The Daily Worker Newspaper, September 25, 1926, Page 12

-— By PAULINE SCHULMAN, and Doris met on a fruit farm as cherry pickers. Doris inquired how long Celia would remain on the farm, Celia replied that had.she not, felt as if she owed a debt to society she would remain thruout the winter. Doris looked at her with her large blue eyes and asked: “What do you méan by owing something to society? I cannot understand the word, debt especialy, in connection with that other abstraction, Society.” Celia: “Did you notive a little while ago how I was stung by a bee? Do you know why? Because I interfered with its labor. It was busy with a cherry which I was trying to pick. So it stung me in self-defense. A lit- tle insect, without brains, yet it knows how to protect itself when its work of obtaining food is interfered with., “Do human beings understand how to defend and protect themselves? No, because they are submissive slaves. They let a few individuals not only take their food away from them, but also the food of their little chil- dren. They build houses, and weave cloth for others, and in return they get but very little, hardly enough to exist or keep soul and body together.” Celia was a bit out of breath. She mopped her brow, fanned herself with her apron, cast a fleeting glance at. the uneven horizon, set herself down on the grassy turf, and renewed her charge at Doris. “Another incident fet me mention, pefhaps then you will better understand the nature of my debt to society.” *°"*Pho other day I brought food from the village. 1 walked for it, as you know, five miles. I placed the food in a box which served aiso as food pan- try. But the next day I found the food gone and the dishes broken. A cow stood looking at me with indigna- tion, as if to say: ‘I had te do it. I was hungry, They exploit me, squeez- ing the last drop of milk from my body. But they do not give me enough to eat. Well, I helped myself. As to your dishes—they were in my way, so I broke them.’ - “You see, then, that helpless tares without much /brain, unable to handle tools of production, neverthe- less know how to help themselves. But man, the master of the earth, is constantly starving, and when he ob tains a few crumbs left from the large loaves of bread that he is baking, he feels happy, very happy, indeed.” Doris: “What has all this to do with your socalled debt?” Celia: “Did you see the vineyard nearby this cherry orchard? And how the grapes are pruned? Do you know why they prune grapes? Because all superfluous twigs and branches must be lopped off or else the strength of the grapes will be reduced. Thig is sufficient evidence that in order to have a plant or tree grow properly a great deal of attention must be given to it, and especiafly to its parasites. “To the human plant no one pays any attention. The human plants are meglected altogether. They become more and more uncouth, they form bad habits from their days of infancy which finally develop into second na- ture, “And there,” said Celia, “on the cul- tural field and with human plants I find my opportunity to pay my debt to society.” Doris seemed to be bored by Celia’s talk, and was gazing into the distance. Her thoughts most of the time were concentrated upon one thing only, how to reach the matrimonial harbor of safety where she would feel secure. Doris: “Why did’ you come here, into the field of real, not human plants?” Celia: “Why did I come here? Oh, I had to. It is already twelve years that [ am responding to the tick of the clock, running to end from the subways, hearing naught else but the whirr of the machine, and seeing end- less gray walls before me. “Life became dry and monotonous because the work I was doing did not interest me. It was dead material that I was handling, and for the ben- efit of whom? For a few individuals, my employer and his family, in order to enable them to live in luxury. Is it for this that I came here, I asked myself every single day. Of course not,, I was eager to learn, and there- fore entered the school of life in which I felt I could learn a great deal, Especially was I interested in prob- lems concerning the rich and poor. When I was but a twelve-year-old Meditations of a Cherry si child I used to ponder over the ques-: tion why this division into classes and how it came about. “My questions were usually an- swered by the statement that a girl of my age must not ask such foolish questions, for these ways of Iife have been instituted by the ‘Lord,’ ete. I was not satisfied with these replies and decided to investigate for myself, I left my native village and came to the great city of New York. 3 chose the life of a worker, abandoning com- pletely the petty-bourgeois class. It was in the factory where I have been working for the last twelve years that I found the answer to the questions I used to ask when a child. “I understand now that the question of rich and poor has nothing to do with the ‘Lord,’ for this is an economic problem that must be settled by man himself. I realized that the school of life is a place wherein one must pay a heavy price fur knowledge ac- quired, but I was and stil am willing to pay it. However, at times I do get a longing to see once more the beau- tiful mountains surrounding the vil- lage of my birth. I would look thru the factory window and see nothing but the gray wal of the adjoining building. Neither sky nor a ray of sun could I see during the eight hours of work. Often I tried to close my eyes, and then I would fall into a rev- ery, finding myself in my little village, enjoying the beauties of spring, This, I think, will explain why I am here for a while.” When Celia and Doris were walking on the road, the neighboring farmers could never tell that these two were living in two different worlds, These two cherry pickers were far, very far, apart from each other in spirit. Doris was contemplating the home which in her opinion was the refuge. She walked “aimlessly” and without Picker “@ purpose” in life, as she herself once. stated, But Celia kept on trudging up the hill and down the mountains, fearing none and nothing save the danger of becoming comfined to~a small little home. She traversed in her imagina- tion every nook and corner of the world, a world that fully belonged to her, with its sorrows and joys, beau- ties and miseries, How We Make Rubber By ESTHER FRADKIN. I WAS one of several hundred work- ers in a large rubber plant which is located in a small town in Massachu- setts. I had to paste the lining on the last with my fingers. The first two weeks my fingers were so sore that I could dress mornings only with the greatest difficulty. When I told the girls about this, they advised me to soak my fingers in hot water and to massage them. One afternoon when I went into the ladies’ room to massage my fingers I noticed Mary standing in the corner with her face to the wall. Mary was a beautiful, healthy young woman who worked opposite me. She often made mistakes in her work, which the other girls tried to correct before the fore- lady noticed them. When I came near Mary I was sur- ‘| prised to see that she was milking her breasts and allowing the milk to fall into the sink. She was crying bitterly. The elderly woman, whom we called Mother, was helping her. I learned later that Mary Was trying to save baby by nursing it after work. ‘In the other corner of the room on a@ couch lay Nelly, also in tears. Her little boy was in the hospital in a crit- ical condition. A few weeks. before he had been run over. His mother was working at the time. Everyone in the crowded room was moved by the plight of these two young mothers. One of the younger girls said: “Catch me getting a kid and going to work in a factory. If I get married myhusband will work and Pll take care of the kids.” “But suppose your husband gets, sick, or. loses his job? What are you going to do then?” asked ong of the older women, The woman whom we called Mother kept quiet for a while, then said: “I've worked here a long time, girls, and I’ve seen many young mothers suffer. But I think, what’s the use of crying? Why can’t we do some- thing?” Angela, the floor girl, shout- ed: “Yes, why don’t we do some- thing? Why don’t we form a union and get a nursery where mothers can leave their babies when they’re work- ing?” A soft little gray-haired woman in the corner of the room said quietly: “You read in the papers every day that unions are striking trying to get bread for workers and their children. They don’t get bread, and they won’t get nurseries. ‘The only time that we'll get them is when we workers take over the factories.” Everyone in the room shouted: “Yes, yes, Emma is right.” Mary and Nelly had stopped weeping now. They were listening to what we were say- ing. Then the bell rang. All of us, Mary and Nelly along with the rest, filed into the workroom, back to our tables. Fragment. By OSCAR RYAN. Look y@™» Evetyn: John has gone to the front, Where he will do great things. —Oh? you're not overjoyed? Ha, you have NO Imagination, — But squirm at material inconvernb ences? —A fine wife for a soldier! You know, after it's all over, He will come back to you; Glory, peace afid power The lot of our countrymen; and John the hero of it all. —Just think! a hero! —Why, you're crying... ? THE TINY WORKER A Weekly, Edited by Dorothy Rubin, Minneapolts Johnny Red, Assistant. Vol. 1. Saturday, September 25, 1926 No, 18 FUNNY BIRDS REMEMBER? pate How we Hey-What's This? pe gg can 3 - —_ tell us her name A bird that goes Just look at : to work for lower answer! It's wages in a place cutest little where other work- ia Sed" pas * eg ie tail, no feathers this w ™ and no brains. He DOROTHY RB won't a un- is my a3 ion. He can’t fly The Red flag i but sometimes will help to make him fly. = carry to Rg BS My ke er is only of tou let- -HOO! worker,“ ® dak) rreeie ew platens of Sehmny Ret tox MY, seater te ‘} day. Just look how sad he ts. The They are both red » Some More.| tears are streaming down his cheeks. ters hat’s This He's as blue as a cat without milk 2 ee pr for a week. And you fellows did itt a pri if This bird thinks} You did! Johnny is’ used to receiving talst gang pong Noh Tves | t least 37 contributions a week and on uae a in Santa Claus and | this week he only got 17. ; like we Wea er Rose Horowitz did not write and i eae ies. They put 4 t nd of a bird hoo! ‘ That's why my fta- word has six iete| . You, Uttle Rede ‘had dette? send ones, And tact What's the| something in if you don’t want Semone Put RED blood answer? weeping all over the place, We can’ in me ’ hire another janitor to be mopping |I wil join with Yoo-Hoo! up all his tears. workers badly The Dally oor gaitorial. Blues” a MY orial Blues w Worker neede The tears are falling podem , money don't into his shoes. ta han Did your othy. De ddy sen You had better send us! And sore any? Go on— A thing or two today to write often now him to do Or Johnny Red that we are all ac- it right now. Will just fade away. qualnted. neither did Crammion Oliver nor a whole lot of other Tiny Reds. I'll say Johnny is blue—real blue—blue boo-