the iron puddler-第23章

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of　the　month。　Only　in　case　of　death　or　accident　does　a　man　need　money　in　the　middle　of　the　month。　And　he　can　go　to　the　pay　window　and　get　it　when　he　needs　it。　The　doctor　doesn't　send　his　bill　till　the　end　of　the　month。　The　landlord　doesn't　collect　the　rent　till　the　end　of　the　month。　The　grocer　and　butcher　let　you　run　a　bill　till　the　end　of　the　month。　Some　of　us　are　really　better　off　getting　our　pay　at　the　end　of　the　month。　For　it's　all　there　for　us　and　we　can　pay　our　bills　promptly　and　hold　up　our　heads　as　men。　If　we　didn't　leave　our　money　in　the　office　until　the　end　of　the　month；　we　might　blow　it　in　at　a　bar；　and　when　the　wife　wanted　money　to　pay　the　rent　and　food　bill　we　would　have　to　tell　her　we　were　broke　and　she　would　have　to　hang　her　head。　When　the　landlord　and　butcher　came　for　the　money　she　would　have　to　try　to　stand　them　off。　Do　we　want　to　let　the　rent　go　unpaid　until　the　landlord　cusses　us　out？　Is　that　what　we　are　striking　for？　If　the　landlord　and　butcher　are　willing　to　wait　till　we　draw　our　pay；　we　ought　to　be　willing　too。　Isn't　it　better　to　wait　a　month　for　pay　than　to　wait　a　year？　I'm　right　here　to　tell　you　that　after　this　strike　we'll　wait　for　our　pay　until　hell　freezes　over　and　the　devil　goes　skating。

〃Let　us　make　no　mistake。　We　are　calling　this　strike　not　of　our　own　free　will；　but　were　shoved　into　it　by　a　lot　of　slick　talkers　that　are　in　business　and　are　not　workers。　They　have　hoodwinked　us。　They　have　made　fools　of　us。　A　speaker　asked　are　we　mice　or　men。　I　ask　them　are　they　rats　or　men。　I　want　these　rats　to　come　out　of　their　holes　and　stand　upon　this　floor。　Who　was　the　first　man　that　suggested　this　strike？　I　want　to　see　the　color　of　his　hair。　Stand　up；　if　he's　in　the　hall。　If　he　isn't　here；　why　isn't　he？〃

No　one　answered。

〃If　this　strike　was　called　by　outsiders；〃　I　cried；　〃why　don't　the　outsiders　do　the　striking？　Whose　jobs　will　be　lost　in　this　strikeour　jobs　or　the　outsiders'　jobs？　If　the　man　who　started　this　strike　has　a　job　that　won't　be　lost　in　the　strike；　then　I　claim　that　we　have　made　a　bad　mistake。　And　if　we're　making　a　mistake；　men；　what　are　we　going　to　do　about　it？〃

I　sat　down；　exhausted　by　the　first　attempt　at　public　pleading　I　had　ever　made。　Everything　grew　dark　about　me；　and　I　knew　that　I　had　done　my　best　and　that　I　was　through。　I　was　quite　young；　and　I　went　to　pieces　like　an　untrained　runner　who　had　overdone　himself。

The　men　were　talking　to　one　another；　and　somebody　moved　that　the　meeting　take　a　recess　until　after　supper。　It　would　give　time　to　think　it　over　and　find　out　what　the　men　really　thought　about　the　strike　proposition。



CHAPTER　XXXII

LOGIC　WINS　IN　THE　STRETCH


At　seven　o'clock　we　met　again　and　several　men　made　short　talks　opposing　the　strike。　Each　fellow；　when　he　got　up；　seemed　to　have　a　lot　of　ideas；　but　when　he　tried　to　express　them　he　grew　confused；　and　after　stammering　a　while　he　could　only　put　forth　the　bare　opinion；　〃I　don't　think　we　ought　to　strike。〃　This　meeting　was　quite　different　from　the　other　one。　Here　every　man　was　thinking　for　himself　but　nobody　could　say　anything。　In　the　previous　meeting　the　speakers　had　talked　passionately；　and　the　rest　had　been　swept　along　with　them　as　a　unit。　In　other　words；　the　first　session　had　become　group…minded　instead　of　individual…　minded。　It　is　like　the　difference　between　a　stampede　and　a　deliberative　body。　The　second　meeting　was　calmly　deliberative　and　it　finally　voted　a　reconsideration；　and　the　strike　resolution　was　overwhelmingly　defeated。

If　this　were　a　novel；　it　would　be　fine　to　record　in　this　chapter　that　the　young　orator　who　at　the　last　moment　turned　the　tide　and　saved　the　day　became　the　hero　of　the　union　and　was　unanimously　elected　president。　That's　the　way　these　things　go　in　fiction。　And　that　is　exactly　what　happened。　In　due　time　I　found　myself　at　the　head　of　the　Local；　and　nearly　every　man　had　voted　for　me。　I　started　negotiations　for　more　frequent　paydays；　and　a　few　months　later　we　were　being　paid　on　the　first　and　fifteenth　of　the　month。　Life　is　indeed　dramatic；at　least　it　has　seemed　so　to　me。　Some　men　say　that　life　has　no　meaning；　that　men　are　the　playthings　of　blind　forces　that　crush　them；　and　there　is　no　answer　to　the　riddle。　This　is　nonsense。　I　admit　that　we　are　in　the　grip　of　blind　forces。　But　we　are　not　blind。　We　can　not　change　those　forces。　If　we　fight　against　them　they　will　crush　us。　But　by　going　with　them；　guiding　our　careers　along　their　courses；　they　will　bear　us　to　the　port　we're　steering　for。

The　mob　spirit　in　man　is　one　of　those　blind　forces　that　so　often　lead　to　shipwreck。　The　mob…mind　differs　from　the　mind　of　reason。　To　tell　them　apart　is　like　distinguishing　mushrooms　from　toadstools。　They　look　alike；　but　one　means　health　and　the　other　is　poison。　Life　has　taught　me　the　difference　between　a　movement　and　a　mob。　A　movement　is　guided　by　logic；　law　and　personal　responsibility。　A　mob　is　guided　by　passion　and　denies　responsibility。

I　have　seen　meetings　turned　into　mobs　and　mobs　dissolved　again　into　meetings。　Swept　by　passion　we　willed　a　strike。　That　strike　would　have　been　just；　and；　yet；　it　would　have　ruined　us。　We　were　like　a　mob　in　which　every　man　forgets　his　own　responsibility；　The　mob　mind　would　have　rushed　us　to　our　own　ruin。　My　speech　called　for　individuals　to　stand　up。　That　set　each　individual　thinking：　〃If　I　stand　up；　that　crazy　guy　will　smash　me。〃　Each　man　became　responsible　again。　The　mob　was　gone；　and　all　we　had　was　individual　men；　each　thinking　for　himself。　That　thinking　then　went　on　and　each　man　reached　a　verdict　based　on　logic；　sense　and　duty。　The　meeting　could　no　longer　speak　with　one　voice。　It　couldn't　talk　at　all。　It　stammered。　The　action　showed　that　each　mind　stood　apart；　alone。　And　yet　the　vote　revealed　that　they　were　all　together。

I　have　watched　the　long　struggle　of　unionism　in　America　and　I　know　the　law　that　has　governed　all　its　ups　and　downs。　Wherever　it　was　still　a　movement　it　has　thrived；　wherever　it　became　a　mob　it　fell。　The　one　Big　Union　was　a　mob。　No　movement　based　on　passion　finally　wins；　no　movement　based　on　reason　finally　fails。　Why　then　say　life　is　a　riddle　and　man　helpless？

When　I　became　Secretary　of　Labor；　one　of　the　first　letters　I　received　was　from　Mrs。　Eli　Baldwin　whose　coal　oil　I　burned　shamelessly；　studying　far　into　the　night。　Mrs。　Eli　Baldwin　wrote　from　Atlanta；　Indiana；　where　she　now　lives：


〃When　your　roommates　complained　because　your　light　kept　them　awake；　I　knew　what　you　were　doing。　I　knew　that　you　were　studying　their　problems　for　them；　getting　yourself　an　education　so　you　would　know　how　to　get　them　better　wages　and　better　working　conditions。〃


This　letter　pleased　me　more　than　I　can　tell。　This　kind　old　lady；　now　eighty…two；　had　faith　in　me　and　feels　that　her　faith　was　justified。　Now；　then；　can　I　believe　that　life　is　meaningless；that　there　is　no　plan；　and　that　all　man's　efforts　are　foredoomed　to　failure？



CHAPTER　XXXIII

I　MEET　THE　INDUSTRIAL　CAPTAINS


Elwood；　Indiana；　was　a　small　village　that　had　been　called　Duck　Creek　Post…Office　until　the　tin　mill　and　other　industries　began　making　it　into　a　city。　In　my　capacity　as　president　of　the　local　union　and　head　of　the　wage　mill　committee；　I　was　put　in　personal　contact　with　the　heads　of　these　great　industrial　enterprises。　This　was　my　first　introduction　to　men　of　large　affairs。

I　approached　them　with　the　inborn　thought　that　they　must　be　some　sort　of　human　monsters。　The　communist　books　that　Comrade　Bannerman　had　given　me　taught　me　to　believe　that　capitalists　had　no　human　feelings　like　ordinary　mortals。　I　therefore　expected　to　find　the　mill…boss　as　cunning　as　the　fox　and　ape　combined。　I　supposed　that　his　word　would　be　worthless　as　a　pledge　and　would　be　given　only　for　the　purpose　of　tricking　me。　His　manners　I　expected　to　be　rude；　he　would　shout　at　me　and　threaten　me；　hoping　to　take　away　my　courage　and　send　me　back　to　my　fellows　beaten。

What　I　found；　of　course；　was　a　self…possessed　man；　the　model　of　courtesy　and　exactness。　He　differed　from　us　men　in　one　respect。　His　mind　was　complex　instead　of　simplex。　That　is；　he　could　think　on　two　sides　of　a　question　at　the　same　time。　He　had　so　trained　his　mind　by　much　use　of　it　that　it　was　as　nimble　as　the　hands　of　a　juggler　who　can　keep　several　objects　tos