The Daily Worker Newspaper, July 3, 1926, Page 14

sronrehecntic- Sapien "The End of the Dress Rehearsal _—_. We are publishing herewith the third and last of a series of three sketches -on the British General Strike’ sent ito the New Magazine from London by Florence Parker. By FLORENCE PARKER. ISMAY,: astonishment. and blas- phemy were rampant ‘when the news came thru that «the strike had ‘been called: off. Old men ‘strikers who’still sang “God Save the King” at the end of strike meetings and who did not quite approve of the young women ‘com- rades smoking’ cigarettes, were dis- gusted at the action of “Judas.” H. Thomas to whom they had béen for years so pathetically loyal. “What's the matter with the gener- al council?” “Who's put the wind up them? Just as we were setting in to win, to6.” “Yah, leaders! Afraid of their jobs, that’s all. If the workers were not such bloody sheep, there’d be no soft jobs going for shepherds.” ‘“Phis last remark was made by a young man whose vitriolic tongue had often a source of anxiety to the more elderly members of the strike com- mittee. But there did seem, so often, bo be something in what he said. This time, especially, “If this T. U. C. won’t carry on the job properly for us, then we’ll have to find another T. U. C. that will,” said a builder’s laborer spitting re- flectively. “We've been let down badly some- how, there’s no doubt about that,” said a transport worker who had been quite a moderate at the beginning of the strike, “Eh, but we’ve been . ; . fools to put men like Thomas up there to represent us,” this was from an old railway worker who had supported “Judas” hundreds of times. general Brown was definite. He knew his mind at last and he spoke #. Right at this moment he’ stepped into the revolutionary movement and cast. aside uncaringly the political respect- ability and industrial apathy of past years, “What fs wanted is aH power to, the workérs,” he said, “And that’s the job of the T. U. C,, of the general council, of this ‘ere strike committee and, by God, (Brown was well in the grip of things. now) it’s my job too,” "Garn, you’re a Bolshevik,” said a scoffing, bus driver. “That's the stuff to give ’em, Com- rade Brown,” said a young woman comrade, lighting still another cigar- ette, in spite of the obviously disap- proving glances of the elderly com- rades. ‘All power to the workers, don’t forget to spare’ a copper for the out-of-work trade union ‘leaders’.” And so saying she swung out of the room banging into everyone with the knapsack which Brown had good rea- son to believe carried “seditious lite- rature.” “Well, strike’s over, we may as well get back home, Work again tomor- row.” ————_—— The voice of Mr. Brown floated out of the stifling atmosphere of the crowded hall; it floated into the street and is still floating across Great Britain unobserved by the gen- eral public or even by the special strike police. “Someone told me,” she said, “that this was only a dress rehearsal. Well there’s been a good deal of rehears- ing and a fair amount of dressing up, between steel helmets, and special constable’s armlets, not to mention a few thousand yards of red ribbon. If this is the dress rehearsal, what'll the real pérfotitante’ be” HKE) “? “won der. Well, we'll be in it all right, Brown and I. Steel helmets, indeed!” The Revolt of the Sidewalks By SAMUEL A. HERMAN. | samme north on Sheridan Road A week passed. The day was chilly with all the time in the world at/ with an eastern wind that blew dust one’s disposal, being unemployed, aj into the eyes making walking ex- person will probably notice the pretty| tremely unpleasant. So finding my- mansions, and spacious the moneyed class. A stranger es- homes of; self on Taylor St., I boarded a car going west. It occurred to me to pecially may be interested in the type | 10k again at sidewalks, so I glanced of people one meets there or in the classy appearing machines, among which Rolls-Royces are especially no- ticeable by.their frequency. But I was shot a. stranger to this city nor a stranger entirely to the neighborhood. What struck me one fime day when} orqers, the sun felt unusually good-natured and smiled down upon the city with golden rays of sunlight, was the side- walks my feet passed over as I stroll- Smooth sidewalks they were that made me feel like walking on and on and on, never stopping, nor resting but keeping in motion ever- lastingly. The faces of the sidewalks / were not pinched, nor wrinkled, and I “failed to discover one that ‘was brok- Rather ed along. en down from too much toil. thru the window. The sidewalks seemed racing east as the car sped in the opposite direction. And what sidewalks I saw! Pinched, thin, brok- en down by years of heavy burdens, cracked and wrinkled,-and all dried up as if suffering from stomach dis- Gloomy sidewalks, narrow poverty-stricken sidewalks, sickly, de- spairing and round shouldered side- walks rushed by me in one confusing bewildering mob, rushed on and on dizzily into the distance. I forgot for a moment that they actually were standing still. The apparent became the real to my excited imagination. The revolution was on I said to my- self. These downtrodden sidewalks are refusing to be slaves any longer while the easy going sidewalks of were they slick, and well fed and con-| Sheridan Road bask in the sunshin:. tent with life as they stretched along} They are demanding that the for blocks ahead of me. Costly shoes! aristocratic sidewalks do their share passed over them that were worn on/of the work, feet housed in costly hose of the] ¢heir finest silks. Canes of the rarest woods} They that they carry portion of the weight in the city, are demanding their lot of the lightly tickled the sidewalks, carried] sunshine and joy, their due amount in the hands of idlers who wore the} of the rest and comfort. They are finest of gloves. Carriages with| rushing to meet the idlers of the babies sleeping in them were rolled] north side and put an end to their pleasantly along by the maids of|jazy existence. The-crash is on! The wealthy families. The sidewalks up-| class struggle has intensified until the held their easy burdens pleasantly | proletarian sidewalks are up in re- and‘ smiled back at the sun above. volt. A newer society will soon be Life to them was one long unevent-| formed wherein all sidewalks will en- ful Nirvana without pain or~troubles | joy leisure and work hand in hand to- of any sort. So, impregnated with] gether, where work and play will be “their optimistic outlook on life, I} synonyms, where every sidewalk will glided along until the sun went to] do its share cheerfully. Three cheers ‘sleep beneath the blanket of night. for the sidewalks of toil! '| for everybody. A Democratic Lady By PAULINE SCHULMAN. TROLLING along on 48rd street, New York, I noticed that the doors of Aeolian Hall were free and open Aeolian Hall is known ag a “high brow” concert auditorium and who would not like to listen to good music? So I entered. On the stage were sedted ladies and gentle- men, dressed as for.a performance, the ladies.in gorgeous evening gowns, the gentlemen. in black tuxedos, <A tall slender girl arose—I thought she was going to sing—but instead she began to talk, introducing herself as the chairman of the meeting for the even- ing, The. meeting, it appeared, was called. for the purpose to “safeguard medical freedom,” and to “protect per- sonal rights.” Also to protest against compulsory vaccination. . The chairman then introduced one of.the speakers, Miss L. R. Sire, presi- dent of the Women’s Democratic Club. Miss Sire began her speech by telling the audience that she was very busy and surely would not have come to this meeting had she not realized “the great ¢mportance and significance” of her presence. Miss Sire further ex- plained her opposition to those who take healthy human beings, particu- larly children, and inject rotten serum into their blood, “What we will have to do,” said Miss Sire, “is to fight against this in- human practice.” She virtually com- manded all “to unite all forces and fight the battle of righteousness,” “Yes, a united front is what we need and must have,” and with still greater emphasis she exclaimed: “This is a call to arms.” : When I heard the last remark, the call to arms, I looked around me to see whether there were any uniformed men with brass buttons present, who would yank Miss Sire off the stage and hustle hef into a patrol wagon. But I soon realized that none of the guardians of the law were present, and even if there were any about they surely; would not: haye dared to com- pel a lady in a beaded evening gown to board a patrol wagon. That con- veyance is for the present reserved for the “conyenience” of striking women and girls. Miss Sire spoke of “the hungry children going to school with empty stomachs, and that the legislature and congress are not doing anything for them.” She also touched on the “housing problem.” Listening to this harangue, I said to myself: ; “It is too bad that at this meeting one cannot enter into a discussion, or at least ask questions. What would your first question be were you per mitted to ask one?” “Why,” said I, “the first question I would’ ask Miss Sire would bé no other than the following: Since’ you know that the democratic and-republi- can parties are not doing anything’ for the public, why do you support*either party?” Then I would relate the incl- dent of the student in ‘one of ‘the classes of Columbia University, who asked for a definition of the word “proletariat.” The definition as given by the instructor was thus: ‘Prole- tarians are those who‘toil; who main- tain themselves by means: of. produc- ing wealth for others, who do not pos- sess any property and have to live from hand to mouth. There is another class of people called the bourgeoisie who derive their income not from their own labors, but from the toil of the proletariat.” : “Well,” would I continue, “since your party, Miss Sire, is not only in favor of private ownership, but also protects the rights of private property which breeds these same diseases into the social body that the rotten serum of which you speak breeds in the human body—then why do you: work for that party of yours?” Another question would I ask Miss Sire: “If capital is not the agency which injects the rotten serum into the social body, then what is the cause of wholesale legalized murder which is called war, what is the cause of prostitution, theft and murder?” Miss Sire in her speech mentioned “the mob in broadcloth and high hats, who with clubs in their hands, rule and control the state, be- cause they are well organized. We, too, must unite and the slogan shall be “one for all and all for one.” Then I would have asked one more ques- tion: “Tell me, Miss Sire, this: Sup- pose you were to see striking workers of a certain industry on the picket line, would you speak to them of ‘unity,’ ‘solidarity,’ ‘one for all and all for one,’ as you have spoken here to us tonight? . If.so,,telk.me, did.you raise your voice in behalf of the 16,000 men and women who are out on strike in Passaic, N. J.? No, you did not, and never would, because this would be against the principles of your party, for the party you represent protects not human beings, but capital, which is a greater menace to mankind than your pernicious serum.” I would have asked many more sim- ilar questions, but this was not a meeting for discussion. This was a “eall to arms.” A call to arms by those who can utter nice words, but who can do nothing else except talk. THE TINY WORKER, A Weekly Vol. 1. Saturday, July 3, 1926 Edited by Charmion Oliver No. 6 Charmion Oliver bie lb ll Day sm) Charmion Oliver ‘IT am a of the writes: member Lenin Group of San Francisco, and am eleven years old. I have written for “The Young Comrade” and asf am candy hungry I would win that all day sucker.” AND SHE DID! (3) needed four runs to win the game. Skinny Jones hit one on the nose to Here you see Johnny Red taking a picture of his new dog “Revolution.” “It’s like this,” Johnny was telling the photographer; “in the last inning we had three men on base and we Phoebe Steinberg Assistant. Editor of This Issue. A little’ Chicago comrade ‘went in such a nice little Poem she is made honorary éditor of this issue together with Charmion Ol- iver. You'll like it —just read: 'NOTHER WAY By Phoebe Steinberg, Chicago, til, Little drops of water, m a the outfield. Before anyone could get nd Just look at the | it, ‘Revolution’ grabbed the bail and| Clothe the Capital- dandy things she | ran home with it and everybody) jn diamera he sent in, and boy, | scored and Skinny got a home-run. silk es a you ought to see} We won the game and everybody Wasn't that geod? the swell all day | chipped in to get ‘Revolution's’ pic-] we nope Pnicnue sucker Johnny Red | ture taken. That’s some dog, mis- weites more. sent her! teri” SOME MORE “You're right, boy, that’s the first By C. Oli ball-playing dog {| ever saw” the baie vere. POEM Photographer sald as he winked to or the ail- his helper. By Charmion Oliver. San Francisco, Cal. The workers are alive, but they act like they are dead, Because they give the bosses all and go hungry instead. Their faults quite iver many, but Lag sue of the Tiny et way and at bosses have 4 je same time keep | two ese i neha out of jail! ° rE sure to read it, isn’t = Charmion Everything they oor and every- thing they do. NOTICE! “A fairy story by Carmion Ol- Saturday's is- day- sucker — The Poured inté the. tk, reason that teach. ~ ers tell little boys grow up to be a Bandit as most boys hope to n next teaching hi dishonest res rough? Anyway, she gets the all day sucker! they “might be president some. rhe teacher tears | that the boy will | be. and she’s just | Se ane cea ad sre etree