The Daily Worker Newspaper, March 5, 1927, Page 8

BOY WANTED “THE boss had told him he was through. That was last night. And’now, as he was looking over the Help Wanted advertisements, he was still think- ing of it. He was through. And he was going to ask for a raise the very next week. Now he was through. He had mumbled a few questions as to why he should be fired. Overhead. Slack. Ex- penses. Curt. That was a funny word. Something about a young man wanted in a printing shop. He had always wanted to work in a printing shop or a publishing house. Where words were printed. He thought that he would like it. He folded the paper, tucked it under his arm, pulled his cap a little over his eyes, turned his coat-collar up; his right shoulder bulging out, he started walking against the stinging hail-rain-snow fury that was driving diagonally against him. He arrived at the printing shop. Wiped the snow from out the crevices of his eyes and nose. He saw about twenty or thirty more young men like himself waiting in front of the entrance, stamping up and down, blowing on their fingers, waving their arms, massaging their ears, moving, stamping, blowing, grunting to keep warm. He fell in with the group and waited. After twenty minutes some- one showed up. No, it was not the boss. They were told they’d have to wait a few minutes more before the boss came. Ten minutes after nine the boss came. The boss opened the door and told them not to crowd. They would all be interviewed. He again warned them against crowding. Someone shouted something about getting in and warming himself. The rest of the crowd sh-h’d him down. The boss singled out four of the young men nearest the door. Each one of them slowly removed his hat and fol- lowed the boss in. The door was shut. Those out- side tried as hard as they could to keep warm with less gusto. He wondered if he would be taken in with the next group. The door opened. One of the boys came out. He thumbed his nose and hurried away. A grunt of disgust followed him. The sec- ond fellow came out. He leered. He’d never work for that price. Not he. A volley of verbal dung greeted him. Impatience. The door opened again and thé remaining two boys came out. The boss picked out three more of the young men. He was sure he’d be picked with the next group. What would he say? Better position. Advancement. Chance for—the three boys came-out. He couldn’t make out what was said. Crescendo. The boss showed himself. Low muttering. He inquired if that was right. Yes, it was right. The job was taken. Nobody knew by whom. They questioned the boss. It was taken. The boss told them to dis- perse or he would call a cop. He pulled his coat a little closer and walked away. He wondered who got the job. He decided on the first guy. That one had hurried away so knowingly. It was nasty cold. He found himself on Seventh avenue and Twenty-seventh street. He looked up at an amazingly square, massive building. He won- dered how many people worked there. The brass sign told him it was the largest mail order house in the east. They always needed a lot of people there he knew. He went around towards the en- trance, Boys Wanted. Apply on the fourth floor. Boys wanted. BOY.. He didn’t want to apply for any jobs where they asked for boys. He was a young man. He looked only at the Young Men Wanted ads. Boy wanted. Perhaps they paid wel]. He looked up at the building. Massive! The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. The personnel department. Personnel. He saw a num- ber of boys sitting at the table and writing. Writ- ‘The American, Schoolbo i a —ata wilbur: ¢ The Secretary of the Navy’s Nightmare ‘behind him as it shut. ing in ink. He hadn’t written in ink since he left grammar school. He thought they worked there. They were only applyng for a job, he found out. Someone handed him an application blank. He sat down at a desk and began fingering a pen-holder. Name, address, age, when born, citizen, father a citizen, last position, position ere that, references, references, He filled them out slowly, methodically. He liked to write with ink. If he was finished he could enter for a private consultation. He was fin- ished. He passed through a little door that clicked He sat down opposite a middle aged man with a tremendous l-wer iaw. He looked like Wilson. After glancing over ‘he ap- plication he was told that they couldn’t start him with what he got at.the last place. But there was a great chance for advancement. For advancement. » They never started anybody with more than twelve dollars a week. Even college men worked for the largest mail order house in the east for twelve dollars. He would think it over. He’d be back to- morrow. It was all right. They would hold his application. He walked out feeling very warm. He went slowly towards the elevator and waited. The elevator was slow in coming. Going down. “He en- tered the elevator which startcd down with a jerk. It made him ill. He could never ride down in an elevator. : He lifted his cap somewhat and let the snow beat fully against his face. It felt geod. He made his way downtown. It was about ten-thirty. He would go to a movie. He didn’t know. Fourteenth street. There were many movies on Fourteenth street that opened early in the morning. Caterers to the un- employed. He entered one. The comedy was going on. Newlyweds and a mother-in-law. He wondered how long he would be out of a job. His mother had looked so scared when he told her he’d lost his job. She didn’t say anything. The comedy was over. Announcements of future productions. Pathe news. Dog has litter of pups. It always bored him. He went into the toilet to while away the time until the big picture came on. Applause. He thought the feature picture was on. They had only been applauding the showing of a regiment of marines marching with the colors. The end: He settled himself back comfortably to watch the unrolling of the feature. A dress shop. Odd! He, too, had worked in a dress shop. Pretty girls chewing gum. He couldn’t remember any in his shop. Shipping clerk. He had been assistant shipping clerk. Nice picture. The shipping clerk is in love with the THE BOLSHEVIKS wit “oestRoy Civilization” IN ae By MAX GELTMAN model. Adventure. Intrigue. The shipping clerk marries the model. He rose from _his seat walked out into the aisle and spat. The shipping clerk’ had been the owner of the plant. It was still snowing. He was beginning to feel hungry. No, he wouldn’t eat yet. It was about one o'clock. Lot of people hurrying back to work. He walked down with University Place. Perhaps he’d see a sign. A large number of young men and women. They didn’t seem to be hurrying anywhere. It seemed as if they were marching around and around. But he couldn’t see. STRIKE. He was able to make the word out. He~-walked nearer to them. They were singing. He knew the melody. Couldn’t make out what it was: Solidarity. He wasn’t sure now. Union. He had heard the melody before. John Brown’s—that was right. Moaning in the—and the union. “Funny. Girls like sandwich men. More singing. They seemed so fine and strong. It made him feel fine. Thrilling. He won- dered what it was all about. He stopped to talk with one of the young men who had a sign on his back and chest saying he was striking for a forty- four hour week and a ten percent wage increase which averaged sixteen dollars a week. Sixteen dol- lars a week. The young man told. him that a lot of them made less than sixteen dollars. And why were they marching thus? The young man tried to explain. The young man was so sincere. Union. Solidarity. He listened intently. The young man was telling him about stickin together. Sticking together. He wondered if he would have lost his job if the others had stuck by him. Sticking together. He’d never thought of that before. Strange. It sounded great to him. The song again. The sing- ing boys and girls. Sticking together. The young man asked him if he got the idea. He nodded. Sticking together. And the union makes us strong. Nice song. : He hadn’t felt like that in a long time. He felt healthy and strong and light. He started back for the mail order house> Sticking together. The young man had asked him if he got the idea. He tried to remember the melody. He stopped. Glory— Glo—Solidarity—He remembered. He moved on aster. Two more blocks. “Amd the union—The building was like some gigantic box. He asked the elevator man about how many people worked there. He was told about three thousand. Three thousand. Sticking together. There were not many boys now applying for jobs. He told a young lady that he had been there in the morning. He had come to - take the job. He was again ushered in for a private consultation. The man with the big jaw had quite forgottsn him. If he would give his name—He did so. The man seemed to remember. Couldn’t start him with more than twelve dollars a week. Great chance. Even college men worked—and the union—he would take the job. The man told him forgotten him. If he would give his name--He nodded. He would get a ecard now; but after he was put on the regular department payroll he would get a factory badge. Something about loyalty and he was told to go and report for work the next morning—promptly. He had hardly listened to what was said to him. Words of a young man were pop- ping through his head. And a.song. He liked that song. He liked that young man. Solidarity. Stick- ing together. The Young man had asked him if he got the idea. THE END. A VOICE FROM A FORD SLAVE PEN “Things are in an awful way here. Two and three days per week is the average. Work has been speeded up to such an extent that only the toughest ean stand it. I still fl have plenty of strength left but I am ready to lie down when I reach home. Too tired even to read or think. To the average Detroit factory worker heaven is a place where one may sleep—just sleep. Nothing else matters. As an instance of how men feel: A team- mate of mine stopped a moment and worked a numbing arm up and down over his head. I said to him: “Do your arms | pain you at night when you lie down?’ “Say boy,” he said, “if your arms pained you as mine do you would never put foot in this dump no more; you aint even-tem- pered enough.” The older men are all be- ing weeded out, the rumor is that al] over 45 years are to go. However, next week my department is due for a genera] shake- up; quite a number will be fired, I be- lieve.” ; eT