MINNEAPOLIS
"_I never wear hand-made laces because they remind me of the eyes
made blind in the weaving._"--MARIE CORELLI.
The morning of April 19, 1910, found me in Minnehaha Park, Minneapolis,
resting on the green moss below the "laughing waters" of Minnehaha
Falls. This wonderful spot of nature took possession of my imagination
until I was in one of God's factories, where a thousand creations
were coming into life and beauty. The sparkling translucent falls,
touched with a silver light, became a marvelous lace-weaving loom. I
caught, white and shining, the actual resemblance to the hand-made
Irish, the Duchess and Rose-point. Over all this great workshop of the
Diety was joy, peace and happiness. For the first time real lace to me
was beautiful, for it was of God's creation. The vision of eyes made
sightless, the stooped shoulders of the aged, the little, starving
children overworked for the mere pittance to exist, these were not in
the weaving. To the thoughtful, any adornment, the price of which is
paid by the blood of human lives, is no longer beautiful. Here I saw
that every bird and bee, all insect life, even the smallest and most
abject about me, either were building or had built homes.
I then remembered my mission to Minneapolis. "Surely," I said to
myself, "with this temple of worship to which the good folks of
Minneapolis may come, thoughtlessness and selfishness will not be found
here."
Yet I wondered if I should find it. I had come to continue my battle
for my homeless brothers. The approach of late afternoon and night
found me wandering about the streets a jobless, moneyless man looking
for work and shelter. I found Minneapolis not in advance of other
cities, and much behind many in its care for its homeless toilers.
I first went to a private employment office. There seemed plenty of
work to do, work for everybody, but I could find no private office
where they would give me work and trust me until pay day.
I visited the city free employment bureau where I counted fifty men
looking for work. There were chairs for fourteen. The rest seemed
quite willing to stand as long as their feet held out, in the hope
of securing something. As I scanned their faces I thought a large
percentage of them seemed of the type driven to such a condition by
lack of opportunity to make an honest living. Later I learned that many
of these men came day after day, hungry and cold, after having spent
the night huddled up somewhere in the open air.
Next I became a beggar. I began looking for a public institution which
would give me a bed, since I was unable to pay for one. I first tried
the Associated Charities. The attendant took me into a little side room
where as in other places, all sorts of rubbish was stored, and asked me
the usual list of humiliating questions. Finally he told me they could
do nothing for me, as it was too near their closing time.
Doubtless this institution does many worthy things, but providing
shelter for the homeless man without money is not among them.
Directed by the attendant at the Associated Charities (who at least
had gotten rid of me), I went to the Union City Mission. The attendant
here, after making me repeat my questions regarding the possibility of
a penniless man getting a supper and bed, turned on his heel without
answering me and began to turn on the lights--for evening prayers! At
the Salvation Army lodging house the attendant simply said: "We ain't
got nothin' to give away." At the Y. M. C. A., "the beds were all
full." The attendant _didn't know_ whether or not he could allow me to
take a bath,--simply a polite refusal.
Next I appealed to the police. Asking the first officer I met where
a man without money could get a bath, I was directed to the river.
He then recalled the advice however, saying it was too early in the
season for the public baths to be open. Another policeman referred
me to the old city lockup (Central Station) for lodging, saying, "Go
there. They will give you a cell."
I did not go to the extreme of enduring the hardships forced upon the
indigent, honest workers of Minneapolis. It was not necessary. I knew
the pitiful condition only too well.
* * * * *
Just as I finish this story there is laid on my study table a letter,
which reads:
"In the latter part of the year 1910 the Board, realizing the necessity
of providing some lodging place for the transient class unable to pay
for accommodations, decided to install a Municipal Emergency Home on
the second floor of the old city lockup (Central Station). The work of
installing this home was accomplished at an expense of $3,426.28. It
was opened on the tenth of January, 1911, prepared to accommodate fifty
applicants. The first three months of its operation demonstrated the
fact that in order to care for all demands it would be necessary to
increase the space.
"We have now a Municipal Emergency Home that will accommodate a hundred
and forty. The house is just as sanitary as it is possible to make an
emergency home. It has all modern improvements, separate beds, baths,
medical attendance, and fumigation. Lodgers are furnished with clean
night-robes and socks and given a good wholesome breakfast. Of course
this is entirely free. If a man has money we turn him away. The home is
supported by public taxation."