The Daily Worker Newspaper, November 22, 1930, Page 4

Page Four Stenos, Job Hoover and Pickles President Blesses the 57 Varieties Where Girls} Get Tw DAILY WORKER, NEW YORK, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1930 —Drawings sent from U. S. S. R. by Bill Gropper. ae Se a a | There Is No Unemployment in the Soviet Union -Hunting, | A Neighborhood Court In Moscow Workers Use Courts to Socialize Their Mem- I leave the em- ker out of a job, The Wanted ofice work ads about you once got—any- Then, as the receive the same, gh salaries for office from $8-$10 a week for $10-$20-$22 for $18-$21 to F ep: ve got to have ten year: to get $25. of the Worid” soup kitchens, hun- ery. , it's hellish cold! Don’t know how I'll live through the win- ter.” You can see them in doorways, alleys; end when t ‘sab day, once in a Ww! they go to the park and sit on be and plead from pessers-by: “Say, buddy. Got a butt?” Ext, with increasing unemployment | end more hunger, many workers are| awakening and learning the value of| solidarity. ‘The first time I went to the Heinz factory it was to distribute leaflets | to the unemployed calling them to a meeting. It was a mean, drizzly day. Got there 7 a. m. in time to catch the girls who applied for jobs. Not fone showed up. “Heinz isn’t hiring,” the gateman explained. Well—office flobs “are scarce, alright, Let’s in- westigate chances here, So I stuffed the leafiets into my inside pockets fnd went into the employment office. } Walked like a timid, young school- girl, “yes ma’med” her,and found out a little about the rules: girls must wear uniforms and caps; must be in on time, and no “leaves”; must have clean hands and fingernails. “Superior Pickles” “Ours is a pure-food factiory,” she §ecited professionally, “and what we ‘make goes into many homes. It may sometimes reach even our own home.” She was a “nice lady.” Rather plump, baby-pink complexion, a blue @ilk “ensemble” with orange silk louse. She fitted right into the of- fice, with its enormous wall painting, rugs, wicker furniture, and its atmo- sphere of sheltered complacency. ‘They pay bean-sorters 20c an hour, enty Cents An Hour | |torium and recreation center out of you have to be no older than 15 or 16 | to get that job. I, she said, was too| old fo. start at bean-sorting. The older girls are put on machines, and |“we don’t need any help right now.” a SECOND visit. A segond inter-| 42 view by another “nice lady,” as | seven skinny young girls, just out of schooll shuffles past, lunch packages | under their arms, following a fore- lady, to be assigned to work. Twenty cents an hour, from 7.30 to 5.15. | The lady’s “Next, please” sounded | like a talking-1 e. “How old are | you?” “How many in your family?” “Do you live at home?” “What does your father do?” “Where did you work before, what did you do?” ‘Are you married?”I answered has- thers had applied and “it is only} first” choice.” | ses Slavery. | But Heinz is kind to its employees. | Just around the corner from the/ block-long ory is the Heinz Set-| “dedicated to the edu cing of the youth.” | Last week, einz, president | of the H. J, Heinz Co., blessed by President Hoover, who joined in the} celebration, dedicated a new audi- Collective work on one of the State Farms, Every New Factory Strengthens Socialisnt the profits squeezed from the workers. Hoover stepped in to spread | “happiness” on this occasion, “It is... a satisfaction to engage | fer a moment in the anniversary | ef the establishment which has | a record ef over sixty years of | continuous industrial peace.” Now, | at last, prematurely old school | gisls can forget their tired backs end numb fingers, and rejoice in this new proof of “mutual interest and humane relations between employer and employe.” From Turpentine Swamps to Demonstrations at City Hall - A Negro Lad’s Story | git bitten. “Well, whin I was fourteen, ma NE evening, while munching a| “We wus paid sixty cents for a| momma got married agin, so I come | sandwich at Workers Cooperative | hundred trees. If we worked from nor’. How'd I git here? Farmers giv restaurant, before it was moved from |sun to sun, we cud do maybe three| me rides from one town to th’ next. | 14th St., I noticed a Negro youth, hundred trees a day. The boss man, I always managed not to be stranded | Taken Down by M. P. granmammy was a slave. I could hear him humming, “Happy | ‘Treble’ ’n write it down in th’ WW | creak—Ma skin went tight all ovah| Days.” As he ate, his eyes roved book. Only sometimes, he forgot to} ma head. Ma feet felt numb, around the restaurant, taking in| write. “How'd I come to know about the | everything, nodding now and then to} “Me’n ma sister worked with ma| League? Up in Harlem, one night, | |some one he recognized, and ex-|momma three years, scrapping pine | there was a street corner meetin’. changing sallies with comrades who | needles. Uh? Naw, we never got no|I saw a Negro worker ’n alongside of passed by. | Schoolin’. Leastways, I diden, Ma|him on the platform was a white | “From your talk, I can tell you're | sis, she went a few weeks. girl. I edged ovah ‘n asked a colored | from the south, Aren’t you?” I/ ¢ IN, whin I wuz twelve, I took to | man. “You see that?” “I sure do.” | asked him. tapping trees, in the turpentine | “What's it all about?” “They calls | “Sure thing. You too? . . . Well, I| swamps. You start out, so early in! it Communism!” “What's that?” declare.” In the conversation that|th’ mornin’, you can’t see one tree | “Well, brother, I doan exactly kno a followed, this is the story he told me. | from tother. Feel your way along | So I eased a lil closer. A girl come | “{ come from Tennessee. When) with your hands. Your feet slip in| along ’n give me a leaflet. I likes I was a boy, nine years old, jes about |the mud. You work with a long-| what I heerd, ’n so the next day I} th’ cops begin swattin’ right ’n left. git to ma feet. th’ jaw.” face. She used to tell me how bad it was. You know they’re already sellin’ people back to slavery down where I come from. Jes lak you might sell a watch or a { MR HEINZ ad making his way among the tables,| he went along with a lil book, ’n after night fall. But once. That/ piece of furniture. But afore we git HAS SUCHA | 5 A His cap was over one ear, he carried | whin you finish a tree, you call out | night—oh, boy. That was the dark-| back that way, we're goin’ to rise up Pp NICE PLA ff le bowl of soup, and as he dropped | your number. Mine was treble. Yd est woods I ever see. The owls went) n fight ’em back... . vate bh into a seat at the table where I sat,|say ‘Treble, ‘n he'd holler back | to hooting, ’n ma shoes went creak-| “Was you here on March sixth? Oh, boy, that was some day. Whin the workers went to ask for bread, We fought back, right proper. One) cop knocked a gal down ’n whin I! leaned ova to helpen her up, he hits me on the back, ’n laid me flat. An- other cop comes ovah, befo’ I could I made lak I diden| see him, but whin he got close, I jumped up quick, popped him one in He leaned back with a broad grin on his seventeen year old “They brokes ma arm, but we sent six gops to th’ hospitals that By ED. FALKOWSEI Reprint from MOSCOW NEWS The Five-day Weekly published for English speaking people in the So- viet Union—Ed. mass of buildings whose windows arrested to find it. It lacks all the theatrical claptrap and solemnity of the capitalist court: no thick buckram-bound volumes; no witnesses are believed or disbelieved without medilevalizing. @ neighborhood club when the court is not in session. The stage is still majestic with the scenic leftovers of the last dramatic exertions of local talent. There are gymnastic bars and trapeze-hooks in evidence. night these trappings are brushed to metallist and a tailor. The neighborhood court has grown up in the last two years in the Soviet Union. It organizes neighborly public even the slight formality of the or- dinary “People’s Courts.” No person who has been a judge, a prosecutor or officer of the law professionally, may sit on the bench of a neighbor- hood court: These “Judges” are neighbors; they know every ‘man’s drinking capacity and domestic habits, Those Neighbors! The cases are neighborly ones. For no one can avoid having neighbors in Moscow and living at bumping range with them. The community kitchen where six primuses function in a chorus at one time to the tune for a bit of neighborly friction. If this doesn’t bring about results, wash day conflicts with your neighbors. The result is always: The Neighbor- hood Court. “More Culture for the Defendants!” Here was a case where Citizen Fumkova, while washing clothes, was suddenly irritated by Citizen Moloda, whom she swatted around with an unwrung man’s shirt. Whereupon the latter grabbed a pot of water and matters reached the intervention Tucked away somewhere in the threw yellow squares of light against the dark, was the court, it’s location such that you almost have to get seal-stampers; not even a bible for| The court is a cold basement in a backyard, which serve the purpose of But to-| the sidelines. On the stage behind a red-draped table sit three judges. In| private life they are a bookkeeper, a| opinion to decide its cases, avoiding of Kasha give delightful oppurtunity day does it, particularly if your wash | attempted to bathe the former. Thus stage, and the Court was now listen- bers, Not to Wreck Vengeance ing to the two or more sides of the story at once. In fact, the judge had a hard time getting in a word edge- ways by way of comment. When most of the evidence was heard and the rest not listened to— the court retired behind the forest —that is to say, the scenery that still told of the last dramatic ex- ertions of the local talent. Five minutes later they reappeared, the judge (each of the three has his turn at being judge) trying to read his own handwriting with painful success: “Citizen Fumkova, for behaving in an neighborly fashion, for swatting | Citizen Molloda, and for using bad | language, 3 roubles fine”. Citizen Molloda, for spilling a pot of water on the aforesaid citizen and Swearing and being rough generally, 3 roubles fine”. Demand Higher Fines “Too little!” cried everyone, includ- ing defandent and plantiff. The hus- bands of both women dramatically sprang out of the audence, and con- fronted the judges with energetic de- mands for more drastic punishment. The judges for a moment seemed lost, Finally the elder one spoke. “Not the littleness of the fine is impor- tant,” he said. We can make the fine heavier if we wish. But we want both comrades besides paying the fine to participate in local cultural activ- | ity. To take an interest in public affairs. To live like human beings | after the manner of camrades, If | further quarrels occur, we assure you we can also be severe.” Money fer Culture Fund ‘The fine money goes to the cultural fund of the “neighborhood” this may | be either a cluster of apartment houses or the district surrounding some large factory; it is used for kin- dergardens, libraries, schools for the illiterate. The Court serves after working hours and without pay; the jury is anyone who happens to drop in during the sessions. “We don’t believe in severity,” ex- plained the judge. “We try to induce the comrades to take part in public life. The illiterate, for hooliganism, are sentenced to study the alphabet so many hours each week.” “Aren't the sentences too light?” I asked. “Well,” smiled the judge, “when we sentence an illiterate per- son to study the alphabet, he seldom comes back before the court again. Apparently the sentence is severe enough!” YOUNG RED CHINA so high” he measured off a height not much higher than the table, “me and ma sister—she was a little older to rake pine needles eway from the pine trees that have turpentine in ’em. We'd brush the pine needles away, ’n the brush’d be set on fire | to drive out the rattle snakes. That —n ma momma ’d go to the woods | | | | come down to the place they tole me, ‘nm jined up. I bin with ’em ever since... . “What're you're doin’ for a living?” “Blackin’ shoes. But not much in it these days, with times so hard.” He leaned forward. “Say, the way times is now, I woulden be serprised they begins handled thing, with a carved-pointed thing at the end. You makes a V- shaped cut, ’n the sap runs out in 8) iY cup, underneath. Thin men come along ’n scoop it up in ladles. By noon, mebbe you’ve made a dollar. By nightfall, I’se so tired, I’'d just come home ’n drop down. Ma sister’d hold ma head in her lap, ’n weep ovah me. sellin’ people back to slavery. Ma ole day.” revylution soon. livin’ afta that.” culatin’ on it. kind for workin’ folks lak me.” Leaning forward confidentially, he whispered, “I sure hopes to see the It'll sure be fine “Why don’t you go to the Work~- ers School, this winter?” “I bin cal- Yes sir, to get some larnin this winta, real larnin’ The By DAVE HOROWITZ. The ruins of the rice fields are desolate, And our old men mourn for the dead That outnumber the stars in the heavens. White missionaries promise salvation But we hear the guns of imperialism Saluting our christian general And the blood of the people is a flood from 7.30 a. m. until 5.15 p.m. And By RYAN WALKER ' was so men could tap the trees, 'n not | By MEYER DWORKIN (Autumn. Midnight. An indus- tial city in deep chill and early frost. | Ocassionally ship sirens, gloomy and forbidding, are heard in the distance. ‘A yellow blotted moon drifts across a hazy sky. Deep silence. | Im a narrow and dark alley, sur-| wounded by magnificent skyscrapers, silhouettes of men, women and child- wen huddled together in the dark- (pees, ere seen standing in a row. The fine reaches out into 8 moonlit ave- wus, pest which expensive automo- files are seen rolling by. One of the pers, to the left of the alley, fs @ fashionable hotel, in which every if gindow is illuminated with blazing white lights. From its luxurious @ining salon, merry music, hand @lapping and laughter are heard. ™ the alley among the silhouettes Bhere ere signs of restlessness. (Ohildren are heard crying.) A VOICE IN THE ROW: Patience, fy good fellow citizens, the gluttons fehind the silk drapes will soon be | ated! . Bhrough. I can tell by the dreamy (music . . . and the clinking wine Blacses. (Music and laughter above Increases in volume). ANOTHER VOICZ.OF A SILHOU- TTz: (Shivering with cold. Sar- castically.) I got it... The rich are rich because they obey the law .. .! (Generel laughter.) ANOTHER VOICE: (Speaks der- {sively in a loud voice.) My idea, gentlemen, 1s, they are rich because the “law” obeys them ...! (a cop’s shrill whistle is heard, and in the alley the sounds of clanging garbage Re cans. The silhouettes begin to rush. ‘ A door in the alley opens and a ‘ porter calls out): f PORTER: Patience my men, the fast course hasn't been served yet. E ‘They are drinking the wine now. _ @oor closes. Again darkness and _ gilence, broken by dance music. The porter appears again—He motions them to move up forward. A stam- _ pede occurs. General commotion and sounds of emptying garbage cans. A VOICE OF A MAN: (Ironically) the war! WORK. OR WAGES A Play on a Revolutionary Theme silhouette of a man appears running still remember the war—and the das- | from the alley eating some bread.) | tardly part you black robed hirelings | “we” are the victors! “We” have won | played in it. Even at the front, where capitalist civilization was crashing ANOTHER MAN (Victoriously): To| before your very eyes, you haven't the victor belongs the spoils. ... failed to serve the world’s assassins, You hov- | |due us as workers and producers of you, vultures! We still remember! To hell with you! (Rumbling and approval from the masses. A cop's on! Nero! built this magnificent hotel is job- less and hungry out here in the cold A VOICE: It 1s not bread alone that we want. We demand what is} A WOMAN'S VOICE from among the jobless (embittered): I am a mother of two sons! Both have fought other mothers’ sons in the last war. One was killed! (Prolonged silence.) He shed other toilers’ blood at the masters command. Death has wiped away the eternal scourge of hig conscience. (Music in hotel rises to wild pitch, and ends the world’s wealth! (From all around voices of approval- Yes, we de- mand! (Orchestra in dining salon in- creases to mad tempo. All pick up their tools in readiness. The hotel lights, except those in the dining room are extinguished. On the yellow window shades silhouettes of servants The bricklayer who has shrill whistle is heard in the dis-|street! He demands . . .! and he is tance.) not alone! Our numbers are grow- ing! at dining which a huge bull dog is sitting.) (All in Unison.) |families are starving! | suffering. We will starve no longer! We shall save the world! We can build houses! We can make clothing! We can join forces with our brother workers across the seas who have freed themselves from Woman brandishes a threatening fist room windows where silhouettes of wealthy dames are seen chatting at a table, in the center of ‘We demand work! VOICES FROM THE MASS: Our We have reached the limit of our And our old men grieve for the dead. But hear ye the voice of the sullen Lift from the ruins of the land! Oh! Hear ye the roar of the people Breaking the wind in the field! Young China was dreaming of freedom— Arise! Ye prisoners of starvation— The flag of our youth is red—Red The blood of the people is a flood—rising— Down with the land-owning lords! Death to the dogs of imperialism! See! The chains of the masters are rotted; No more tradition’s chains shall bind us. Forward! For the Soviets are marching And the people—for bread—for land— (From the darkness of the alley | the robbing master-class! figures trickle out and disappear |ered about us dispatching our souls silently into the darkness. From into eternity even before the master- these, however, a number are seen|class had riddled our bodies with separating, each carrying his*respec- | bullets. How we hated the sight of tive tool, such as picks, axes, brick | —————— hod, fork and rake. Among them are men in soldier's uniform, a farmer, and @ woman. All rest their tools against the wall of the hotel, Silence. They move about restlessly in an ef- fort to keep warm, and mass in front of the brilliantly lighted hotel. The cop's shrill whistle is heard again in the distance. Glittering autos roll by and halt at hotel entrance.) A VOICE OF a man with upturned coat collar (Brandishing threatening fist): Well, we are still hungry and cold, damn youl! ANOTHER VOICE (Bitterly): And humiliated . . . God damn it, humi- are seen carrying heavily laden trays with food and drink. Silhouettes of merry diners are seen drinking toasts to one another.) A VOICE FROM BELOW: Fiddle abruptly.) The other one is tramp- ing the streets like a spectre, dazed, | hungry, watching for the opportunity| We can fight! to fight the guilty ones. Death has} ENTIRE MASS: We can go down spared him... (A cop’s shrill whistle. to the very gates of hell if necessary their oppressors and are no longer starving! ANOTHER VOICE (tall man look- ing upward): The day is not far... (Silence. A lone forboding ship siren is heard in the distance.) To action, men, dreams will avail you nothing. (A pouchy cleric appears in entrance of the hotel.) A VOICE FROM THE STREET: (mockingly) Praised be the lord... (From above a shaft of brilliant white light sweeps across the proces- sion on the dark street. The dron- ning of an airplane is heard.) A VOICE: It is the ever wakeful eye of the oppressor. It never rests. It always fears its enemies, the op- pressed. It fears the red dawn that will follow the dark night. CLERIC: Come my good men. We heve a warm meal and bed provided for you, the worthy poor, in god’s house. (Somewhere in the night a dog bays...) A VOICE FROM THE STREET: And there again to find the banker end the war maker! (Ironically) Good men, indeed! Too good, too patient and too meek with the and children first! (A talliworld’s robbers and their tools! I American workers pledge defense to the Soviet Union. —By Cutler. to build a better world for all! And we will do it! (Hotel darkens com- pletely. All raise their work tools in readiness to march off. They shade their eyes with right hand gazing through the darkness towards the eastern horizon. Those in lead ex- claim: ‘We see a red star! Onward, toilers to a new life! (A reverbrating mass shout is heard) Strike! (The proces- sion marches off with heavy tread.) Scene Changes. (Past midnight. Darkness. Intense silence. Somewhere in the distance the cheerful crowing of a cock is heard. Gradually a vast landscape of slum- bering industrial cities begins to ap- pear. Upon this landscape various processions are groping silently in the darkness. Now they almost touch one another. Suddenly they part again. General confusion follows. A paragon of various languages and ex- clamations are heard from the dark- ness. Once more dense darkness blankets all the groping processions from view. Distant rumbling is heard followed by silence.) A VOICE (from the darkness): Fellow workers! What language do you speak? A VOICE FROM ANOTHER PRO- CESSION: The language of poverty and oppression! The language of the working-class!—And you? A VOICE IN ANSWER (eagerly): The same language. Brother, come closer! Or we will perish! ANOTHER VOICE: How far away are you, brother? VOICE ANSWERS: We seem to be very close one to another, and yet so far... .! VOICE (courageously): Let us find the way. Dawn is not fer. . .! (Cock crows cheerfully. General com- motion and joy from all processions. |They are seen marching closer and closer together, though still groping To forge a new World Proletarian Power! SE ————————— S———————ooooeoeeeeeleeeeeeeee in the dense darkness. Crimson streaks of dawn appear on the east- ern horizon . . .) A VOICE (joyously): I feel the earth rocking under me. Is it the coming of the new day? I fear... I have been groping in the darkness, it seems, for centuries. Now, I am afraid of the rising sun....! A VOICE: Fear will not halt the rise of the sun. . . . Lone men fear. + .. Let us get together, understand one another, and all fear will disap- pear from the earth ...! (joyously) I too feel an earth tremor... (They all grope very closely one to another. Cock crows. Suddenly joy and com- motion. In the distance a red pro- cession, like a spark of dawn out of the crimson eastern horizon, ap- pears carrying a red flag blazing through the dark night closer and closer, marching forward towards these still groping in the darkness. Suddenly a shout of joy is heard: “Comrades” The sky lightens voices from the masses. Fellow workers! I see the sun rise! The day is coming! Ay, brothers! We all look alike... We shall suffer no more! How? “If your mighty arm only will, all wheels will stand still.” Tools down for . universal workers solidarity against the war mongers! (General commotion, joy, and greetings. All groups finally march out of the dark ness and group together in one seeth- ing mass. The group carrying the red flag is in the center above all. In the distance as the sun rises, the singing of the ‘International’ is heard faintly. The song is rolling like a thunder closer and closer. Finally a reverberating mass shout from all the groups is heard: “Work or wages! ‘Strike’! ‘Strike’!”