EXPERIENCES IN LOS ANGELES
"_Ye are not of the night nor the darkness._"--I THESSALONIANS 5:5.
On one of Los Angeles' perfect winter Sabbath mornings, I was idly
strolling down the street, when a breezy, pleasant faced woman
appeared, looked at me closely and then asked if I was homeless. The
genial little lady urged me with a great deal of force to come to the
institution in which she was interested, and where, she assured me, I
would be well fed and sheltered as long as I chose to stay. So pleasant
was the description of her home, her welcome so genuine, I rejoiced
in the thought that here in hospitable Los Angeles was provided an
emergency home for those with whom untoward circumstances had not dealt
kindly.
I was interested at once in the invitation so kindly extended to me,
and I asked the good woman how I would get to the "home." She began by
telling me which street-car to take. I said, "Just give me the street
and number and I will walk." She answered, "I can not do that very
well." She explained to me that she would give me carfare but was not
allowed to do so. There was another woman a little further down the
street who could and would give me the required nickel. Walking on down
the street, I was told by a man standing on the sidewalk that there had
been several women on the corner urging men to come out to a free home,
and giving out carfare, but they would not return until the next Sunday
morning.
Following the woman's directions, I took a car. After riding what I
supposed to be about two miles, I asked the conductor if we were nearly
there; he laughingly replied, "We haven't started yet." And then I
found that this "home" was nearly four miles from the place where
laborers congregated in the heart of the city. A four-mile walk--a
pleasant prospect for a hunger-weakened man, perhaps ill as well!
On finally reaching the place, I found it an institution of some kind
of religious enthusiasts. There were many there. It was one of their
feast days, and the end of the dinner was near at hand. I was given a
cordial welcome, and handed a plate of potatoes and beans. Tea, coffee,
and meat I learned they regarded as sinful, smacking too much of the
flesh.
This plate of potatoes and beans, the leader declared, was sanctified
food. On this feast day there had been a shower of pies and cakes,
but the sanctified pie had run out. We were invited to remain to
a four-hour feast of religious worship, which would be followed by
another feast of edibles. As this latter attraction was referred
to many times, we had reason to believe a regular Belshazzar was
in store for us. Out in a sort of shed, after four long hours of
religious praise, in a din of sound of voice and song, beneath swinging
collections of crutches and pipes and bottles, we were called to the
promised supper. Back into the banquet hall? Oh, no! But we carried the
backless benches in from the shed, and placed them in a row along by
the back or kitchen door of the house. I noticed there were only about
half seats enough for the guests, so that one half stood while they
waited, and it was nearly an hour from the time we began to gather for
the much heralded "full meal" before we were served.
The weather had changed. At the going down of the sun, in southern
semi-tropical climes in midwinter, there is a penetrating chill in
the air. Cold mist and rain is of frequent occurrence. With the fast
falling night had come a chilling fog cloud. It was an appalling, an
appealing, a heart-rending, cruel sight, this company of two hundred
and fifty men. There were no women among them.
As these destitute men stood there, half-clothed, enveloped in the
vapor of the coming night, I read, on almost every face, despair and
hopeless grief. I judged that a great many of them were tubercular,
or the thin emaciated faces may have been evidences of exposure and
want. I, too, was suffering with the cold, and I turned to a strong,
healthy young fellow near me and said to him, "That cup of hot coffee
will receive a hearty welcome." Just then an attendant came out of the
kitchen with a very large pitcher and filled it with cold water from
the hydrant. My interlocutor turned and laughingly remarked, "Jack,
there is your hot coffee!" Then the chief leader of this spiritual
beneficence appeared, rubbing his hands together, and said to a
visiting brother as he glanced down the line, "Isn't this glorious?"
After more prayer, they came to us bringing what they called
sandwiches, one for each man. These "sandwiches" were two very thin
slices of bread, between which they had put a touch of some sour sort
of sauce, and with each one was given a _cup of cold water_. A gaunt,
sunken-eyed man, with white trembling hands, said to me, "I am afraid
there won't be enough to go around and we won't get any." But we got
ours, and he swallowed it almost in a mouthful. I held mine waiting for
an excuse to give it to him, and soon he asked me, "Aren't you going to
eat yours?" I replied, "No, I do not like the sauce between the bread."
I shall never forget how eagerly the thin hand grasped the slice, as
he exclaimed, "I would give a fortune, if I had it, for a cup of hot
coffee!" And then some hungry wretch spoke up, saying, "If Christ was
on earth today, I think he would have changed that cup of cold water,
given in his name, to hot coffee." I asked this starving man if he
could not find work, and if he had no trade. "Yes," he answered, "I am
a lather, but since they use the steel laths it is hard for us to get
the work we formerly did. Besides," he continued, "I am not young any
longer nor strong enough to keep steadily at work as I once could, even
though I now had the work to do. I came down here believing I could get
work, easy work, out-doors in the fruit and orange groves, which would
be beneficial to my health, but the fruit trust hire all Japs because
they can get them cheaper, and, even though I have offered to work as
cheaply as they do, they will not hire me."
The day was done and this little drift of the flotsam and jetsam of Los
Angeles floated back to the city to buffet with chance and luck for a
place to sleep.
When I first arrived at the "institution," I asked for the privilege
of staying until I could help myself. The attendant told me he would
see me after the service. As nothing was said to me again nor any of us
urged or asked to remain, and being obliged to find something to eat, I
left. As we went away, each man was offered a nickel for carfare, and I
said to the helper who doled out the nickels, "Will you give me another
to come back on? I must go to the city to look for work." But I found
he couldn't think of such a thing.
No doubt, on the minds of the gullible rich and charitably inclined
who contribute to such institutions, the report of this feast day and
of the great number "fed" must have made a great impression. These
people were teaching Christ, too, as they understood or pretended to
understand Him. On this day, if they had found one man of character
strong enough to accept and follow the beautiful Christ Life, was
it not worth while? From their standpoint, yes, but they overlooked
utterly the sin of continuing the pauperization of those two hundred
and fifty men, by their makeshift charity. During their four hours of
praise and prayer and "testimony," not one single word was said about
the causes that compelled those men to be there. Nor a single remedy
was mentioned to change conditions, nor a word uttered against the
methods used by religious societies, missions, single and associated
charities, prison associations, societies for the prevention of crime
and mendicancy, in their dealings with mendicancy.
It was after dark when I again reached the city. The rain had ceased,
and the myriads of scintillating lights filled the city with a glow
of splendor. I began my testing of the generosity of the city of Los
Angeles toward its destitute homeless. As in other cities, I met with
rebuffs at all of those institutions and religious bodies ostensibly
existing for the sole purpose of helping the homeless. I tried all
that I had heard of or that the police knew anything about. Finally,
as I had been in other cities, I was driven to the Municipal building
provided for law-breakers and criminals. As I sat there waiting for the
jailer to lock me in, I thought of the frightful night spent in the
bullpens of other places,--of the nerve-racking night when I came so
near swooning in the city prison of Pittsburg, and last but not least,
of that madhouse, the Old Bastile of San Francisco. As I heard the
clang of iron doors, and in the distance the cursing of men and the cry
of lost women, I said to myself, "I don't think it necessary for me to
go through this terrible trial to bring before the good people of Los
Angeles the need of a Municipal Emergency Home," and I quietly crept
away.
On the following Sunday, I addressed the Y. M. C. A., and I told them
of my experiences in Los Angeles. I spoke of going first to one very
prominent institution and of being denied any of its privileges for
less than thirty cents, in real money. I did not give the name of the
establishment and when I had finished, one of the officers of this body
got up and said, "If Mr. Brown had come here he would have been taken
care of." I replied, "This was the first place I came to." After they
had caught their breath, he haltingly said, "But Mr. Brown, you did not
see the right man."
I found in Los Angeles, as in every other city that I visited, that
the Y. M. C. A. is nothing more nor less than a rich men's club. I
found men worth a great many thousands of dollars rooming there. They
paid from thirty to fifty dollars a month for their rooms. And I found
boys on small salaries also living there but living on one and two
meals a day, in order to be able to pay their paltry room rent.