The Daily Worker Newspaper, May 14, 1927, Page 9

. miracle. Notes of a Deportee Comrade Vajtauer, former editor of the Commun- ist Czecho-Slovak paper, Spraveldnost, came to this country a few years ago to participate in the revoe lutionary movement here and particularly among the Czecho-Slovak workers. He has a long record of service to the labor movement in his own country. Our rulers who are so hospitable to loyal, slavish immigrants spotted Comrade Vajtauer as an enemy and his deportation is the consequence after a long struggle in his behalf waged by the International Labor Defense. ae The first night between Monday and ‘Tuesday. Two women comrades with bouquets of flowers in their arms. Three com- rades_ sitting opposite. They are taking me home for a send-off party. The flowers, suddenly severed from their roots, will die in the homes of these comrades long be- fore I reach the shores of Europe. The second Taxi. Morning of the following day. Comrade P., my boarding lady, with her ha!t- year-old baby girl Vera in her arms is seeing me off. This bouquet will remain here also.’ But its roots are set firmly in this home-soil. And some day, perhaps, she will come to meet me—a life m full bloom, a bouquet of laughter, courage and self confidence. These are the two strongest of my last impres- sions from America. Are they a symbol? Will that which remained, a thing of beauty but without roots, die? Will that which anchored here grow? * * * COURT ROOM in the “Old Post-Office,” near the City Hall. In these benches, fronting the clerks’ banister and the judge’s desk, you feel as tho the life outside were closing on you. Strong knocks on the door. A baliff announces the approach of the judge. All rise. The judge robed in black, with affected dignity emerges from the rear door and seats himself at his desk. The clerk calls off the contending parties. Brothers Jones vs. Mr. Smith—Mr. Terkin vs. Mr. Clark. Emanuel Vajtauer vs. The Commissioner of Ellis Island. The lawyer, an attorney with a brief-case of acts concerning my “case,” and I step nearer. They explain: Eltis Island.” ; The judge nods. The derk takes notes. The Ellis Island representative takes me in cus- tody.: The heads of all present turn after me. America’s doors slammed on me. We enter a waiting-room at the Hillis Island ferry. With the watchman at the look-out stands a tall man’ with the face of a detective. Where have I seen him before? We wait for the ferry on a bench behind the bars. Cobwebs hang from a dirty ceiling. The tall man passes by greeting me. “Isn’t he a reporter from The Daily News?’ 1 ask my companion. “Yes, it’s Mr. Crawford.” I remember. After the decision, shortly after New Years, he came to our editorial office. He asked for a photograph and some information. We gave him the photograph, but in place of “information* I wrote him my opinion of the decision: “The American capitalists are afraid that I might hurt them. That is why they are deporting me. What a silly idea? As if there was a country on the face of the Earth from where one couldn’t fight against the American capitalists.” That was at the time when Washington was exerting its greatest energy to start a war with Mexico. What I wrote didn’t suit Mr. Crawford and so he wrote that I have declared that I don’t intend to go to Mexico just then, but that Kellogg was right when he says that the communists have a strong po- sition in Mexico, and that I am a man advocating the extermination of all capitalists. Such are reporters of American capitalist papers! If any time you mistake them for detectives, you are not far from truth. They are even lower than detectives. More often than not they are mere agents provocateurs. Nearly all the keepers recognize me. I inquire about the fate of some of those who remained here after my release two years ago. Some of the “big- ger game, they remember. Like that one-eyed Canadian, MacLean, who fought here for almost a year for recognition of his American citizenship. He was set free, but is now in a jail in France for forging his passport. Or the “Prince of Kurdistan,” who was visited here by a rich “chicken,” caught on a title. He is now “serving” in France, also, for fraud. “And how do you know what happened to all of them?” I ask a tall, fat keeper, who tells me all this.—“I work now with the Department of Justice,” he informs me, proudly,—“‘and they send men after such fellows. Not one of them gets away.” “The party is to be surrendered to Sunlight Under a Blanket There are days in Chicago when a foul breath creeps from the south side. It seeps into the Loop. It saturates the west side and fouls the north. The city air hamgs heavy-laden with decay. There are days when the wind lifts the vile blanket from the city. Then men who labor all weary day in the presence of the monster, bring back his breath on themselves in the street cars that run from the Stockyards. * * * Rose and I waited until mid-winter to visit Don Jose. In mid-winter one should feel more at ease on the south side. At Thirty-fifth Street the con- ductor gave the signal to the motorman before we had even stepped off the car. Cars move quickly on the south side. We regained our balance and foulness gripped us. It holds you in all strength at Thirty-fifth Street. Even in mid-winter. That man can live here is a wonder. That man Goes live here is a Hunger drives men to miracles, * + “Passen, amigos. . .passen!” boomed Don Jose. “. . .and welcome!” Dona: Maria beamed on us. Conchita took our coats and Pepe ran to advise the others. “El senor has come. And La Senora!” Others came amd smiled and gripped our hands. Made us welcome. The warmth of Mexico was tossed into this room in the house that stands in the shadow of the Yards. How fine it was. How welcome we felt. “We will play a new record for the Senora. . .” “But no. . .un momentito,” Don Jose protested. “Let us just talk for a while. We have never met the Senora before. . .” aind Don Jose bowed. It was all’ new to Rose. She felt just a bit self- conscious. A little ashamed at such warmth. - Dona Marie ‘spoke no English. ‘No importa!” It does not matter, “Tell your Senora how pleased we are to have her honor us.” : Don Jose extended a gnarled, worker’s hand. “A cigarette senor? These are from our soil!” Miguel is only three years old: Miguel gives some ry cdg eg and she brings the chubby youngster p. Dona Maria beams on Rose. “If the Senora will allow me I can show her some of my hand-work.” The Senora would be pleased! Dona Maria and Rose and Josefina and three youngsters are grouped around laces. They talk to each other, each in their own language. And they understand! « * s “Si, it is difficult,” Don Jose tells me. “Work is very hard to get. Last week I made twenty dollars —week before last only eighteen. There are ten mouths to feed.” : “The work is hard?” “Ah, senor—we work like the poor burros in our country! And the treatment we get—Ay, dios!-~ it is even worse.” “. . ,and conditions of work Don Jose—they are bad?” “Ah, but you will think I complain like an old woman!” I protest. “Surely—I understand. I, too, am a worker!” “Not long ago,” Don Jose cites for example, “Pe- dro Gonzales fell on a slimy floor. A dog would not have worked there. They sent poor Pedro to the doctor. His hand was cut and became infected. His arm was cut off a month ago. Last week we . buried what was left of Pedro.” “It is sad, is it not, senor?” Pepe inquires. “It is hell!” I tell them. "Surely, you must hate this country?” “No. . .no. In my country too we starve. Only here no sunshine ever creeps in. It is always cloudy. Always misty. Always cold. Damp. It is always work, work, work. . \from morning ’til night. And the foul air, senor! It is even in the food we eat!” “Don Jose!” Maria calls out. “Why must you complain to the senor? x ed cated have. * P So we play “Cielito Lindo.” It is a gay, innocent little tune. I sing a line or two. It’s contagious. Es the senor sings!” I protest. “No. . .no—the senor must sing!” I sing and they applaud. Dona Maria sings. Jo . . sefina soon brings a guitar and we all sing. Pepe _ brings around a tray of red wine. We sing “Cielito By M. VAJTAUER HILE they were here, they enjoyed all sorts of privileges, of course, only to make it easier to have their cards looked into. There are several similar traps set here. Immt!- grants and other unlucky ones, who get stuck here, are offered a flock of lawyers to choose from, who ean find nothing better to do than cheat these un- fortunates out of their last pennies. The dining room superintendent, surprised to see me here again and learning that I have lost my case, tells me: “It’s a shame to waste any money on lawyers. They’re as thick as flies around here. All should do like that Polish woman we have here. She showed a lawyer $150.00 and said: “They will be yours, if you win the ease. If you don’t, you won’t get a cent.” My case was different, of course, but I did not care to talk to him about it. So I nodded ap- provingly: “Yes, that’s the way to treat them.” Religious organizations have their own little money-traps here. For instance, they sell you a two-cent envelope for three, at the same time look- ing at you like sisters of mercy bandaging raw wounds. N the afternoon the commissioner came to the room. One after the other inquired from him about his fate. I ask him, how long I’ll have to wait here. He remembers somebody having phoned him about me. “But passport has lapsed!” . I tell him that I have a new one with a German visum .a French visum not being required, because a Czechoslovak passport is honored in France. “And have you an Austrian visum?” “No, I don’t have to go thru Austria. Germanty.” Germany won’t permit a deportee to pass thru, uniess he goes under escort. I tell him that I intended to pay my way in Europe, and travel like any other ordinary passen- ger. I didn’t tell him, of course, that I’ll do this only to be able to stay awhile in France and Ger- many. He has no objection, but adds: “Give me this pass- port and I'll return it to you to-morrow with a French and Austrian visum.” I remind him again that there is no need of a French visum on a Czechoslovak passport. “This rule doesn’t apply to deportees,” “they must have a visum.” This, of course, doesn’t sound like if I could travel thru Furope, on my own expense, a free passenger. And if I should be sent like “express-goods,” then they must stand the charges for this pan: caeeege of live-stock. Tl go thru he says, By WALT CARMON Lindo” again. Rose and I learn a verse of “La Cucaracha.” Don Jose sings “Horses” and we join in the laughter. How warm it is. How friendly. We sing, we play and then Pepe dances “La Jota.” Josefina dances with him. They turn and bend and they stamp their feet. Children they are. Graceful children respond- ing to the strumming guitar like reeds to the breeze. Rose exclaims “It’s beautiful!” “And now if the senor and Senora will honor us at our table?” “Con much gusto!” * * * From soup to “Dulces” it is all here. enchiladas, mole de guajolote—peppers aplenty. As warm a meal as the warmth of the welcome. And good! Restraint is all gone now. “A glass of wine for la Senora, Pepe. She is not yet accustomed to the peppers.” “Wine—and more ‘mole’!” from Rose. “Bravo!” Don Jose applauds. “And you senor?” We eat more and we smoke and we talk of the land of Don Jose. “Quien sabe?—perhaps we will return some day.” “You and your Senora should visit our country. senor. Ah, you would never leave it!” “But you did Don Jose!” Dona Maria chides him. ‘ “Never again will I be so foolish,” confesses Don ‘ose. Finally it is time for us to leave. We shake hands with everyone. Tiny Miguel must shake hands tow Dona Maria has pressed a bit of lace on Rose as a parting gift. “Adios! Adios!... .” * * * The warmth of Mexico was tossed into this room that-stands in the shadow of the Yards. We pressed. _ back to Thirty-fifth Street thru the stench that - enveloped the house. a ele ke bold BUS ad bi e'e “Step lively!” the conductor urged. '“No- sunshine ever creeps’ ‘in. .°.” I think of Don Jose. -“It is always cloudy. ; -always cold -and work. . .w&rk. . .” As if in knowing haste the street car bounces ‘ and rye away from the Stockyards, Tortillas,