HOUSTON--THE CHURCH AND THE CITY'S SIN AGAINST SOCIETY
"_Do no wrong, do no violence to the stranger._"--JEREMIAH, 22: 3.
The weather was bright and cold when I reached Texas. As I walked
the streets of Houston I noticed that the police glanced at me
suspiciously. Several of them, by their looks, seemed to be weighing my
worth. After my arrival in this city, from morning until night I walked
its streets in search of work, until compelled by the shadows of the
night to seek a free place to rest.
During all my earnest endeavors that day the only opportunity for work
came from a labor solicitor offering me a dollar a day and board to
work ten hours a day in the woods.
[Illustration: _A Sick and Homeless Boy with His Dog on Guard. He is
Sleeping on a Bed of Refuse Thrown from a Stable, with
an Old Man Lying near Him_]
"How do they feed you?" I asked.
"As good as in any camp." (I knew all that meant.)
"What are the sleeping accommodations like?"
"Well, it is a new camp, and, of course, they are not the best."
"What is the fare to the camp?"
"Five dollars."
"Do you pay the fare there?"
"No, but we advance it to you and take it out of your pay."
"Is my pay assured when my work is done?"
"Oh, yes. You will be working for a mighty big corporation of Chicago,
worth millions of dollars."
"But when I reach there I am five dollars in debt to you. Suppose that
I did not want to stay, or that I couldn't stand the work, or that I
might be taken ill, or that there should be some reasons why I could
not work, my only bond is my body, what then?"
His face flushed. "I suppose I could run away if I had the strength," I
continued, "and if I did, what then?" The already flushed face turned
scarlet.
"My friend," I said, "for a mere pittance and a subsistence that you
cannot recommend, you would make of me and these other destitute
laborers a peon with all the wicked evils of that slavery. Being a
workingman yourself is the only excuse to be given you for filling the
position as solicitor for human lives."
After several futile efforts to secure work on the following day, I
was advised by all institutions which stood supposedly to help the
destitute in Houston to the "Star of Hope Mission." It was after
ten o'clock when I arrived there and as I entered I noticed several
exceedingly well-groomed, well-dressed and well-fed men who looked as
though they were getting about six square meals a day. Innocent of who
they were and why they were there, I stepped up to an attendant at the
desk, saying, "Would you give a man who is broke a bed?" Absolutely
and purposely ignoring me, the man, in a gloating voice and obtrusive
manner, turned to one of these men in evidence, who proved to be one
William Kessler, Chief of City Detectives, and said, "Here is a man who
wants us to give him a free bed."
Immediately this officer, within "this temple of peace, love and hope,"
began one of those brutal, harsh inquisitions for which the police
forces of our nation are well-known and which they seem to think is
their prerogative. Such an illegal examination, brutally conducted,
covers the helpless and innocent with the awful shadow of fear fathered
by the suspicion of cruel abuse, and the victims of such gross assault,
in their loneliness, beyond all help, are forced to appear guilty of
something when they are not.
This "guardian of the peace" of Houston, in a most overbearing manner
asked me:
"Where are you from?"
"From New York," I replied.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I work," was my answer.
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I do any kind of work I can get to do to make an honest living," I
answered.
At this point of our conversation I turned my back to leave him, when
he loudly called to a subordinate and said,
"Arrest that man."
Instantly a rough hand was upon my shoulder. I demanded of the man,
"Why do you arrest me? I have done no wrong." But my appeal for release
was absolutely ignored.
I resolved not to reveal my identity to anyone, and was taken half a
block down the street, where a patrol wagon was waiting, in which were
seated seven other unfortunate, homeless men like myself. Remember,
the patrol wagon was waiting for me a half block away from the "Star
of Hope Mission"! Why? Because it was so much more respectable than to
have it waiting for the victims of the Mission in front of its door.
After I had been forced into the wagon, while it passed the bright
street lamps I studied the faces of my unlucky companions in crime. All
these young fellows were between the ages of eighteen and thirty-three
and were skilled workers. As I looked upon them I immediately
recognized one of them as a young fellow to whom I had spoken that
afternoon while looking for work. He, also, was in the same condition
that I was in, stranded and homeless. He told me the police, that very
day, ordered him out of town but because of his ill health he was
unable to walk. He also said that he was afraid to risk going into the
railroad yards to get a freight, as the police were liable to arrest
him, so as the night was very cold, fearing with his poor health that
it might be fatal if he should sleep outdoors, he finally decided to go
to the "Star of Hope Mission," where, as a sick man, instead of being
given relief and shelter, he was thrown into prison.
Arriving at the jail, we were immediately searched. While the night
captain took my record, I told him that I was there, not because of
having committed any crime, or as a political critic, but simply to
study the conditions of the unemployed in the city; to study the
chances of an honest workingman, temporarily out of work and without
means to get the necessaries of life in Houston. Having never heard of
me, the Captain gave me an audible smile of suspicion and ordered me
thrown into the bull-pen, a dungeon of almost utter darkness.
The docket of the Houston City Jail for the night of November 28,
1910, has the names of eight victims of the "Star of Hope Mission,"
including myself. They were all run in by the Mission because they
were unfortunate enough to be without a night's resting-place, and
had appealed to this so-called Christian institution, maintained
supposedly for the express purpose of sheltering homeless boys and men.
While in jail I interviewed most of my fellow victims, and learned that
not one of them had ever been in jail before. The torture of their
humility was clear to me, for while speaking to them, they continually
reverted to kind parents and a loving home. We were all sitting or
lying down on the stone floor, as there was no other accommodation.
While all of them were gloomily silent, I remarked:
"Well, cheer up boys, this is not so bad. It might be worse."
One of them quickly answered, "You're right, Mister. I hope they won't
let us out until morning for I have no place to go."
Then I said, "Supposing we were in a condemned prisoner's cell and were
to be put to death to-morrow," and one of them quickly replied, "I
wouldn't care if we were for I have nothing to live for anyway."
During this interval of imprisonment a local newspaper man who learned
of my being in the bull-pen, came at once to the dungeon and called me.
I sprang to the steel barred door of this Houston hell, into which the
"Star of Hope," aided by the Houston police force, had thrown us, and
said, "Here. What will you?"
The rays of a dim light revealed my face to the reporter, who asked
me, "Are you Edwin A. Brown?" At the same time he pulled out of his
pocket a New Orleans newspaper which had published a short time before
a counterfeit presentment. While glancing at the likeness, he remarked,
"You are the man all right." "When did you get into town? We have been
looking for you for a week." I replied, "I got into town this morning
and into jail this evening." (The New Orleans paper stated that I was
going to Houston.)
"Don't worry. We'll have you out of here in a few minutes."
True to his word I was soon a free man and on my way with the
journalist to the office of the Houston _Post_. After the interview,
I left for my hotel, where, after the luxury of a refreshing bath, on
a soft, snowy bed, I lay down to rest but not to sleep for while my
body rested, my thoughts were back in that wicked cell with those of
my countrymen who saw no future and to whom life held no meaning. Not
until the dawn of another glorious Texas day, a symbol of the light
glowing in the great hearts of the good people of Houston and of Texas,
did I fall asleep.
The next morning the Houston _Post_ carried a startling story on the
arrest of the victims of the "Star of Hope Mission," supplemented by
the interview I had given, portraying Houston's care for its homeless
unemployed. The startling exposures made by the Houston press on
existing conditions were followed by my talk before the Conference of
State Charities then in session, and brought forth a volume of articles
in the various local papers, teeming with apologies for the inexcusable
conduct of the "Star of Hope Mission" and the police system of that
city.