"Na, never git time to read."
My old maids never so much as took the newspaper. They figured that if
news was important enough they'd hear about it sooner or later, and
meanwhile there was much to keep up with at the Falls.
"Can't hardly sleep nights, got so much on my mind," the seventy-sixer
would say.
One night she just got nervous fidgets something awful, worrying lest
her brother might not get to the Baptist chicken dinner after all,
when he'd gone and paid seventy-five cents for his ticket.
Sunday there was church to attend, the Catholics flourishing, the
Episcopalians next, four other denominations tottering this way and
that. I heard the Baptist minister preach that every word in the Bible
was inspired by God, ending with a plea for the family altar.
"Christian brethren, I'm a man who has seen both sides of life. I
could have gone one way. It is by the grace of God and the family
altar that I stand before you the man I am."
There were thirty-one people in the congregation who heard his young
though quavering words, eight of them children, two the organist and
her husband, nine of the remainder women over sixty.
The Methodist, that morning, preached on the need of a revival at the
Falls, and Mr. Welsh, the electrician, whose wife was resting up in
Pennsylvania, thought he was right. Sunday baseball--that day our
bleachery team played the Keen Kutters--pained Mr. Welsh. The
Methodist minister before this one had been a thorn in the flesh of
his congregation. He frankly believed in amusements, disgraced them by
saying out loud at a union service that he favored Sunday baseball.
Another minister got up and "sure made a fool of him," thank goodness.
Where was the renegade now? Called to a church in a large Middle West
city where they have no more sense than to pay him twice what he was
getting at the Falls.
That night I heard a visiting brother at the Methodist church plead
for support for foreign missions, that we might bring the light of the
ideal Christian civilization under which we live to the thirsty
savages in dark places. He poured his message to an audience of
twenty-one, ten of them gray-haired women, one a child.
All the ministers prayed long for Harding and were thankful he was a
child of God.
Three of us girls rowed up the lake one night and cooked our supper
and talked about intimate things. It was a lake worth traveling miles
to see. It was one block from the post office. Mamie had been to the
lake twice in all her life. It was good for canoeing, rowing, fishing,
swimming, and, best of all, just for the eyesight. Yet to the great
majority it did not exist.
The bleachery, through its Partnership Plan, ran a village club house
on Main Street. The younger boys, allowing only for school hours,
worked the piano player from morn till night. There was a gymnasium.
Suppers were given now and then. It was supposed to be for the use of
the girls certain days, but they took little or no advantage of it.
Otherwise, and mostly, when the weather permitted, up and down the
street folk sat on their front porches and rocked or went inside and
played the victrola.
"Gawd! If I could shake the Falls!" many a girl sighed. Yet they had
no concrete idea what they would shake it for. Just before I came the
bleachery girls were called into meeting and it was explained to them
that Bryn Mawr College was planning a two months' summer school for
working girls. Its attractions and possibilities were laid forth in
detail. It was explained that Vassar College and a woman's club were
making it possible for two bleachery girls to go, with all expenses
paid. Out of 184 eligible girls four signed up as being interested.
One of those later withdrew her name. The two chosen were Bess and
Margaret, as fine girls as ever went to any college. There was much
excitement the Saturday morning their telegrams came, announcing Bryn
Mawr had passed favorably upon their candidacy. Bess especially was
beside herself. "Oh, it's what I've longed to have a chance to do all
my life!" She had clutched a _New Republic_ under her arms for days
containing an article about the summer school. Both Margaret and Bess
had spent a couple of years at West Point during the war as servants,
for a change. They had worked for the colonel's wife and loved it.
"Gee! the fun we had!"
Yet it was no time before Main Street characteristics came to the
front.
Only four girls had so much as expressed an interest in the Bryn Mawr
scheme. Within a week after the two girls received the telegrams,
tongues got busy. Margaret looked ready to cry one afternoon.
"Hey! what's the matter?"
"My Gawd! This place makes you sick. Can't no one let a person get
started enjoyin' themselves but what they do their best to spoil it
for you!" Her hands were wrapping pillow case bundles like lightning,
her head bent over her work. "Don't I know I ain't nothin' but a
factory girl? Don't I know I probably won't ever be nothin' but one?
Can't a person take a chance to get off for two months and go to that
college without everybody sayin' you're tryin' to be stuck up and get
to be somethin' grand and think you won't be a factory girl no more? I
don't see anything I'm gettin' out of this that's goin' to make me
anything but just a factory girl still. I'm not comin' back and put on
any airs. My Gawd! My Gawd! Why can't they leave you alone?"
I asked two of the Falls men I knew if their sex would have acted the
same as the girls, had it been two men going off for a two months'
treat. "You bet," they answered. "It's your darn small-town jealousy,
and not just female at all."
Suppose, then, on top of all the drawbacks of small-town life, the
girls had to work under big-city factory conditions? At least there
was always the laughter, always the talk, always the visiting back and
forth, at the bleachery.
My last day on the job witnessed a real event. Katie Martin was to be
married in ten days. Therefore, she must have her tin shower at the
bleachery. Certain traditions of that sort were unavoidable. At
Christmas time the entire Department 10 was decorated from end to end
until it was resplendent. Such merrymaking as went on, such presents
as were exchanged! And when any girl, American or Italian, was to be
married, the whole department gave her a tin shower.
Katie Martin inspected and folded sheets. She was to marry the brother
of young Mrs. Annie Turner, who ticketed sheets. Annie saw to it that
Katie did not get to work promptly that noon. When she did appear, all
out of breath and combing back her hair (no one ever wore a hat to
work), there on two lines above her table hung the "shower." The rest
of us had been there fifteen minutes, undoing packages, giggling,
commenting. Except old Mrs. Brown's present. It was her first
experience at a tin shower and she came up to me in great distress.
"Can't you stop them girls undoin' all her packages? 'Tain't right.
She oughta undo her own. I jus' won't let 'em touch what I brought!"
Ever and again a girl would spy Mrs. Brown's contribution. "Hey!
Here's a package ain't undone." "No, no, don't you touch it! Ain't to
be undone by anybody but her." Poor Mrs. Brown was upset enough for
tears.
There were a few other packages not to be undone by anybody but her,
because their contents were meant to, and did, cause peals of laughter
to the audience and much embarrassment to Katie. On the lines hung
first an array of baby clothes, all diminutive size, marked, "For
little Charlie." Such are the traditions. Also hung seven kitchen
pans, a pail, an egg-beater and gem pans; a percolator, a double
boiler and goodness knows what not. On the table stood six cake tins,
more pots and pans, salt and pepper shakers, enough of kitchenware to
start off two brides. Everybody was pleased and satisfied. Charlie,
the groom-to-be, got a friend with a Ford to take the shower home.
The last night of all at the Falls I spent at my second Board of
Operatives' meeting, held the first Friday night of each month. The
Board of Operatives is intended to represent the interests of the
workers in the bleachery. The Board is elected annually by secret
ballot by and from the operatives in the eleven different departments
of the mill. Margaret and Bess went, too, on request from above, that
they might appear more intelligent should anyone ask at Bryn Mawr
about the Partnership Plan. ("My land, what _would_ we tell them?"
they wailed.) The Board meetings are officially set down as open to
all the operatives, only no one ever heard of anyone else ever
attending. The two girls were "fussed" at the very idea of being
present, and dressed in their best.
The president, elected representative from the starch room, called the
meeting to order from his position at the head of the table in the
Village Club House. Every member of the Board shaves and puts on his
Sunday clothes, which includes a white collar, for the Board meeting.
It is no free show, either. They are handed out two dollars apiece for
attending, at the end of the meeting, the same idea as if it were Wall
Street. The secretary reads the minutes of the Board of Management.
("The Board of Management was set up by the Board of Directors in
July, 1919, as a result of a request from the Board of Operatives for
more than merely 'advisory' power which the Board of Operatives then
enjoyed in reference to matters of mill management, wages, working
conditions, etc. The Board of Management consists of six members,
three of whom are the treasurer, the New York agent, and the local
manager, and three of whom are elected by the Board of Operatives from
their number.... The Board of Management is authorized to settle and
adjust such matters of mill management as may arise....") The Company
statement, up to March 31, 1921, was read. There followed a report
from the Housing Committee--first a financial statement. Then it
seemed somebody wanted to put somebody else out of a house, and there
were many complications indeed arising therefrom, which took much
discussion from everyone and bitter words. It looked as if it would
have to be taken to court. The conclusion seemed to be that the Board
felt that its executive secretary, chosen by the management, though
paid out of the common funds, had exceeded his authority in making
statements to tenants. We girls rather shivered at the acrimony of the
discussion. Had they been lady board members having such a row, half
of them would have been in tears. Next, old Mrs. Owens, who shook
sheets behind me, wanted to buy a certain house on a certain
avenue--company house, of course. Third, one Mr. Jones on Academy
Street wants us to paper his kitchen--he will supply the paper. And
there followed other items regarding paint for this tenant, new floor
for that, should an old company boarding house be remodeled for a new
club house or an apartment house; it was decided to postpone roofing a
long row of old company houses, etc.
The operative from the folding and packing room was chairman of the
Housing Committee, a strong union enthusiast. The representative from
the mechanical department reported for the Recreation and Education
Committee; all the night school classes had closed, with appropriate
final exercises, for the season: the children's playground would be
ready for use July 1st. The man from the "gray" room and singe house
reported for the Working Conditions Committee. Something about
watchmen and a drinking fountain, and wheels and boxes in the starch
room; washing facilities for shovelers; benches and back stairs.
The Finance Committee reported a deficit on the mechanical and
electrical smoker. Much discussion as to why a deficit and who ought
to pay it, and what precedent were they setting, and all and all, but
it was ordered paid--this time. Webster's bills were too high for
papering and painting company houses. He was a good worker, his
plaster and his paper stuck where they belonged, which hadn't been the
rule before. But it was decided he was too costly even so, and they
were going back to the company paperers--perhaps their work would
stick better next time. A report from the Board of Directors was
discussed and voted upon.... The minutes of the Board of Operatives
were posted all through the mill. Did anyone read them? If so, or if
not so, should the Board of Management minutes also be posted? It was
voted to postpone posting such minutes, though they were open to any
operative, as in the past.
Under Old Business was a long discussion on health benefits and
old-age pensions. For some months now the bleachery has been concerned
on the subject of old-age pensions. Health benefits have been in
operation for some time. The question was, should they pay the second
week for accident cases, until the state started its payments the
third week?
Under New Business the resignation of the editors of _Bleachery Life_
was read and accepted. Acrimonious discussion as to the running of the
_Bleachery Life_. Again we girls shivered. It was announced a certain
rich man who recently died had left the Village Club House five
hundred dollars--better write no letter of thanks until they got the
money. Should the new handbook be printed by union labor at
considerably greater expense, or by an open shop? Unanimously voted by
union labor. More health-benefit discussions under New Business. It
was voted to increase the Board of Management by two additional
members--one operative, one from the employing side. Election then and
there by a secret ballot. The operative from the "gray" room and singe
house was elected over the man from the office force by two votes.
Some further housing discussions, and at 11.15 P.M. the meeting
adjourned.
"Say, I'm for coming every time." Perhaps we three girls will have
started the style of outside attendance at the meetings.
Whether a wider participation of operatives, a deeper understanding of
Industrial Democracy and the Partnership Plan, develops or not,
certainly they are a long step on the way to some sort of permeation
of interest. For the next morning early, my last morning, as I started
work, I heard toothless old Mrs. Holley call over to aged Mrs. Owens,
whose husband even these days is never sober: "Hi, Mrs. Owens, what do
ye know habout hit! Hain't it grand we got out over five million five
hundred thousand yards last month?"
"I say it's grand," grinned Mrs. Owens. "More 'n a million over what
we done month before."
"Hi say--over fifteen million the last three months. Hi say we're some
bleachery, that's what _hi_ say!"