The Daily Worker Newspaper, June 25, 1927, Page 6

A Scab Passes Out . URING the Great Steel Strike of 1919 John Bar- ton was one of the few workers in his locality who remained loyal to the company. Very much against his will he had to stay away from the mill a few weeks. He, alone, would be no use to the company sinee one pair of hands could not take the place of several hundred. John was watching a chance to muster a band of “Loyalists.” He seized every opportunity of ex- pressing his disapproval of the strike. He continu- ously denounced its leaders and anticipated its de- feat. He endeavored 'to create dissension and tried to play the role of a defeatist, but did not know how to do it in as able a manner as the more skilled and better trained company hacks and stool pigeons. Finally he found five or six workers who were staggering beneath the cruel lash of economic de- terminism. They were ready for anything. Anything that would increase their immediate food supply and alleviate their domestic turmoil. With an unconcealed facial expression of satis- faction John proposed, “Let us go see the employ- ment agent before it is too late.’ This was a move the others detested and feared, but, yet the fear of not making it was too strong to be successfully re- sisted. Next morning five of them went to see the em- ployment agent. John, the self-appointed spokes- man, takes the lead, offers apologies and asks for reinstatement. After a brief lecture the agent agrees to forgive them and hands them over to four gun-waving policemen who escerted them to the super’s office. The super smiled for the first time in their pres+ ence. “Go in,” he said, “and start the furnace. All you will have to do is keep smoke going up during the hours of daylight. You boys are in for all pro- motions and will have a steady job the rest of your lives.” Several weeks were spent making smoke. The local newspapers used headlines and several front page columns stating the mill had resumed opera- tions and falsely asserting that several out-of-town mills were working one hundred per cent. Crude and old-fashioned tho this propaganda was it had a severe effect on some well-meaning but non-think- ing workers. In several months after the strike John went to work as leader on the side shears. This paid one dollar a day more than his previous job. Figuring on so many days’, work in the year at this new job he bought a house on the installment plan. John, his wife Esther and their three children moved to their new home in a “respectable part of the city.” Esther, like her husband was a vociferate “one hundred percenter.” She continuously pointed to Ford and Carnegie as examples that all should follow. “Any one can become a millionaire if he Le ee A e only has ability and. ambition” were some of the daily sayings of John and Esther. Qne Saturday afternoon the foreman notified the men that some changes in the machinery were to be made the following week and therefore the mill would be down until further notice. Three weeks passed before this much-looked-for notice was posted at the gate. . Great was the surprise that awaited the men on their return to the mill. New and much larger rolls were in operation. The table was five feet wider than it used to be. A new large shears stood at the end of the first table.. The old side shears around which fourteen men used to work was no- where to be seen. The whistle blows twice. The machinery gets in action. A slab drops from the furnace to the roll- ing table, It quickly becomes a plate and rolls on to the shears at the other end cf the table. It is sheared and continues to roll on to where it is lifted by a crane into the car. The amazed workers could not believe their eyes. Could not see how this was possible. Just by chang- ing the machinery the company now only required twelve men to produce twice as much as fifty could turn out before. “Boys, I’m sorry, we ‘have nothing for you to do,” said the super. “However, we will let you know when we have an opening.” “Mr.,” remarked John, “don’t you remember I worked during the strike.” “Shut-up,” snarled the super, “I’m run- ning this place: so now get out of here before I call a policeman to have you taken out.” On their way home John and his pals met Andy, who since the strike, had been black-balled in the mill and was well-known as a Red. “What’s wrong now? Won't the company let willing slaves like you guys work for it any more?” asked Andy in a mocking manner. “It’s the machin- ery, that cursed new machinery that has thrown us out of a job. IE don’t know what the world is com- ing to,” was John’s crying reply. “Things are only pursuing their natural course,” retorted Andy. “Machinery will ultimately throw millions of people out of work. Unemployment and hunger will fan the flaming fires of revolt and will finally send capitalism to the scrap heap. Machin- ery is not cursed. It’s good, but it must be used for the benefit of us workers, instead of to our dis- advantage. I am saying this because I know there are several clean minds and noble hearts in this crowd and NOT because I want to make any im- pression on a traitor like you. Good bye, Benedict Arnold. I hope the company gives you lots of the medicine you helped it prepare.” One day, after three months of seeking employ- ment, John was hired as a laborer, providing of course, that he passed the doctor. After a few min- BEWARE, MADMAN! By SAMUEL A. HERMAN. Beware, madman, beware! You, who so freely shake a fist at the Red Dawn, Who fume and curse and threaten, H Who strut upon the stage of twentieth century history Like’a madman broken loose, Emitting savage cries that startle the ear, Borrowed like a dress suit for occasion, From your colonial jungles. Beware, madman, beware! You, who would light the match of war; To destroy the builders of the future; Who are laying diabolical plans, To shape the emaciated bodies : Of the starving miners and the unemployed, Into battalions of steel, ready to march In the direction of your outstretched finger. Beware, madman, beware! Lest your wretched slaves of yesterday, Refuse compliance with your command, And facing you with gleaming bayonets, say: “We are not mercenaries for hire, We refuse to march where you desire, : Not they, but you, are our real foe, : 6 And are to blame for all our woe!” Beware, madman, beware! Look at the far-flung eastern sky, Where the artistry of a rising sun, Had painted countless crimson streaks the sky above be an inverted sea, And its myriad crimson streaks, Be a reflection of Red Army men below? Beware, John Bull, beware! : Ypon a spacious canvas of blue! EL (ee en ea a Se A A A a | seripts will be By CHARLIE BYRNE utes examination the doctor declared John unfit to be employed. This added to his troubles. Now his health was gone. He had nothing to hope for, “The new shears did it all,” was his continuous wail. The real estate dealer has a dispossess served on him the following week. His insuranee policies have long since lapsed. Even his dog deserted and went to seek a master from whom he would get food, “Why should I continue in such misery? Death is staring me in the face. Why prolong the agony?” he asked himself over and over again as he watched Esther and the children sleeping. Their frail bodies and pale faces clearly indicated the long days and nights of hunger and destitution through which had passed both he and them. “No, it’s no use,” he said as he stepped out of the bed, closed the windows tight and opened all the gas jets. “That’s that,” he muttered as he stretched him- self out on the floor. |__New york | EAST SIDE Tattered clothes on the backs Of East Side’s youth, Are still in vogue In a period of prosperity. Children writhing in the mud Of unpaved streets, Are the living monuments - To the eleven thousand millionaires, Sentencing the tots To a life of tattered clothes and muddy streets, BRONX Small is its very breath, Gathered beneath the tables of the powerful, Picking the crumbs Coming from time to time. Petty is its look Upon the benefactors Permitting its existence. Yet it runs from the quarters Of the proletariat, To be driven back By the money lords. WALL STREET Narrow is its structure, Symbolizing the underhand method Of obtaining all in existence, In a world of grabbing. The light of day Never penetrates Wall Street, Sereeching maniacs Selling what is not theirs; Coupon pullers Pawning the lives of the masses, In the drawers of Wall Street. Wall Street, the price taker, In an era of robbery. BROADWAY A world gone mad, In search for excitement. Money comes fast, And life goes faster. Advertisements, electric signs, Blaze over an age Burning itself out Th tribute to the yellow devil. Filth, as its laurels. . , : EUGENE KREININ. An Invitation and a Few Suggestions supplement of The contributions from DAILY WORKER aoke mes its readers. Stories, articlesy cartoons and will be given consi dan Via wae ax cae lication. This does not imply that everything sub- mitted will see — light of the newsstands. Ratner we goatnie thal tied man even when self-addressed and stamped envelopes accompany the contribu- tions. We will do the best we can to return re- jecte manuseripts, but sometimes accidents hap- Vditor, Saturday Magazine, Daily Worker, Virst Street, New York.