions of other cities. The movies here
cater to the worker. “Stay as long as you like,” they
advertise, knowing that often the wanderer cannot find
warmth so cheaply elsewhere. The barber shops—theyTHE MAIN STEM

203

are really barber colleges—will cut hair for ten or fif-
teen cents. There are four of them on "West Madison
Street.

$

I was a little afraid, then, as I looked at great, tall
hobos coming to Chicago for the winter. I was a little
afraid as I looked at the trains of the C. B. & Q. and
the Northwestern. I was conscious of identifying my-
self a little too closely witih hobo life, as I looked at
the menus printed on the windows of the beaneries, at
the cheap clothing displayed in outfitters’ windows, at
the highly colored posters of the ten-cent movies. So
far I had been only flirting with the forces that drag
men down for good. But this was in earnest. The
hobo quarter in Chi is not a place where romantic
youths should trifle. It was a serious matter, this hobo
business.

I had been nearly a year at hard labor, and migratory
intermissions. During this time I had learned the hobo
vocabulary so that it was not forced. At first it had
been a novelty to intersperse my conversation with a
few expressions like “crummy,” "kip,” stiff,” "flop,”
"goddam,” "gandydancer.” I had even made a list
of these expressions in a note book so that when I went
back to college I might epater les bourgeois with a new
"line.” But now I found myself using these words to
the exclusion of others. They were my real working
vocabulary. And I detested the words. I should be
content never to hear them again.

I had been a long time in inchoate rebellion. Ever
since Johnstown I had felt uncomfortable as a migra-
tory worker. The main drag in Chi made all these
incidents and feelings, which had been resting in the204

THE MAIN STEM

limbo of the unconscious, come forward into the fore-
ground of consciousness. How I hoped we could not
get a shipment West for a day or two. It would give
me breathing space.

S

We looked all day for shipments West. There were
plenty of jobs open to the north and west, jobs in
lumber camps, mostly. But we didn’t want to be side-
tracked. We wanted to follow, so far as possible, the
straightest road to the Coast: Chi to Council Bluffs;
Omaha to Cheyenne; Cheyenne to Reno; Reno to
Frisco. This was a traditional road, the only proper
way to make a direct transcontinental voyage. But
there were no shipments West.

"I move we get a job near here so we can keep in
touch with the slave market, and not lose the little
we’ve already got,” I said. "Besides, I haven’t yet
bought warm clothing for the winter. I hated so to
spend my money, that I am still wearing my fall out-
fit. I need a rig of some sort for winter. I haven’t
felt warm for a month.”

"Yes, that’s what I say.”

We got a job in East Chicago with the B. & O. Ter-
minal Company. The bunkhouses were extremely
clean. There were hot and cold showers, and the con-
crete floor was immaculate. Under ordinary circum-
stances I should have enjoyed this. But now I had
grown restless. The food, good as it was for workers*
fare did not agree with me. I slept little at night. "If
only I could get out of this and still keep Slim’s respect,”
I thought over and over again. There was the rub. I
liked Slim too well to be considered "yellow-bellied” byTHE MAIN STEM

205

him. And I was afraid he would think I had a yellow
streak if I left now. Then I would say to myself,
"You idiot, you’re afraid of being called yellow when
a life hangs in the balance,” and so I debated within
me, and sleep would not come, and the morning found
me weary and haggard.

Slim and Charlie had been assigned to a job picking
up scrap about the yard. I had been assigned as the
helper of a skilled workman, a Pole, whose job it was
to smooth the journals of railroad wheels. The wheels
of a railroad car are all made double, with an axle
between them. The axles project about eight inches
beyond the wheel. It is this projecting part of the
axle which supports the weight of the car. These
projections must be smoothed from time to time, that
they may roll easily in the journal boxes, in which
they revolve. When they become rough from use, an
inspector condemns the projecting axles; the axles with
the wheels attached are dismounted from the car, and
sent to a shop like the one in which I worked. The
axles are then scraped down with a cutter. Inasmuch as
the fit may vary by more than a quarter of an inch, it
does not matter if the axle is relatively slender after
the cutting. The cutting machine works exactly like a
lathe—except that it is reversed. The whole machine
revolves around the stationary axle.

The thing that impressed me most on this job, both
in my shop and in other shops, was the leeway which
locomotives, coaches and box-cars have, mechanically.
I had thought that locomotives were delicate pieces of
machinery, with pieces fitting within a thousandth of
an inch. Perhaps some parts of the locomotive and its
accessories are very carefully finished, but the greater20 6

THE MAIN STEM

part of the engine seems to be slap-dashed together any
old way. The driving rods are rough, unfinished pieces
of metal. The driving wheels are shaved down when
their rolling surfaces are too rough, and are then put
back, considerably smaller in diameter. Cylinders are
re-bored in a casual sort of manner, big, clumsy cali-
pers being used, instead of finely finished micrometers.
I was a little bit disillusioned, and remembered what
a French aviation officer had told me a year and a half
before in Washington:

“We others, in France, when something goes de
travers with the avion, we put in the proper bolts. If
we do not have them, we send away for them. But
you Americans, when you cannot find the proper bolts*
you put in nails, and bend them on the other side. I
would not fly in your ships, parbleu, for nothing in
the world.”

$

Slim had proved so adept and ingenious in loading
scrap and piling it up, that he was made a straw boss.
A straw boss is a sort of sergeant. He is not directly
vested with the power of hiring and firing; he is not
the link between the superintendent and the men; but
his pay is higher than that of the other members of the
gang, and his work involves very little destruction of
muscular tissue. I had a good time teasing him about
his promotion. “From hobo to president of the B. & O.
How a man, doing his job just a little better than it
had ever been done before, rose from a migratory to
a great captain of industry. Christmas will be here
in about six weeks. My gift to you will be twelve
visits of the American Magazine
“Oh! Go to hell,” he said, good-naturedly.THE MAIN STEM

207

§

One day I went to the job with a sore throat. I had
hardly slept all night, for I had been thinking, think-
ing of my problem. "Shall I leave, or shall I continue
this life?” I felt ill all over, but not ill enough to stay
away from work. The Pole and I were working along
in our friendly way. I would say "Ta” to him instead
of "yes;” this delighted him, and he told me all about
his wife, his priest, his dog, and his children. Suddenly,
a man broke into our shop and yelled:

“War’s over, fellows! Peace, Armistice, Germany,
Huns. All over! Hooray! hooray! Peace, doughboys.
Knock off work. Parade. Yea!”

By George, there had been a war. And now it was
over. Well, that was good. The war had been so re-
mote from me that its outcome did not excite me.
Besides, I was feeling pretty rotten. My head and
back had begun to ache fearfully. It was cold, too,
in that little shop; and I had not bought winter clothes.
—Yes, good thing the war was over. Lots of people
get killed in wars.

Within twenty minutes the shops had mobilized for
peace. The whole staff of employees of the Terminal
Company turned out to parade the streets, to sing war
songs, to get drunk.

In the meantime, Slim had hurried over to my shop.
"Let’s beat it into town. We can see how the slave
market is behaving; besides, I’d like to see a big city
celebrate news of peace.”

"You and Charlie go ahead. My head's been aching
like hell this last hour, and I haven't slept well for a
week.”

"Oh! Rats. Come along. Why, you’ll be telling208

THE MAIN STEM

your grandchildren how you got drunk when the Great
War was over—that’s how patriotic you were.”

"But I tell you I feel like hell.”

"I thought only weak, spiritless, spineless, gutless
clerks felt like hell.”

"Well, I feel like hell. And I can’t help it. Fll be
Jake in the morning.”

$

When Slim returned that night he sent a telegram
home to my family. They wired back a sum of money
and a message to put me in a nearby hospital.

It was rather pleasant, after a few days. The sheets
were clean and white. Clean sheets! How I loved
clean sheets! Not a damn’ thing to do all day except
read! Slim had spent some of the money telegraphed
on books and magazines.

$

Slim came in with Charlie. They were dressed in
their "regular” clothes.

"We’ve come to say good-bye.”

"Good-bye. Why—what the hell?” I almost col-
lapsed. Good-bye to Slim! No, I couldn’t say good-
bye to Slim. Yet something within me there was which
said "You’re lucky. Illness has solved your problem
better than you could have done it yourself. You’ll be
home within a week.”

"You’ll be out soon. But flu is a tricky thing. Dr.
Pierce says that a man ought to take care of himself
for a long time after having the flu. T.B., you know,
if you’re not careful. We hate like hell to lose you,
but we can’t take a half-sick man along. Go homeTHE MAIN STEM	ao$

and recuperate. Then, some day, some fine, happy
day, come out to California and rejoin us.”

"To hell with Dr. Pierce. He’s nothing but a damn*
croakus.”

"Well, he didn’t croak you. He pulled you through
beautifully.”

* * * * *

"Good-bye. Take care of that old carcass of yours.”
I saw the door close.CHAPTER XVII

It was strange to be home. The cleanliness was strange.
In the morning, when I woke up, I saw that my sheets
were white. On a nearby chair was my union suit,
white as the snow. My hands were clean, and soft. My
handkerchiefs were clean. I marvelled at this—mar-
velled as a European marvels at the inexhaustible supply
of towels on Pullmans and in hotels.

The food was strange. At meal-time I did not have
to approach the table with an eye alert to the location
of dishes of food. I could sit down, confident that my
father would carve the tenderest piece for his conva-
lescent son; confident that my mother would dish out
a large helping of dessert. Large pieces of meat, three
inches wide and five inches long, seemed impossible
luxury. I had been accustomed to bony, gelatinous
pieces of meat in lamb stew. Sometimes there had been
salt pork or liver. Fried eggs were strange. I had
been accustomed to eggs (I assume they were eggs)
beaten up with a batter of some sort, to make them go
farther. The sophisticated mixture passed as scrambled
eggs; but the floury composition of it was easily de-
tected. Fruit was strange; milk was strange; fresh
vegetables were strange.

For a long time I could not get used to the idea of
not worrying about food, clothing, or shelter. If it
was cold I could put on an overcoat. Funny how the
bourgeois had invented things to keep people warm.

210THE MAIN STEM

211

If I was sleepy, I could take a nap; didn’t Have to fight
to keep awake, fearful lest a foreman find me asleep, or
lest a moment’s dozing should cost me a finger cut off by
a whirling saw, or a foot crushed by a dropping weight.
If I was hungry between meals, I looked in the refrig-
erator, and found a piece of pie, or some pudding left
over. And the house—it was warm, it didn’t smell
bad. The middle class live so clean that they don’t
need insecticide daily to spray the beds.

Of course, there were many disagreeable things. The
petty moralities, the shibboleths of the middle class—
these were intolerable. How I longed to hear blasphe-
mous language roll trippingly from the tongue.

$

Months became years. Post-war deflation had set in.
The exigencies of our social system demanded that
three million men be made jobless. Slim and Charlie’s
occasional letters to me told of suffering. They them-
selves were fortunate. Young, strong, good workers,
they found jobs with comparative ease. But the older
men, the less fit—they were not surviving. The world
was at peace again, and so hundreds of workers starved.
In a city of Northern California, Slim and Charlie
found an old worker dead from exposure in a vacant
lot three hundred yards away from a bread line and
a free flophouse.

§

One night, as I was returning from the library in
Washington, an ill-dressed man shambled towards me.

"Mister, got a match?”

"Yes.” I struck a light for him, but he had no
cigarette in his mouth.212

THE MAIN STEM

“Musta lost that cigareet.”

"Here’s a butt, Jack. Have ye got a place tuh flop
tuhnight?” My old vacabulary unloosed itself from
merry lips.

"Tell de troot, I wuz gonna ax yer fer de price uvuh
flop.”

"Sure. Howsa road these days? A little harder
since the war’s over?”

"Aw, hell! It’s hard alia time. De sodgers has come
back; dey gits de jobs. De munitions plants is closed.
. . . T’anks fer de price uv de flop. . . . Woodjer like
ter buy de Hobo News?”

He pulled out a folded paper from his inside pocket.

"The Hobo News!”

That night, in my warm, clean room I read it before
falling asleep. The paper was published in St. Lotus.
There was a story in it by Reds Somebody, who had
been robbed of all of his pay in a saloon, who had been
sent to the hoosegow for being a vag, who had tried to
survive in capitalistic society, and had gone under.

The sheets on my bed were clean and white. My
pajamas smelled sweet; over a chair was a suit of under-
wear as white as snow. The bourgeois live so damn*
clean they don’t have to spray their beds with insec-
ticide. I threw the Hobo News on a chair, turned out
the light, and fell asleep.Date Issued







Ii4uws;r -