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THE LIBRARY
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OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
GIFT
.s-e
CRIMES OF CHARITY
THE NEWEST BORZOI BOOKS
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Preface by Bernard Shavs
P^^^g^^B!Sa^^S5p^^Sa^6gS^
CRIMES 0/ CHARITY
BY
KONRAD BERCOVICI
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY JOHN REED
NEW YORK ALFRED A. KNOPF MCMXVII
COPYRIGHT, 1917. BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF
MINTBD IH TH« TJNtTRD STATtS OT AUUIICA
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INTRODUCTION
There is a literary power which might be called
Russian — a style of bald narration which carries
absolute conviction of human character, in simple
words packed with atmosphere. Only the best
writers have it; this book is full of it. I read
the manuscript more than a year ago, and I re-
member it chiefly as a series of vivid pictures —
a sort of epic of our City of Dreadful Day.
Here we see and smell and hear the East Side;
its crowded, gasping filth, the sour stench of its
grinding poverty, the cries and groans and la-
mentations in many alien tongues of the hopeful
peoples whose hope is broken in the Promised
Land. Pale, undersized, violent children at play
in the iron street; the brown, steamy warmth of
Jewish coffee-houses on Grand Street; sick tene-
ment rooms quivering and breathless in summer
heat — starkly hungry with the December wind
cutting through broken windows ; poets, musicians,
men and women with the blood of heroes and mar-
tyrs, babies who might grow up to be the world's
great — stunted, weakened, murdered by the un-
fair struggle for bread. What human stories are
Introduction
in this book I What tremendous dramas of the
soul I
It is as if we were under water, looking at the
hidden hull of this civilization. Evil growths
cling to it — houses of prostitution, sweat-shops
which employ the poor in their bitter need at less
than living wages, stores that sell them rotten food
and shabby clothing at exorbitant prices, horrible
rents, and all the tragi-comic manifestations of
Organised Charity.
Every person of intelligence and humanity who
has seen the workings of Organised Charity,
knows what a deadening and life-sapping thing it
is, how unnecessarily cruel, how uncomprehending.
Yet it must not be criticised, investigated or at-
tacked. Like patriotism, charity is respectable,
an institution of the rich and great — like the
high tariff, the open shop. Wall street, and
Trinity Church. White slavery recruits itself
from charity, industry grows bloated with it,
landlords live off it; and it supports an army of
officers, investigators, clerks and collectors, whom
it systematically debauches. Its giving is made
the excuse for lowering the recipients' standard of
living, of depriving them of privacy and independ-
ence, or subjecting them to the crudest mental and
physical torture, of making them liars, cringers,
thieves. The law, the police, the church are the
accomplices of charity. And how could it be
Introduction
otherwise, considering those who give, how they
give, and the terrible doctrine of " the deserv-
ing poor " ? There is nothing of Christ the
compassionate in the immense business of Orga-
nised Charity ; its object is to get efficient results —
and that means, in practise, to just keep alive vast
numbers of servile, broken-spirited people.
I know of publishers who refused this book, not
because it was untrue, or badly written ; but because
they themselves " believed in Organised Charity."
One of them wrote that " there must be a bright
side." I have never heard the " bright side."
To those of us who know, even the Charity or-
ganisation reports — when they do not refuse to
publish them — are unspeakably terrible. To
them. Poverty is a crime, to be punished; to us,
Organised Charity is a worse one.
John Reed.
CONTENTS
The Stove — A Parable 3
My First Impression 6
The Second Day 20
At Work 26
Watch Their Mail 49
The Roller Skates 59
The Test 69
Scabs 80
Saving Him 86
" Too Good to Them " 90
Robbers of the Peace ioi
The Sign at the Door 106
What is Done IN His Name? 118
The Picture 121
The Price of Life 131
Air — From Fifth Floor to Basement 139
The Investigators 145
The Children of the Poor 150
Mother and Son 161
Clipping Wings of Little Birds 167
The Orphan Home 174
Why They Give 185
The Kitchen 192
Chocolate 196
Out of Their Clutches 199
" The Home " 202
Contents
" Bismarck " 209
Twenty-one Cents and a Quarter 213
Visiting Day 223
Employment Agencies 225
My Last Week IN THE Waiting Room 231
Tuesday 244
Wednesday 253
At Night 258
Thursday 264
CRIMES OF CHARITY
CRIMES OF CHARITY
THE STOVE — A PARABLE
THERE was once a man with a merciful
heart who had a large fortune, and when
he died he left much gold to his brother
to use as he wished, and an additional amount in
trust, to succour the poor. In his will he wrote:
" Build a big house and put therein a big stove
and heat the stove well. On the door thou shalt
put a sign in red letters that shall read : * Ye poor
of the land, come in and warm your bodies; ye
hungry of the land, come and get a bowl of warm
wine and a loaf of bread.' This will be my mon-
ument. I want no tombstone on the grave where-
in my body will lie. Dust unto dust descends,
but my soul will be alive in the blessings of the
poor."
Peacefully the man died. They buried him
In a lonely place under a tree.
Then the brother brought masons and carpen-
ters and built a big house of stone, as was written
in the will, and when the house was finished he
called a painter and had painted in letters, red
3
Crimes of Charity
and big, so they could be seen from very far, the
words his brother had written: " Ye poor of the
land, come in and warm your bodies; ye hungry
of the land, come and get a bowl of warm wine
and a loaf of bread." And every one admired
the good deed and many other rich men prepared
their wills so as to provide help for the poor, that
they might live eternally in their blessings.
The next day, when the stove, the big stove,
was put in, the brother of the dead threw the
doors open for a feast to the rich. And they
all blessed the dead because of his goodness to
the poor.
On the third day the doors were opened to the
poor, and it so happened that the locusts had
eaten up the wheat on the fields that year, so
that there were many without bread and who had
to seek shelter in other places. They passed by
the red sign and came in to warm themselves
and eat, and though busy with their own sorrows
they blessed the dead one.
Many were the bowls of wine and loaves of
bread given to the poor. But the brother was
greedy and wanted all for himself, so day and
night his constant thought was how to comply
with the will of his brother and the sign on the
door and yet not give bread and wine to the
poor. He read the will again and the devil
fastened him to the word " stove," and the devil
The Stove — A Parable
within him said: " Stove ^ — stove — the stove
will save you."
Greed sharpened his wits and the next morning
he rose early and made a big fire and closed all
the windows and doors. When the poor came
to warm themselves the heat would chase them
out again, and instead of blessing they cursed the
dead who had so artfully attracted them into the
house, only to torture them with the heat of the
room. The wine would remain untasted and the
bread untouched.
The poor of the land spoke :
" Are we to be punished because the locusts ate
our grain? "
And the house is called " the Devil's Spot."
The wanderer freezes on the snow-covered field,
the poor starve in their huts, but they take not
the bread. And one day, a child said: " See! the
sign I the red letters are written with blood."
In a lonely place is the forgotten grave of a
merciful man.
On a lonely road is a house, where the poor
dare not enter, and on the big stove stands the
devil, and laughs and laughs. And when one
asked him why he laughed the devil showed his
teeth and answered : " This is the best place that
ever man built for me."
MY FIRST IMPRESSION
I WAS ushered into the private office of the
Manager of the Charity Institution. He
was writing at his desk with his back to-
wards the door. He did not turn when we came
in. My protector, Mr. B., who obtained this
job for me as special investigator, coughed a few
times to attract the Manager's attention. Finally
the gentleman turned around.
" Oh, how do you do ? I did not know you
were in the office at all I I am so busy, you see."
I well knew that he was aware of our presence,
because he had sent the office boy to call us.
" And who is this gentleman ? " he asked,
turning in his chair and scrutinising me from head
to foot.
Mr. B. introduced me, added a few complimen-
tary remarks as to my ability and honesty, and
finished with, " I know he's just the man we want."
The Manager, Mr. Rogers, kept on looking at
me while the other spoke, and having most prob-
ably satisfied himself that I was all right, nodded
to Mr. B., rang for the office boy and called in
the Assistant Manager, to whom he in turn intro-
duced me, finishing with, " Don't you think that
6
My First Impression
he'll do?" To which the Assistant Manager re-
spectfully assented.
" In fact," Mr. Rogers said to the Assistant
Manager, " Mr. Lawson, I think I'll give him
over to you."
" Sir," he again addressed me, " you are under
the orders of Mr. Lawson. You will report to
him, take his orders, his advice, and I hope that
everything will be right." As he finished he
politely led us to the door. " Good-bye, sir.
Let's hope you will accomplish the right kind of
work for us."
We entered the office of the Assistant Manager.
Mr. B. soon excused himself and left the room.
Mr. Lawson let me wait fully ten minutes before
he addressed a word to me. He busied himself
with the different papers in the pigeon holes
of his desk, but this was only pretence, I felt
right along, to impress me with his superior
rank.
After having satisfied himself that he had ac-
complished this, he said to me, still looking at
the papers:
" Why don't you sit down? Sit down, sir."
There was no chair except the one right near
his desk, so I had to remain standing.
" What's your name? "
"Baer, Baer."
" Oh, yes," and he offered the chair near his
8 Crimes of Charity
desk. I had hardly seated myself when he stood
up, and making a wry face said :
" I haven't any time to-day to give you instruc-
tions. We'll leave it for to-morrow. Mean-
while, I'll turn you over to Mr. Cram. He might
be of use to you, as he has had a great deal
of experience in this line of work."
He rang for the office boy. " Call Mr. Cram,"
was the order. A few seconds later Mr. Cram, a
young man of about twenty, appeared. Mr. Law-
son introduced me and told Cram to keep me at his
desk for the afternoon. It was one o'clock.
We passed through all the offices, where he in-
troduced me to a few of the other employees, and
then proceeded to the basement.
The place was in half darkness, cold and
dreary, and I stumbled along. Near the windows,
towards the street, was a desk, and near the desk
a gas oven. Cram put a chair near the desk,
and as my eyes became accustomed to the semi-
darkness I began to distinguish men, women and
children sitting on the benches at the farther end
of the cellar.
Mr. Cram again inquired my name, remem-
bered that he had read some of my stories, shook
hands again with me and added that he was him-
self a " red hot Socialist," " a reformer " of the
real kind, and he grew very friendly. I had lit
My First Impression
a cigarette, but seeing a " No smoking " sign I
put it out.
" Why don't you smoke? " he asked, filling his
pipe. I pointed to the sign. " That is not for
us," he said, shrugging his shoulders and pointing
to the people who were sitting at the farther end
of the room. *' That's for the applicants — for
the rabble, you know."
I refused to smoke. He sat at his desk,
fumbled in the pigeon-holes for awhile, then sat
back in his chair and puffed dreamily at his pipe
for a few moments, following with his eyes the
smoke-rings. Then he called out unconcernedly:
"GrunI"
Nobody answered.
" Grun ! " he called again, this time louder.
" What's the matter? Grun ! Grun ! " and put-
ting his pipe down on the desk he stood up and
looked over to where the " rabble " sat.
"Whose name is Grun? Grun?"
A man of about forty stood up and asked:
"Grun? Did you call Grun?'*
Mr. Cram looked him straight in the face.
"Can't you hear?" he thundered. "Can't
you hear when I call? Come here — you."
" Ha ? " the applicant queried submissively.
" Can't you hear? " and turning to me he said:
"You see? that's how they are! Spite-workers.
He'll let me call ten times, as though I was the
lO Crimes of Charity
applicant and not he; they are all the same,
vicious scoundrels — derelicts, beggars, rascals.
You'll see what a damned lie he'll put up."
He sat back on his chair and read the appli-
cation a few times.
" How old are you ? "
" Ha ? " the poor man queried again, putting
a hand to his ear and bending over the desk.
"Are you crazy? Don't you understand?
How old are you?" And addressing me again
he said: " A fine job, Isn't It? "
" Ha? speak a little louder. I'm hard of hear-
ing," the applicant begged.
" Write down your questions," I suggested,
giving the man pencil and paper.
" Oh ! I see ! " Cram said, " you have no ex-
perience. Do you really think that he cannot
hear? It's a fake — a fake. He hears better
than you and I. It's a fake — a rotten old trick.
I tell you, It's some job I have."
" But maybe he Is deaf," I insisted.
Mr. Cram looked at me with scorn, and turn-
ing to the applicant he shouted at the top of his
voice :
" How old are you? "
" A little louder," the man begged.
The Investigator puffed at his pipe in disgust,
and after my insistence consented to write down
his questions.
My First Impression 1 1
"How long have you been deaf?" he wrote
down.
" I have just been discharged from the hos-
pital," the man answered. " They made an op-
eration on my ears."
"You see?" I put in.
" Oh ! it's all a fake — a rotten old fake. He
hears better than you and I, I tell you," Cram
still insisted.
" Have you a doctor's certificate? " I wrote on
a slip, handing it to the applicant.
Quickly the man fumbled at his vest pocket,
to prove his case, but Cram did not want to be
convinced. With a movement of his hand he
stopped the man.
"It's all right. We know it all. It's all a
fake, I tell you, Mr. Baer. They get certificates
for fifty cents."
I looked up at the applicant. His face be-
trayed no sign that he heard what had just been
said, and I thought it fortunate for the " red hot
Socialist."
Cram put his application in a pigeon-hole and
told the man to go home. The man did not move,
but fixed questioning eyes on Cram's lips, seeking
to understand.
" Go home," the other yelled. He showed
no sign of understanding except that he knew he
was addressed. " Ha ? " he queried.
12 Crimes of Charity
** Go to hell," Cram answered.
I wrote upon a piece of paper : " Go home, the
gentleman says."
" I have no home," he quickly answered.
" You hear? " I turned to Cram.
" If he has no home let him go and get one,"
was the angry retort.
" Therefore he applied to charity," I permitted
myself to say.
" This is no place for vagabonds," Cram ex-
plained, without looking at me. " He must have
an address so we can send an investigator and
see whether it is a worthy case."
"Well, but if he has no home?"
" Then he cannot obtain charity. This is our
rule."
Again Cram fumbled in his desk, gave the
man back his application and wrote on top of it:
" Go upstairs."
With a stupid look on his face the man stood
with the paper in hand and did not know what to
do or what it all meant. Cram showed him the
door. The man stood stupidly. Cram rang a
bell — an office boy came. " Lead him upstairs,"
was the order; " he's deaf."
The office boy took the man by the hand.
" Come on upstairs," and jokingly to Cram,
** They have spread the table for you there."
Soon I heard his heavy steps on the stairs.
My First Impression 13
"Will they give him something upstairs?"
I inquired.
" They'll give him in the neck," he laughed.
" They'll put him out."
" Why don't you help him? The charities are
here for that," I said.
" My dear friend, you don't understand this
business yet," the investigator said. " We don't
take stock in his deafness. It's a fake, an old
trick."
" Yes, but his certificate proves something,
doesn't it?"
" I didn't see it," Cram answered.
" But he wanted to show it to you, did he not? "
" Yes, but I did not want to see it. It's all a
fake. Wait, when you have been in the business
long enough you will not speak that way." Again
he fumbled in his desk.
I looked at him. He had eyes, a nose and a
mouth — a face — yet he did not look human to
me. What was missing anyway? And as I did
not then know what charities were really for,
I thought at that moment:
" This place is for a human being with a big
heart, that could feel the pain of every sufferer
— a human being with a desire to help his fellow
creatures — who would speak to him who comes
to apply for help words that would be like balsam,
who would feel ashamed that he has a home and
14 Crimes of Charity
bread to eat while others are walking the streets,
hungry and homeless. Surely ' upstairs * they do
not know how this man treats the applicants.
They surely don't know — they don't know."
Presently a young girl, an employee of the
office, came to Cram's desk and said a few words
to him. His face lit up and became human, his
voice sounded sweet, and there was so much af-
fection in the look he gave her that I was aston-
ished. I had just thought of him as a brute. He
had just behaved so to the old man. But as the
rays of the sun from the little window fell on
them both it lit my heart with hope. " He is too
young — he will learn the truth in time," I
thought.
No sooner had the girl gone away than his
face again took on a stony composure, and when
he again called out the name of an applicant his
voice was again harsh and cold as iron.
" Roll — Ida Roll, come here."
A woman, shabbily dressed, with her face al-
most covered by the big shawl she wore over her
head and shoulders, approached the desk. Cram
looked at her for a few seconds. A tremor
passed through the woman's frame at his scrutiny.
She bit her lips and nervously rubbed her hands
against the desk.
"What's your name?"
My First Impression 15
"Ida Rohl."
Cram made a little mark on the application.
" Where do you live? "
" Madison Street — No. — "
*' Where does your brother live? "
" I have no brother."
" Where does your sister live? "
" I have no sister."
" How much does your oldest son earn a
week? "
" My oldest son is only thirteen years old."
" What's the name of your husband? "
" My husband is dead."
"When did he die?"
" Four years ago."
" Did you marry again? "
" No, sir."
" Mind you," he warned her, " we are going
to investigate and if we find out that you have
married," and he shook his finger in her face.
" How many children have you? "
" Three — the oldest of them is thirteen,"
" And how did you live till now without ap-
plying to charity? "
" I worked at the machine."
" Why don't you work now? " and turning to
me he explained: "You see? Four years she has
worked and supported herself. Now some one
1 6 Crimes of Charity
has told her of the existence of the charities, so
she does not want to work any longer. She
thinks she has a good case. A widow — three
children — and," whispering in my ears in a con-
fidential tone, " you'll hear her say soon that she
is sick — sick — that's what they all claim. All
are sick." Meanwhile he cleaned his pipe.
"Well, why don't you answer? Why don't
you work now ? Tell me — did you get tired —
or do you think begging a better trade? "
"I am sick."
Cram glanced at me as though to say, " You
see."
"Sick? and what is your disease? Lazyo-
mania? "
" No, I am sick," the woman said, her eyes
swimming with tears.
" Sick — what sickness ? "
" I am sick. I can't tell you what sickness.
I worked at pants — an operator — and now I
am sick. I have pains all over and I can't work.
I can't — I won't mind it for me — but my chil-
dren go to bed without supper and go to school
without breakfast. And I can't stand it — I can't
— I never applied to charities — "
" Enough, enough," Cram interrupted. " Nev-
er applied to charity! I know that gag. You
shouldn't have applied now. A strong woman
like you should be ashamed — ashamed to come
My First Impression ly
here with the other beggars," sweeping his hand
towards the others. " Go to work. You won't
get a cent from here."
" But I can't. I am sick."
" Go to a hospital if you can't work."
" And my children? " sobbed the poor mother.
"Well, then, what do you want? A pension
of $200 a month, a trip abroad, a palace, a coun-
try house ? Say — say quickly what do you want?
I have no time. You will get everything imme-
diately. It's a fine job, Mr. Baer, is it not? "
" I want to be helped out until I am well enough
to work. My children are hungry. They have
had no breakfast to-day and there isn't any supper
for them either."
" That's the real stuff — her children. The
more kids, the easier the money. I tell you, some
class to them, my friend."
Cram looked at her and then at the application,
and after a moment's thought he wrote on top of
it, in blue pencil:
" To be investigated."
" Go home," he said to the woman.
" But Mr. "
" Go home, I say. We'll take care of it.
That's all, don't stay here any longer, don't get
me angry."
" But I told you my children are hungry and
cold—"
1 8 Crimes of Charity
" I am not a groceryman — go home. I have
no time. There are others — also sick and with
dead husbands and hungry children. Move on
— good-day."
" But, Mr. — to-night my children have no sup-
per and it's bitter cold."
"All right. We'll take care of that. Go
home." And as the woman tried to speak again:
" Now go home and don't bother me."
Again he busied himself at the desk. The
woman looked at him and then at me. Big,
heavy tears rolled down her careworn cheeks
and she seemed to me the very personification of
suffering, the suffering of a mother who sees her
children tortured by gnawing hunger. She went
away.
" Will you immediately send an investigator? "
I asked Cram.
" In four or five days. Our investigators are
very busy now and it's very cold."
" Four or five days! " I was amazed. " And
meanwhile, the children — what about the poor
kids?"
" Oh, well — it's not as terrible as all that.
I don't believe all she said," and again he repeated
his favourite sentence : " I don't take any stock
in her story. It's all a fake — a fake."
Many other women and men were called, but
My First Impression 19
I did not see or hear them. These two were
enough. Only the harsh and grating voice of
Cram and the bitter outcry of some applicant
awoke me from my stupor.
THE SECOND DAY
ON returning home I went to my bed with-
out supper. The whole night through I
heard Cram's questions and the answers
of the poor applicants, and the whole world ap-
peared to me to be like one huge, bleeding wound.
And the question came again and again to my
mind: "Was charity, organised charity, the
salve to heal this wound? "
I decided during the night not to accept my
new job, but on the following morning I recon-
sidered the matter and went to work. " I will
try to have this man Cram discharged," I prom-
ised myself. " I will speak to the Manager
about the investigator's brutality. He is too busy
upstairs. He evidently trusts the man and thinks
that every one is treated kindly, humanely." And
I explained to myself that the reason Cram was
so cruel, though so young, was because of a few
impostors who tried or succeeded in filching a few
dollars from the charities. What they had to do
was to remove him, as he was unfit for his office.
It was the place for a woman, a big-hearted, kind
old woman, who has seen much of life, who has
so
The Second Day 21
herself perhaps at some time in her life been on
the brink of misery, even compelled to apply her-
self to charities, and who would therefore under-
stand the eyes full of tears, the quivering lips, the
cry of the mother for her unfed children. Yes
— a woman, a noble woman, instead of Cram, and
everything would be all right, and as I walked to-
wards the office I reviewed mentally all my ac-
quaintances of the other sex, trying to place the
one fit for the job. None was good enough, ex-
cept one who would not accept it, my dear Joanna,
with her silvery hair and the kind big, blue eyes.
She had told me of her work in the Hull House
in Chicago and with other charitable organisa-
tions in Boston and elsewhere.
" Friend," she often said, " it's no place for a
human being. You see too much misery, too much
pretence, too much darkness." And only a few
days before when I told her about my future po-
sition she had advised me not to take it.
" It will embitter you or It will ruin your soul.
A body that has worked in such a place two years
should be backed against a wall and shot in mercy,
because they are disabled for life to feel humanly."
Still thinking of her words I entered the door
of the Institution.
The doorkeeper asked me where I was going.
" To the office," I explained, trying to pass, but
22 Crimes of Charity
he was in my way. He insolently put his hands
on my shoulders. " Say — you — where are you
hurrying? Wait here."
" I want to see Mr. Lawson," said I, trying to
pass.
*' You can't see no one; go in the other room
and write your application."
I shivered at the thought of the basement and
almost forgot that I was an employee of the in-
stitution, when I saw Cram enter the door.
He came up, saluted me and told the man that it
was " all right," that I was a new employee.
The doorkeeper touched his cap in respect and
retreated, excusing himself with the words, " I
thought it was an applicant." How horrible this
word sounded to me.
" Did you announce yourself to Mr. Lawson? "
Cram asked. " Not yet," was my answer.
" You'd better announce yourself to him," Cram
advised. " Soon the applicants will come. We'll
have a busy day. It's bitterly cold outside and
on such days they come, oh! they come, they
won't give you any peace, these scoundrels. We
can't complain of lack of customers," he laughed,
tapping my shoulder familiarly. " Say, Mr.
Baer," he sniggered, " I'm supposed to be a * red
hot Socialist,' but I must confess that I hate the
applicants. I hate them like hell. They have
no manners; they never go when you tell them.
The Second Day 23
They sit and sit. Oh! I hate them — hate them,"
and he grimaced in disgust.
Cram announced me to Mr. Lawson and I was
soon called into the office. He invited me to sit
down, asked me about my former occupations and
then explained my work to me :
" Now," he said, " I hope you are aware of the
fact that we send out investigators to investigate
all the cases that we get. All our investigators
are women, and women are very softhearted. Be-
sides this we know that most of their information
is not reliable, because they get the information
from the applicants themselves, from their neigh-
bours or their relatives. Now, the Information
given by the applicant Is worthless. The neigh-
bour is very often on good terms with the ap-
plicant, and as to their relatives, they always give
us only the poor ones, they never give us the
wealthy ones. Now we have six hundred pen-
sion cases; six hundred people that get relief every
month for their rent and food. We want these
cases to be re-Investigated; the Information not
to come from the applicant or neighbours who
know that you are an Investigator of the chari-
ties. In some way you might find out — posing
as a pedlar, as a health officer, a friend of the
family, or any other way you want."
" So," I interrupted, " what you want is a de-
tective," and I Intended to tell him that I was
24 Crimes of Charity
not going to be one, but he quickly assented.
" Yes, we want you to be a detective. You'll do
good work. We have a limited amount of money
to spend and if some people get a pension with-
out exactly needing it they take the money from
another family that is really starving and whom
we can't help at all."
This struck me very convincingly. I had no
more scruples and I decided to accept the job.
" We'll give you five names and addresses and
you'll have to find out all the rest yourself. We
want to know everything that the family does;
who their relatives are and how much money
comes into the house. None of the investiga-
tors should know anything about your work —
keep It secret." A few minutes later he gave me
five addresses, and wishing me " good-luck," he
escorted me to the door.
Once outside I thought the matter over again.
I seemed to be stranded in a treacherous swamp
in which I was sinking deeper and deeper, but Mr.
Lawson's argument that those who did not need
charity were taking away the bread of the needy
appealed very strongly to me and I made up my
mind to go ahead.
Before starting on my work I entered a coffee
house on the lower east side and tried to warm
myself with a cup of coffee. Several times I made
up my mind to send the addresses back with my
The Second Day 25
resignation, but the argument that the impostor
was getting money which should go to the needy
was convincing. It seemed as though I heard
Mr. Lawson repeating it over and over again.
His fine blond face full of stern pity. Not the
sentimental pity that lights up the features for
a moment, but the pity of the man who has de-
voted his whole life to helping the poor. Cer-
tainly Mr. Lawson has no other reason. He
wants to repair the evils of our present system.
He cannot cure, he cannot eradicate all the evil,
but to lessen the suffering of the poor is surely a
good work. And Mr. Rogers, that polite gentle-
man, the Manager. He too is busy all day help-
ing the poor. Why should I shirk because Cram
was not of the right stuff? Thus I reasoned:
" He is not the whole institution. You will ex-
plain to the gentlemen and they will discharge
him." I was soon quiet again and out in the
street.
AT WORK
THE nearest address was in the lower part
of Madison Street. Mary D , a
widow. The house was one of the typ-
ically dirty tenements of that section. As I en-
tered the hall a strong odour of garlic and onions
almost suffocated me. I rang the janitress' bell.
She opened the door and as soon as I mentioned
the name of Mary D. she knew I was from the
charities, for she immediately began to tell me
that the D.'s have no coal, that the charities have
neglected them, that the woman is sick and the
five children, the oldest of whom is eleven years
old, are hungry and naked.
" But, my dear lady, I'm not from the chari-
ties. I'm a sewing machine agent," I lied, ac-
cording to the advice of Mr. Lawson.
"Oh! a new agent? Why, she has just paid
$1 last week on the machine," and with changed
attitude: "What do you bother me for? Go
upstairs and see her — third floor back left." She
re-entered her apartment. I walked up the three
floors. At the door I stood a little and thought
how I should behave. " Who's there? " a voice
26
At Work 27
asked. " Sewing machine agent," I answered,
timidly.
"Come next week — I have no money," was
the reply. " Excuse me. I can't open the door
for you now. I am not dressed, Mr. George."
I went downstairs and in the hall I noted down
everything that the janitress had told me. Five
children, no coal, no food, $11.50 rent, and so
on.
My next address was in Henry Street.
It was one of the coldest days of the winter of
191 1. The snow was knee-deep and the icy wind
blew at a terrific speed. The house where I had
to go was one of those old, decrepit buildings,
where misery lurks and peers at one from every
door, every brick, windowpane, nail and knob.
The windows were covered with a coat of ice.
Some broken panes were stuffed with pillows and
rags. On the ground floor was a grocery.
" They surely buy their provisions here," I
thought, and entered the store. An old woman,
the storekeeper, asked me what I wanted.
" Could you give me any information about the
family S.," I asked.
" Oh ! " she exclaimed, " you are from the
Gerry Society, aren't you? "
"Well?" I said nonchalantly. "What of
it?"
28 Crimes of Charity
" Well — it's all a lie, that's what I could tell
you. The poor woman does her best. Why I
she works herself to death. A widow with three
small children — a fine woman, a good mother,
a real lady, if you want to know. But her neigh-
bour, the rag pedlar's wife, is jealous. I don't
know whyl And she did it. Why should you
take away the children from a mother? She
feeds them well. The children haven't good
clothes I Well, she is a poor woman and chil-
dren are children. They wear, they tear; what
can she do? Buy every day new clothes? A
poor widow that works from early morning till
late at night I "
"What is the name of the rag pedlar?" I
asked the woman.
" Goldberg," she informed me. " A bad
woman, without a mother's heart. Don't go to
her. She'll tell you a lot of bad things about the
poor widow. Don't go to her. Mister. Oh!
that such beings should be alive at all ! " she mut-
tered in Yiddish.
" I have to," I assured her, and after inquir-
ing the floor where Mrs. Goldberg lived I walked
up the three flights. I knocked at the door.
" Come in," came the answer. Mrs. Gold-
berg opened the door, and as I entered the cheer-
ful aspect of a tidy kitchen and the singing of the
At Work 29
boiling pots on the stove greeted me invitingly.
Mrs. Goldberg bade me enter their " front room,"
furnished pretentiously. I sat down at her invi-
tation, and contrary to all rules on such occasions
I waited for her to start the discussion — I hardly
knew what to say. I did not have to wait long.
Mrs. Goldberg immediately asked me if I was an
agent from the Gerry Society.
" But what have you against that poor woman?
Why do you want her children taken away? Are
you not a mother? Have you no feeling? What
is it? Have you a personal grievance against the
woman? " I said in the tone to invite confidences.
" But just because I am a mother," she snapped
back angrily, her eyes flashing. " Come here,"
she said, making a sign for me to follow her. I
followed her into a third room. A boy of about
six years was in a bed. His face was burning
with fever. Around his neck he had bandages,
and on a small table were a dozen bottles of medi-
cine.
" Well, what has that to do with it? " I queried.
" This is my only child," she explained. I did
not understand what connection there was between
her sick child and the desire to put the children
of the other mother away. I told her so, ener-
getically, almost insolently.
** You see," she explained, " her children are
30 Crimes of Charity
always running around half naked and barefooted,
even in the coldest weather. They are always
sick, but she does not care, because when this is
so she runs to all the charitable societies and gets
help and medicine. The children play in the hall
the whole day, and whenever her child has a sore
throat three or four other children catch it. Last
year two children caught diphtheria in this
house. Both children died. When my child gets
sick / have to pay for medicine and the doctor
and everything. If she can't take care of her
children, let her not have any — that's all. Each
one for himself," she added; " I have to take care
of my children."
"But," I argued, "are you not a mother?
What can the poor woman do ? "
Mrs. Goldberg's eyes flashed, and with the as-
surance well-fed people generally have, she an-
swered : " Oh ! never mind ! I would know how
to take care of my children I There would be no
charity business with me. Oh, no! I assure
you!"
" She is a widow with small children," I
pleaded. " What would you do in her place? "
" Oh, never mind. I would do something —
anything — everything. My child will always
have enough to eat and some clothes, as long as
I live," and as she looked at the sick child she
rolled up her sleeves as though ready to start a
At Work 31
fight against the whole world to defend her child
from want and misery.
I departed, first assuring Mrs. Goldberg that
something would be done to " protect her child,"
and went up another flight to see Mrs. S.
The grocery woman had probably announced
the fact that the " Gerry Society man " was in the
house, for as I passed through the hall many a
door opened and closed. Some of the women
eyed me as though I were a murderer, while others
looked at me as though I were something mys-
terious — a man who had the power of parting
children from the mother. My position was not a
very pleasant one. I thought of what I should
do if the real " Gerry Society man " were to ap-
pear on the scene. I hastened towards Mrs. S.'s
door. A few old women followed behind me.
I knocked. A timid " Come in." As I opened
the door I saw two small children, one probably
six and the other four years old, hiding under the
table. My heart contracted. Mrs. S. stood in
front of the table, hiding the children, her open
hands like the claws of a tigress, ready to defend
her offspring. We looked at one another,
mutely, for a few moments. Her eyes were
sparkling with the fire of an injured animal, her
hair was dishevelled, her brows were knit together
in a supreme decision, her mouth twitched, and she
was pale, pale as a waxen figure. From under
32 Crimes of Charity
the table the two children looked at me fearfully.
" Are you Mrs. S.? " I finally stammered out,
while I took out my notebook.
No answer.
"Are you Mrs. S.?" I repeated again, as I
regained my composure.
" Don't take away my children, Mister. Don't
take away my children," the poor mother yelled
and growing hysterical she repeated this terrible
cry in heartrending tones, tearing her hair.
" Don't take them away."
The poor tots came out from under the table.
Quickly she pushed them back, and continued to
cry at the top of her voice the same sentence:
*' Don't take away my children. They are mine,
mine. My God, they are mine."
" I don't want to take your children away,
madam," I told her repeatedly. " Calm your-
self, I did not come to take them away." But
she did not listen to me. She kept on crying and
tearing her hair. Neighbours came in from all
sides.
"Help, help," Mrs. S. cried. "Help, help,
mothers I He wants to take away my children.
Help, help I " and she ran to the window.
I gently laid my hands on the hysterical moth-
er's shoulders, and looking straight in her eyes I
said slowly and distinctly :
"I — don't — r want — to — take — your chil-
At Work 33
dren. Be quiet," I begged. Among the neigh-
bours was also the grocery woman.
" He wouldn't take away your children. This
gentleman comes to speak with you. Calm your-
self, Mrs. S., calm yourself," and softly, in Yid-
dish, she blasphemed Mrs. Goldberg and her hus-
band, father and child.
After a few moments, during which the grocery
woman spoke to her in soothing tones, Mrs. S.
quieted down a little. A reaction set in. Thick
beads of cold sweat appeared on her brows, while
her cheeks flushed with a sickly red. She asked
for a glass of water and sat down. To express
how I felt all this time is more than I can do. I
only know that I went through some faint reflec-
tion of all the emotions that agitated the poor
woman. I sat down opposite to her and tried
to soothe her. She could not look me in the face.
As I spoke her eyes caressed the two little chil-
dren, who, during the excitement, had come out
from their hiding place. They went to their
mother. She placed them one on each side of
her and passed her arms around their necks, pre-
senting to me one of the strongest pictures of
motherhood that I had ever seen.
"Well, how do you feel, Mrs. S.?" I broke
the silence.
" Just a minute," was her answer, and she ran
into the bedroom from where I heard her sob-
34 Crimes of Charity
bing. I took advantage of her absence to ask
the other neighbours to go out. They departed
reluctantly and stood outside. I tried hard to
make friends with the children. Not even my
pennies would they accept, and soon they went
into the bedroom with their mother — all sobbing
together. I looked around the house. The stove
was cold. The wind blew in from a broken win-
dow. A few crumbs of bread were on the table.
A few broken chairs, a big clock, out of order, on
the mantelpiece, a picture of a man of about thirty
years old in the centre of a wall, this constituted
most of the furniture. The whole house was in
a state of complete disorder, with not even an
attempt at cleanliness. Through the open door
of the bedroom I saw two folding beds and the
torn mattresses shed their straw all around the
house. I felt very uneasy and wished to cut short
my visit, but hardly knew how to back out of my
position,
" Mrs. S.," I called, " won't you please come
out and talk matters over with me? I am pressed
for time. It's one o'clock and I have other work
to do."
The woman re-entered the kitchen, followed by
the children. She had arranged her hair, put on
shoes and buttoned her torn waist.
" Sit down," I urged. She did so.
" Now," I started, " what's the matter with
At Work 35
your children? Why are they walking naked?
It is a very cold day and they are liable to fall
sick."
" I am a poor widow," she started plaintively,
" what can I do?"
"But listen here," I said, "this does not go I
The children must be properly clad."
The woman looked me in the eyes for a few
seconds, and then, all of a sudden, she asked me :
" Are you a Jew? "
" Yes," I said, " but what has that to do with
it?"
She evidently heard only my acknowledgment
that I was a Jew, and with the feeling that I was
her brother she gained confidence that I would not
take her children away from her.
" If you are a Jew," she continued, " you will
not take my children away, and I will tell you the
whole truth."
" Go ahead," I encouraged her, and she told
me the following :
" Since my husband died three years ago, the
charities have given me two dollars a week and
paid my rent. Every year, in the winter, they have
sent me coal and clothing for the children. This
year they have a new Investigator and she does
not like me."
" The investigator does not like you ? " I re-
peated. "Why?"
36 Crimes of Charity
The woman looked away for a few moments,
then she shrugged her shoulders and said : " I
don't know why. She does not like me and that's
all, so they sent me only a half ton of coal at the
beginning of the winter and no clothes for the
children. Every day I went to the office and
asked and begged for coal and clothes, but the in-
vestigator does not like me — she does not like
me — and she works against me. So what could
I do? To go and buy shoes and coal I need
money, and I haven't any. From the two dollars
a week I get we hardly have enough for bread
— dry bread." And as the poor woman pro-
nounced the last word the smallest of the children
repeated it in tones that would have melted a
heart of stone. His hungry eyes appealed to the
mother for the staff of life. " Bread," the older
child repeated. " Mamma, give me bread. I
am hungry — give me bread."
The mother cried. The children were still ask-
ing for bread and the mother was still crying
when a young lady, whom I recognised as an in-
vestigator from the charities, entered without even
knocking at the door. Mrs. S. jumped up from
her chair, very confused.
"Who is that man?" the investigator asked
without even a greeting as she entered. The
woman did not know what to do, what to an-
swer.
At Work 37
"Who are you?" the investigator questioned
me insolently.
" By what right do you ask me that? " I re-
plied. " I haven't asked you who you are."
" Well, I have a right to ask," and turning to
the woman, she said : " You must tell me im-
mediately who this man is — do you hear? Who
is he ? or no coal, no money, no rent — do you
hear? " She yelled all this, shaking her jewelled
finger in the woman's face. I would have liked
to have seen how far she would have gone, but
the eyes of the poor mother were so appealing,
so full of despair, I went up to the investigator
and showed her a paper with the heading of the
institution.
" So, you are it! "
" Not a word," I said.
" It's all right." She turned to Mrs. S. " I
know who he is. It's all right. Any coal left?
No, well, you'll get your coal to-morrow."
" And shoes? " begged the woman.
" Bread, mamma," both children said at once,
" ask her for bread, mamma."
This was too much for the well-fed investiga-
tor. " Oh, these beggars ! these beggars ! " she
repeated. "Are you coming down soon?" she
asked me, and without bidding Mrs. S. good-bye
she went out, saying, " I'll wait for you down-
r stairs. I'll have to talk matters over with you."
38 Crimes of Charity
I assured Mrs. S. that I would do all in my
power to prevent her children being taken from
her, and I was soon downstairs, where I found
Miss Alten waiting. We walked some distance
together without speaking a word — just eyeing
one another. We passed a lunch room. I asked
her to have a cup of coffee, feeling sure she would
refuse. To my great astonishment she accepted,
and soon we were sitting at a table with the
steaming coffee before us. The pleasant warmth
of the place and the steam from the cups soon
melted the ice. She was a handsome dark girl
of about twenty, of Jewish-Russian descent. She
had a pleasant voice, yet how harsh and cold was
her speech awhile ago, exactly the same voice as
Cram's. I wondered then! not nowl After-
ward I learned that this was the professional tone,
the intimidating note, as Cram called it.
" Why did you leave Mrs. S., that poor woman,
without coal? " I asked. " It's so very cold and
you know she has no money to buy any I "
" Oh! she's a pest," Miss Alten replied, making
a grimace that passed like an ugly cloud of hatred
over her young face. " That was to punish her,
to show her that she must not disregard my au-
thority," she continued. " Last month she fin-
ished the coal. When I came to see her she told
me the story, and I told her she would get it next
week. Instead of waiting, what do you think she
At Work 39
did? She came up to the office to beg. So! I
thought, you come to the office. Wait I you'll
wait a month before you get any at all. And
that is why it happened. To show her that I am
the boss. We have to have some means of keep-
ing them in order, you know."
" Yes, but it is not fair to punish her. And for
what? She felt cold, so did the children, and
she's a mother. She was afraid of sickness for
them. Why, great God, they could have died."
Miss Alten laughed at me long and scornfully.
"Die, die? Her children die? They never
die. They never die. Their children never die,
these beggars."
The coffee was finished. Miss Alten buttoned
her coat, put on her gloves, and saying good-bye
she quickly disappeared from the table. I sat
more than an hour, drinking one cup of coffee
after another. I wanted to think but my mind
was in confusion. *' They never die. They
never die," rang in my ears. And to think that
the wages of these women investigators are sel-
dom higher than ten dollars per week, and that if
somebody did not help them out, a brother, a sis-
ter, or father, they themselves would be depend-
ing on charity, or —
" I'll have her discharged, too," I finally de-
cided, and with this determination I went out again
into the street.
4jO Crimes of Charity
Aimlessly I walked through the slums. I had
never taken so much interest in every minute de-
tail of the street as I did at that time. Every
house, every window, every door meant some-
thing, said something. Tales of untold misery
and despair and shame. I looked at the clothes
of all the children and tried to guess, figure out,
which one's mother was an applicant and which
was not. Unconsciously I had divided the world
into two classes — one that applies to charity and
one that does not.
Then I made up my mind that Miss Alten was
a relative, perhaps a sister, of Cram's, and I felt
sorry that I had not asked her about it. In our
discussion his name had been mentioned several
times, and she had always affirmed that " he was
the finest gentleman and the best investigator of
the whole bunch."
How curious! Two such cruel beings in one
charitable institution! I wondered.
My next case proved a very interesting one.
It was in Monroe Street, on the fifth floor of a
yard-house — Mrs. Miriam D.
As nobody around the neighbourhood wanted
to tell me anything beyond the fact that Mrs. D.
was a very honest women, I went up to the ap-
plicant at once. The mother was not at home:
only her three children, a girl of twelve, another
At Work 41
one of ten and a boy of seven years old were in
the house. They sat, all three, around a table,
and worked at their lessons. The kitchen was
very clean and warm. The children were tidy,
and everything was in order. But the poor girls
were as pale as death. A single glance was
enough to know that they were starved out. Only
in their big, moist, Jewish eyes was there life. I
asked the children where the mother was. " We
don't know," was the response of all three, and
they looked at one another as though to say, " I
wish she were here."
From my talk with the children I learned that
they were expecting a cousin by the name of Leb
from the old country, so I decided to impersonate
an agent of Ellis Island and get all the informa-
tion I wanted in that way. I asked the girls how
they were living; whether they had things to eat
every day.
" Yep," the boy of seven said, with pride.
" But not enough," added the oldest sister.
" From where does your mother get money to
buy food? " I queried.
" From the Charities," the second girl ex-
plained, while the older sister kicked her in the
shins as punishment for her frankness.
" Have you no relatives? " I asked.
" Oh, yes, we have," all three again answered.
"Who are they?"
42 Crimes of Charity
" Louis Goldman, Uncle Louis," she explained.
" What is your uncle ? "
" A shoemaker."
"And who else?"
" Uncle Marcus."
"And what is he?"
"A bum," the little boy put in. "A bum,
that's what he is." I had a hard time to get him
out of his sister's hands. They were still trying
to kick him when the mother came in.
Mrs. D. remained at the door in surprise, evi-
dently wondering who I was.
" What do you want? " she questioned.
I was taken by surprise, but I immediately re-
membered the children's talk about a cousin from
the old country and I said that I was an agent from
Ellis Island.
" Why I " the woman cried out, in ecstasy, " is
he here? Oh I children your cousin Is here I"
And she kissed them all in an outburst of happi-
ness. " Is he here? Tell me."
"Who is he? "I asked.
" Oh, I'll go immediately and take him out.
It's my cousin, Leb Herman Rosen, my own
cousin."
" All right," I said. " You'll have to give me
some information first."
"What Information? It's my real cousin."
She sat down ready to answer my questions.
At Work 43
I took out my note book and put the following
questions :
" How long are you in America? "
♦' Eight years."
" How many children have you? "
" Three."
" How long is it since your husband died? "
" Four years."
" Now, if you want to take your cousin in your
house you must prove that you'll be able to sup-
port him until he gets work, and show enough
money to assure the United States that he will
not become a public charge. How do you make
a living? How much are you earning a week? "
"I — I — I," she stammered, " I make a
living."
"How?" I insisted.
" I sell whisky, tea, coffee, powder, tooth-
paste."
" Well, how much do you make a week? "
" Well, well, I make a living,"
" But to keep a cousin you must make more than
a living — more than you need."
*' I make more," she said. "I — do make
more."
As I knew that she was receiving charity I did
not believe her and told her she would have to
prove that she made more than she needed. She
walked up to a chiffonier, searched a drawer, and
44 Crimes of Charity
to my great astonishment brought forth a bank
book which showed that she had one hundred and
thirty-five dollars accumulated in the last two years.
" Will that prove that I earn more than I
spend? " she said triumphantly.
I looked at her in astonishment. A mother
who lets her children starve to put money in the
bank I What wild animal would neglect its off-
spring to such an extent I I called her into the
next room and told her what I thought of her
and who I was. She cried bitterly under my
lashing, and then told me the following story :
" I should not tell you this, but as you think
that I am an unnatural mother I must explain
myself. My husband died four years ago. He
was a cloak operator and earned good money
when I married him. After the second child was
born his wages did not suffice to keep us as well as
he wished. It was a very busy season. He worked
overtime every night, until one and two o'clock
in the morning. When the season ended we had
three hundred dollars in the bank. But soon he
got sick. Sbc months he lay sick at home. When
all the money was gone we had to send him to
the hospital. A month later he died, and two
months after his death I gave birth to the third
child. While I lay in bed there was nobody to
take care of the children and there was no bread
for them either. A neighbour wrote to the char-
At Work 45
Itles and told them all about us, and our plight.
Two days passed. A woman came, looked
around, questioned me and went away. They
sent a nurse and money to feed the children.
When I was out of bed they called me to the
office and informed me that they had decided to
give me two dollars a week and pay my rent. But,
I ask you, could I live on two dollars a week?
I had to do something. I went out washing and
scrubbing floors. I got sick. The charities got
to know that I worked. They immediately in-
formed me that if I worked they would not give
me anything. What could I do? Live on the
two dollars? That was an impossibility. Work?
I did not earn enough to get along without their
support. Little by little I began to sell tea and
coffee in the hours when the children were in
school. But the investigator was informed by
the grocer and butcher that I spent more than
two dollars a week. Again I was called to the
office. They questioned me, tortured me, accused
me of being a bad woman. Where did I get
the money? In despair I lied to them. Told
them that the grocer and butcher had given wrong
information, that they did not know; they had
no proof and had to give me the pension.
" Still I could not get along on their money.
My children were hungry. I was hungry. I
went out again and sold tea and coffee and whisky,
46 Crimes of Charity
and under my coat I would bring an additional
piece of meat and bread. Soon the neighbours
knew that we had meat every day and some of
them told the investigator. By this time she had
made it a habit to spy on my every move. She
reported me to the office. Again I was called
and questioned and again I lied and cried. I
could not get along on their two dollars a week
and could not get along on my work alone. But
when I got home I was wiser, and since then,
instead of buying bread and meat, I have to put
the money in the bank. This one hundred and
thirty-five dollars is the meat and bread of my
children, their health and their life. Yes, I am
a bad mother. I am a bad mother," and wept
anew.
The next day I went to the office and gave a
report of my work. The case of Miriam D. I
reported more extensively than the others, insist-
ing that the children were starved while the
woman had one hundred and thirty-five dollars
in the bank, accumulated not from surplus but
from what she was forced to deprive her children
of. Mr. Lawson immediately called in the Man-
ager and showed him my report. They congrat-
ulated me on my ability and I felt that they would
tell their investigators that they must not persecute
the woman and the orphans by spying. The
At Work 47
Manager pronounced me a second Sherlock
Holmes and announced that Mrs. D.'s pension
would be cut off.
I was dumfounded. So this was the result
of my work I To take the bread out of the mouths
of the three orphans. I accused myself of stu-
pidity and could look no one straight in the face.
Through treachery I learned the truth, and in-
stead of using it for her good I had used it to
help the investigators be more cruel, more ques-
tioning than before. What could the woman do?
Had she not told me that she could not live on
what she earned? Was the one hundred and
thirty-five dollars enough for her to support her
children? And I imagined them all starved and
sick, dying in hospitals. All through my fault.
I should have known that they would not reform
their investigating system because of my report.
How I hated myself. How I hated the whole
world. At night when I went home I was
ashamed to kiss my children, for I had commit-
ted a crime. As I thought of the inscriptions on
the doors : " For the poor of the land shall never
cease ;" " Let thy hand give freely to the needy,"
etc., I remembered Dante's " Lasciate ogni sper-
anza voi ch' entrate."
In disgust and despair I walked the streets the
next day without being able to do anything. Like
a criminal who returns to the scene of his crime
48 Crimes of Charity
I walked around the house. I felt a strong call
to go in and beg forgiveness for her undoing.
I have since learned that it has not done any
harm. On the contrary, deserted by the chari"
ties the woman redoubled her energies. The
cousin she was waiting for arrived a few days
later, bringing some money with him. They
bought a grocery store and she is earning her
living. But at that moment I thought myself
guilty of the greatest crime. I made many de-
cisions, but stuck to the last, namely, to take
notes of all the evil that organised charity was
doing and at the first opportunity give them out
for the benefit of the world.
I understood that the welfare of the poor did
not concern the men at the head of the charity
organisation; that it has become a business for
them. A business they were managing, just as
others manage factories. Their concern was to
reduce the cost, to economise, just as the manu-
facturers try to produce the greatest amount of
product with the smallest amount of outlay. And
if hunger, starvation, sickness was the by-product,
well, so much the worse for the poor.
WATCH THEIR MAIL
ONE morning I received the following
order:
" Investigate Sokol, Monroe Street,
No. . Night visit preferable."
When I asked the Manager what he meant by
night visit he told me between ten and eleven
o'clock. Accordingly, at ten P. M. I knocked at
the door of the above named family. In the
few minutes that elapsed between the knocking
and the opening of the door I heard a man groan-
ing — as men groan under excruciating pain.
The woman, Mrs. Sokol, opened the door for
me, and inquired who I was. I was instructed
by the office not to tell them my identity under
any circumstances. So I said I was from the
Board of Health — that neighbours had claimed
that they could not sleep on account of the man's
groans, and I told Mrs. Sokol that we would have
to see him and send him to a hospital. I entered
the apartment. There were two rooms. In one
room was the bed with the sick man in it. The
other room was the kitchen, dining and reception
room. A cold stove, a table, four chairs, and
49
50 Crimes of Charity
on one side two more folding beds. This was
the furniture.
The man kept groaning. His wife whispered
to him to keep still, but his pains were probably
so great that he could not understand what she
said. I lit the gas and approached the bed. A
strong odour of putrefaction compelled me to with-
draw, and the next moment the wife told me that
he had a cancer, that he had been operated upon
several times without success and that he now
suffered the most excruciating pains; that the
doctor came only once in two days, only to have
a look — "to see if he is already dead," as she
put it.
" Why don't you send him to the Skin and
Cancer Hospital?" I asked.
" We are only two years in this country," was
the woman's reply, " and they will send us back to
Russia."
" And the Jewish hospital? " I suggested.
" He has been there twice — they operated on
him."
" Well, well," I urged, " why does he not stay
there?"
The man groaned, the woman cried, some sick
child in the neighbourhood woke with the noise
and mixed his sickly crying with theirs and the
moaning of the wind outside. It was a pitiful
scene. I started my interrogation.
Watch Their Mail 51
The man was a musician, a fiddler. He was
not a member of the Union. He had been in
America two years, and sick from the first moment
he had come. " And how do you get along? "
I asked. " From where do you get money for
bread? " Again the woman cried. Soon the
man fell asleep. I heard his heavy breathing
and felt the odour of putrefaction emanating
from his body. Pitilessly I insisted on getting
an answer to my question : " From what do you
live?"
" There was not a piece of bread in the house
to-day," was the answer.
" Yes, but where did you get yesterday's
bread?"
" We had no coals for the last four days."
" But from where did you get it before that? "
I argued.
" From — from — from the charity," the
woman broke down hysterically.
The two folding beds in the kitchen attracted
my attention and I asked her whether she had
any boarders. This was the touchstone of her
suffering. We drew our chairs away as far as
possible from the sick bed and there she told me.
*' These are not boarders' beds. They are the
beds of my two daughters. Amy eighteen years
old and Leah twenty — two daughters have I,
like two flowers. Envied by the whole world. I
52 Crimes of Charity
was the proudest mother. Well, I'll tell you the
whole story.
" Two years ago we, my husband, myself and
the two daughters, arrived here from Warsaw.
My husband was a healthy, strong man. My
daughters were dressmakers. We had a little
money. We rented these same two rooms and
a few days afterward, through the influence of
friends, both children found work at their trade.
Only my husband remained idle. They did not
want to take him into the Union. A few weeks he
walked around without work, then he went to a
leather finding factory where he had to cut out
pieces of leather. It was piecework. They
worked in a cellar, sixteen or eighteen hours a
day. At the end of the week he had two dollars.
It was very hard on him. He had never done
physical work, still he returned there the next
week, hoping that he would do better, having a
week's experience. He went away at five in the
morning and returned at eleven at night, yet he
could not make more than forty cents a day.
" His daughters made the first week six dol-
lars each, working nine hours a day, and he, the
father, working twice as hard and twice as many
hours made two dollars a week. He took sick.
We called the doctor. He gave a potion and
left. My husband got worse and worse every
Watch Their Mail 53
day. We went to a hospital. There it was
found that he had cancer, and must be operated
on. But just as we were ready to go and do
it we found out that there is a law that we had
no right to use a public hospital before we have
been here five years. We applied to the Jewish
hospital. My husband was operated upon.
" My daughters worked. On account of the
illness of their father they had no opportunity
to buy clothes, American clothes. They were
still in their greenhorn dresses, and the whole
shop made fun of them. They simply had to buy
clothes. The money we brought here was long
since gone, so when their father was brought home
after the first operation there wasn't a penny in
the house. The visiting doctor gave me a letter
to the charities and told me that they would help
me. I went there. I don't want to tell you
through what I went at their hands. Enough to
say that when I came home I felt as though I
had committed the greatest sin. I felt guilty
towards myself. I felt like a criminal awaiting
his day of judgment.
" Finally the investigator, a young lady, came.
She saw my daughters. They were neatly dressed,
and as young girls generally are, they thought
of their own life, were gay and healthy. The
investigator started to examine them and after
54 Crimes of Charity
every answer she tried to confuse them and prove
that they lied. She stayed a half hour. When
she left the poor children were as pale as death
— a terrible gloom had settled upon them — as
though death itself had visited our shelter.
" From then on we had no repose. They
helped us with a few dollars, but every other day
some one else inquired about us — at the neigh-
bours— at the grocer — butcher. They visited
us at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes
when we had visitors the investigator would ques-
tion them, until all our friends have left us. They
followed the poor children to their work and went
to take information from the employer. On one
occasion, when the girls struck together with the
other workers of the shop the boss cried out to
my girls : * I'll show you ! When the charity will
come I'll give such information that you wouldn't
get a cent.' This was too much for the poor
children. They came home, packed their belong-
ings — and — '* Here the poor woman broke out
in hysterical weeping, approaching the two empty
beds, and cried: "My house is empty. Cursed
be the hour when I applied to charity. I should
have gone out begging in the street."
And as I slipped out of the house the cry of
the woman pursued me.
" Cursed — Cursed be the hour that I applied
to charity 1 "
Watch Their Mail 55
I reported the next day the situation of the
family and urged immediate relief. The Man-
ager called me into his sanctum and told me that
my information was not complete, since I had not
learned where the daughters were. " I am sure,"
he said, " that she knows where they are. You
must get it out of her."
" All right," I said, " but in the meantime send
them relief. There is no coal, no bread."
"Are you sure?" he asked. I assured him
of the fact.
" Then it's all right," and he rubbed his hands
with great satisfaction. " It's all right," he re-
peated. " We'll break her stubbornness, all
right. We'll get their address now. So they
have no bread, eh? "
Cries from the waiting room came to my ears,
as though a chorus of those unfortunate beings
would blaspheme all together : " Cursed be the
hour when we applied to charity — cursed —
cursed — cursed."
We were interrupted by some one else coming
In on some business.
I felt my head swimming and I looked long-
ingly outside through the large window over the
Manager's desk. A little bird flew around the
sill, and hungry, she tried to pick the putty from
around the pane. Mr. Rogers probably followed
my wandering gaze for he was soon standing
56 Crimes of Charity
near me and having also remarked the little bird
he exclaimed: " Poor little thing, is it not pitiful?
Hungry and cold I " So saying he opened the
window and invited the bird to enter. Yet the
bird preferred to remain outside.
Mr. Lawson was called in and a conference
took place as to how to force Mrs. Sokol to give
the address of her children.
" But do you suppose that she has sold her
children for immoral purposes that you are so
anxious to learn their whereabouts?"
" No, we don't suppose that,^^ Mr. Rogers an-
swered, " but when we give them money we want
to know everything, you understand, everything.
Here she has two daughters and she keeps their
address a secret I Whatever we have done was
of no avail. We must curb her. Isn't that so,
Mr. Lawson? We must show her that she cannot
keep secrets from us. What would you suggest,
Mr. Baer?"
I had nothing to say.
Mr. Lawson twisted his little blond moustache
awhile, then he suddenly exclaimed joyfully, as
Archimedes cried, " Eureka " when he discovered
the law of specific gravity: " Watch their mail I "
" They certainly get mail from the girls. Let
Mr. Baer watch their mail and get one of their
letters, and that will solve the whole thing."
The manager pronounced it a splendid idea and
Watch Their Mail 57
I was instructed accordingly. I went up to see
Mr. Sokol a few times and reported that they got
no mail. One morning, while visiting them, I
found that the man had died over night. Among
the mourners were two beautiful, pale girls. The
daughters of the old couple.
I reported the occurrence at the office. Mr.
Lawson called me to his room.
" So he died ? He died ? " he repeated. " We
will send her to the old people's asylum. That
will save rent. But you saw the girls, did you ? "
" Yes."
"What's their address? Did you find out?"
" I could not ask their address in such a mo-
ment," I retorted.
" It's a mistake, an awful mistake, Mr. Baer,"
he censured me. " It was the best occasion.
You should have taken advantage of the moment.
Please return to the house and get their address,"
he instructed, as he led me to the door.
From the hall I ran out into the street. I
wanted fresh air — air and space. And this same
Mr. Lawson almost cried when his wife's pet
dog died. And Mr. Rogers pitied the poor little
bird that picked the putty off the sill. And at
charity conventions, when he had to appeal for
funds, he almost shed tears about " our unfortu-
nate brothers and sisters." Now they advise,
when the father lay dead on the floor: " It was
58 Crimes of Charity
the best occasion. You should have taken ad-
vantage of the moment." Would a criminal be
treated in this way during the third degree ?
The woman died a month after, in a hospital.
Hunger and privation of all sorts had undermined
her strength. Charity had killed them both.
I
THE ROLLER SKATES
*'XNVESTIGATE Mrs. B., 124th Street,
No. — . Investigator reports woman
never home. Questions morality. Ur-
gent. W. L."
I found this slip on my desk one fine morning.
An hour after I was at the given address. The
door was locked. No one was at home. Inquiry
at the neighbours Informed me that I would have
to wait until three o'clock when the children came
from school.
"And Mrs. B.? When does she come?" I
asked.
" When the children come from school," I was
answered.
Consequently I had to remain In the neighbour-
hood. New York's climate Is very fit for a cos-
mopolitan city. Just as the men of the South
dwell In the neighbourhood of the Northern, the
Italian near the Norwegian and the Spaniard in
the same building with the Russian, so does the
winter live near the summer, the spring next to
the autumn. One day a snowstorm, the next day
It rains. You put on the heaviest clothes one
59
6o Crimes of Charity
morning and come home with your waistcoat on
your arm, so to speak. Here in the middle of
winter, the second half of January, I had gone
out with a heavy winter coat and at one o'clock
it looked more like the end of May than winter.
I walked up to Central Park to spend my time
until 3 P. M. The squirrels had left their hiding
places and were dancing to and fro to replenish
their reserve store of food. The little birds
flew and sang merrily. The children of the well
to do, watched by the ever-following servants,
played with the caged prairie dogs, the goats and
other animals of the Park Zoo. Around the mon-
key cage the people of the suburbs and more dis-
tant towns and villages were watching and enjoy-
ing the antics of our gay ancestors. The lions
roared, the tiger groaned, and that money-saving
elephant rang the bell every time some one put
a cent in his big snout. This was the only thing
he had learned from men — save money. I don't
know why, but one forgets himself so easily in
the neighbourhood of children, farmers and wild
animals. I had not noticed how time passed and
stood in the Zoo more than the required time. I
had completely forgotten my mission. But some
one inquired the time from the keeper. I heard
his answer and ran.
In 124th Street again.
The children are out of school. The street
The Roller Skates 6i
has taken on life. Girls are jumping the rope
and the boys have taken out their skates and
glide gracefully up and down the sidewalk. Their
faces are red, their eyes are brilliant and their
arms swing to and fro to keep their balance. In
an empty lot a group of Jewish boys fight it out
with some Irish youngsters. On another lot an-
other group of Irish and Jewish boys play base-
ball.
I ring the bell of Mrs. B.'s home. No answer.
I inquire of the neighbour. " Are the B.'s
home?"
" The children are back from school and are
probably out in the street, the little loafers." She
closed up. I would like to speak with her fur-
ther, so I knock at the door.
" Excuse me for inconveniencing you, madam,
but could you tell me when Mrs. B. will be home
— whether she is at home In the morning? "
" I could not tell you, sir."
" Does she go out to work? "
" I don't know — I don't care. Ask some one
else. Every day another bother about the poor
woman. I am tired of answering. The charity
agam ?
" No, no," I assured her. " I have some other
business with her. I am an old friend from the
time her husband was yet alive."
*' She'll soon be in. She is probably talking
62 Crimes of Charity
with a neighbour. Wait; I'll go and ask the
boy. He must be near the house."
Presently she put a shawl over her shoulders,
gave a last look to the boiling pots, covered one,
took another off, and was soon with me in the
street. She looked to the right and left, asked
the grocer and butcher, and finished by calling
down the street: "Mike I Mike I Where are
you, loafer? " She soon distinguished him among
the other boys and pointed him out to me. He
was standing with his back to us watching the
other boys as they glided on their skates.
" Mike, Mike I " the woman called, but the boy
was too engrossed to hear her. Together we
walked up to him. " That gentleman wants to
see your mother, you loafer," the woman intro-
duced him, and went her way. A boy of twelve
years old, who looked like one of eight by his
physique, and like an old man by his wrinkled
and worn-out look. Pale, stooping, with a little
nervous twitch around the lips and a short tearing
cough as he spoke. This told the tale of his
misery.
"What do you want?" he asked me angrily.
" Come into the house," I answered, and put-
ting a hand on his shoulder I signed him to
follow me.
" I want to stay here," the boy said, and with
a jerk he freed himself from my hand. " I want
The Roller Skates 63
to watch the boys play — ^run on the skates,"
and he turned away to watch one particularly
able boy as he made fancy figures with his feet.
" Where are your skates, Mike? " I questioned.
"I have none. What's it your business?"
From the empty lot flew a ball. Mike caught
it and was about to throw it back when one of
the boys called out :
" Hi, Hi, Mike — charity kid — hurry up.
Throw the ball here. Hurry up."
Angry, Mike threw the ball In the opposite
direction and flashed back a short sentence that
gave his opinion about his Insulter. A fist fight
was the result and the poor lad would have got-
ten the worst of It had not his mother suddenly
appeared from behind, and hitting the aggressor
and the child she separated them and took her son
home. He wriggled as though he wanted to go
back to fight, but his mother had him well In hand.
I followed them. At the entrance of the hall
I waited a few minutes before knocking at the
door, listening. The mother scolded, the boy
cried and a little girl's voice pacified.
" Come In."
"Mrs. B.?" I Inquired.
" Yes, sir," the woman answered, and as she
spoke she removed her coat and rubbers.
About thirty, care-ploughed face, weak eyes,
colourless lips, stooped, narrow, short of breath.
64 Crimes of Charity
" What is it you want, sir? "
" Could we go into another room or would
you send the children out so we can talk at our
case, Mrs. B. ? "
The woman thought for awhile, then she beck-
oned to the children, who went into another room.
I came straight to the point. I claimed that I
was from the Gerry Society and that the children
were not well taken care of.
" Where are you the whole day? You leave
the children on the street, their shoes are torn,
their clothes not suitable to the season — they are
hungry, dirty."
The woman cried, whined. She was a poor
widow. Charities gave her too little and all the
rest of the story that I expected.
" But where are you the whole day long and
late at night? " I insisted.
She gave a thousand explanations, none of
which were true. The last one was that she went
to neighbours in order to save coal. At this point
the boy came out from the other room. He
looked determined, and he had a little book folded
in his hand.
" Mamma lies. She goes out for business.
She sells laces and curtains."
" Shut up — shut upl " She sprang from her
chair. I interfered. " Let the boy alone."
" Mamma lies," the boy continued, and showed
The Roller Skates 65
me the bank book. I opened it and saw that the
balance was almost five hundred dollars.
" What is this ? " I asked. " Five hundred dol-
lars in the bank and your children hungry and
naked?"
The woman looked like a criminal before the
bar. The boy explained.
" It's not her fault, Mister. It's the fault of
the ladies from the charities. They come here
and bother every day. She can't buy anything,
not even meat every day. She has to put the
money in the bank. She has promised that when
we move out she will buy me a pair of skates like
all the other boys and girls have. Now she has
enough money. Let her move away from here
to a place where nobody knows us. I don't want
to be called ' charity kid ' any longer. I want
roller skates. I want to move, I want new pants,
I want meat every day. I don't want to be called
charity kid any longer, and that's all."
The mother looked at her son and cried. The
little girl hid in a corner. The boy had finished.
His nerves gave out and he too cried. A few
moments I looked at them and thought again of
the poor wretches who are in the clutches of or-
ganised charity, the mother that starved her chil-
dren because she dared not buy meat, because
she dared not dress them. In four years she had
save five hundred dollars. Just the price of meat
66 Crimes of Charity
for every day of the year. A little more bread
and fruit. She certainly had saved with an ob-
ject in view. To save herself. And all the time
the children knew that she had the price of food.
The boy, longing for childish pleasures, roller
skates, which the mother dared not buy because
of the investigator's " Where did you get the
money?" The bad neighbour, for whom the
poor woman may not have wanted to wash the
floor, would call in the "Lady" and tell her:
" They have meat every day. The children have
pennies, and now they have skates too." And
the " Lady " would question, torture, menace, call
names, insult. Ah I I knew the whole game
now. Knew it only too well. That little room
at the top of which is the sign " Investigator."
I knew how they went in there. Knew how they
came out. No, it was not her fault.
" Here, Mrs. B. — your bank book. I am not
from the Gerry Society. I am from the chari-
ties."
The woman trembled. The boy looked at
me.
" When does your month finish here? "
" On the first."
" Move away from here, woman, move away.
It*s your last chance to save yourself. Move
away and earn your living. You will not get a
cent from the charities, and that boy must not
The Roller Skates 67
be touched. You are to let him alone or I will
take him away from you. Good-night."
I ran out. At home a party of friends awaited
me. We were to go and hear music. I could
not. I wanted to drink. I stayed at home and
drank brandy until I fell asleep. I drank and
swore until I slept.
The next morning when I had to make out my
report I excused myself, saying that I had to con-
tinue my investigation as I had more informa-
tion to gather. In reality it was to give me time
to think out what to say and what not to say.
The next day I made out a report, simply saying
that I had found out the woman Mrs. B. had
five hundred dollars in the German Bank, Book
No. 8 . . . , that she does business in curtains ; and
advised them to cut her off immediately. The
Manager did not believe what I said and con-
sequently 'phoned to the bank, which corroborated
my statement. Immediately the investigators
were called in, and in firm tones the Manager
lectured them on their tender-heartedness with
applicants. He told them that they must make
their investigations in a more thorough manner,
otherwise they would lose their positions. Stupid
fool that I was. Whenever I wanted to do good
I only made the poor suffer more.
Promptly on the first of the next month I was
68 Crimes of Charity
in 124th Street. Mrs. B. had moved a few days
before. Through the Express Company I got
her address, way up in the Bronx. I went there,
on Washington Avenue. I saw the boy and girl
in new clothes and on roller skates.
" Hullo," I greeted them. They both became
pale.
" Where do you live now, children? "
The boy thought a moment and then he hissed
out between his teeth: " What in hell is it your
business, now? We don't get any more money
from you. What do you come to bother us here
for? We don't want you. We have got enough
of your dirty business."
"Listen," I told him: "I don't want to
bother you any more, but tell me, have you bread
and meat every day now? "
" Meat and candies and butter and everything,
and mamma has a million in the bank and that's
all, and don't come to bother us. We are no
more ' charity kids.' For God's sake can't you
leave us alone ? "
** Good luck to you." I turned around and dis-
appeared as quickly as possible.
THE TEST
IN the boiler factories they submit the boiler
to a test of resistance. The engine is sub-
jected to a pressure three or four times
stronger than the one it will have to withstand
in the ordinary run of work. If successful it is
sent out to the market guaranteed by the factory.
If not, it is made over. The weak points are
strengthened, and in most cases it is put away to
be entirely recast.
For boilers and engines this may be a good sys-
tem of control, though many an engineer main-
tains that the over-pressure weakens the machine
for ordinary use.
To use such a system with men, women and
children is barbarous, to say the least. The In-
quisition had such a system — the Question
Chamber. It is a well-known fact that persons
put to the " Question " often admitted things
which in reality they had never said or done.
Most of the time they, the tortured ones, knew
that to admit these things meant death, the hang-
man or the auto da fe. Still, when they con-
fessed, the torture ceased for the moment. This
69
"JO Crimes of Charity
they called " The Test." Not one in a thousand
could maintain his will power when the test was
applied. It went on in crescendo as the hours
passed by and the man or woman did not " re-
spond." It was up to the man doing the work
to devise such means as would loosen the tongue,
break the will. The hangman himself was pun-
ished for not getting at the truth, or was praised
by his superior for his success. Torquemada
called a particular man from Madrid to accom-
pany him to Grenada, as he alone knew how to
apply the " Test " to the glory of the Almighty
and of Jesus Christ. This man had perfected
himself in the art of torturing. I am not certain
whether this is the man who is spoken of in con-
nection with the " Question " of a certain gentle-
man which had to be put off because the " real
one " at the bench had a terrible toothache that
day.
But the " Test " is applied to-day. Applied
to the poor by organised charity. Applied sys-
tematically, methodically and in crescendo; and
like the " real one " wanted by Torquemada there
are real ones in the offices of the Charity Institu-
tions.
This is how it Is done.
A family is pensioned by the organisation.
Three or four years the family has received regu-
larly two dollars a week and the rent and coals
The Test 71
for the winter. Then all at once, generally early
in the winter, the order to apply the " Test " is
given. The family is visited three or four times
in a week. The children are followed to and
from their work. The neighbours are adroitly
asked about the family. Every one visiting the
family and surprised by the investigator is ques-
tioned: "Are you the brother of Mrs. B.?"
" Are you her husband? Are you her boarder? "
If this does not bring results the coal is cut off,
to see whether the family cannot succeed in raising
money for coal. If this is not successful the al-
lowance is discontinued for a few weeks. This
naturally brings the woman to the office. She is
not allowed to see the Manager. For several
days this is continued, then the question is put:
What is she doing at night? Where does she go
during the day? Whence does she get the neces-
sary additional money? If she is a stubborn sub-
ject and resists all this, then the rent is cut off.
The landlord waits a few days. The woman
runs to the office. " What shall I do? " " We
have no money; help yourself," she is told. In a
few days the " furniture," two broken chairs, a
limping table and a mattress, are put out in the
street. In the cold, in the snow, the children are
huddled up in rags, between the table and the
stove and the picture of Washington. On top of
the bundle of bedding is a saucer in which some
72 Crimes of Charity
passersby have thrown a few cents. Sometimes,
in a case like this, some distant, poor relative, or
some one with whom the family had connections,
steps in and gives them a helping hand. Then,
the test being successful, the woman is cut off the
pension list. She has helped herself.
At other times, there being no one to help, the
applicant makes such a row that he is restored
to the list with a cross after his name denoting
bad behaviour. On another occasion he will
again be tried.
Sometimes the woman comes running and begs
that her rent be paid. She will attend to the rest.
She will sell newspapers, matches. She will scrub
floors. She will send her twelve year old daugh-
ter to work.
" You can't do that. She is not of age."
** Yes, she is."
" According to our records she is only twelve
years old."
" I lied, then. She is fourteen. Only pay my
rent. I can't stay in the street."
The " Test " has been partially successful.
Pension and coal supply is cut off. Only the rent
is paid. A little girl is sent to an early grave.
I remember one case where the coalman, an
old Italian, had pity and gave the coal on credit.
When the investigator asked him why he did so
he answered angrily, " Not your business." A
The Test 73
report was made in regard to the immoral rela-
tions between the poor widow and the old Italian.
It was but natural that a certain friendship should
be established between the widow and her bene-
factor. She repaired his clothes, and when the
allowance was cut off he divided his bread with
her. No amount of explanation could convince
the investigator that the woman was not proven
to be immoral by this fact.
" Why is she so friendly with the coalman? "
" Because she is cold and he gives her coals."
" Why does he give her coals? "
" Because you don't send her any."
Then the investigator would answer trium-
phantly :
" If she were an honest woman she would stand
the test. She would suffer cold and hunger."
Then she would remember that last summer the
woman had a new dress that she could not ac-
count for and once there was a piece of chicken
in her pot. She evidently got it from the butcher
for her good offices. The poor have no business
to eat chicken. It is the old question of the
Southern negro. He is not allowed to engage
in other trades than cooking and shoe shining,
and when you discuss this with a Southern gen-
tleman he proves to you that the negro is an in-
ferior being from the fact that he does not work
at anything but these trades. You cut off the
74 Crimes of Charity
supply of coal in the dead of winter, and when
the woman obtains it from the coalman it is a
proof that she is dishonest — that they are " all
alike." It is true that many of them would give
their bodies for a bucket of coal or a piece of meat
when they are hungry and cold. Many of them
have admitted crimes that they have never com-
mitted under stress. But what does that prove?
One young widow with a two year old child
when submitted to the test twice in one year was
taken in by a " Madame " of a house of ill-fame
in the neighbourhood. She left the few broken
chairs and the table on the sidewalk and went
there in the capacity of cook. I found her there.
She was glad of the change. " But it is an im-
moral house," I argued. " It's better than to be
at the mercy of the investigator and the office,"
was her answer. A few weeks later she had
given away her child and was a regular inmate
of the house, and still glad of the change, and
thankful to the woman who had taken her in.
But the report of the investigator, both to the
charity institution and the Sisterhood, reads:
" Mrs. K. always led a life of shame and all my
work was unsuccessful. When put to the test she
went to a disreputable house and has of late
abandoned her own child." The Sisterhood used
their influence and had the house raided a few
times and all the women arrested, Mrs. K. among
The Test 75
them. The " madame " was expressly told that
she was being persecuted on account of the woman
she had taken in. When Mrs. K. had finished
her sentence in prison she found the door of the
house closed to her. Fourteenth Street is free.
I spoke to her. She is still glad of the change.
Such are the results of the " Test."
It is not those who do not receive charity —
the poor who have to go without — who are to
be pitied, but those who are in the clutches of
charity. They should be helped, saved. They
are the greatest sufferers. Under the cloak of
charity men and women are tortured. Each
piece of bread is scalded with tears and pains, and
if another Napoleon should arise there is a job
waiting for him — to burn down the modern In-
quisition, destroy the torture chamber, abolish
the " Question," the " Test," to save the poor
from organised charity.
No wonder that the situation is such a horrible
one, when you consider the general mentality of
the people supposed to work for the ameliora-
tion of the suffering poor. Who are they?
Have they the interest of the poor at heart, or
do they consider first their own job? Does any
one of them start his daily work with a thought
of the poor, with a charitable thought? Not at
all. His only occupation is how to please his
yt Crimes of Charity
superior, how to show a good record, so that his
own bread is assured. The poor are stepping
stones, a climbing ladder towards promotion, so-
cial influence, recognition. Incidentally some of
the applicants get a few dollars a week, but they
are not the real objective point.
It reminds me of Colonel Sellers in Mark
Twain's story. He proposes a partnership to a
young man for the manufacture of a certain eye-
water, a special preparation to heal sore eyes,
and when the young man becomes enthusiastic
about it — he will heal sores ! — Colonel Sellers
tells him: "This is not the object, my boy.
From the first fifty thousand bottles we sell we
open another branch in Calcutta or Bombay —
there are millions of sufferers there." Again the
young man thinks of the good work, but Colonel
Sellers continues : " And from there we estab-
lish warehouses in Alexandria, Smyrna and Buenos
Ayres, twenty million bottles a year is our out-
put, with a net profit of two hundred thousand dol-
lars a year." By this time the young man too has
been Influenced to look away from the real object,
the sick, the sufferers. Two hundred thousand
dollars a year is a good prize. But Twain had
something in his sleeve and Colonel Sellers deliv-
ers his last blow.
" Do you think that a man like me would be
satisfied with a paltry two hundred thousand dol-
The Test 77
lars a year? There's millions in it, my dear boy."
The real business now only begins. " We will
form a stock company with a capital of twenty-five
million dollars, etc., etc."
This was the real business. The sick and poor
and the medicine were only an incident, a neces-
sary ingredient to the whole scheme to give it an
appearance of something. There are enough
Colonel Sellers in the charity institutions. They
are there only for a fraction of time before they
get the real thing — before they form the stock
company. Incidentally the sore eye preparation,
namely, the poor, play a role.
The charity institution — ^it is the Stock Ex-
change of suffering.
I have just described one form of the " Test."
When I once spoke about it to some one who has
been connected with another one of these insti-
tutions for years, expecting him to be horrified,
he simply took a note of the details in his book.
"And how does it work? " he asked me. I ex-
plained that a good many, driven to the brink,
have squirmed out by some by-path, while others
shift for themselves as best they can.
" Well, well," he thought aloud, " I'll have to
try it myself." And incidentally I learned a good
many other tricks of the trade, as he called them,
from him.
78 Crimes of Charity
" There was one particular woman," he told
me, " whose mouth I had to open with my fist
so that she would tell us where her boy was. He
had run away from the place we had found for
him. We wanted him to learn a trade and a
glassblower gave him a chance. But the boy
would not stay with his boss. I argued and argued
and argued. He did not like the trade, he told
me, but in reality it was work he did not like.
The last time he ran away I decided that it was
about time to show my authority and I found a
reason to have him arrested. The mother having
told me that he had not given her his pay I wanted
her to get a warrant issued and put him away
for a few months in a house of correction, just
to teach him a good lesson, but the mother would
not tell me where he was. When I saw that I
could not make her say anything by persuasion —
well, I had to use force."
" What of the boy? " I inquired.
" He was no good. He was six months in the
house of correction, but it did not help. He is now
a gang leader of very bad reputation," he fin-
ished, with devout eyes. This stupid ass in
charge of the poor, who walks six miles to get a
certain brand of cigar, would not understand that
a boy may not like one trade and be very willing
to learn another. This spiritual hog wanted to
show his authority by compelling a mother to give
The Test 79
up her child to gaolers — used force to do it —
to the Glory of the Almighty and Jesus Christ.
And he wondered that his " case " had become
a gang leader! I wonder that the boy did not
repay him for his splendid service to humanity.
SCABS
IN C in 19 lo thousands of workers in the
clothing industry struck for better wages.
They were mostly newly-arrived immigrants,
all of them skilled workingmen, and though the
manufacturers were making millions and adver-
tised that they employed only the best skilled la-
bour, the workers, men and women, and their
families, starved.
A shameful system of task work was established,
whereby contractors sublet their work to sub-con-
tractors, and these to other contractors, and the
workers were kept at piece work. Many of them
worked from six A. M. until midnight, in dirty,
dingy sweatshops and at the end of the week they
received seven or eight dollars. Even this small
sum was not assured. It happened more than
once that the sub-contractor, for whom the men
worked, simply disappeared with the pay of all
the men. As they were not engaged by the firm
they could not ask the manufacturer to pay them,
and had to go hungry, they, their wives and their
children.
Such conditions lasted a good many years, until
80
Scabs 8 I
at last, in 19 lo, the men organised and struck
to abolish the sub-contracting system and the piece
work which led to it. The men struck for a min-
imum wage, a fixed working hour and sanitary
factory conditions. They also wanted to know
for whom they were working. To obtain such
necessary and elementary rights they were com-
pelled to stay out several months, entailing great
suffering from hunger and cold.
In every strike the manufacturers use strike-
breakers. Sometimes, in America, the students of
the colleges go to scab, to protect the right of
free labour, they claim. In the clothing industry
skilled workers are used. The students could not
execute the work, and among the skilled tailors
there was not one mean enough to scab.
Each charity institution also keeps an employ-
ment bureau. The men and women they send
to work are always paid the most wretched wages,
and they work to the last notch of their endur-
ance. For work that has hitherto been paid
twelve dollars per week the man who comes rec-
ommended by the charities receives not more than
six dollars. Of him twice as much work is ex-
pected. He is not supposed to lift his head
or speak or smile. He must always look
humble, wretched, submissive. He must make
it appear that his work is worth much less
than he gets. He must look to his employer
82 Crimes of Charity
as to the Saviour, because he has been sent by
the charities. The fact that he appealed to the
charities is a proof that he is a failure, also a
proof that the man has nothing to depend upon;
no brother, sister or friend that could help. The
employers demanding help from the employment
office are all *' subscribers " — they contribute a
certain sum to the institution. For this and other
services rendered, they are given a little white
plate with black letters to nail on the door, which
reads: "Member of organised charity." This
acts like a talisman. It drives away the hungry
and needy.
If you were to stay a half hour In the private
sanctum of the manager of the bureau you would
hear such telephonic conversation :
"Is this Mr. So and So?"
" How is our man getting on? "
" Well, if he does not suit you we'll send you
another one."
" We have plenty of schnorrers (beggars)
around here."
" That's how they all are — lazy. They want
money, not work."
Five minutes later another man Is sent. The
employment office is not for the benefit of the
poor, but to be of service to the rich, to lower
the pride of the workingman. During the strike
of the cloakmakers the telephone of the bureau
Scabs 83
was continually ringing. The manufacturers de-
manded help. When any one applied for charity
the first question put was: " Are you a tailor? "
And they did not believe the man or woman who
said " No." If they discovered a tailor there was
rejoicing in the Institution and Mr. X. or Mr.
Z., a clothing manufacturer, was called up and
told the glad tidings. *' We are sending you a
man."
Thus does organised charity work to break a
strike of men who are demanding living wages;
a strike where the poor suffer so that their chil-
dren may live a decent life.
The records of the institution were looked up,
and every man and woman who was thought to
have had a connection with the needle at any time
of his life, or who could operate a sewing ma-
chine, was singled out and the order to " cut off "
was given. A few days later, men old and broken,
sick and worn out women and consumptive girls,
were thronging the halls of the institution. They
cried and begged and showed handkerchiefs red
with the blood of their wounded lungs. There
they were with their swollen eyes and hands crip-
pled from the toil of former years. But like the
herd of cattle from the slaughter-house, serving
only one purpose as far as the man with the long
knife is concerned, so were they all, slowly but
surely, driven upstairs to the employment office.
84 Crimes of Charity
from where they were escorted to the shops, to
finish their days slaving at the machine to enrich
the donors of the institution and help in the good
work of starving into submission their brothers
and sisters on strike for living wages.
When I protested and asked why this was done
they said :
" Is this institution kept up by the poor, by the
workingman, or by the donations of the rich man-
ufacturers? " And then again I asked:
" But for whom is it kept up ? " to which I was
answered by sneers and shrugs and laughter.
And the thousands of workers knew not from
where these poor starved men came and they
fought against them and blood was spilled —
blood that otherwise trickled slowly away on the
handkerchiefs, on the waste, and was wiped off
the mouth with the linen from which garments
were manufactured.
When the strike was at an end and the victori-
ous workingmen returned to their places, the scabs
were sent away. Again they were restored to the
pension list or sent to the sanatorium, but in a
few months, when the leaves began to fall from
the trees, the list was reduced to half — men and
women had gone to their graves.
But the charity institutions had their subscrip-
tion list increased, for the rich had learned to
know what a strong support they had in organised
Scabs 85
pity. Walk now through the clothing district of
a dty, and on each and every door you will
see the white enamel sign, with black letters:
" Members of the organised charities." It is
written with blood — with the same red, bloody
letters in which the sign of the house on the road
is written:
" Ye poor of the land come and warm your
bodies."
Only, instead of the stove, there is a sewing
machine, a pressing iron, a drilling machine, and
the devil laughs and laughs and shows his white
teeth.
" Has ever man built a better place for me I "
SAVING HIM
IN the waiting room I noticed a man who came
a few days consecutively. Somehow he im-
pressed me as outside the class of people
that apply for charity. Though he had passed
the basement ordeal and had to get through with
the waiting room lesson there still was a look of
independence in his eyes.
He never spoke to the other applicants; he
never sat on the benches reserved for them. More
than once the office boy and other employees had
told him to sit down, in an imperative tone. At
such an admonition he would retreat to a corner
with a bitter smile on his lips and view the whole
thing as a passing ordeal through which he had to
go-
He impressed me with his indomitable look,
with his high forehead and the deep serious lines
carved on his face. He was also very much in-
terested in the doings of the office and I often
thought that he was trying to get the sense of this
hustling and bustling around him.
One day he appeared to be very nervous. A
look of desperate determination was in his eyes
86
Saving Him 87
as he came in. Instead of going to the waiting
room he sought to enter the sanctum sanctorum
of the Manager and get an explanation of some
sort from him. Repeatedly he inquired of the
boys how he could reach that high person. With
a shrug of the shoulders the boys passed him by
without replying to his questions. Others ad-
monished him to go to the waiting room.
I approached him and asked him what he
wanted.
" I want to see the Manager," he answered.
*' For the last five days I have been coming here.
I have made an application eight days ago and
have had no answer. Now," he said, " I have not
applied to charity eight days before I needed it.
It is my last resource. I can't find any work.
Vm a tailor. During the season I have been sick,
otherwise I would have saved up for slack times.
My wife has borne me a child two weeks ago
and my landlord threatens to put us out."
He used better English than the average work-
man and he was so dignified in his appeal, as if
he considered that the charity owed him help
when in distress. I told him that I would try
to arrange that he see the Manager as soon as pos-
sible. I, so to speak, cleared the path for him.
He was intercepted by Mr. Lawson, who in his
cold voice asked him what he wanted. The man
explained his situation. He did not cry; he did
88 Crimes of Charity
not whine. In simple words he said what he had
to say. Mr. Lawson looked at him with his
piercing grey eyes. He seemed very interested
in the man. His dignity was so impressive, so
manly. As he finished his tale Mr. Lawson put
his hand on the man's shoulder and dismissed him
with very kind words, saying that they would at-
tend to it as soon as possible.
The man went away thanking him. I saw Mr.
Lawson searching on his desk and soon he had
the man's application. He studied it in all its
details. All of a sudden he said to me: " You
saw this man? I'm going to save him. I am
sure that everything he told is true, and I'm go-
ing to save him. Such men should be saved.
They are of a better kind and we are going to
save him from the degradation of the waiting
room and association with the derelicts — our
regular customers."
" How much are you going to give him ? " I
asked, and at this moment I thought very highly
of Mr. Lawson. For such is human nature —
excuse all bad acts for a single good one.
" How much are we going to give him? " the
gentleman repeated in an astonished voice that
had a tinge of sarcasm in it. " We are not going
to give him anything. Such men must be saved
from pauperism. If we should give him some-
thing he'd be lost. I want to save him; do you
Saving Him 89
understand, save him. I will give orders not to
let him in the hall at all the next time he comes."
As I went out I had in my mind a new inter-
pretation of Christ's crucifixion. Pontius Pilate
wanted to save humanity by crucifying the meek
one.
" TOO GOOD TO THEM "
ONE afternoon there was a great commo-
tion in the office. As soon as I entered
I felt that something extraordinary had
happened.
" Did you hear the news ? " one of the em-
ployees asked me. " Something awful has hap-
pened."
" What is it? " I inquired curiously, as I knew
that only something very important could stir
these hardened " charity workers."
" Why I " the young lady burst out, with hor-
ror in her voice. " Imagine I an applicant, a
mean, dirty applicant, a pauper, an immoral
woman probably, has slapped Mr. Cram's face."
"Did she? Really?" I exclaimed, and not
being able to contain my joy I laughed for the
first time since I had crossed the door of the
institution. The lady wondered at my joy.
" What are you laughing for ? " she asked.
" Do you think it is fun to be hit and insulted by
an applicant? Mr. Cram is there the whole day
listening to their lies. He is one of the best men
in the institution, and along comes a dirty dere-
90
'' Too Good to Them " 91
lict, a pauper, and slaps him in the face. Do
you think it's fun? It shows how mean the poor
are, how ungrateful, impolite, criminal. You
should not laugh about such things, Mr. Baer,"
she admonished reproachfully.
" But why did she do it? " I queried. " There
must have been a reason. He must have pro-
voked her badly. Cram insults them all, and who
knows what terrible thing he said to this one ! "
" No, no 1 " the young lady interrupted me,
and her face took on an expression of contempt
and every time she pronounced the word appli-
cant, pauper, or any other characterisation of the
poor who apply to charity, she hissed it out be-
tween closed teeth, as though it were disgusting
and vile.
*' No," she continued, " there is no reason
strong enough to excuse her. To slap the face
of the one to whom you stretch a begging hand.
Why, that's the last rung of the ladder. It sim-
ply shows how unworthy they are of charity.
The first requirement of an applicant is to be
humble. I know whose fault it is," she insisted.
" I know — " the last sentence conveyed the inti-
mation that I should question her, and I did so.
" It's Mr. Cram's own fault," she said. " He
is too good to them — that's the reason. I told
him so," she finished, and sat down to her work.
Cram too good I Great God I If they call
92 Crimes of Charity
him too good, what about the others? What
about they themselves? Have I not yet seen it
all — is more horror to follow ? All that I had
witnessed in the basement presented itself before
me. Cram with the pipe between his teeth, read-
ing an application and putting his insolent ques-
tions, laughing in the applicant's face, calling them
liars, lazy, immoral women, dirty, and all the rest
of it.
"What happened next?" I asked the young
lady. She had evidently felt that I was not in
sympathy with Cram's misfortune, for she an-
swered very brusquely :
" He had her arrested," and did not want to
talk further. In vain I tried to obtain details.
Further than that she would not go.
I felt that Cram must have outdone himself to
have provoked one of those crushed souls to such
an action. To tell the truth I had great admira-
tion for the woman who had done it. It gave
me greater hope in the redemption of humanity.
I wanted to know all the details but could not get
them in the office. Cram himself was looked
upon as a martyr. Once when passing me he
said : " You remember what I told you the other
day? They are a bad lot — and to think that
I am a red hot Socialist. I hope this will cure
you of your soft heart," he added, as he walked
away.
'' Too Good to Them " 93
It took me three days before I learned the
woman's address. I decided to go and see her.
One evening I walked up five flights of stairs of
a dingy tenement house. I knocked at the door
and was soon allowed to enter. As it was very
cold the gas was frozen. The room where I sat,
the kitchen, was lighted by a candle stuck in an
empty bottle. There was no fire in the stove.
I did not see the children, but heard their voices
from the adjoining room. " Mamma, bread.
Mamma, who's there ? " the little ones queried.
I told the woman frankly the object of my visit,
without telling her that I was employed by the
charities. I only said that I had learned through
a friend what had happened and was interested
to know all about it from her own words. The
children were continually disturbing us with their
questions and the rooms were so cold that I could
hardly stand it. I advised making a fire. Of
course there was no coal. I gave her some money
to go down and buy some, also some bread and
butter and sugar. We were friends in a few min-
utes and she did not feel very ill at ease. When
I gave her the few cents I had not yet seen her
face, on account of the semi-darkness. Only her
voice was so well-modulated that a few words
sufficed to indicate the personality of the woman.
Two big, sparkling eyes shone out from under her
brows. She told the children that she was going
94 Crimes of Charity
to buy bread and coal and they clapped their little
hands in joy, and as she closed the door one of
them asked : " Did the gentleman give you
money? Is he from the charities?"
" No," I answered, " I'm just a friend," and
taking the candle I went into the adjoining room
where they were In bed covered with all the pil-
lows and clothes that the house afforded. There
were two children. I gave them some chocolate
that I had bought for my own children, and soon
we became great friends.
"Have you any children?" the older child,
about six years of age, asked me suddenly.
" Yes — I have."
"How many?"
" Three," I told him.
"Have they always had what to eat?" the
younger one, about five years old, inquired.
" No," I said, in a voice choked with shame.
" No ? " they both wondered, " and they have
a papa. Mamma said all the children who have
papas have what to eat 1 " said the older one.
" Yes," philosophised the younger, " but he gives
away to other children. He's a bad papa. Our
papa was not a bad papa. He gave everything
to his children. That's the kind of papa we had."
The mother soon returned with her purchases,
the coalman behind her. Soon there was a fire
in the stove. The tea kettle was set on the fire.
'' Too Good to Them " 95
The children were given bread, and the house be-
came very friendly. As my eyes accustomed
themselves to the darkness I remarked that the
rooms were kept very clean and orderly. Every-
thing had its place. Some little pictures on the
walls were placed with taste. One would never
have suspected the actual want of bread on seeing
the house. The quietness of the children soon
told me that they were sleeping. I waited until
the tea was ready. I casually learned that she
was a country-woman of mine, coming from Rou-
mania and also from the same town. I even re-
membered some of her relatives who were known
as wealthy, as wealth goes in that country. I lit
another candle. The tea was ready. We sat
opposite one another to drink the beverage. The
fact that we were from the same country had
given rise to a feeling of friendship between us.
Instead of talking about herself she inquired about
my family and remembered my mother, brothers
and grandfather.
I had almost forgotten the object of my visit,
so busily were we engaged in questioning one an-
other about relatives and acquaintances. All the
misery, she had suffered had not stamped out her
dignity. Good breeding spoke from every line
of her face, from every curve of her body. She
must have been about thirty years old. She spoke
of her poverty as of a misfortune that might hap-
96 Crimes of Charity
pen to any one. She was not ashamed of it, as
of a vice, as most of the poor are — as they are
made to feel once they come under the influence
of charity; and this made my mission a very easy
one. As I write these lines her beautiful modu-
lated voice still rings in my ears. Till late into
the night we sat opposite each other. Everything
that I had witnessed in the last few months passed
before my mental vision. Every evil became ac-
centuated, for I felt that the woman before me
must have been shamefully insulted. A refined,
even educated, woman of her temperament would
not commit violence if she were decently treated.
Without her story I knew that she was right,
but the poison of mistrust had touched my heart
also. I wanted to know, to question, to bruise,
to delve Into her heart. And with all the ability
I had acquired as an investigator I brought her
round to tell me her story; not merely how she
came to hit Cram, but from the very beginning,
since she married.
At first she refused, but I used such arguments
that she at last acquiesced. With one of her chil-
dren, who could not sleep on account of a head-
ache, in her arms, in the half dark room, she told
me her story of woe, simply and with dignity,
and if here and there was a note of pathos or a
tear she restrained it and went on bravely to the
end. And this was her story :
" Too Good to Them " 97
" Eight years ago, in Roumania, I married the
man of my choice. He was a dentist. Soon
after our marriage a terrible persecution against
the Jews started. Jews were killed on the slight-
est pretext and their murderers were never brought
to justice. The parents of the murdered, fearing
vengeance, never tried to prosecute the criminals.
It went so far that killing a Jew became a kind
of sport. We quit that cursed land and came
here. My husband, not knowing English, could
not pass the State Board examination and worked
clandestinely until he was trapped by the County
Medical Association. He paid his fine and was
let go free, but he was afraid to work, and to
hire out to others In this line Is so poorly paid
that he could not even think of It. Soon the little
money we had was gone and to earn our bread
he went to work In a tailor's factory as presser.
A child was born. Not accustomed to manual
work, and angry at what he considered his degra-
dation, he fell sick. When he got better he took
to drink. Oh! those nights when he came home
unable to stand on his feet and crying. I would
talk to him the next day — cry — and threaten
to leave him. He would promise to reform and
the next pay day he would come home drunk
again.
" A second child was soon born. One day, at
work, he spat blood. They brought him home.
98 Crimes of Charity
He went to bed and when the youngest child was
six weeks old he died of consumption. This was
five years ago. I was unable to do anything to
earn my living. Some friends helped me out for
a while but soon I was forgotten. On account
of my small children I could not go out to work.
I also knew no trade. A few months afterwards
I applied to the charities for help. They wanted
to take my children away to an orphanage. This
I could not bear. They are my children — I can-
not separate from them. Finally they agreed to
pension me — two dollars and my rent. From
such a small sum we could not live. I learned
to do some work in the artificial flower business.
I took work home, and in the season, working
until midnight, I would average about three dol-
lars a week. The investigator reported that I
worked. One day she met me on the street. I
had just put on a new dress I had bought. The
next week my pension did not come. I went to
the office and inquired.
" If you earn enough money to buy dresses you
don't need charity," was their answer. I ex-
plained to them that my other dress was torn,
that my new dress cost only two dollars, as I had
made it myself, and offered to prove to them that
I did not earn more than three dollars a week.
My pension was resumed, but ever since the in-
vestigator has treated me very badly. She has
" Too Good to Them " 99
forced me to move every two or three months.
Here it was too dear, there too high, there too
good, and so on. Last month she came to me
at ten o'clock one night. As I was already in
bed I did not let her in. She insisted and threat-
ened that she would cut me off. This enraged me
still further and I did not open the door for her.
She stood in the hall more than half an hour,
then she again knocked at the door, cursed and
went away. The next week was rent week. I
received no money, and the landlord, who knew
that the charities pay my rent, came and told me
that unless he received his cheque in two days he
would put me out.
" I went to the charities to ask why they did
not send the money. I was directed to a little
room, on the door of which is written: ' Inves-
tigator.' Mr. Cram came in, and seating himself
before me began the most insolent questioning
one could imagine. How much did I spend at
the grocery? How much at the butcher? How
much for dresses? Then he began to question
me about my friends. I told him that no friends
came to my house. ' So,' he said, with an insolent
twinkle in his eyes, ' and who is the gentleman
who was in your room the night you did not open
the door to Miss ? ' I felt my blood rush
to my head. It was too much. I struck him in
the face and would have killed him if I had had
lOO Crimes of Charity
my way. They arrested me ; the Judge freed me,
and here I am."
As she finished, the words of the employe of
the office who told me the story rang again in my
ears:
" It's Cram's own fault, he is too good to
them."
Great God I I felt so little when I went away.
Here was a real heroine.
" Could you give me any money for my little
ones?" she asked. Not a trace of the beggar
in her attitude or voice. I humbly gave her
what I could and considered myself happy to have
shaken hands with a real human being. '
ROBBERS OF THE PEACE
ONE of the greatest injustices to the poor
is the right that the charities arrogate
to themselves to visit them whenever
they choose. Once you depend upon charity all
privacy is gone. The sanctity of the home is
destroyed. It is as though the family were liv-
ing in some one else's — in the charities' — home.
The investigator comes into the house unan-
nounced any time of the day or night, questions
anybody she finds in the house, criticises the meals,
the curtains; goes around to the grocery, to the
neighbours, looking for a " clue " that will give
to the institution the right to cease helping the
particular " case," to " cut her " as they say. This
continual living in fear of the investigator, coupled
with the attitude of the neighbours and merchants
who have all been told that Mrs. D. is a charge
of the charities, pauperises the poor to such an
extent that most of them lose all sense of shame
and pride. Mere rags they are, that try to fit
themselves to surroundings, and the children, oh!
the children of the poor! They are the greatest
sufferers of all. They are continually cross-ex-
lOI
102 Crimes of Charity
amined by the investigators. Never are they
trusted, and the word " liar," is always on the
lips of their torturers. They must not play like
other children, and if they make an attempt to
live their young lives, on the slightest childish
quarrel with their playmates the fact that they
are depending on charity is thrown in their face.
" Charity kids," the other children call them. If
they claim at the grocers that the bread is stale
the fact that the mother depends on charity and
consequently has no right to pride, is brought up,
and though they pay actual money they are not
given actual value for it. They must not play
or stay in the hall. The janitor will scold them
more than any of the other children. The " Why
don't you go to work " is repeated every second.
Their ages are always disputed. An applicant's
child is always over fourteen (working age) in
the eyes of the neighbours, janitor, groceryman,
butcher, investigator and all the rest of the tor-
turers.
A woman's pension has been discontinued be-
cause her children looked too tuell — they were
" the picture of health," and as the investigator
could not understand it the pension was discon-
tinued. Another woman's pension, and many
more before her and many more after her, was
discontinued because she dressed too neatly. (By
the way, the woman was a dressmaker by trade
Robbers of the Peace 103
and as she had no sewing-machine she did it all
by hand.) Like the sword of Damocles is the
charity demon, hanging over its victims.
"Who visits her?"
" Does she receive men at night? "
" Does she go out in the evening? "
" Does she buy butter? "
" Don't you think she looks in the mirror a little
too much? Where does she go ? "
" Does she go to moving pictures? "
These are but a few of the questions that an
Investigator asks of the neighbours and dealers,
and beware if she, the applicant, has ever quar-
relled with them. But more than all this is the
persecution of coming into the house without be-
ing announced, so that the poor woman might not
be saved the pain of her friends (whom she does
not want to enlighten) meeting the investigator.
The sanctity of the home is guaranteed by the
Constitution of the land. It Is a law. Are the
laws different for rich and poor? In his own
house one may refuse to receive when and whom
he likes. This Inhuman system of Investigation is
ruining the homes of the poor, driving away their
boys, their daughters, and making their escape
from pauperism Impossible.
I know of a boy to whom his mother had given
vinegar to drink because his cheeks were too red
to please the investigator! I know of a woman
I04 Crimes of Charity
who when her husband died did not know that she
was pregnant. Two months later she knew it, but
she had already told the investigator that she was
not. In fear that the investigator would not be-
lieve that she did not know and would accuse her
of immorality and cut off her pension, she per-
formed a criminal operation, infected herself and
died. Such is the dread of the " investigator,"
and almost all the applicants are women, and all
the investigators are women — mothers — sisters,
sweethearts — but their trade has hardened them
so much that judging by their actions one would
think them wild beasts. And still the Managers
think that they are " too tender hearted." It is
the whole system of organised charity that is crimi-
nal — debasing both the giver and he that re-
ceives, and this Is not meant for the charities of
this country alone. It is meant for the charities
of the whole world over.
" He who giveth to the poor," is no more. A
sum of money is given to men who make it their
business to make the life of the one who needs so
miserable that he should prefer starvation and
the grave to their help; and these are the really
worthy ones, while the successful applicant, the
one who can stand the whole vile process, is gen-
erally the most miserable creature on earth, with
no sentiment of pride or shame, and often is not
really in need. To their everlasting shame charl-
Robbers of the Peace 105
ties, organised charity, has created a new type.
The professional pauper. These professional
paupers have a regular system of obtaining money.
They know the names and locations of all chari-
table institutions, know what to say to one and
what to another — bribe the janitor and silence the
grocer and butcher. Borrow children from neigh-
bours so as to make the family appear bigger, and
sell to others, novices, their knowledge, or work
on the basis of percentage. And for all this only
Charity, criminal, organised Charity, is to blame.
If men feel that through their fault, or the sys-
tem which they continue, their brothers and sisters
suffer, that the children starve and perish, then let
them give personally, with their own hands, and
if they want to investigate the truth of what the
poor have told them let them go and do it person-
ally. If they do not want to go then they shall
not.
But giving to the organised charities is worse
than stealing the last crust of bread from the lost
in the desert. Man's pride, his sense of shame is
his last property, the only one he has that might
help him in his struggle when he is down. Or-
ganised charity robs him of this last thing, robs
him and his wife and his children and children's
children. And this is the reason why those who
have once applied to charities have remained their
" regular customers."
THE SIGN AT THE DOOR
AMONGST the " discontinued pension-
ers " I visited, I found a young Jewish
woman with two children, one eight and
one six years old. From the reports I learned
that she came to New York five years ago from
Russia, had worked some time in an embroidery
factory and had been disabled in an accident —
lost her right arm.
The report also spoke of a fruitless search made
to find her husband, who, the woman claimed, had
deserted her in Russia and was now in New York.
The investigator claimed that this was all a tissue
of lies, that Mrs. Baum's husband was a myth, as
the children whom she had questioned admitted
never having had a " papa."
A certain Jewish paper in New York publishes
daily the pictures of men who desert their families,
and other details about them. In the report it was
stated that the investigator asked Mrs. Baum for
a picture of her husband, but the woman refused
it, saying that she did not want to brand the father
of her children. The report ended with the re-
mark that the whole thing was a tissue of lies and
io6
The Sign at the Door 107
demanded closer examination. It is interesting to
know that the report was made by a new investi-
gator, working in a district formerly entrusted to
a woman with whom this investigator was at dag-
ger points, because of some love affair. Later on,
the same investigator spoke about Mrs. Baum's
severe illness and the temporary removal of the
children to an orphan asylum.
The pension was kept up for eighteen more
months, then suddenly discontinued. When I
read this I tried to think out the reason for the
discontinuance. Was the woman placed in a hos-
pital for incurables? Had she fallen? Had she
found her husband? The discontinuance dated
eight months prior to my reading of the report,
and although I knew how many times one can
change his abode in New York, still I set out to
hunt the woman up. For more than a week I
spent every moment I could spare trying to trace
her, but without success. In despair, I wrote ten
letters, the first three to the addresses I knew and
on the rest of them I just inscribed her name and
the name of one of the lateral streets of the lower
East Side. In the letter I wrote a few words
asking for an appointment and giving my address
and asking for hers. I hoped that the woman had
notified the Post Office of her changed address,
and placed not a little confidence in the searching
qualities of the New York postoffice employes.
io8 Crimes of Charity
To my great astonishment I had a reply the next
day, and an address was given of a house I had
passed twenty times in my search.
However, to the Montgomery Street house I
directed my steps that evening. On the way I was
overtaken by a heavy rain and looked more like a
wet rat than a man when I knocked at the door.
I confess that I thought more of getting dry than
of the cause of my errand. Curious, but personal
discomfort makes one forget all remote consider-
ations; the whole man is taken possession of by
the desire to get his bearings, to right him-
self— much like the swinging pendulum when
an accident has crippled the machine that sets it in
motion.
As soon as I entered Mrs. Baum's house and
told who I was, I took off my coat, with her per-
mission, and hung it on the back of a chair which
I pushed near the kitchen stove, while I seated
myself thereon and tried to regain my wits.
The woman was alone. The children were at
some kind neighbours. Oh! how painful it was
to see her at a little table near the window
trying to make bunches of artificial flowers!
How she twisted and turned the wires with one
hand, with the left, while with the stump of the
crippled right she kept the bunch on the table.
She had encased the stump of her broken arm in a
frame of wood so as to suffer less when working.
The Sign at the Door 109
She used her teeth, her chin, forehead, knees and
armpits to help form a bunch, and the work went
slowly, slowly. So little did she earn that she did
not care to stop when a guest came, though I felt
right along that she was consumed with curiosity.
She lived in one room, which was kitchen, dining-
room, and bedroom for her and the children,
and also workroom. It did not take me very
long to get dry, but it took less time for my coat
to catch fire. Before I had time to put out
the fire the whole back was gone. I had a hard
time to keep the woman quiet on her chair. A cry
of fire would have created a holocaust in that fire-
trap.
When all was quiet again, I sent a neighbour's
boy to my home to bring me another coat, while I
seated myself near the table and began my ques-
tioning. But I had no luck. A knock at the
door was followed by the entrance of a matron
who immediately asked me who I was. I an-
swered her very politely that I had business of my
own with the lady and was not obliged to answer
to strangers.
" Who is that man? " was now the question put
to the crippled woman, who was just twisting a
rose with her stump.
" I don't know," she said, shrugging her shoul-
ders.
"You don't know?" sarcastically. "You
no Crimes of Charity
don't know who the man is who sits near you in his
shirtsleeves? "
" Madame," I tried to explain, " I came here
during the rain, hung my coat on the back of a
chair. It caught fire, and here I am." But the
matron would not hear my explanation. She
slammed the door and went out, cursing, talking
loudly and insultingly.
The woman was as pale as death. She looked
from me to the door, and back again. It was my
turn to ask a question.
" Who is that woman? "
" The investigator of an institution that pays
my rent."
So saying, the woman's head sank on the table
and she wept bitterly. She did not weep long.
Real sorrow is deep and short. There is no time
for artistic posing when the knife has pierced the
heart.
The broken-down figure rose, brushed away
some tears, and asked me:
*' And now, sir, tell me, who are you and what
do you want ? "
She stood before me defiantly, as though to say :
" Make it quick, you bird of evil."
" Madame," I began, ** I am making a supple-
mentary investigation on behalf of the charities,
and I want to look into the reason of your discon-
tinuance."
The Sign at the Door in
Hearing this she retreated, laid off her defiance,
and sat down. I took out my notebook and
started my questioning.
" Have you now an idea where your husband
is?"
" Of course I have, and this started the whole
trouble," she began with animation.
"How so?" I asked.
" For four years I looked and searched without
any result. I hoped and hoped, and the charities
helped me also. I did not want to publish his
picture in the papers. Then I had that accident
in the factory. Great God I what that woman,
Mrs. Sol (an investigator) made me suffer!
Never did she believe a word I said. Called me
beggar, liar, crazy, and all the ugly names in the
language. I stood it all because I hoped that one
day I would get rid of them. Suddenly, one morn-
ing, while going to work, I saw him going into a
door on Greene Street. I ran after him and
throwing my arms around him, cried: * Chaim,
Chaim.' "
Mrs. Baum sobbed again and repeated her hus-
band's name, as though she again saw him. After
a few moments she resumed her narrative.
" He looked at me, with strange eyes, as though
he saw me for the first time. Meanwhile a crowd
had collected. I still kept calling ' Chaim ! don't
you know me? Your wife, Leah?' 'What
112 Crimes of Charity
wife Leah? ' he asked. ' Are you crazy? ' Ah I
my own husband; the father of my children, did
not want to recognise me. The crowd grew. I
kept at him. A policeman arrived and forced me
to let him go. He quickly entered the door and I
ran to the charities and told them my story and
gave them the street and house number. I was
told to come the next day, when some one would
be sent with me • — a special man they had for such
errands. What a day and what a night I passed !
The next morning, bright and early, I was at the
office. A young man accompanied me and I led
the way to the house. We entered and the man
asked the bookkeeper If a Mr. Baum was not
working there. He looked in all the books and
could find no such name. On my advice the
young man asked permission to visit the shop.
We were allowed to go up. We looked — he
was not there. Yet I was certain that I had seen
him enter."
The investigator again treated me to such epi-
thets as " crazy woman, liar, etc." Coming
down, I begged the bookkeeper to look over the
names of all the employes again. I thought per-
haps he was working as a driver, clerk — or at
some other job. To get rid of me he asked,
' How does he look? ' I had his picture with me
and I showed it to the man. He grew pale, and
exclaimed: * That's our boss, Mr. Ap.' All at
The Sign at the Door 113
once he realised what he had said and bent his
head over his books. I was thunderstruck.
Here he was, the boss of all this and his wife and
children starving and begging. So that's the kind
of a man he is ? The investigator asked the book-
keeper:
"'IsMr. Ap. here?'
" * No.'
" * When do you expect him? '
" * He is gone to Europe.'
" * When did he go ? ' I jumped up.
" ' I don't know,' he answered, and we could get
no more Information from him. I cried and
pleaded — it did not help.
" We returned to the office, where the Manager
was told of all that had happened. He listened
very patiently and then said: ' Give me the pic-
ture — we will attend to that now. Meanwhile,
you keep quiet.' Some additional money was
given to me and they said that I must not go to the
factory. They would watch the place and if it
was true that he had gone to Europe we would
have to wait his return."
The woman's chest heaved, and cold sweat ap-
peared on her brow and face and arms, as though
her whole body were on the rack. She rested a
few minutes, drank some water and resumed.
" I waited. True, I could not keep away from
the place. Several times I walked past in the
114 Crimes of Charity
hope of getting a glimpse of him. I knew that if
I could meet him quietly and talk to him he might
relent. I might show him his children. Perhaps
he had not recognised me. I had changed so
much in the years that had passed since we had
last seen one another.
*' He was not to be seen, however. Yes, he has
grown rich — very rich — he did not want me any
longer. He has changed his name — perhaps he
has married another woman. All these thoughts
came to me. My God I " The woman sobbed
again.
" For weeks and weeks my only occupation was
to go from home to the charities, from there to
Greene Street and back. The Manager of the of-
fice at the charities spoke to me several times and
asked me details about our former life and condi-
tion when we married. I told him all. The
truth as ever. One day as I walked down from
the elevated on First Street and Third Avenue I
saw him again, but this time he was not alone. A
woman leaned on his arm. What I suffered 1
What I endured 1 I did not approach him. I
feared he might again go away. I ran to the of-
fice, and told them that he was back. Again I
was counselled to keep still. They would attend
to it. The next and the third day I asked the
Manager whether he had any results. * No, he
had not seen him.' Then on the fourth day he
The Sign at the Door 115
called me into his private room and told me that
Mr. Ap. denied that he had ever married me.
" * Have you a marriage certificate ? ' he asked.
" I had none. We were married only reli-
giously by a rabbi and had no certificate.
" * But,' I said, ' I have his children.'
" * He does not recognise them. He says he
knew you in Russia, true enough, but that he never
married you. When I told him your situation
he agreed to give you enough money to go back to
Russia.'
"You understand?" the woman exclaimed.
" Send me away from here."
*' Of course, I refused and asked the Manager
to help me force him to recognise me and his chil-
dren. I grew bitter, and wept and cried. He
quieted me down and told me to go home. That
he would see that all would be well.
" The next day and the next passed without re-
sult. The Manager was very gentle, very nice.
Then on the following day, no, on the next after
that, he told me that Mr. Ap. had agreed to give
me one thousand dollars if I would go back to
Russia immediately. Of course, I did not want to
accept. He was my husband, the father of my
children. He had to admit that, though I had no
certificate. I looked about to find a man from our
village, a man who knew him, a man who knew we
were married. I found none. Then I went back
ii6 Crimes of Charity
to the office and asked for the photograph. But
the Manager would not return it. Mr. Ap. had
taken it. I cried, I menaced, but could not get my
picture back. Not only did they not help me to
legally force him to recognise me, to support me,
but they took away the only weapon I had — the
picture.
" The Manager kept on urging me to take the
one thousand dollars and go to Russia. * It's kind
enough of him to do that. After all, I believe
him more than you, and he says that he never mar-
ried you.'
" So he told me, to my face, a week after that
I was * discontinued.' ' What is that? ' I asked.
* Take the one thousand dollars and go away.'
" I was put out in the street in the dead of
winter. My children almost froze. I ran to
Greene Street. They would not let me in. I
went to the charities. The Manager just told me :
* People that can get one thousand dollars need no
charity.'
" Finally, a society paid my rent and I was
again under a roof, but I was afraid to say any-
thing about my husband, and when they asked me
I answered that he was dead. How could I say
otherwise? I had nothing to prove my case.
My one piece of evidence was taken away. He
had changed his name. I had no letters, no cer-
The Sign at the Door 1 17
tificate. Now I will have more trouble, through
you, with that woman who saw you."
" And what do you intend to do now? " I asked.
" I have my plans. I expect some one from
my village who knows him and who knows that we
were married. I am saving every cent I can for
the steamship agency to buy a ticket."
She bent down over her work again. Mean-
while my coat was brought. I took leave, prom-
ised to look into the matter and went out.
In a few minutes I was in Greene Street. I
looked up the number. Above the door hung a
big sign, announcing the business of the firm, and
on the door, near the knob, was nailed another
little sign, with black letters on white enamel :
" Member of organised charity."
All was now clear why the woman was not
helped in her fight, and why she was coerced
through the " discontinuance." I remembered
the Manager's answer:
" Who is supporting this institution ? The
poor or the rich? "
And of course they had to work for the ones
that were supporting them.
WHAT IS DONE IN HIS NAME?
AGAIN, thinking how charitable institu-
tions shield those who support them, I
must speak of a case which is similar to
the one just described in more than one detail.
The only difference Is in the fact that it happened
in another town, instead of in New York. I was
present in the office of the Institution when the
woman was advised to accept a certain amount of
money and go to New York. The woman, after
suffering hunger and cold with her children for a
long time finally accepted the most shameful con-
ditions ever imposed upon a woman, upon a
mother. She was compelled to give her children
to the other woman. I was present when the in-
vestigator, Mrs. G.J herself a mother of children,
explained to the woman that it would be best to ac-
cept five hundred dollars and give her children up.
" You will not bring them up as well as they
will. They have money, and if you really love
your children, sacrifice yourself for them." That
was the substance of her argument, and when the
woman cried and pointed out that she had another
child coming from this unnatural father, the in-
ii8
What Is Done in His Name 119
vestlgator insulted her most grossly, calling her a
prostitute. In the end she advised her to keep
it secret, because if the other woman, the new
Mrs. Schneider, heard about it, heard that the
man had not ceased his relations with his wife, she
might " get sore on the whole thing," and though
the woman had a good case of adultery and bigamy
against her husband the Institution — so active in
other emergencies, such as strikes, when they send
out scabs — did not do the slightest thing to help
the woman to get justice. She was destitute, a
foreigner and was helpless alone. She haunted
her husband's place of business, a restaurant, from
where she was ejected by the ever-obliging police-
man on the corner.
To quiet things the husband disappeared for a
few weeks. The restaurant was running on the
second woman's name. This legal nicety closed
the doors to the poor mother.
Driven to desperation by the hunger of her chil-
dren she sent them to the other woman a few
times to ask for food. This was given to them,
but not a morsel was sent to the mother. Mean-
while, the charities remained absolutely inactive.
They even refused to pay the fare of the mother
and children back to New York, on the ground
that she could not say how she would live there.
Not a penny was given. " Accept the five hun-
dred dollars," was their advice.
I20 Crimes of Charity
After a time she was trapped with a man in a
hotel, and arrest for adultery hanging over her
head like the sword of Damocles, the woman
agreed to sign papers releasing the husband from
any responsibility, was given a few dollars and a
ticket to New York, and all ended here to the
glory of organised charity the world over.
Shall I say that the whole trapping affair was
engineered by the husband and the second woman ?
And yet I have suspicions of " another party "
who helped. I am very anxious to find out
whether, on the list of yearly contributors, the
" gentleman " In the case has not increased his
yearly gift to help the poor and needy and recog"
nise the good offices of the institution in his own
case. And if it is not on the list, some one has
been privately favoured.
THE PICTURE
IN the course of time I became very suspicious
of every record in the Charity Institutions.
Not one appeared to me truthful. I knew I
could not trust them any more than I would
trust police records that are made up not to give
information but very often only to shield a par-
ticular policeman. They are coloured so as to
give the impression that it was difficult to procure
the Information. Often the detective sent out to
get the particulars spends the time In a saloon or
gambling house, then on a few meagre details he
makes up his report. When contradicted by the
" case " he simply says the man lies. The same
thing happens with the Investigations of charitable
institutions. Knowing this I suspected every rec-
ord of being far from the facts. In my investiga-
tions I made it a rule not to take anything for
granted from the reports, but to look Into the mat-
ter myself.
One rainy day I looked through the records and
laid aside the ones I intended to work upon the
next day. I decided to reinvestigate cases where
the pension had been discontinued. By this time
121
122 Crimes of Charity
it was very difficult for me to work. The investi-
gators feared me and had drilled their " cus-
tomers " to so answer my questions as to conform
to the report they had made on the case. Wher-
ever I went, under whatever guise, I was antici-
pated. The people were on the qui-vive and I
often had to give up my investigation without
marked results.
At first I did not know to what to attribute my
non-success and the Manager grew impatient and
spurred me on. " Results, results. If you don't
bring us extra information you are of no great use
to us." Such was the tenor of his speech. They
needed " extra information." Right or wrong, by
hook or crook, but extra information to give an
excuse for my pay envelope. But it did not take
long before I learned the cause of my ill success.
The people were warned.
I knew of several investigators who did it and I
could have reported them and had them dis-
charged, but I disliked to do so. So I reported to
the Manager that some one had warned them and
that I was working on a clue to find out who had
done it, when I would report. Naturally this
made them stop their interference. This subter-
fuge gave me time to do other work — investi-
gate the " discontinued " cases. It was work for
myself and I had no need for hurry, nor did I
need to make a report of my findings.
The Picture 12^
I copied a few addresses and some other par-
ticulars and the next day I set out on my tour.
One of the cases that particularly interested me
was the case of a young Irish lady, a widow with
four children, who had been pensioned for four
years. The report of the investigator was a con-
tinuous description of misery and misfortune.
One of the children, at least, was always sick. At
times there were three in bed and the mother too
was in an " awful condition." This was so from
1908 to 19 10, until the month of December of
that year, the reports never being farther apart
than two weeks. Then, all of a sudden, the re-
port was discontinued for two months, until the
end of February, and was then very much colder
than usual. It simply mentioned that Mrs. G.
was much better and the children well. The next
one, made in April, contained an interesting item.
The older child, nine years old, was selling papers.
" The woman denied that she knew anything about
it but I saw him myself," read the report. For
May of the same year there were three reports,
the last one speaking of a " pail of beer and ciga-
rettes, in company with other men and women."
It advises the application of the " test." Then,
after that, one big word. " Discontinued."
It took me some time before I found Mrs. G.
She had moved three times in eight months and
when I at last found her she was living in 63rd
124 Crimes of Charity
Street, in a house near the river. Her dwelling
was more like the hole of a water rat than the
quarters of a human being in a civilised city of the
New World. A mattress on the floor, a folding
bed with torn sides, on an egg box a gas stove, a
rocking chair that had seen better days, some rags
hanging on the walls, this was the furniture of the
house. And the woman herself. She fitted excel-
lently into the picture. It was as though a painter
had grouped them together as the subject of a
masterpiece of misery, to hold the world up to
shame. Tall and angular, her hair dishevelled,
her face unclean, with dress torn, through which
greyish dirty linen peeped out, with bare feet in a
pair of shoes picked up from a garbage can, she
stood in the middle of the room and looked won-
deringly at me, not knowing to what she owed my
visit. She had hardly enough strength to answer
my questions. There were no children in the
house. I told her who I was. Her face lit up
and she asked me about the investigator — a man
— who was in charge of the district. Pointblank
I put the question :
" How are you making a living? "
" I am not doing anything," she answered.
" Yes, but from where do you get money to
buy food?"
" I am not buying any."
" But you don't live without food I "
The Picture 125
She shrugged her shoulders and turned away in
despair.
I waited a few moments, and as I got no an-
swer I repeated my question. All in vain. She
would not answer. As I sat there the door was
opened and a little shrunken, dirty boy of about
eight years, barefoot and wrapped up in a pair of
overalls, came In.
" I got a good big one," he said, as he put a
package on the folding bed. He turned round,
and saw me. Mother and child looked at one an-
other understandingly. Without another word
the boy disappeared. The mother manipulated
the package from the folding bed to the window
sill.
*' From where did the boy get this package? " I
asked.
" From nowhere — he did not get it — he took
it, from — "
" Why ! my good lady, do you allow him
to steal? Do you know where it will land
him?"
" In the hospital," she answered, as she gave me
the package. I tore off the paper, — a piece of
cooked chicken, the remainder of a steak, three old
rolls, all of them with the stamp of the garbage
can, with spit and sawdust on them, and on one
morsel the butt of a cigarette.
" You see," she said, " they can't arrest him for
126 Crimes of Charity
that," pointing to the package. " He gets it from
' Martin's ' restaurant."
I tried to get at the reason of her being " dis-
continued," and after a time I had to ask her out-
right. From her talk I understood that she
wanted me to believe that Mr. S., the investigator,
was very attentive to her, and she had responded
to his advances. That he would sit with her at
night and that he even took her to a moving picture
show once. I looked at her and did not believe a
word she said. Mr. S. was a young man and this
woman could hardly inspire an old drunkard with
such sentiments. She understood the reason of
my apparent doubt.
" I see you don't believe It." From under a
broken mirror she brought forth a picture of a
lovely young woman of the pronounced Irish type,
with loose hair and clear-cut features.
" That's me," she explained, " three years ago
— when Mr. S. knew me," and as she talked she
put her blouse in order and tried to look like the
picture. It was hard to find a resemblance, but It
was undoubtedly her image. With the picture
she tried to tempt me. " A few weeks of decent
care and I am again the picture," she explained,
thinking that this was the only way to re-enter into
the possession of the pension.
" Why were you discontinued? "
" It's all my fault. I had bragged about it to
The Picture 127
a neighbour and the neighbour told it to another
one who was in Mrs. S.'s care, and she reported it
to him. But I got my lesson. I'd keep mum.
The boys are out."
From the woman I learned how he used to get
extra money for her every time, on the plea that a
child was ill, that she was ill, a whole traffic in
pity, and then I understood the record and under-
stood the sudden change of face and the discon-
tinuance.
I tried to explain to the woman that here was a
wrong way. With no success, however. She
told me that the former investigator, the one be-
fore Mr. S., was also very friendly, and about him
she never told. She seemed to think that I was
sent by Mr. S. for the same purpose, and again and
again she attracted my attention to the loveliness
of the picture, and appealed in its name. There
must have been a trace of a great disgust on my
face, for she cleaned her hands and combed her-
self as she spoke. From the emergency money I
gave her a few dollars and told her that I would
visit her again and try to get her restored on the
pension list. She took the money, but I felt that
she was disappointed. Was the woman in her
insulted? For she still assured me of her secrecy.
Before I went away I learned that two children
had not been in the house for the last four or five
days.
128 Crimes of Charity
" And where do you think they are? " I asked.
" One, I know, went on a freight, and the other
must be somewhere." At the door she again
stopped me.
" Here's my picture, if you want it I " she said
pleadingly, as she tended it to me. I felt it would
have been a great insult to have refused her gift,
to destroy the hope she had that the picture might
awaken desires and that these desires might bring
her rent and food. There was a glimmer of hope
when I promised to do all in my power to re-
store her pension.
Instead of going to my next address I loitered
in the neighbourhood of 63rd Street, near the
river. I knew that Mr. S. was in his district and I
hoped to find him. I was rehearsing mentally the
words in which I should clothe my opinion of his
behaviour, when all at once I saw him coming from
a house. I approached him, called him into a
saloon, and without a word I showed him the
picture.
" What about that? " I asked.
" She was all right once — that's how she
looked, the cat," he explained jokingly. " Did
you get at her? You — you I She was all right
once, how is she now? " He took the picture and
looked at it with interest, probably remembering
his debauches. I immediately saw that I could
The Picture 129
learn more about the matter by handling the case
dexterously, and I learned, oh ! I did learn how the
money of the poor is spent — how payment is
taken for the bread and coal and rent, and how,
when he has " another one," a fresh case, the
" cat " is simply discontinued.
Mr. S. was a man of about forty and had been
fifteen years in the business. He knew all the
ropes and finished up with a promise to take me to
a young French widow who was a " peach," a new
case, as he explained, twinkling his eye knowingly.
He still looked at the picture of the Irish woman.
" You would never think her to be an appli-
cant. She has such a distinguished appearance.
Oh ! she's a peach — if she only could keep mum,"
he said, referring to the French widow.
I offered him another glass, and when this was
consumed I playfully suggested : " Let's go up to
Mrs. G. — just for fun."
At first S. refused, but as his eyes again caught
the face in the picture he ordered another glass,
and then standing up he said: "Come." He
did not know her address so I had to lead the way.
We knocked and Mrs. G. opened the door and
invited us in. But S. had only one look at her,
when he ran down the stairs. I followed him.
He was dumbfounded and kept on repeating:
" Is that her ? Is that her ? "
I put the picture before his eyes: " How do
130 Crimes of Charity
you like the change ? " I asked. " It's good charit-
able work. When you get another one the ' cat *
is simply discontinued." I repeated his words.
A few months afterwards I saw the same
woman in the street. She was decently dressed
and looked much better. Remorse or fear of my
denunciation had made S. provide for immediate
needs. Soon she was restored on the list and
again the oldest son was ill and the third one was
in bed and all the tricks were resumed to have the
institution pay for the lust of the coward.
THE PRICE OF LIFE
THE indignities to which the poor are sub-
jected in the offices of charity and by the
employes of these organisations are of
such a nature that it is my honest belief that crimi-
nals get more consideration in the police station,
before the judge or in prison. After all, what
are the poor guilty of? Is poverty a crime? Is
it not the inevitable result of the present organisa-
tion of society? Is it possible that in the present
industrial system there should be no poor and no
helpless human beings? I am sure that the peo-
ple who contribute tens of thousands of dollars to
these institutions do it in order to help those whom
they have in the course of their lives and business
despoiled of their right to life and its necessities.
A few scenes which I witnessed at the charities will
suffice to give an idea of what the applicants have
to undergo at the hands of the officers of the insti-
tutions, whether they get relief or not.
The sweetest word they ever use in connection
with the poor is " derelict." A quotation made
by a sister institution (A Free Loan Association),
will give the essence of what they think and in
what spirit they act towards the poor.
131
132 Crimes of Charity
Says the President of this institution in his
Twentieth Annual Report:
" The object of this Society is to loan money
to those in need, instead of giving alms, and thus
assist respectable people, whose character and self-
respect will not permit them to receive alms, etc.,
etc."
So, none of the people who apply for charity
are respectable people or have any self-respect I
This is the spirit of all the charity workers
toward an applicant. Once a man or a woman
has applied for help he is no longer re-
spectable, he has lost his self-respect. He is a
" derelict." It speaks ill for humanity that there
has not yet been one poor person who has taken
revenge for all the injustices and insults heaped
upon his brethren I It shows how degraded they
are through hunger. Not that they are inherently
coarse. Oh, no I but weakness, physical weakness
to which all those who apply to charity are re-
duced before they ever come to the office. Once
in the mill they are ground. I will leave the in-
vestigators for a while and show how the " dere-
licts " are treated in the office.
I must not forget to mention that they are fre-
quently called to the office at nine A. M. and left
in the waiting-room until five p. M., when they are
again told to come to-morrow, as the committee
before which they were called to appear
The Price of Life 133
has departed. Meanwhile, they had to sit there
and hear the insults to which the others are sub-
jected, and stay without food. Mr. Cram once
told me that this sitting in the waiting-room was a
very good " test " of real want, for it has hap-
pened that many of them never came back when
they were again called.
" Once they pass through the waiting-room they
are easy to manage," he assured me. " They get
their education."
The waiting-room is the school. I wonder how
many of those who could not stand the " test "
turned the gas jet on. How many of them
jumped into the river! How many went to the
street. Too bad we cannot know all the crimes
of charity.
A woman. Bertha S., about thirty years old,
still good looking, despite the misery she has
passed through, is called before the Manager.
She has two small children whom she has left with
a neighbour. She has been called for nine A. M.
As it is her first experience with the charities she is
at the doors at eight-thirty A. M. When the doors
swing open at nine-ten she is almost frozen. She
had been waiting a full half hour. She shows her
letter of admission and is allowed in the building.
The whole day, until four-thirty P. M., she stands
in the waiting-room, sometimes walking around
and crying, at other times sitting nervously twist-
134 Crimes of Charity
ing her hands in despair and calling the names of
her two children.
At four-thirty, she and all the other women
were told that on account of the cold weather the
committee would not meet that day and they
should come the next day. The office boy who
brought the news to them meanwhile permitted
himself a joke, saying " The show is off for to-
night. If you like it, tell your friends."
The next day the building was so overcrowded
with applicants that more than fifty had to stand
the whole day. Bertha S. looked to be the most
unfortunate of all. Her nervousness was pain-
ful. At three-thirty P. M., the manager began to
call the applicants into his room. Every time the
door swung open she hoped or feared that now
was her turn, and when she saw each time that
another was called she became more and more
nervous. Finally, at five, she was called in.
From a side door I entered the room. With the
Manager sat a few other men. They looked her
up and down, measuring her from her toes to her
head, as though she had committed some crime.
Then one of the men, a well fed, red-faced, thick-
bellied brute, looked in a record purporting to be
the Investigator's report and the third degree, the
most Inhuman one I have ever witnessed, started :
" How old are you? " he yelled at the woman
without looking at her.
The Price of Life 135
" Thirty."
*' How many children have you? "
" Two."
"How old are they?"
" One six years and, one — "
" You lie — liars you all are — how old are
your children? "
" One is six years old and one — "
"You liar, you shameless liar, six years old?
Ha ! " and so saying this man jumped up from his
chair. " Six years old, eh, and she goes around to
moving picture shows and stays out the whole
night. Six years old? " He approached the
woman. " And what do you think, do you think
we don't know what you do? We know all
right."
" But, mister," the woman tried to speak.
" Keep quiet. Don't talk." This was another
man's advice, whereupon the first one continued.
" Here," showing her the record, " we have it
in black and white — daughter goes to one moving
picture show and the mother to another one."
" But, mister," the woman tried again, but the
man grew angry, his fat body shook, his well-fed
face flushed and he delivered himself of all the
venom there was in him.
" And you dare to apply for charity. A
woman of your kind, an immoral woman. And
tell me and all these gentlemen here that your
136 Crimes of Charity
daughter is six years old. You are a liar, a street
woman, that's what you are."
At this point the woman cried out and fell head-
long on the floor. One of the other men looked
in the record and remarked that Mr. W. who
had cross-examined the woman had made a mis-
take, as the record was not that of Mrs. Bertha
S., but another applicant's. I watched the whole
scene and thought: " Great God! How he will
have to apologise now I " But no — not a word
of apology. She was only a poor woman, a
" derelict." I wonder what the " gentlemen " in
question, or any other member of that committee
would have done to any one who would have
dared to insult his wife or sister or daughter in
the same manner.
Mr. W. bent down, looked again in the record
book, and after convincing himself, said : " Yes,
I made a mistake." Meanwhile, the woman kept
on sobbing bitterly.
The secretary munched at his cigar rather nerv-
ously.
" Give her five dollars," Mr. W. said to the
Manager, and the poor woman was led out, the
price of her degradation in her hand. I followed
her to an elevated station. She sobbed bitterly
the whole way. She never appeared at the office
again, but a few months later the following notice
appeared in the papers :
The Price of Life 137
MOTHER AND CHILD
CRAZED BY HUNGER
Entire Family Has Been Without Food or Roof for
Three Months.
As Patrolman B was walking along H Street,
Brooklyn, early yesterday morning, he observed a woman
and two children, a girl of twelve and a girl of six, stand-
ing in a door way half clothed, each nestling close to the
other to keep warm. Apparently they failed in this, for
the mother and children were blue from cold and were
shivering.
The officer spoke to the woman. But she did not
answer. He spoke to her again and she raised her eyes
to him. The eyes were those of an insane person, and
the officer took the mother and children to the S
Street police station. There the police fed the family and
the woman gained sufficient strength to speak.
She told the police that she was Mrs. S . She
was deserted by her husband and for the last three months,
since she was dispossessed, she and her children lived in
cellars and doorways. After telling that much of her
story the woman collapsed. She became hysterical, in-
sane again.
The police began to question the elder girl, the twelve
year old May. May spoke only a few words and her
mind began to wander. Like her mother she became
hysterical.
The woman and her two children were then taken to
the Court before Magistrate D . The mag-
istrate at once saw that he was dealing with an unbalanced
138 Crimes of Charity
woman and he ordered her sent to the observation ward
of the Kings County Hospital.
In the Children's Court, Justice G found that
the children were suffering from starvation and exposure.
They were sent away with the mother.
It looked doubtful yesterday whether Mrs. S
would ever completely recover from the insanity into
which she was thrown by months of starvation and home-
lessness.
AIR — FROM FIFTH FLOOR TO
BASEMENT
THE head Investigator, a woman who was
once a socialist, and considers herself now
a social worker, was announced to lecture.
Her subject was " Advice to consumptives living in
a large city." The subject was interesting and the
lecturer an acquaintance of mine, so I decided to
go and hear her. When the doors opened the
hall was crowded with people. It was in her own
district and she had decided to make a big show.
All the poor depending on her were ordered to the
lecture. Willy nilly, they had to go.
An interesting lot they were as they sat huddled
up in old rags, their street clothes left at home,
those they had on the poorest they could find. All
pale, haggard, hungry, they really needed the ad-
vice.
Mrs. B. was a good talker and had her subject
well in hand. Her son is a physician and from
him she got all the fine points, figures and explana-
tions. She started out very convincingly and
proved that poverty and ignorance go hand in
hand and are the father and mother of tubercu-
139
140 Crimes of Charity
losis. She went on to explain the absolute neces-
sity of rich and wholesome food (What irony —
they that get two or three dollars a week shall
have rich and wholesome food!), diversion, quiet,
and above all " Air, fresh air all the time — Live
on the top floor, do not mind the few stairs more I
Sleep on the roof in the summer, and keep your
windows open I For God's sake keep your win-
dows open! . . . Let the sunshine clean your
room — Light and air are the greatest enemies of
microbes and tuberculosis and the greatest friend
of man, especially the one touched with the white
plague. Breathe, breathe every time you get a
chance. Purify your lungs and keep under God's
blue roof the greater part of your time."
Thus she finished. There was the usual ap-
plause and the usual questions by some outsiders,
and that was all. At the finish we walked to-
gether, Mrs. B. and I, for a half hour and we
spoke about the poor and their condition, about
the iniquity of the present system, and her former
work for Socialism, and she told me how she
had pawned her watch and chain to pay the
printers that were setting up the first Socialist
weekly. Naturally I was astonished to hear that.
I knew that she was one of the most cruel ques-
tioners at the office. If something was to be
found out she was appealed to. She had a heart
of stone, of granite, and her sensuous mouth could
Air — From Fifth Floor to Basement 141
assume a smile that set the poor applicant trem-
bling.
"And where is he now, your husband? Do
you think that I am such a fool as to believe a
single word of what you say?" And when the
woman would cry she would say " Rot, rot, rub-
bish. I am too old in the business." Such was
her attitude. How could she be so sincere when
she spoke to others? How could she pawn her
watch for a struggling Socialist paper? Was she
once better, had her work killed her heart? Thus
was I thinking when I left her, and was already
trying to excuse her because I found that I too
had, in my work for the Charity Institution, lost
a good deal of my faith in mankind.
Some weeks afterwards, I was investigating the
case of a tailor who was taken to the hospital suf-
fering from the white plague. He had a wife
and four children ranging from three to fourteen
years. The woman had applied to charity and
the office had a suspicion that the man belonged
to an organisation that paid a sick benefit and
was consequently not entitled to charity. I found
out, through the secretary, that the man had once
been a member but having fallen in arrears with
his dues he was disqualified and was not receiving
any benefits. The family was living on a first
floor rear apartment in Monroe Street, two
rooms, where the sunshine never comes, with win-
142 Crimes of Charity
dows opening in the yard, an ill-smelling dirty
yard, and the people had no idea of hygiene.
They never kept separate the dishes and pillows
used by the sick one. They ate from them and
slept on them.
The children, pale and sick, three of them
short-sighted, the mother and little child with in-
flamed eyes, were in a horrible condition.
I immediately advised the office and succeeded
in getting the family moved to the Bronx, near
a park, and on the fifth floor. So little were the
children accustomed to light that the first few days
they felt dizzy. Their clothes and bedding was
disinfected. Hurriedly the family was put on the
pension list, rent, coal and three dollars per week.
It was not much, it was not enough, but it was the
best I could obtain for the unfortunate people.
A few weeks later the oldest girl too was taken
to the hospital and the mother was treated in one
of the clinics in the neighbourhood. She ob-
tained two quarts of milk a day free.
They had not been long in the country — four
or five years; had previously lived in a little vil-
lage in Northern Russia. The man was a dealer
in grains there, was always in the open air. The
sudden change to a big city, a sweatshop, was too
much for him, too much for all of them. Sev-
eral months later, while I was in the neighbour-
hood, I went to visit the family. At the door
Air — From Fifth Floor to Basement 143
of the fifth floor, I was told they had moved away
long ago. Where? The people did not know,
nor did the janitor, nor did the neighbours. When
I returned to the office I looked up the records
and found their new address, 171st Street. I
took a note of it, and as my work brought me
there a few days later, I called in. I was aston-
ished to find the people living in a basement —
the rooms were next to the engine room. It was
a big apartment house and the heat in the rooms
was suffocating.
"Woman," I cried, "what have you done?
Why did you move from the other place? "
" The investigator told me to," was her an-
swer.
" But you are killing yourself, ruining the
broken health of your children."
She shrugged her shoulders, the children
coughed, and even the baby had eyeglasses on.
It was the district of Mrs. B. — the investigator
who lectured so well on tuberculosis. I waited
for her in the office and asked her why she had
moved the family from the top floor to the base-
ment.
" I can't run up so many stairs every day," she
answered angrily. " I have a big district and they
all live on top floors. Basements are cheaper and
it is easier for me," she went on.
" But, Mrs. B., the whole family is touched by
144 Crimes of Charity
the plague. You know better than they do how
necessary it is for them to live in light and airy
rooms. You lecture on the subject."
To all this the investigator answered, " It's
easy to lecture but to climb so many floors a day
is too hard. Let them live in the basement.
They will not die. It's not so terrible. Let
them sit in the park ... let them go up on the
roof."
No amount of talk could persuade her that it
was dangerous for the people to live, eat, sleep
in the basement, and when I had succeeded in
convincing the manager that a change should be
made, and I called on the woman, she was already
so drilled by the investigator that she claimed her
legs hurt her and her heart was weak and I had
to give it up. She would not move from the base-
ment.
A second child was taken to the hospital in a
few months, but as a recompense for the mother's
good behaviour the investigator did not, as usual,
reduce the pension of the family.
The father died, the two older girls died, the
mother with the other children returned to Russia
to live ... to die.
THE INVESTIGATORS
UP to now I have said so much about the
heartlessness of the investigators that
naturally the question arises: *' If they
were good-hearted women, and if the men in
charge of the charities were better men, would
that solve the problem of charity? "
No. It's not their fault. The system of or-
ganised charity is such that they must inevitably
become as they are after a few months' work.
Almost all of the women investigators and other
employes of the institutions are recruited from the
impoverished middle class. To obtain a position
what is commonly called " pull " is absolutely nec-
essary. As a rule these people have never known
any want — real privation. At first, when they
see poverty in all its ugliness they get excited, run
to the office and make a terrible report, advising
relief in heartrending sentences. They imagine
that their will will immediately be carried out and
that their mission is a very high one. But when
the Manager calls them into his office and proves
to them that they have been lied to and deceived;
that the pauper is a habitual liar; that you cannot
believe a single word they say ; when he tells them
I4S
146 Crimes of Charity
that if they do not prove more adroit the next
time their position is not suited to them, then
they look at the poor with other eyes. He or
she is no more a subject for pity, a wreck that
has to be pulled ashore. It is bread and butter
for herself. If she allows herself to be deceived
by an applicant she endangers her own position.
All the investigators fear poverty, fear it be-
cause they know how terrible it is, that it is a
crime. Not a word of the poor is believed. Her
next report will be a tissue of lies and accusations,
viz.:
" The family has rich connections from whom
they get help. From the grocer, butcher and
baker I have learned that the family spends more
than is necessary." If the applicant is a widow
and young she inserts that neighbours doubt her
morality; that she stays out late at night, etc., etc.,
and she closes her report with the observation
that the applicant is unworthy and undeserving
of charity. This she does because she has learned
that she is not to advise to give, but that she is
paid to find out reasons and excuses why help
should not be given.
It is true that in the course of the work the
investigators find cases where the organisations
are deceived, but this makes them so suspicious
that if one were to take their word for it help
would never be extended to an applicant.
The Investigators 147
Then, another reason for her stony-heartedness
is the continual sight of poverty. After a time
she gets so accustomed to it that nothing shocks
her. It is like a surgeon in a hospital who be-
comes so hardened that the amputation of an arm
or leg is nothing — a trifle.
The poor represent so much material. One
sews aprons and shirtwaists for a living; she, the
investigator, visits the poor. The hangman too
makes a living! It's all business. There can be
no love in such work. The men and women in
charge of it have not chosen it because they want
to devote their lives to succouring the suffering
widow or orphan. They are not sisters of mercy.
They are paid to do the work. They make a liv-
ing so.
If the investigators were superior beings things
would be somewhat different; but superior beings
go into business nowadays. It pays better.
Some investigators only get thirty to forty dollars
per month.
I have known investigators who left their own
children at home without food. They trembled
lest a mistake cost them their positions. They
did all in their power to find out a reason why
the applicant should not receive money to buy
bread for her children. One might fancy that
were they investigating their own cases they would
still find reasons.
148 Crimes of Charity
Think of an investigator moving a consumptive
family from the fifth floor to the basement, she
who lectured on tuberculosis: "Light and air
are the best cure for consumption." This is how
she spoke, this is what she believed, but in prac-
tice! When a woman has to climb stairs from
morning to night, then her only thought is how to
make her own work easier; how to make a living
easier.
Yes, but it costs the lives of women and chil-
dren. And does the owner of mines think of
that? And does the manufacturer think of that?
And does the milkman, a devout church-goer, who
baptises his milk, think of the children he is kill-
ing, of the future generations he is crippling? And
does the canner think of that when he allows rot-
ten meat to go into his cans? No. They are
all making a living and do not believe that animals
should be killed for food.
I knew a young lady who got a job as investi-
gator — a nice young, sentimental girl. After a
► few months' work she was the terror of the poor
and the pet of the Manager. She had reduced
by half the list in her district. From a hundred
applications she investigated not ten got relief.
She would visit them day and night to find a rea-
son why they should be cut off. The neighbours
for ten blocks around would know that Mrs. So
and So had applied to the institution. And when
The Investigators 149
one day I told her she was not fit for such a po-
sition because she had no heart, and advised her
to get a job at something else, she showed me
her right hand. She had lost her fingers in an
accident at an embroidery machine and she had to
make a living!
Another young woman, who was engaged to
marry a friend of mine and who got the position
through me, lost the affection of her fiance.
" She has entirely changed in the last few
months," he told me. " She is suspicious, hard,
cold and cynical. Her face has changed, she
never laughs, never smiles."
Poor chap! He did not know the cause. I
did.
The work, the surroundings, the system of or-
ganised charity, unfits them for anything, and
among all the crimes of charity the one that stands
out pre-eminently is that it ruins the lives of all
the men and women who work in it. Only a God
and an angel could remain good. But the gods
are in the heavens and the angels are crucified.
THE CHILDREN OF THE POOR
NO district of any big city in the world has
such a desolate miserable look as the
" charity blocks " in New York. They
are grouped a little everywhere. For this, New
York is like the body of Job, with sores and
wounds all over.
Around all the gas houses near the river, north,
south, east and west, take any of the gay streets
of the metropolis. Forty-second Street, Thirty-
fourth Street, Twenty-third and Fourteenth
Streets. With what dirt and misery they start
on the west, how they get brighter and gayer to-
wards the middle, on Seventh Avenue, how they
reach the climax at Fifth Avenue, and how the
Third Avenue elevated in the east and Ninth
Avenue elevated in the west cuts off the ugly part
of the city, like the butcher who trims around the
meat. The cheap tallow for the poor and the
centre piece for the rich, and all comes from one
and the same animal. Just as the meat, in pro-
portion to its nutrition, costs the poor dearer than
the rich, so do the apartments of the poor cost
more than the Fifth Avenue houses, taking into
150
The Children of the Poor 151
consideration the comfort of the latter. As a
matter of fact it is well known that Cherry, Henry,
Monroe and Hester Street properties are more
profitable, proportionately to the money invested,
than Fifth Avenue apartments. No vacant house
is to be seen around the celebrated " lung blocks."
The terrible stench coming from across the river,
where the garbage of the city Is dumped, has killed
the sense of smell of the poor wretches living
there. They wonder at you when you keep hand-
kerchief to your nose while passing. It is an or-
deal to pass along Avenue A between Twenty-fifth
and Thirty-fourth Streets. The poisonous gas
combines with the stench of the slaughter house,
and the piled up garbage in the river. Still the
streets are full of children, playing, and God only
knows why the poor have so many children.
My work brought me into daily contact with
the children. " The nutty scribbler," they called
me, the Italian boys pronouncing my title with
their peculiar accent; the Russian with theirs and
the Jewish boys translating It altogether into their
idiom. Poor, underfed and oversmart children;
ready-witted and half-witted. Child and old man.
Buying sour pickles Instead of bread when they
get a penny, ready to do anything for a puff from
a cigarette. Their ideal is not to become a work-
ingman. They know too well where that leads.
Kid Herman, Kid Twist and Red Larry are their
1^2 Crimes of Charity
heroes, and in childish contradiction, the police-
man is their idol. How they swarm around a
newspaper when there is " anything " in it. An
interesting murder case, a robbery, a street shoot-
ing, these are the sensations of their lives.
When the father comes home drunk they envy
him and will soon imitate him. They help the
burglars hide, and chase the pickpocket over the
roofs, together with the detectives, giving advice
in turn to the hunted how to escape and to the
policeman how to catch him; rejoicing when the
bad one has escaped and booing him along the
street when he is handcuffed. And every year
their domain extends a little further until it ap-
proaches the rich. A block from Riverside drive
and two from Fifth Avenue — extending continu-
ally, like a cankerous wound.
One evening I visited a family that was pen-
sioned by the charities. The father had just been
discharged from the consumptive hospital as cured
and I was instructed to see whether he was well
enough to work. A plan was on foot to open a
soda water stand for him, to keep him outdoors,
lest he again become sick.
They had five children. The oldest, a girl, was
twelve years old. It was ten o'clock and I ex-
pressed wonder that the children were not in the
house. The mother's answer was not straight.
The Children of the Poor 153
" They are playing, they are visiting neighbours,
I sent them away," were her answers to my ques-
tions. I sensed a mystery and decided to wait
until they came home. I talked with the man
and asked him his prospects for the future, to
which he hopefully answered that he was sure to
get his old place in the clothing factory as presser.
I questioned him about his life in the hospital and
sought every way to prolong my visit. The mother
was very anxious to get rid of me, but I stuck
to the job. About half past ten the children came
in, all pale and worn-out, hardly saying good-
night, but going straight to bed.
"From where do you all come so late?" I
asked.
" From the street," the mother answered and
pushed them into the other room. I felt that it
was useless to insist, so I retired. The street was
deserted. No child's play was going on and the
children of the applicant did not appear to be the
sort who would stay until the last. I walked up
and down the block without meeting a child. At
the corner, near the gas house, on Fourteenth
Street, I met a policeman and talked the matter
over with him.
" The street has turned good these last few
weeks. Don't know what's the matter," was his
remark.
I did not agree with him and walked up and
1 1^4 Crimes of Charity
down the street until past midnight, when I de-
cided to continue my investigation the next morn-
ing.
A postcard advised the office that I would be
busy the following morning and could not report.
At eight o'clock I was near the house of the con-
sumptive family. The children all went to school.
Not to compromise my work I stayed away until
noon. The children came for lunch and returned
to school. It was early in the spring and a glori-
ous day. I could not help thinking of the beauty
of the field and forest on such days, when the
green is shooting out from the soil in the gardens,
when the plough is carving out slices from mother
earth and the birds are singing in the trees. I
could not help thinking how life has taken these
poor people out of their homes in the little vil-
lages of Russia, Poland, Italy and Roumania and
has crowded them, nay, herded them together in
what is called a tenement row, to sleep there and
to work in a sweatshop in the day. How do they
feel when they think of their homes, when they
see a green leaf, when they hear the song of a
bird? When one has colour in his face they say
that he still has the " home colour." When they
mention a feat of strength or endurance they add :
" It was my first year here you know."
At three P. M. I was back at my post. I
The Children of the Poor 155
watched the children come from school. With
their many-coloured dresses they looked from far
away like a swarm of butterflies, but as they ap-
proached they became less gay, less expansive.
Talk about the influence of home on children!
Among a group of children I spied the oldest girl
of the consumptive man. She walked more slowly
than the others, as though she wanted to retard
something that waited for her at home. Finally
she took leave of the others and entered the hall.
By and bye the other sisters and two brothers
came. I waited outside. A quarter of an hour
later the oldest girl and the second brother, about
nine years old, came out, still chewing the piece
of bread they had for tea. They walked hand
in hand, and I followed them. They turned the
corner and entered a tenement house near Four-
teenth Street. I intended to follow them upstairs
when I observed many other children of about the
same age coming. Some were as young as six and
seven, however. Some were biting apples, others,
boys of nine to twelve years, throwing away the
last bit of the butt of a cigarette, with the regret-
ful gesture of the workingman before the factory
door closes on him and the bell rings.
" Where in heaven are you all going? " I asked
a group of boys.
" None of your rotten business," was the reply
in chorus. I withdrew and watched. One after
156 Crimes of Charity
another they went up the stairs until I had counted
nearly a hundred. When I saw no more coming
I went up the stairs, the dark, ill-smelling stairs,
until I reached the third floor. It was a rear
yard house. Dark, dirty, dingy. On the third
floor I stopped and listened. A buzzing noise
came from one of the apartments, as though a
thousand hands were crushing silk paper between
the fingers. Soon a door opened. A little girl
came out. I did not speak to her. Interested,
I entered the apartment without knocking at the
door. In a room 10 x 15, were two long tables
and on both sides sat the little boys and girls on
benches. On the tables were piled up all sorts
of candies and chocolates, which the children put
in paper boxes that lay near them. So engrossed
were they in their work that they hardly lifted an
eye to see who had entered. A big burly Italian
met me and asked what I wanted.
"Is Mr. Salvator Razaza living here?" I
asked.
" No Razaza. What you want come here.
Get out and shut up." And not very gently he
pushed me out.
So this was where they all went. So this was
what they were doing. Filling boxes with candy
when they had no bread to eat. Here was the
place where they buried their youth — the children
of the poor 1
The Children of the Poor 157
Outside I saw an old man grinding a hand
organ, but there were no children to dance
around him on the sidewalk. The street was
deserted.
" Rotten business," remarked the old fellow.
" No children. Me not know what the matt.
All the bambinos morte, sick? Sacre Madonna,"
the old man shook his head, packed up his organ
and thoughtfully went away, carrying his music
to other places, where the children are not pack-
ing candies in boxes while their stomachs are
empty. No, no, old man. The children are not
dead. They never die. " The children of the
poor never die," as Mrs. Barker puts it. They
pack candies, but the mystery was only half solved.
The rest was easy to get at, late at night, when
the children of the consumptive man came home.
They had to unburden themselves. All five were
working there — piece work, and they were mak-
ing as much as forty cents a day, the five of them
combined. More than a hundred were working
in that factory, while many other hundreds of
children worked in other factories which had
of late started in the neighbourhood. Willow
plumes, artificial flowers and packing candies were
the chief trades, while the making of cigarettes
and labelling of patent medicine bottles and boxes
occupied a minor position. On close investigation
I found that more than fifty per cent, of the peo-
158 Crimes of Charity
pie pensioned by charity had their children at work
in these murderous shops.
Through a ruse I obtained entrance to several
of them. It is so terrible, so unbelievable that
I keep from describing it, knowing beforehand
that you will say " exaggerated." One hundred
children in one room, windows and doors tightly
closed. So that the attention of people may not
be attracted the children must not talk, must not
sing. One little gas burner in the middle of the
room is all the light there is. The toilet is almost
always out of order. The piece work has so
sharpened their ambition that their little fingers
fly and they do not want to spare the time for
personal necessities. The little girls and boys
strong enough to keep back all these hours soon
get bladder diseases — while the weaker ones —
well, their clothes tell the tale. But the ladies
want willow plumes and artificial flowers and Miss
So and So has to be given a nice looking box of
candy by her beau. The rich men have to get
richer and give more money to the charity in-
stitutions, and hospitals must be endowed with mil-
lions and the sanatoriums for the poor consump-
tives and the cheap milk mission and the free
doctor — all this must be kept up and costs money
— and money must be made.
When I reported what I had found out I was
told by the Manager not to report it to the Fac-
The Children of the Poor 159
tory Inspectors, because it was so much better that
the children should train themselves from early
youth to shift for themselves and become self-
supporting, and that ultimately they would have
to go to work — what was the difference ? I was
told that I was not telling them anything new,
only I should find out who the children were work-
ing for and how much they were earning, so that
the pension could be reduced accordingly.
" But they are little tots," I argued.
" Well, they are all older than you think," I
was answered, " and idleness is so very danger-
ous."
" But the places are unsanitary," I further in-
sisted.
" They can't build special factories for them, it's
too costly in the first place, and secondly it would
make too much noise and they would not be per-
mitted to work."
" They will all get sick — consumptive," I said.
" Well, well, it is not so terrible. They have
a remarkable power of resistance, and if they do
get sick — we will take care of them. That's
what we are here for. Mr. Baer, you are an an-
archist."
Thus ended my Interview on behalf of the chil-
dren of the poor. I did something on my own
hook.
i6o Crimes of Charity
The result?
The factories were moved away to another
place. They could easily do it. They did not
build any special houses for the trade. Later on
I learned that one of the biggest concerns in wil-
low plumes did half of their work through out-
side contractors and that the price was so low that
no woman could make a living at it. The head
of this concern is one of the biggest philanthropists
and contributors to charities. Still he might not
knowl Just as the young lady does not know
from where her Christmas pleasure money comes
— and distraction is absolutely needed.
MOTHER AND SON
THERE was a boy about fourteen years of
age who would daily menace his widowed
mother with denouncing her to the " of-
fice." He terrorised the poor woman to such an
extent that she allowed him to do whatever he
wanted. He never went to school, he smoked,
he drank, he boxed, he went to all the moving
picture shows, and all this money he obtained
from his mother on the threat to tell the " office."
The great sin the woman had committed was that
she had remarried, a young man, and the groom
had decamped with two hundred and fifty dollars
that she had saved up in the seven or eight years
widowhood and beggary. The whole affair was a
secret to the institution, as the woman feared her
two dollars weekly pension would be discontinued
should they learn of the marriage.
I happened to visit the home one morning.
The boy was pacing the room, almost naked, a
cigarette hanging from the comer of his lower
lip, his face enraged, his eyes red, and as he paced
the room he cursed the mother, who was standing
at the stove preparing the food. And the lan-
i6i
j6z Crimes of Charity
guage he used! I heard all the curses of the
Bowery as I stood near the door.
" I'll fix you up, you old rag — cough up or I'll
smash your ivory."
When I knocked at the door he greeted me with
" What d'helld'you want?"
He had his mouth set for another greeting of
the same sort when I gently but firmly pushed his
insolent face back and entered.
The woman knew me and the boy probably
guessed my occupation, for he proceeded to coerce
his mother, motioning and making faces, as
though to say: "Yes, or I will telll" The
mother ignored his threats so he casually re-
marked: " Mrs. Carson 1 "
The woman made a sign that she would yield
and the boy dressed in a hurry.
I busied myself with my notebook all the time,
just throwing out a question once in a while.
When the boy was all dressed up he beckoned to
the mother to follow him into the other room.
She did so. I heard a suppressed curse and a
deep sigh. The boy came out first. As he
passed my chair I stood up and seizing his wrists
I asked: " Why don't you go to school? "
No answer.
" Why don't you go to work? "
No answer.
Mother and Son 163
" How dare you insult your mother the way you
do, you scoundrel? "
Instead of answering me he turned to his
mother.
" You squeaked — ha? That's what you did!
You old piece of rot."
Thus spoke a son to his mother. I felt the
blood rushing to my head and I struck the blas-
pheming mouth. He tried to fight back and even
took the pose, but I was too much for him. I
pinned his arms.
The mother had not moved. If anything she
was rather satisfied that the boy got his due.
Again the boy twisted around, and looking dag-
gers at his mother he said :
" You'll tell tales? Ha? and let this big stiff
hit me? And you'll stay there like a lamp post?
Ha! that's what you'll do? I'll croak you, I'll
put you right — wait ! "
" Do you know," he turned to me, "that — "
" George, George," the mother yelled and cov-
ered the boy's mouth with her open palm.
" I know it all," I interrupted. " I know that
your mother's name is Mrs. Carson."
The poor mother looked as though she had
been struck with an iron bar over the head.
" And now, my boy, give back the money you
forced from your mother a while ago." From
164 Crimes of Charity
his pocket the mother took out a dollar and some
cents. I compelled the boy to go to school, men-
acing him with everything I thought would scare
him, and obtained from him the promise that he
would go the next morning. But when I turned
to go, I saw the mother shivering as though in
the clutches of fever. She motioned me not to
go, then sat down and wept. Of course I knew
the reason for her tears. She was afraid her
pension would be cut off. She had lied to the in-
stitution. She had not told them of her unfor-
tunate remarriage. She was afraid of her son.
Why? Because, fearing that the investigator
might question her son she had been compelled
to lie to the boy and teach him to lie, and he grew
up with the knowledge that he could obtain any-
thing he wanted from his mother with the threat
of telling the truth. The child grew up a black-
mailer. The system of organised charity made
him one.
And how many, how many similar occurrences
have led to similar results? How many men in
stripes could trace their downfall to the " ques-
tion room " of the Investigator !
As to this particular boy — he went to school
for a few weeks but his street habits corrupted
the other children, and he was expelled. For a
time he sold newspapers on the streets, then he
gradually sank lower and lower and was later on
Mother and Son 165
sent to a reformatory to expiate a minor offence
and from there he will be discharged a graduated
criminal.
Webster says : " A university is an assem-
blage of colleges established in any place, with
professors for instructing students in the sciences
and other branches of learning, and where degrees
are conferred. A university is properly a uni-
versal school, in which are taught all branches of
learning, or the four faculties of theology, medi-
cine, law, and the science and arts."
I know universities where the students are not
instructed in the sciences and other branches of
learning, and where degrees of a different kind
are conferred on the students; a university where
other objects than theology, medicine, law and the
sciences and arts are taught.
Burglary, blackmailing, safe-blowing, murder
and other applied sciences and arts are taught
there.
The professors are incomparably superior to
the ones in the colleges; they are men with great
experience and they impart their knowledge to
their pupils without charging fees. They do it
for love.
In the underworld the Reformatory is called
" the university." And one who knew, one day
remarked to me: "If they (meaning the good
citizens) had wanted to create a school where
1 66 Crimes of Charity
crime should be taught they could not have done
better than by fixing up a Reformatory. They
get a real training there, pass through a sound
apprenticeship and are masters of their particular
branch when they come out."
CLIPPING WINGS OF LITTLE BIRDS
' AN]
A
* ' ^ ND where does she go every day? "
" In town."
" Does she stay out late at night? "
" I don't know."
" Do men come often to the house? "
" Sometimes."
"Is she sometimes drunk? I mean, does she
use whisky? Is there whisky in the house? "
" Not that I know of."
" Does she smoke cigarettes? "
" No."
" Is she visiting the moving picture houses? "
" No — never."
To whom are these questions put? To the
children of the poor. The " she " referred to Is
the mother, and the child Is often not older than
eight years, and sometimes younger. And who
puts the questions? The investigators, of course.
On the Information of a neighbour that Mrs.
S. " eats meat every day and goes to the moving
pictures," a widow's pension was cut off and she
was submitted to the test.
A few days later, when the mattress and broken
167
i68 Crimes of Charity
chairs were on the street the woman was in the
office crying, tearing her hair and beating her
heart. She begged the Manager, she begged the
investigator — " Pity — pity — have pity on me
and my children." But they turned a deaf ear.
When the poor woman got beyond control the
janitor was called to help and he made it short.
He put her out.
For more than an hour she sat outside on the
steps. Then suddenly she got up and disap-
peared. A half hour after she was back again,
but not alone. She had brought her three chil-
dren— a little boy of five and two girls, one
seven and the other nine years old. She wanted
to go in, but the janitor, acting on the orders
given, did not let her pass the door. When she
once had put her foot between sill and door he
simply beat her off. Her screams and cries could
have melted a heart of stone, but not that of a
janitor of a charity institution. They are picked
men, of a special brand.
I spoke to the investigator and tried to convince
her that the test had gone far enough, but she was
not satisfied.
" That woman," she said, " is acting — acting
her part. I am not going to be taken in. No,
she would not fool me."
Then suddenly she ran out and through the open
door I saw how she literally tore away the three
Clipping Wings of Little Birds 169
children from their mother's hands and when the
mother wanted to follow her little ones the door
was slammed and caught the fingers of the unfor-
tunate woman. She screamed, the children
screeched and all the other applicants ran to the
door, wailing, crying — but the investigator or-
dered them all away. Only the janitor finally took,
pity and brought a wet towel to wrap around the
injured hand. However, she was not let in.
The investigator dragged the three little ones
away to her room.
I don't know why I was under the impression
of seeing a wolf carrying away three little chicks
to his den.
She brought them to her room and when she
saw me coming she slammed the door and re-
mained alone with them. From outside I heard
the children crying and the questioning intonation
of their torturer. She changed her tactics every
minute. First she was sweet and promising, then
loud and menacing, then again persuading, con-
vincing, suddenly threatening, intimidating — a
real Scarpia in petticoats.
Meanwhile the mother stood outside, a wet
towel on her arm, crying and beating with her
head the heavy closed door. It was the hour
when the " committee " was going home. An au-
tomobile stopped at the door and the Manager
majestically descended the broad stone steps,
lyo Crimes of Charity
seated himself comfortably on the cushioned seat,
buttoned his coat and beckoned to the driver. A
few seconds later he was enveloped in a cloud of
dust.
After all, why not speak simply? From where
all that money? Even if it is only from the sal-
ary, does it not prove that he is getting too much?
Isn't that money destined to pay for other things
than gasoline, and a liveried chauffeur? Has
any one of those that bequeathed a certain amount
of money to an institution written in his will that
a proportion of the money shall go for gasoline,
liveried chauffeurs and high salaries? Of course,
a certain amount of money is necessary for ex-
penses, but is there no reason to feel that there
is " something rotten in Denmark " when A Little
Mothers' Association gives out a report that
around eighty per cent, of the total amount of
money was spent on office work, salaries and in-
vestigators and only twenty per cent, went to the
poor? The reason they give is that they prefer
to spend fifty dollars on investigating before giv-
ing five dollars, for fear of giving to the unde-
serving, and that the large amount of money spent
on salaries, etc., shows the good and thorough
work of the institution. Then why not be con-
sistent and spend the whole amount the same
way? It will show still better work, greater effi-
ciency. Why not put up a sign: "This insti-
Clipping Wings of Little Birds 171
tution is founded with the object not to give char-
ity," or call it " The Society to Prevent Pauperi-
sation of the Poor." But this does not pay. No
fool will give money for such a purpose. I fore-
see a day when the poor will protest that their
names and qualifications should not be used to ob-
tain money under false pretences — a day when
the poor will elect from whom they want to re-
ceive charity.
But to come back to the wolf. After a quarter
of an hour another young woman, usually at work
at the desk, quit her chair and went into the room.
She was all excited, as one might be before the
curtain rises on the scene when the villain is killed.
She moved around on her chair, bit her nails,
squeezed her fingers, broke nibs — the wolf
smelling a rabbit. She at last could not resist
temptation, so she entered the room. And then
I heard both their voices. Another Investigator
appeared. She was the oldest in the place, and
reputed to be a marvel. (She afterwards ob-
tained a position in the Juvenile Court — " the
right place for the right woman.")
" What's the matter In there? " she asked the
office boy.
" Clipping wings of little birds," he answered
laconically.
It was the first time I had ever heard a sen-
tence which so well characterised the work.
172 Crimes of Charity
The old *' maman " hardly had patience to
throw off her coat when she rushed into the fray.
After a short lull during which the three con-
ferred probably, the old cove took charge of one
of the little ones, and went Into another room.
The whole thing lasted more than an hour and
was given up as unsuccessful. The children were
thrust out to the mother. She was ordered to
come to-morrow.
The three women seated themselves together
and the younger one, thinking of the great ex-
ploits of the police detectives, Sherlock Holmes
stories, remarked:
" A regular third degree."
The janitor, very interested in charity affairs,
asked: *' Did you sweat them? "
The old " maman " thought deeply for a few
moments then she exclaimed with feeling:
" Come to think of it, they refused my candy I
Isn't that a sign that they had enough of it, that
they get candy every day? "
" Of course," joined the two, " it certainly is
so — children to refuse candy! Who ever heard
of it?"
" When are they coming to-morrow? "
" In the morning."
** Well, I will try to help you in this affair.
I don't think they are deserving."
Clipping Wings of Little Birds 173
As she went to write her report she kept on
saying :
" A nice bunch — a nice bunch."
Presently the office boy approached, chewing
gum.
" Confessed, condemned to the electric chair? "
he asked.
THE ORPHAN HOME
1WAS ushered into the private room of the
superintendent of the Orphan Home.
After a few moments' introductory talk he
brought me down to the kitchen — a large, spa-
cious room with all the modern cooking parapher-
nalia. The cook presided over the stove, on
which were a dozen pots. Three pale little girls
were pealing potatoes.
From there we went to the dressmaking room,
where half a dozen girls under the supervision
of an expert were making dresses, shirts, sheets
and all the other linen of the house. Though it
was a beautiful spring day they had to use gas
light, the room was so dark. The superintendent
noticing my gaze fixed on the burning light, ex-
plained :
" It is not too dark here, but you can't make
them understand that artificial light is bad for the
eyes. It's a pity to waste money on gas, but you
can't do everything just right."
From the dressmaking room he led me to the
dining room, which was a very large, light room,
with one big white marble table in the centre.
174
The Orphan Home 175
Little girls were busy setting the table for the
noon meal. Soon the bell rang and a hundred
pair of tripping feet followed the call to lunch.
In a few moments they were all sitting around the
table. A big cauldron of soup was brought and
the bowls filled with the steaming food. A hun-
dred little mouths munched and chattered and
whispered, the older girls supervising the younger
ones, the stronger ones often getting the slice of
bread belonging to the weaker.
One of the " old ones " approached the super-
intendent and told him : " Clara Morris does not
eat."
"Why? "he asked.
" She cries, sir," the girl answered.
" Bring her to my office," he ordered.
Then he turned to me and explained : " The
new ones don't assimilate readily. There is es-
pecial difficulty in the matter of food. Their
taste has been spoiled with spicy food and they
can't eat the simple, wholesome food we give them
here. The first few days they don't eat at all,
but when they get good and hungry they fall to
it like the rest. And they eat — oh ! they eat.
If you could see the bills for food for a month
you would gasp. A fortune is spent. The fruit
bill alone is above three hundred dollars a month.
They get all the fruits of the season, but they
would prefer pickles and sour tomatoes. I tell
176 Crimes of Charity
you for some of them it's lucky their parents
died. I shudder to think what would have be-
come of them." As he was speaking the office
girl called him to the telephone. I went straight
to the child who refused to eat and asked her why
she refused the food. It was the child of an ap-
plicant and she knew me.
" I can't eat it — it tastes bad. See for your-
self.'»
I took a spoonful of the supposed lentil soup
and tasted. It smelt and tasted like dishwater.
Of lentils it had only the colour and the name.
Then I tasted the meat and the pudding, and un-
derstood why they had to be hungry for a few
days before they could touch it. I looked at the
faces of the children. All ghastly pale, with bent
shoulders and fallen-in chests and toothpick legs
— only the eyes were living, the feverish, longing
eyes of the people of woe.
The children ate the bread, some chewed a
bone, alternating with a bite from a quarter of an
apple, the fruit of the season, and as an extra
treat, because I was there, two dates were given
to each. Once in a while a little tragedy would
happen. A big one would take away a slice of
bread from a small one, and the protests of the
robbed were stilled with threats and pinches.
"When is your happiest time here?" I asked
one of the girls.
The Orphan Home 177
" Every six weeks," she answered.
"Why so?"
" Because then I am in the kitchen for two days
and can eat as much as I want."
Soon the superintendent came again, and as he
insisted on my visiting the classes while at work
he invited me to lunch with his family. I was in-
troduced to the lady of the house — who in turn
introduced me to their daughter, a young Miss of
twenty, with round, healthy body and rosy cheeks
and stupid eyes. Mr. Marcel talked all the time,
explaining to me how ungrateful the children of
the poor are. I was seated directly opposite him
at table and had an opportunity of studying him
at close range. For the first time I remarked his
gluttonous lips and round, protruding belly. He
followed every plate with his eyes and ceremoni-
ously pushed his sleeves back before he carved, as
though officiating at a holy rite. The more he ate
the more he wanted, and seeing such a luncheon
and the fruit at the table I quite believed that
" The fruit bill alone was three hundred dollars
a month."
I turned to the girl and asked :
"How do you like living here? "
It s nice.
" She is practically born here," the mother ex-
plained.
" Then you went to school here," I asked.
178 Crimes of Charity
" Oh, no — no — " all three, father, mother
and daughter protested in chorus. " We would
not place our child with them," the mother said
indignantly, while the father, who was so shocked
that he stopped eating his pudding, said :
" One is willing to sacrifice his own life, but
one has no right to do so with one's child."
After luncheon Mr. Marcel delivered himself
of the following lecture.
" That's the big mistake of the people outside.
They don't seem to realise that in an orphan home
you have the scum of the population. The very
fact that their parents died young and poor is a
proof of the bad root they grow from. Most of
the time the father or mother or both have been
drunkards, sick and idle. Idleness is a disease
and an hereditary one. Why are they poor? be-
cause they are degenerates. A healthy man is
never poor. Why are they sick? Because they
are careless and dirty. Why do they die young
if it is not because they are degenerates and care-
less and dirty? We get their children. They all
have bad habits, bad characters, are insolent and
indolent, and they all long for the street, the free
street. This desire for the free street is terrible.
We have here a splendid garden — have a look
through the window, sir — a splendid garden is
it not? It's my greatest pleasure! They want
the gutter. We have a tremendous work to do,
The Orphan Home 179
and I am happy to be partially successful. We
break them of their evil habits, curb their insolence
and teach them order and submission, order and
submission, order and submission," he repeated.
The heavy meal soon told on the gentleman and
his speech lost its clarity and his tongue stuck in
his mouth. He was soon dozing in his chair and
I was saved from the awkward position by Mrs.
Marcel who gave me the freedom of the place,
while explaining that Mr. Marcel was working
very hard and was always tired at that hour.
I went down to the garden. There wasn't a
child there. One of the teachers sat on a bench
reading a paper.
" Excuse me, madame, but why don't the chil-
dren use the garden? "
" They are not allowed, sir."
I soon saw them pass out from the refectory to
the classroom, like little mourners coming from
the cemetery where their parents were buried.
There are one hundred children, all girls, between
the ages of seven and fourteen. In five hours'
time I did not hear one laugh, did not see one
smile. All have but one hope. To reach the
age of fourteen and then be placed. It matters
not where nor to what work! The main thing
is to get out of the *' box " as the children call it.
But only six out of ten reach the age of fourteen.
The hospital is the anteroom of the grave.
i8o Crimes of Charity
When I spoke of the great proportion of sick
among the children and of the pallor of all, the
superintendent explained :
" You must not forget that these are not nor-
mal children. They are the offspring of degen-
erates — of the poor."
In all the world, in all the charitable institu-
tions, poverty is a crime. Thus are the children,
the orphans, treated like little would-be criminals
and every move is regarded with suspicion. Not
half of the money given for their food is spent on
food and not a half that is given for their clothing
is spent for them. The whole institution is a
shame and the man who thought he was perform-
ing a good deed when he left a bequest to shelter
the children of the poor is cursed instead of being
blessed.
And the devil sits on the stove and says:
" This is the best place that man ever built for
me.
This was a model Orphan Home. I have
since visited other places and found everywhere
the same situation, with little variations. The con-
ditions in a Paris house are no better than those
in Chicago, and the children are not more un-
happy in Montreal than In Berlin. The children
of the poor, the orphans, are everywhere little
criminals that Mr. Levy, Monsieur Albert, Mr.
Marcel or Herr Grun has to " tame and teach
The Orphan Home i8l
submission." The wish of all the children is to
get rid in some way of the *' box." (This word
is used by all the orphans all over the world to
designate their home. It is characteristic and
shows how suffering is international and conveys
to all the same designation of a certain evil.)
The girls by getting married or becoming servants.
Oh! They don't intend to stay married to the
man the institution procures for them. Generally
It is an old widower who applies for one, to " make
happy a poor orphan." She will not stay with
him and her vow is worth nothing — is a subter-
fuge to escape. And if she goes as a servant it
is also only to get out into the world where she
will soon fall a victim to the first snare, on account
of her inexperience and broken spirit, and her fear
of returning to the " box."
Never has the orphan house been described as
well as Marguerite Audoux has done it in her
" Marie Claire." There, too, you see what the
children miss — bread and love — and that what
they most want is freedom. The day one of the
girls goes away all the others are sad — sad to
live between those four walls. The friendship
of the cook is one's greatest asset. One can get
an extra piece of meat or an apple or a slice of
bread. All the while tens of thousands of dollars
are given, gardens are made where the children
must not enter and food is prepared which the chil-
1 82 Crimes of Charity
dren do not eat. Holidays are celebrated and the
children are tortured to learn some platitude which
they must recite to please the ladies and gentlemen
who come to honour the house with their presence.
But down in their souls the children hate the whole
game. They are not fooled — they know. And
one girl confided to me the following :
" There are busts in clay and marble and paint-
ings of all that have started and contributed to
this institution. In the centre hall is a white
stone plate with the names engraved in gold.
Well, every morning I walk up to each and every
one and tell him my opinion of his deed. I can
hardly keep my fist back from the bust of the one
who founded this ' box.' And to the plate, that
plate with names engraved in gold — morning
and night I say, ' Damn you all.' It's my
prayer."
This voices the feeling of all the children.
My visit to the Orphan Asylum was due to the
following fact.
Mrs. D., a widow, had two children, two girls,
one seven and one ten. When her husband died
she placed both children in the Orphan Home.
After a few months the younger one died there
and Mrs. D. took the other one home. All the
charitable institutions did their utmost to get the
child back to the institution, but in vain. The
The Orphan Home 183
mother maintained that the death of her child
was due to the negligence of the people in charge
there. She said this openly, although she needed
assistance. The child, too, would not return, and
whenever the name of the institution was men-
tioned would cling to the mother's apron. The
office was afraid that the reputation of the insti-
tution would be damaged and so they used every
effort to combat the mother's decision. The
whole officialdom was very nice and gentle to the
widow. Help was freely given, and they even
spoke of buying her a candy store, on condition
that she free herself of the child. When this
course did not produce the desired effect the Man-
ager explained to her that the child would stand
in the way of her remarriage, that she was young
and had a right to live, etc., etc. When he
wanted, the silken gentleman knew how to use
unctuous language. But the mother instinct was
stronger than the desire for money, for happiness
— stronger than hunger.
Finally supplies were cut off. It was expected
that hunger, " King Hunger," would settle every-
thing. And " King Hunger " did settle it. Two
months later two lines in a newspaper spoke about
his success. She was found dead with her child
lying near her. The gas-jet was open and the
coroner is investigating whether it was an accident
or suicide.
184 Crimes of Charity
I give only the outlines of this miserable affair.
It did not go as smoothly as it appears on paper.
The visits of the mother, the change of tactics,
the cries of the child whenever some one ap-
proached her. The horror of it alll And the
talk of the people at the office. From the Man-
ager to the janitor — cold-blooded murderers.
And the threats and taunts and insults. And to-
day, when I look back at it all, I think of my visit
to this and all the other orphan houses, and I am of
the opinion that this mother did not do a bad thing.
She had more courage than many others. If they
all knew, as this mother did, and if they all were
as sincere and truthful to their children. Death
would always be preferable to the wreck of what
remains. Then, and only then, would the eyes
of the world be opened. Then would everything
be clear -< — clear — that no man could with one
hand ruin health and spirit, through factory and
workshop and adulterated food, dark and dirty
tenement houses and Wall Street speculation, and
with another hand give donations of a few dollars
to palliate the evil he had created.
Or Is this perhaps a new interpretation of
Christ's words : " Let not thy left hand know
what thy right hand doeth " ?
WHY THEY GIVE
AMONG the chief contributors to a charita-
ble institution are two gentlemen manu-
facturers. One a Mr. W., the other a
Mr. M. D.
In the clothing factory of Mr. W. about four
hundred workers, men, women and children, are
employed. There the lowest wages are paid and
a task system, combined with subcontracting and
piece work, compels the workers to start at five
in the morning, and if you pass at midnight you
will still see the lights burning and hear the heavy
rolling of the machines.
In the Summer of 19 13 the manufacturer took
a trip to Europe, and when he returned in Sep-
tember he found a considerable financial depres-
sion. His men were employed only part of the
time; many were discharged altogether. The
average pay of the men was three dollars to four
dollars per week, the women and girls one dollar
and one dollar and fifty cents. The Jewish holy
days approached and as all the worklngmen, as
well as their employers, were Jews, they were nat-
urally very much worried how the holy days were
185
1 86 Crimes of Charity
to be kept. Two weeks before the Day of Atone-
ment Mr. W. called into his office a few of his
men and delivered himself of the following :
" Boys, the holy days are coming. I am a Jew,
a good Jew, and thought that you all must be very
anxious to get some more money in your pay en-
velopes so that you may buy clothes for your
women and children, and I have decided to see
that you all have plenty of work during the fol-
lowing weeks."
The men cheered Mr. W.
" But," he continued, " on one condition, by
reducing your prices fifteen per cent. Times are
hard. I have had enormous expenses. The holy
days are approaching. I have no doubt that all
of you are good Jews and would not want to
shame your faith, so I hope that all is agreeable
to you and you can start to-morrow under the new
condition."
Naturally the men refused and assembled in
the halls of their union. The leaders of that
organisation could not believe that Mr. W. had
said what the men reported, though they knew the
gentleman very well, and they went to the manu-
facturer to get an explanation. I was then the
Secretary of a Tailor's Union. The result of the
conference was that Mr. W. repeated what he had
said to his men and added that he saw that this
was the best opportunity to cut wages.
Why They Give 187
" They are all Jews — they will need money
for the holy days, so they have to submit. It's
my best chance."
It so happened that the men kept well together
and did not return to work. They struck. Win-
ter set in very early that cursed year, but the men
and women stood hunger and cold rather than
submit to such conditions. Weeks and weeks
passed and Mr. W. made no effort to settle with
his men. We knew he had plenty of work. We
knew he was sending work to be done in the coun-
try places at ridiculously low prices. Still we
knew that there was work he could not send out.
None of the men returned to work; none of the
other tailors worked there. We watched, and
one day we got hold of a newly arrived immigrant
with a letter in his hand.
" Where are you going? " one of the pickets
asked him, and innocently the man showed his
letter. A letter from the charity organisation to
the manufacturer in which he was told that the
man had just come over, " and will, let us hope,
prove to be of the right kind."
The original is in the safe of Local 209 of the
United Garment Workers of America.
And then we learned that daily the institution
sent men to break the strike, to help the manufac-
turer who contributed a certain sum yearly to
charity because it costs less to do this than to use
1 88 Crimes of Charity
a strike-breakers' agency. With the help of these
institutions the men were beaten. For thirty
weeks through the cruel winter of 19 13 they re-
mained on strike. When the temperature de-
scended to thirty below zero men, women and chil-
dren stood naked and hungry. Illness killed them
by the dozen. Some of the young girls went on
the streets, and the charity institution sent the in-
coming and ignorant immigrants to the manufac-
turer, who worked them sixteen hours a day for
five dollars or six dollars a week.
" Men, what are you doing? " I asked the man-
agers of the institution. " You are supposed to
help the poor, the suffering, and not the manu-
facturers."
" Yes," I was answered, " but this institution
exists through the bounty of the rich and they are
the first to be considered."
" Then this is a strike-breaking agency? "
" Call It what you will."
Then we went to the manufacturer.
** Have you no heart? You know that the cost
of living is going up. How can you reduce
wages? "
The answer was : *' First I am a business man,
and as such I must try to reduce the cost of pro-
duction. I saw my opportunity. As to the high
cost of living, I am convinced that the chief reason
for this Is the high cost of production, and In
Why They Give 189
reducing the wages of the men I lower the cost
of production." Of course with such brutes dis-
cussion is useless. But his parting words are in-
teresting :
" Believe me, sir, I suffer to see my men in
misery. You know I am a heavy contributor to
charity."
It was too much for me.
One more point in regard to the outcome of the
strilce. A certain influential man of the city suc-
ceeded in bringing about a settlement through
arbitration. The workers selected two men, the
manufacturer another two and the editor of a
Jewish newspaper presided. Mr. W. as well as
the workers agreed to submit to whatever the arbi-
tration committee should decide. On the third
day a settlement was reached and the men sent
back to work, but when they arrived at the shops
hired toughs and detectives cruelly assaulted
the starved tailors. Many were carried to hos-
pitals and others were arrested. The manu-
facturer himself denied that he had ever agreed
to submit to an arbitration committee, though he
had given his signature to a typewritten agree-
ment.
Mr. M. D., the other gentleman manufacturer
mentioned, is one of the richest men in the coun-
try. He is a cigar manufacturer. For a long
time he was the president of a charitable organlsa-
190 Crimes of Charity
tion and is a heavy contributor to every form of
charity.
In the teeth of winter, 19 14, he reduced the
wages of his workingmen twenty-five per cent.
None of the English papers said a word, not a
word in the Jewish one, because the gentleman
took the precaution to be a shareholder in the
publication. The result? A few more dead; a
few more on the street; a few more in the hos-
pital; a few more dollars to charity.
And that splendid gentleman, Mr. G., who put
eight dollars in Amy's pay envelope, a girl seven-
teen years old, and when Amy returned the money,
saying that only three dollars and sixty cents was
due her he said : " Well, well, for the rest of
the money I want a kiss," and he took it, and Amy
is on the street now.
And Mr. G. ? Ye poor of the land don't for-
get him in your daily prayers. He helps the
widow and the orphan.
In a controversy about white slavery I main-
tained that the chief reason was the low wages
paid to the girls, and this gentleman had the au-
dacity to state publicly that the real reason was the
high wage ($3) paid to them; that they get used
to luxury. A week after his statement a girl
found in a house of ill fame and brought before
the Judge frankly stated that she could not live on
$3 per week and that this was the chief reason
Why They Give 191
for her downfall. Did Mr. G. not himself pay
$4.40 (the difference between $3.60 and $8.00)
for a kiss? But that's why they give money to
charities. To be shielded, to be helped in case of
a strike, to procure a talisman.
THE KITCHEN
THERE was no work to be had anywhere in
the winter of 19 13-14. The C. P. R.
and G. T. R. had discharged men by the
hundreds. Factories had shut down, stores
closed. Hundreds, nay, thousands, were starv-
ing. What had happened? A financial depres-
sion! Over-valuation, speculation and other ex-
planations could not still the hunger of the poor
and their families. The cost of living and rent
went up, and nature seemed to help the rich.
What a winter !
Some good-hearted men started a campaign
for a kitchen where the hungry could get a com-
plete meal for 5 cents. No sooner was the cam-
paign started and the necessary fund covered, the
kitchen well started, when hundreds of men and
women went there to satisfy their hunger. Nat-
urally enough, among the chief contributors were
the same Mr. W. and Mr. M. D. as well as other
manufacturers. My suspicions were aroused. I
found there men, newly arrived immigrants, that
an Immigrants' Aid Society had sent to work at
certain places. They naturally displaced other
192
The Kitchen 193
better paid men, and ridiculously low wages were
paid.
" And how do you live on two or three dollars
per week? " I asked.
" Oh, I don't spend it all," I was answered.
*' I send a portion of my wages home to my wife
and children to Russia," said one.
" How do you live, then? "
" We eat at the Folks' Kitchen," was the
answer.
And there and then I found that nine men out
of every ten eating there were employed by one of
the other of the manufacturers who contributed
to the fund of the kitchen. Any wonder the pro-
ject immediately materialised? And not only
have they given money but the rich send their
wives and daughters to serve the poor.
In investigating the cases of those that applied
for clothes for their children, the charities elimi-
nated those whose fathers or mothers were on
strike at the factories of W. or M. D. — " Fortu-
nate he who can know the causes of things."
I took this kitchen as a sample. Those in other
cities, cosmopolitan centres, are the same. Take
the Baron de Rothschild kitchen in Paris. Aside
from the fact that the food given there is rotten,
that the potatoes served are alcoholised, the bread
green with mould and the meat unspeakably odor-
ous, aside from all this, a swarm of little sweat-
194 Crimes of Charity
shop keepers are continually around the kitchen
where they engage cheap labour.
Cheap! Ye gods. I have tried it myself.
They paid me 20 cents a day for fourteen hours'
work in an umbrella and cane factory. I worked
there a full week and was not the only one. Next
to my bench, in front and across, all over, newly
arrived men and boys were polishing the sticks,
rubbing them so hard that the hands bled. A
brother of the manufacturer was watching and
driving.
" Come on, come on."
Then in the evening they all ran to the kitchen
to get their meal. When they found out I was
not green, I was immediately discharged. They
wanted only ignorant men, newly arrived men.
Down in the painting room they employed
girls. It was more a house of prostitution than
a working room. The poor ignorant girls, har-
vested from the kitchen, were debauched while
they painted canes and polished handles.
So many of these sweatshops grew around the
kitchen that rent rose in the neighbourhood. Still
a bookbinding concern found it convenient to aban-
don a lease of years and move the whole factory
to where it was nearer the blessed spot. More
than half of the men working around never re-
ceived more than one dollar per day and when
they went on strike it was an easy matter to fill
The Kitchen 195
their places with the people of the dung hill.
In my presence a prospective manufacturer, dis-
cussing the merits of different localities for his
plant, was willing to pay $80 per month more for
one site than the other because it was in the neigh-
bourhood of the kitchen. He would have cheaper
labour. He did underbid all the other contractors
and prospered and is an influential member of or-
ganised charity to-day.
The small manufacturer advises his men where
to get cheap meals. At the kitchen. Cheap
kitchens for the poor? Cheap kitchens are for
the rich. Kitchens I A place where the spiders
spread their web to catch the hungry flies — to
suck their blood.
CHOCOLATE
INVESTIGATING in Paris (France) the con-
ditions of charity institutions I was struck
by one particularly funny custom which pre-
vailed in one of them. After the applicant had
been tortured and questioned until he would pre-
fer death to a renewal of the ordeal he was given
as many packages of chocolates as he had chil-
dren, chocolate of the best kind, also a certain
amount of meat and bread tickets. On the back
of each ticket was written the stores where he
could exchange it for meat or bread.
One of the investigators, having told me that
" they " sold these tickets, especially the meat
tickets, I decided to find out the reason for this.
I stationed myself in a butcher's shop around the
Place de la Bastile, whose name and address was
on the back of a ticket. Until lo A. m. I had not
seen a single ticket coming and I was already
drawing certain conclusions when I saw a woman
coming in. She laid down on the table five francs'
worth of tickets and got two francs in exchange.
Then another and another one came and all re-
ceived forty per cent, of the value. Why ?
196
Chocolate 197
The next day I obtained a few tickets myself,
and going into another butcher shop whose ad-
dress was also marked on the back of the ticket I
ordered four pounds of meat. Politely the man
served me, and when he had tied up the parcel
nicely, I tendered him the tickets. The man got
red with rage and brusquely snatched the parcel,
put his meat back on the nails, then, still without
speaking a word, only looking daggers at me, he
proceeded to scrape together all the spoiled pieces
and bones he could find. This he weighed, and
wrapping it up in a piece of dirty paper he handed
it to me with the remark: " That's good enough
for you."
" But, sir," I said, " you get paid for meat and
not for scraps and bones."
" Clear out, clear out, you pauper," he yelled.
" What impudence — what impudence." And to
a new customer who had just come in he explained,
" These paupers are getting impossible to deal
with."
He pushed me out and I had to get rid of my
parcel at the gutter. The odour of it was sicken-
ing. But then I understood why they were ex-
changing tickets for forty per cent, of the face
value. With the money thus obtained they could
get a piece of meat elsewhere — a piece of meat
that was eatable.
These tickets are paid to the butcher less ten
198 Crimes of Charity
per cent, every first of the month. Why are
tickets given instead of money for meat, for
bread? There must be a reason. There must
be some one interested. They are quite abund-
antly given. Very little ready cash. Blankets,
shoes, aprons, meat tickets, bread tickets. Then
think of the little consideration shown the feelings
of the poor. Why advertise him as a pauper
everywhere, at the butcher's and baker's?
As to the chocolate, I learned that a certain
rich lady had bequeathed a certain amount of
money specially for this purpose, namely, that
chocolate of a certain brand should be given to
the children of the poor. The good old lady
must have loved sweetmeats herself very much
and she evidently thought that there was no
greater misfortune than to miss the sweet bite.
Bless her poor soul 1
OUT OF THEIR CLUTCHES
DURING the Lawrence strike, In the win-
ter of 1911-12, the striking weavers
deemed it proper to send away their chil-
dren to comrades in other places. The men and
women understood that the children should be
kept away from the carnage then going on.
Arrangements were soon completed and the
children sent away to New York in charge of a
few reliable people. But on the second transport
the charities took a hand in the proceedings and
compelled the Mayor and the Sheriff to stop the
exodus. The pretext was that the children were
being taken away from their mothers, to whom
they belonged, and who should take care of them.
To intimidate the workers a few of the parents
were arrested and kept under lock and key " to
show an example."
No human being could forget the spectacle
when the poor little ones arrived. Pale, haggard,
starved, cold, naked, with shoes torn, bareheaded,
they passed along Fifth Avenue. The ladies and
gentlemen lined themselves on the edge of the
sidewalk. A woman kept a pet dog in her arms
199
200 Crimes of Charity
and when she saw a little girl shivering she cud-
dled the animal to her body.
Could any one forget the first meal the children
had. It looked as though they would eat up the
spoons and forks. They were afterwards dis-
tributed to those who applied for them, to keep
them until the strike was over.
It looks very reasonable, does It not? Not to
organised charity. They, who insult and torture,
got busy and investigated and reported to the
Gerry Society. Got the papers busy on the sub-
ject and made life miserable for every one who
had a Lawrence child. Were they afraid that the
workers had wakened up to their own misery?
Were they afraid organised charity was going out
of business? Were they afraid to lose the fat
positions, or was it simply the mania for investi-
gating? Simply the desire to augment the quan-
tity of records? The most pressing local cases
were put aside. Everybody was employed get-
ting the children of Lawrence into the clutches of
organised charity. They met with very little suc-
cess, but to me, who knew them thoroughly, their
cant of " protect the children,*' was disgusting.
One of the boys was found alone in a working-
man's home. The investigator got busy with so
many questions and insinuations (he was Italian
and the people keeping him were Jews) that the
poor boy ran away, fearing his life was in danger.
Out of Their dutches 201
The Jews needed his blood ! He wandered aim-
lessly on the street. A policeman noticed him,
brought him to the station, the reporters got a
story :
" The child ran away because he was ill
treated." He was ill treated by the investigator
who poisoned his soul. They wanted the children
of the Lawrence strikers in their clutches, in the
clutches of charity. Thank God, they were saved.
" THE HOME »
THE husband dead and she left with four
small children, the woman had to apply to
charity. An investigator was sent and
she found the family on the verge of starvation.
As she was speaking to the applicant an old man,
with grey beard and bent shoulders, came in.
"Who is he?"
" My father," the widow answered.
Further questions brought out the fact that the
old man had lived in his daughter's house since
his wife died; that he was too weak and old to
earn his living and consequently fed on his daugh-
ter's fare. The investigator insinuated that the
old man would have to be placed in a *' Home."
The widow cried and vowed that she would never
part with her father, and the children surrounded
their grandfather as though he was in actual dan-
ger of his life. The result was to be foreseen.
A week's hunger brought the widow to the office,
where she agreed to part with her father, so that
her children might live.
The old man took no active part in the contro-
versy concerning his future. Apathetic, he would
203
" The Home " 203
sit near the open window and read the Psalms.
He said no word when his daughter announced to
him what the outcome was. A few minutes later
he asked: "When am I to go?" Then he
packed his belongings, the " Tefilin " prayer
books, and was ready.
Thus are the people of woe ready to wander.
He has been in many lands and many a time he
has had to leave his abode, go from east to
west, north to south.
That very night he slept in the " Home."
Home I the most horrible word for the poor.
Home I The whole world calls home the place
where one lives. For the poor, the old ones who
cannot work any longer, " the Home " is the place
where they die. It's the place that stamps them,
brands them as eternal paupers. It's the crown-
ing glory of a life of work, manual work. I
know you will say: " What else could we do with
the poor, incapable of earning their living? "
But now come with me down to a few " homes."
Don't become ecstatic over the beauty of the lawn
in front of the house, nor admire the cleanliness
of the kitchen. Come down to look at the men.
Do you see this old man there? The one with
flowing white beard and bushy eyebrows? That
old Jew has made chairs and tables all his life,
has made your chair, too, and his neighbour there
— the one with trembling hands — he has worked
204 Crimes of Charity
on coats and overcoats, enough for thousands.
Look at his hands now. They tremble. Look at
your coat. The seam is straight, you want a
straight seam. He is here now, in a Home.
Look at them all. They have worked all their
lives long.
" Come here, old man. What is your trade? "
" A furrier."
" Old man, what is your trade? "
" A tinsmith."
" And yours? and yours? and yours? "
*' Tailor, dressmaker, machinist "^ — every trade
is represented.
The veterans of industry. The temple of In-
valids.
The widow's father lived there only two months.
I saw him buried in the cold ground. An old
man from the Home stood near the grave.
" I wish to be buried right here," he said.
"Why?"
" I got used to him — we were neighbours.
His bed was next to mine."
" What was the matter with the old Baruch? "
I asked.
*' The servants did not like him," he answered.
" Was he ill? I mean old Baruch."
" No, the servants did not like him."
" But that's no reason for a man to die I "
The old man looked at me from under his
"The Home" 205
bushy eyebrows. His look said plainly : " You
stupid ass." Then he turned away from me and
mingled with the other people. He avoided me
when I approached him.
On the next day I visited the Home again. It
was meal time. They all sat around a big table,
much like the one I had seen at the orphanage.
In the orphanage are fatherless children, in the
Homes childless fathers. They sat around the
table and tried to chew what was on their plates.
Their toothless mouths worked in vain. When
the superintendent remarked to me that most of
them have stomach ailments and I suggested that
a dentist examine their teeth the lady could not
stifle her laughter. She was herself a woman of
sixty and her mouth was in perfect condition — it
was the dentist's work of course.
After the meal was over I tried very hard to
get some of the old men to talk. They had noth-
ing to say — this was the answer I got from a
few.
"Are you satisfied here?" I asked, to which
one fine looking old fellow replied:
" It all depends what one expects, you know.
In the Talmud is a story how a man, once very
rich, was not satisfied with a supper that three
poor men together would have been satisfied
about."
I humoured the old fellow and got him to walk
2o6 Crimes of Charity
with me about the grounds. When out of hearing
of the others he told me how the attendants beat
every one of them for the slightest infraction of
the rules of the house.
" Why don't you complain to the superintend-
ent ? " I suggested.
" The ones that do so shorten their lives."
"You mean?"
*' Don't ask any further." A man understands
closed lips.
In a rolling chair, at the further end of the
garden, sat a paralysed old man.
" How are you feeling, Uncle? " I greeted him.
" Fine, fine," he answered. " I am all right,
now."
" He is a lucky dog," remarked my companion,
the old man of the Talmud story. " He is para-
lysed all over."
" Do you call that lucky? — man, it's the great-
est misfortune."
" Not in a Home," he answered. " The para-
lysed are like the dead — they don't feel when
they are hurt." Once his tongue was loosened the
old man went on. " There is an attendant here,
a brute. When he gets mad he runs around to
find fault with some one, to hit him. Then we
all get out of his way. This fellow here, he has
a bad stomach. He would always be the scape-
goat. My, how he would suffer. Only his legs
"The Home" 207
got paralysed at first and he had to be turned over
in his bed. When that drunkard would get
through with him the poor fellow's body was black
and blue from pinches and punches. Now he does
not feel anything. He punches him and hits and
pinches and gets mad to see that the fellow does
not feel pain at all."
" Is that true? " I turned to the old man in
the rolling chair.
*' You bet it's true, and I have my revenge now,
to see him get wild. ' Hullo, Harry ! Why
don't you pinch me a bit. Come on, Harry, have
a pinch,' and he gets mad — like a savage."
I see you shake your head. Fiction ! Fiction !
Then read the letter sent by a young man and a
young woman who worked at a " Home " in New
York. The letter was printed in " Our Health "
of January, 19 13. The Institution did not even
offer an excuse. Deny, it could not.
" The patients are mistreated, beaten, kicked,
insulted," runs the letter. It has two signatures,
the man's and the woman's. If this be not true,
why did not the Montefiore Home sue the calum-
niators ? But it is true. They keep quiet. They
are afraid of revelations. Some old man or old
woman might take his last days into his own hands
and come out with the truth.
Another old man was punished by the attendant
with two days' fast. He sat at the table but was
2o8 Crimes of Charity
forbidden to eat. The cause of the punishment
was that the old man had soiled the tablecloth.
When visitors come the lawn is shown, the clean
kitchen, the beautiful dining room, the spacious
rooms. Nothing of the inhuman treatment to
which the inmates are subject comes to light. The
gross insults : " Beggar, schnorrer, pauper, liar,"
are not heard then.
One " Home " is under the same roof with an
orphan house. Upstairs the children, downstairs
the old people, as though it were a prophecy:
*' Here you start, there you finish."
The callousness of this shows the sentiment of
the people supporting the institutions. An old
woman, while peeling potatoes, remarked: " All
they miss is a dressmaking shop between the floors
and a cemetery in the yard and their whole life
would stretch before them."
" BISMARCK "
AMONGST the people in the Home were
two chums of olden days. Moise Hertz
and " Bismarck." They knew one an-
other from childhood, were born in the same vil-
lage in Russia, had gone to the same school
(cheder) and were both, later on, with their
wives and children, driven from home. Once
across the border they drifted apart. Moise
Hertz with his family went to Germany and " Bis-
marck " with his wife and children went to Eng-
land. Both men were tailors. Moise Hertz's
two sons returned to Russia during the revolution.
One was hanged; the other is in Sachalin (Si-
beria). His wife died in New York.
" Bismarck's " son is in Denver, trying to cure
himself of tuberculosis. His daughter is blind.
His wife is in a Home for women.
The two men had not met for fifteen years,
though they both lived in New York a good deal
of this time. (When they told one another the
stories of their lives they found out that they even
worked for a time in the same shop, on different
floors.) Then one day, as Moise Hertz filled
209
2IO Crimes of Charity
his pipe he felt some one looking at him intently.
The years are not so kind to the poor as to the
rich, especially to poor Jews, but Moise Hertz's
eyes were keen and the two old chums embraced
and called one another by their first names.
" Moise — Abe I " In their joy they even blessed
the place where they met. Moise Hertz's lone-
liness was over. He had somebody to talk to of
his younger days. They told one another their
misfortunes. All hope for a better to-morrow
was gone. They only had the past — a rich past,
rich in suffering. Once a week Bassie, Bismarck's
wife, would come to visit her husband. The trio
would then sit together and figure out how their
old friends' children were getting along. " He
was born during the second cholera." " No, dur-
ing the Ritual blood accusation of * Thisza
Esler.' " " No, that's impossible I " Bassie would
explain. " My Baruch was three years old then
and she married during the Pogrom in Kiev."
They would quarrel on such subjects and their
parting words would still contain an assurance
from Bassie that she knew the right year of Leah's
birth.
So passed a full year. The insults of the serv-
ants bothered them little. Then one morning Abe
Schmenovitz (at that time he was not nicknamed
Bismarck) complained to his friend that his arms
"Bismarck^' 211
pained him. Moise led his friend to the doctor's
room. The man of science had a look and pre-
scribed something. In spite of the medicine the
old man's arms became paralysed. From that
day on he was attended to by his chum. Moise
Hertz would dress and wash him and at meal
times he would feed the old cripple like a mother
does her baby. Moise never ate before his friend
was through with his meal. When the old fellow
complained about his lost arms his chum consoled
him:
" What's the difference how one does, whether
with usable arms or not? I have arms for you —
better tell me how you got on in London — a big
town ? " So he would make his friend forget
the sorrows of his actual state by forcing him to
recall other sufferings.
For two days Moise Hertz was too ill to attend
to his friend. When mealtime arrived the cripple
sat before his plate and looked at the food —
there was no one to help him. He was very hun-
gry. He dared not ask the attendant to help him,
so he bent his head and got hold of a piece of meat
with his mouth and while he tried to eat it fell
out of his toothless mouth several times. He had
to get it again — shook his head and reached
further — bespattered himself, his face was col-
oured with the sauce from the plate. The other
212 Crimes of Charity
inmates howled and cursed. But the attendant
called the whole servantdom to see the show, and
they all laughed and laughed.
The Institution had a dog called " Bismarck,"
and Abe Schmenovitz got this nickname from the
chambermaid that day. It stuck to him to his last
day. For several days the attendants forbade
Moise Hertz to feed his friend. They wanted to
see the show — a man eating like a dog. The old
fellow forgot his real name in the course of time.
When he died the servant announced his death
to the superintendent in the following way :
" Bismarck died."
" The dog? " The gentleman sprang from his
chair.
" No, the man ■ — sir."
TWENTY-ONE CENTS AND A QUARTER
AN old couple who had once seen better
days and whose only son died of caisson
disease after working two months on the
laying of the pillars which support the Williams-
burg Bridge between New York City and Brook-
lyn, was supported by organised charity. Rent,
coal and three dollars a week for food. For two
years they lived on this scant pension, when all at
once they were told to give up the flat; two rooms
in a basement.
" You will be placed in Homes," was the ex-
planation given. For fifty years these two old
people lived together, shared joys and sorrows.
They protested, cried, explained — all in vain.
Their fate was decided in the office and after the
usual test to recalcitrant paupers the two victims
submitted. Bed, chairs and table were sold to the
secondhand dealer for a few cents, then each of
the two took a bundle in one hand, the picture of
the dead son in another; one took the car for the
north and the other for the east side of the city.
The fifty years old bond was broken.
The cause of this act was the desire on the part
213
214 Crimes of Charity
of the charities to economise. The difference be-
tween keeping the old people in their own home
and placing them in different Homes was eighty-
five cents a month — twenty-one and one-quarter
of a cent a week.
It did not take very long before the old man
went on that journey whence no man has yet re-
turned, and a few weeks after his wife followed
him. There is no doubt that the separation had
hastened their deaths. They had been together
for fifty years, each growing accustomed to the
other's habits and ways. Then, of a sudden, they
were torn apart.
Speaking to an official of organised charity I
drew his attention to the ridiculous economy real-
ised through separating the old couple. The man
looked at me for awhile and as an answer he said :
" You are a baby."
A few months later he announced to me:
" You know the old fellow — Sig — died, and his
wife also."
I wanted to tell him that death was hastened
by the criminal stupidity of organised charity, but
he went on exulting in his own wisdom.
" Now I hope you will understand that the
economy was greater than eighty-five cents a
month."
What did he mean ? Was it purposely done to
hasten their death and save the pension? I can
Twenty-one Cents and a Quarter 215
see no other meaning in his words. But have you
ever seen in the papers an advertisement displayed
in a prominent place, reading somewhat as fol-
lows:
" You are giving to charity; a hundred, a thou-
sand or ten thousand dollars a year. Why not
give it to organised charity and then send all the
deserving to us? Not a cent is given before a
thorough investigation Is made by people trained
to do the work and who know how. Contribute
a regular sum yearly to organised charity. It will
save you the annoyance of the outstretched hand
and at the same time you will feel that you have
done your duty towards the poor of the land."
All the homes I visited, more than twenty, here
and abroad, impressed me with the terrible gloom
that pervades their walls. It is the misery of a
city housed under one roof. It Is the pay of a life
of toil, wearisome and ill-paid. The Inhabitants
know that the only Issue Is to the grave. They
are not prisoners. They are free. But In their
very freedom is the utter hopelessness of their
existence.
" I forgot my name since I am here," an old
woman told me. " You see nobody is himself
here. You are to be just like the other one. Not
one of us to be different. I was an actress once.
This here was the audience. Each of us had his
place, his work. Now It's all alike."
2i6 Crimes of Charity
Another man told me that he did not think the
sun ever rose since he was in the institution. By
the thousands and thousands, these, our fathers
and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers,
whose blood flows in our veins, whose toil we still
enjoy, the makers of houses and bridges and ma-
chines— they all rot in some prison — a Home
— under the pretence of humanity and pity. We
don't want them to beg on the street, is the gen-
eral excuse. Why? At least they would be free.
They would not depend on a man or a set of men.
They would not be referred to by number and cata-
logued as cases and treated like dogs. In his
" Decay of Beggars," Charles Lamb says:
" Above all, those old blind Tobits that used to line
the wall of Lincoln's Inn Garden, before modern
fastidiousness had expelled them, casting up their ruined
orbs to catch a ray of pity, and (if possible) of light,
with their faithful dog guide at their feet — whither are
they fled? or into what corners, blind as themselves, have
they been driven, out of the wholesome air and sun-
warmth? immersed between four walls, in what wither-
ing poor-house do they endure the penalty of double dark-
ness, where the chink of the dropped halfpenny no more
consoles their forlorn bereavement, far from the sound
of the cheerful and hope-stirring tread of the passenger?
Where hang their useless staves ? and who will farm their
dogs? Have the overseers of St. L caused them to
be shot? or were they tied up in sacks and dropped into
Twenty-one Cents and a Quarter 217
the Thames, at the suggestion of B , the mild rector
of ?
" These dim eyes have in vain explored for some months
past a well-known figure, or part of the figure, of a man,
who used to glide his comely upper half over the pave-
ments of London, wheeling along with most ingenious
celerity upon a machine of wood, a spectacle to natives,
to foreigners and to children. He was of a robust make,
with a florid sailor-like complexion, and his head was
bare to the storm and sunshine. He was a natural curi-
osity, a speculation to the scientific, a prodigy to the
simple. The infant would stare at the mighty man
brought down to his own level. The common cripple
would despise his own pusillanimity, viewing the hale
stoutness and hearty heart of this half-limbed giant. Few
but must have noticed him, for the accident which brought
him low took place during the riots of 1780, and he has
been a groundling so long. He seemed earth-born, an
Antaeus, and to suck in fresh vigour from the soil which
he neighboured. He was a grand fragment; as good as
an Elgin marble. The nature, which should have re-
cruited his left legs and thighs, was not lost, but only
retired into his upper parts, and he was half a Hercules.
I heard a tremendous voice thundering and growling, as
before an earthquake, and casting down my eyes, it was
this mandrake reviling a steed that had started at his
portentous appearance. He seemed to want but his just
stature to have rent the offending quadruped in shivers.
He was as the man-part of a centaur, from which the
horse-half had been cloven in some dire Lapithan con-
troversy. He moved on, as if he could have made shift
21 8 Crimes of Charity
with yet half of the body portion which was left him.
The OS sublime was not wanting, and he threw out yet
a jolly countenance upon the heavens. Forty-and-two
years had he driven this out-of-door trade, and now that
his hair is grizzled in the service, but his good spirits no
way impaired, because he is not content to exchange free
air and exercise for the restraints of a poor-house, he is
expiating his contumacy in one of those houses (ironi-
cally christened) of correction.
" Was a daily spectacle like this to be deemed a
nuisance, which called for legal interference to remove?
or not rather a salutary and a touching object to the
passers-by in a great city? Among her shoes, her muse-
ums, and supplies for ever-gaping curiosity (and what
else but an accumulation of sights — endless sights —
is a great city? or for what else is it desirable?) was
there not room for one Lusus (not Naturae, indeed, but
A ccidentium?) What if in forty-and-two-years* going
about the man had scraped together enough to give a por-
tion to his child (as the rumour ran) of a few hun-
dreds— whom had he injured? — whom had he imposed
upon ? The contributors had enjoyed their sight for their
pennies. What if after being exposed all day to the
heats, the rains, and the frosts of heaven — shuffling his
ungainly trunk along in an elaborate and painful mo-
tion — he was enabled to retire at night to enjoy himself
at a club of his fellow cripples over a dish of hot meat and
vegetables, as the charge was gravely brought against
him by a clergyman deposing before a House of Com-
mons' Committee — was this, or was his truly paternal
consideration, which (if a fact) deserved a statue rather
Twenty-one Cents and a Quarter 219
than a whipping-post, and is inconsistent, at least, with
the exaggeration of nocturnal orgies which he has been
slandered with — a reason that he should be deprived
of his chosen, harmless, nay, edifying way of life, and
be committed in hoary age for a sturdy vagabond ?
** There was a Yorick once whom it would not have
shamed to have sat down at the cripples* feast, and to
have thrown in his benediction, ay, and his mite too, for
a companionable symbol. * Age, thou hast lost thy breed.'
" Half of these stories about the prodigious fortunes
made by begging are (I verily believe) misers' calumnies.
One was much talked of in the public papers some time
since, and the usual charitable inferences deduced. A
clerk in the bank was surprised with the announcement
of a five-hundred-pound legacy left him by a person whose
name he was a stranger to. It seems that in his daily
morning walks from Peckham (or some village there-
abouts) where he lived, to his office, it had been his
practice for the last twenty years to drop his halfpenny
duly into the hat of some blind Bartimeus that sat begging
alms by the wayside in the borough. The good old beg-
gar recognised his daily benefactor by the voice only,
and when he died left all the amassings of his alms (that
had been half a century, perhaps, in the accumulating)
to his old bank friend. Was this a story to purse up
people's hearts and pennies against giving an alms to the
blind? or not rather a beautiful moral of well-directed
charity on one part, and noble gratitude upon the
other ?
" I sometimes wish I had been that bank clerk.
" I seem to remember a poor old grateful kind of
220 Crimes of Charity
creature, blinking and looking up with his no eyes in the
sun.
" Is it possible that I could have steeled my purse
against him?
" Perhaps I had no small change.
" Reader, do not be frightened at the hard word im-
position, imposture — give, and ask no questions. Cast
thy bread upon the waters. Some have unawares (like
this bank clerk) entertained angels.
** Shut not thy purse-strings against painted distress.
Act a charity sometimes. When a poor creature (out-
wardly and visibly such) comes before thee, do not stay
to inquire whether the ' seven small children ' in whose
name he implores thy assistance, have a veritable ex-
istence. Rake not into the bowels of unwelcome truth
to save a halfpenny. It is good to believe him. If he
be not all that he pretendeth, give, and under a personate
father of a family, think (if thou pleasest) that thou hast
relieved an indigent bachelor. When they come with
their counterfeit looks, and mumping tones, think them
players. You pay your money to see a comedian feign
these things, which, concerning these poor people, thou
canst not certainly tell whether they are feigned or not."
The Superintendent, a man of about forty,
of good appearance and strong physique, had
just assumed his duties. Previously he had
been manager of a department store. What
recommended him to his new position was his
reputation as a stern disciplinarian and strict
economist. The first thing he did was to take an
Twenty-one Cents and a Quarter 221
exact inventory of the property of the institution,
then an approximation of what was necessary for
the subsistence of each individual — so much
flour, so much salt, so much meat — everything
measured and weighed exactly. Instead of say-
ing " so many people " the Superintendent would
say " so many mouths." This done he proceeded
to deliver to the cook the exact quantity necessary
every day — the washerwoman received every
week an exact quantity of soap — everything in
order, strictly, soldierlike. The old people were
compelled to get out and into bed at certain hours,
compelled to report on certain days. Everything
was very orderly, only the mortality of the in-
mates Increased that year. The auditing com-
mittee saw no connection between the regularity
and orderly keeping of accounts and the death of
the old people. There was another Item that did
not interest them, namely, what was saved on
food was spent on additional help. Not to attend
the old people, oh, no ! but to keep the lawn and
garden in order. The Superintendent was
praised. His keeping the things In such fine con-
dition augmented the list of donors. The fund
grew. It was invested in real estate, of course!
To what other purpose could it be invested!
Still another expense was not considered. But
it was really a very small one. A few boards of
white pine — a grave In Potter's field. A mouth
222 Crimes of Charity
is closed — a name is erased. The cook receives
less flour, less sugar.
Ah, the poor, the poor I When they are young
they are called " Hands." When they get old
they are labelled " Mouths."
VISITING DAY
IF you want to see the product of modern so-
ciety all at once, have, so to say, a bird's-eye
view of centralised misery, go to see a
" Home " on visiting day. Look at the expect-
ant faces of the inmates ; the ones that have some-
body " outside." Cripples, consumptives, idiots,
diseased of all kinds pour in one after another.
Some bring little bags of fruit and cakes. One
interchange was especially interesting to me. In
a greasy old newspaper a boy of twelve brought
butts of cigarettes and cigars to his old grand-
father. In exchange he received a boiled potato
and a few lumps of sugar. The transaction over,
the young one went his way and the old fellow
retired to his room to dry up the remnants of other
men's pleasures. This old fellow was held in
great esteem by the others. Not every old grand-
father could obtain the weed from his grandson.
To an old man news was brought that his daughter
had died. "When?" he asked quietly. "Yes-
terday." " Why did you not let me know imme-
diately?" he inquired. "I was very anxious to
know. As for us, the sooner we die the better
it is."
224 Crimes of Charity
Those who come to visit " their people " at the
Homes depend partially or wholly on charity.
No appearances are kept up. Information is
given, advice received. What to say, how to be-
have, where to go. Each class has its wisdom.
The paupers have theirs. If the supporters of
organised charity could hear what is thought and
said about them and their good deeds ! Perhaps
we would have a few homes less, but also the num-
ber of people needing homes would be reduced.
As long as you need " hands," you will produce
" mouths."
EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES
IN previous chapters I have spoken of the
" Bureau," and how they procure " help " in
time of trouble. The employment depart-
ment of the charities procure help in time of
peace, industrial peace, also. When a man or
woman has applied for charity and the investiga-
tor judges the applicant fit for work, he is im-
mediately sent upstairs to the Manager of the
Bureau, who is telephonically notified about the
*' customer " and his peculiarities.
*' Mr. Gordon — Hello — give him a squeeze
about his relations and how long he is out of work
— also don't forget to ask him again about his
oldest son. He told me that the boy is in the
army — of course he is lying. Lazy? Sure."
Thus he is introduced to the Manager of the
Bureau. Once upstairs the applicant is taken in
hand by this gentleman and *' given a squeeze " to
see whether all he says tallies with what he had
previously told the investigator.
The language used, the insults heaped upon him
would stir the blood of any man — prompt him
to violence, perhaps, but the applicants have no
235
226 Crimes of Charity
blood. Overwork, illness, hunger and lastly, the
investigator, have turned it into water. Humbly,
meekly, the man or woman stands it all ; then he is
told to come to-morrow at 8 A. M. The office
only opens to the public at lo. " Why do you
have them wait two hours? " I asked the Manager.
" Just to get them trained to get up early," he
answered. " You know the proverb ' Early to
bed and early to rise.' "
Meanwhile they crowd the waiting room and
the " real " visitors, the committee, think the
Manager very, very busy. The employers that
apply for " help " from the charities are the worst
ones. Long hours, low wages and the meanest
working conditions imaginable.
To learn the situation exactly, I myself applied
for a job at a " charity " office. I passed the ex-
amination of the Manager and was given a slip
with name and address of the employer, a cut
glass manufacturer in West ii6th Street, and a
postal card stamped and addressed to the office.
I was to put the missive in a letter box if I were
accepted.
The next morning at 7, as per instructions from
the Manager, I knocked at the door and gave the
office boy the piece of paper from the charities.
I had waited a half hour when the foreman, a big,
strong brute, measured me up from head to toe,
then shook his head, dissatisfied as to my physical
Employment Agencies 227
condition probably, and I was ushered into the
office. Another wait, hat in hand. Then the
employer wheeled around on his chair, and a new
examination started. He was especially anxious
to know the time of my arrival in New York. I
pretended to be a newcomer, because I knew that
he would not employ me were he to know that I
was longer than three months In New York.
They only want " greenhorns." They hunt for
them around " Castle Garden " and in the chari-
ties. I satisfied him, and he announced to me the
glad news that I was to receive twenty francs a
week. He did not say four dollars — he said
twenty francs because I told him I was a French-
man.
The foreman was Instructed to put me in the
galvanising room. When I entered the shop the
fumes of vitriol, ammonia, sulphur and other
chemical stuff almost choked me. The foreman
had a good laugh at my face, then he placed me
in a corner where lay a box of saw-dust. From
another corner strips of galvanised metal were
thrown to me and I had to dry them up with the
saw-dust and pile them In another box which was
taken away every time it was full. The fumes
and the smoke were so dense that I could not see
any of my co-workers until noontime. Then I
saw them all, about forty men and women, all
" greenhorns," Jews, Italians, Poles, pale, hungry,
228 Crimes of Charity
dirty, ragged, worn out, and all of them coughing
— coughing so that the whole street echoed with
the thunder of the musketry of the soldiers of
modern industry. A half hour for lunch and back
to the shop. We worked until 6.30 P. M.
I was discharged because I was reported to have
spoken English to the caretaker, who pushed me
roughly away with his broom when cleaning.
Paying me 63 cents for my day's labour the boss
called me liar and tramp. I had committed a
crime. I spoke English. I was longer than
three months in America.
That the working conditions were worse in that
factory than elsewhere, where " regular " work-
ingmen are employed, goes without saying. Sixty-
three hours a week for pay ranging from three
dollars to seven dollars and fifty cents for men
and two dollars to four dollars for women. The
people working there dare not look at one another,
dare not speak, dare not question. They know
they are spied upon and reported to the charity
office from where they are all helped. And this
employer is mentioned very flatteringly for his co-
operation with the employment office to " redeem "
the sunken poor. In reality, he is plying his mur-
derous trade under the protection of charity. His
work would cost him three times as much if he
performed it with " regular " men under usual
conditions. As a matter of fact, the man started
Employment Agencies 229
out with nothing and amassed a fortune in a few
years. When a man has reached the top, seven
dollars and fifty cents per week, he is discharged
as " lazy," and another one at four dollars is
started in.
This is not the only factory of the kind. Scores
of them grow and thrive under the kind protec-
tion of organised charity, to the glory of God and
the humane century we live in.
" Dear Sir — You employ a number of men and women
in your factory. Labour is very floating nowadays and
we know the difficulty employers have to secure the right
sort of help. When in need of help, why not ring us
up ? We always have a number of men and women who
would not only be willing to accept any work at all,
but who would feel extremely thankful to the one giving
them a chance.
" When you get help from us you know you get the
right kind. In addition to that, you assist us in our
work of redeeming the poor.
" Respectfully yours,
" Manager of Employment Bureau.
" P. S. — Right now we have some excellent help for
your line."
This is a copy of a circular letter sent by the
employment bureau of an organised charity to the
manufacturers. Just think of this fact. One of
these little sweatshop owners receiving such a let-
230 Crimes of Charity
ter when Samuel Gordon, who was getting six dol-
lars a week, takes heart and demands a raise in
his wages. Read that letter twice and carefully
and see what It means. The employer is actually
committing a good deed when he fires one of these
men getting seven dollars or eight dollars a week
and takes on one sent by the charities. Think of
the P. S. " Right now we have a number of ex-
cellent help for your line." Tempting I is it not?
" And be sure the men we send you are not going
to make any trouble — an hour or so more every
day and a dollar or so less every week does not
stand in the way of the one willing to work," —
This over the phone.
MY LAST WEEK IN THE WAITING
ROOM
MONDAY.
When the door is opened more than
a hundred people stream in. They
have all been waiting outside, some sitting on the
stairs, others walking to and fro. Of course,
every passer-by notices them and knows who they
are, " Applicants for charity."
I have heard that remark many a time when
passing by. Fearing I might be taken for one of
them I have decided always to wear a flower in
the lapel of my coat. They will know that no
man who applies for charity wears flowers. I also
whistle and sing when I ascend the stairs. The
other people, the investigators and ofllce workers
don't seem to take precautions in this respect.
They take it for granted that no one will think
this of them.
Mrs. B., the investigator, calls me aside and
tells me of the wonderful play she has seen last
night. She is stage struck and is even dreaming
of her lost career. Meanwhile, the people, the
applicants, crowd the room. I know that several
231
232 Crimes of Charity
of them are there to see Mrs. B. and I want to
cut our conversation short, but she has button-
holed me and pours out her whole soul. Other
investigators arrive and each one goes to her desk
to finish up a report. Some of them want to see
the manager and report personally on matters of
importance. When I got through with Mrs. B.
the waiting room is overcrowded. More than
fifty women and men are walking around the room,
pacing up and down the floor. There are not
enough chairs. A young woman sits in a corner,
in the darkest spot. She has a black shawl over
her head and has drawn it so far over the face that
only her eyes are seen. She is ashamed. She
does not want to be seen by the others. I would
like to know who it Is ! — would like to see her
face — yet every time I pass her she draws the
shawl more over her face — what beautiful, lust-
rous eyes! Where have I seen them? Where?
She is in mourning.
It's remarkably quiet to-day. It's so warm.
The investigators loll around and tell one another
where and how they have passed the week-end,
Saturday and Sunday. Mr. Cram comes up and
makes an inspection. " We've got some new cus-
tomers," he remarks to the office boy. " Plenty,"
the boy answers. I can't help thinking, what will
become of that boy? He Is so cynical, so stony-
hearted, so cruel. Nothing astonishes him, noth-
My Last Week in the Waiting Room 233
ing softens him. He makes fun of the most piti-
ful situation. As he walks to and fro calling the
ones wanted by the Manager or bringing the
records from the safe, he sneers at all the people
in the waiting room. If a woman is in his way, he
bows mockingly and hisses out, " My lady is in
my way! " Purposely he jolts the men and then
he demands excuses.
Of late he has practised spitting at a distance.
He takes a good aim at an old man or woman and
from a distance of ten to twelve feet he hits his
target. When successful he exults — champion
of the world — greatest marksman. Of course,
he does it secretly. Suddenly you see a man dry-
ing his face or cleaning his beard.
The office is in love with the boy. He is the
pet. But still, what will become of him? How
will he be father, husband, friend? I once asked
him: "Say, Sam, what do you like best?
What do you do in your free time?" "Oh,
nothing in particular," was his answer, while
he bit into a fresh piece of chewing gum. " The-
atre, base-ball, ice cream?" "No, nothing in
particular," he again answered. He is dead to
everything. He is blase. " Yes, Sam, but what
do you intend to be when you grow up? " " I
will work up here — work up to the top — you
understand?" "Yes, but suppose a time comes
when there will not be any poor." " Well, I
234 Crimes of Charity
hope the time will never come," and Sam walks
away.
There Is a commotion at the door. A woman
wants to enter the waiting room without a letter
of invitation. She wants to see the Manager.
She cries and curses. The janitor puts her out.
The " derelicts " become restless and nervous.
It's 10 o'clock. A woman seated near the one
with the shawl over her face wants to start a con-
versation. She answers her very curtly and turns
her back. The office boy makes his appearance
again. Sam announces that the " Boss " has
come and work starts immediately. " Martha
Blum"— "Joe Crane "—" Rita Somers"— and
every time a name is called the people raise their
heads at once. The lucky ones go into the other
room to be questioned. Work has started.
In the factories wheels go round, clothes and
shoes, and tables and chairs are made — consump-
tives and unfortunates also. Here, souls are
torn, men and women degraded, insulted — that's
their work. It's a bedlam. Accusations from
one side and cries and appeals for pity from the
other. They don't remain long. Still crying
they are put out — and others are called in :
" George Hand," " Carl Wender," " Gib Ralph,"
" Margaret Cy " — and others, others wend their
way towards the other room.
" The terror " has come. Seeing such a big
My Last Week in the Waiting Room 235
crop, she gets ready the threshing machine. From
her room the cries are louder than from any two
put together. The applicants also stay longer;
she takes delight in their torture. Monday and
Friday are her days. A woman has taken a fit.
The janitor is called. He drags her out and lays
her down in the hall. An old man tries to read
the engraved letters above the door. They were
once gilded, the gold has partly fallen off and it
is difficult to read them. Slowly he reads them
out, " Whosoever stretches a begging hand, give
and don't question." He shakes his head doubt-
fully and tries to read the inscription on the other
door, " For the poor of the land shall never
cease." From the " terror's " room comes a
young woman. Her eyes are red and tears run
down her pale cheeks. She hurries out as though
some one was running after her. What has the
" terror " done to her? Look how she runs! I
open the door and look after her. How she runs
— how she runs. I turn round. The " terror "
is near me. She is hurrying — ah! She tri-
umphs. "What happened?" I ask. "She got
her medicine — a good strong dose, too." She
looks around the waiting room, searching for a
victim. She notices the woman with the covered
face.
" What Is your name? " I don't hear the an-
swer, but the " terror " bids her follow her into
236 Crimes of Charity
the other room. I listen. The woman has
awakened my interest. It's very quiet. The in-
vestigator raises her voice a few times but is met
with such a quiet, calm answer that it goes on
in the ordinary conversational tone for a few min-
utes. Then I hear the woman cry.
But my attention is called elsewhere. An ap-
plicant does not want to get out of the investiga-
tor's room. She yells, cries and screams. " I
want to see the Manager — I want to see the
Manager — I have been put out of my rooms —
my children are on the streets." The investiga-
tor, Mrs. B., uses force, but the woman holds on
at the door. " I want to see the Manager. You
can't torture me that way. I want to see the
Manager." She screams yet louder. The jani-
tor is called and he does his duty. Takes hold
of the woman and puts her out. The woman
screams in the street. A policeman Is called and
the officer gives the woman notice that he will
arrest her if she does not desist. She still
screams and refuses to go. The door opens and
she sees the Manager as he orders her arrest for
disturbing the peace. The test Is applied. Of
course she will be Immediately released. The
Manager telephones to the station at once that
they should release the woman. Mrs. B., the in-
vestigator, is walking nervously from one desk
to the other.
My Last Week in the Waiting Room 237
"That pest — that pest — she would not get
out. I will give her a lesson. She will not for-
get as long as she lives."
" What is the matter ? " I inquire.
" For the last six months she bothered me that
she wants to move out from where she lives. The
rooms are too dark, the walls are damp and all
that sort of thing. All she wanted of course was
to get out of my district. You know, I keep them
pretty well together, in a few blocks. You want
to move — well I I gave her the chance of her
life. Let her be on the street a few days, then
she will know how to appreciate her house."
That old fellow who tried to read the inscrip-
tion comes up to me, " How long will I have to
wait? I have been called for nine A.M. It's
half past eleven now."
" I don't know, old man. You just have to
wait." He shakes his head and goes back to his
place on the bench, and again reads the inscrip-
tion.
" The terror " has released her victim. Com-
ing out the woman leaves her face uncovered.
She has gone one step lower, robbed of the sense
of shame. She is young and beautiful. Pale,
very pale. Her eyes are red. She cried. She
has got to see the Manager. Before entering
the sanctum she fixes her stray hair and dries her
eyes. *' She is green," remarks the office boy.
238 Crimes of Charity
"Doesn't know the trade." "Who?" I ask.
" The lady in black." He looks around: "Gee
— they done quick work."
The investigators are in a hurry to-day. Noon.
Only a few employes remain. All the others go
to lunch. About forty applicants still in the wait-
ing room. Their names have not been called.
The janitor orders them out. Again they throng
the street. He drives them off the stairs. They
tramp the sidewalk, up and down, and it's so
very hot, 96 degrees. I lunch with the others.
Mrs. H. still talking about yesterday's show and
about that woman that did not want to obey her
and get out. They talk shop during lunch. Sam's
prowess as a spitting marksman is highly praised.
" Champion spitter of the world," Cram pro-
claims him. " A clever boy." " A sensible boy."
" Gay." " Clever, very clever." " He will be
a man." " Oh, yes, oh, yes. He will rise high."
Their admiration for Sam is boundless. They
recall his repartees on different occasions and how
he once cynically remarked to the Manager : " A
woman died in the waiting room, sir. Shall I
bring you her record? P. B. 9761 is the num-
ber." He got his raise not long after that. The
Manager was struck by the boy's efficiency and
his splendid memory.
" Why," said Mrs. B., " he knows all the rec-
ords by heart. G. D. 7851 has four children.
My Last Week in the Waiting Room 239
husband dead, three dollars r. c. cl. Just ask
him when you want to know. He will tell it off
before you can say a word or consider."
Then from the boy the discussion drifted to
the new Manager and his peculiarities and how
he compared with the former occupant of his of-
fice. " He is too lenient with the people," says
Mrs. H. " Wait until he gets fooled good and
hard," intervened Cram. " Wait, when he gets
fooled a few times and the committee grumble
there will be something doing, I tell you."
The lunch finished, only Cram and I returned
to the office; the others went to do outside work,
investigating. On the way Cram expounded a
new theory: The charities to buy an island some-
where and send all the applicants there — women
and children separated from men — all to live in
one huge building — a big home for the poor. It
would cost less, he figured.
" But they would not go — they would not go,
the scoundrels I " he lamented. *' We are too easy
on them. We are really doing bad work. We
are encouraging paupers, our rule should be : don't
give a cent until the applicant has no other al-
ternative, ' charity or suicide.' But we are all
weaklings, sentimental trash! " Thus speaking
we arrived at the door of the office. Cram turned
his head and pointing to the people walking in
front of the building he made a broad sweep with
240 Crimes of Charity
his hand : '* This whole damned pack is the de-
generate fringe of our century. We should do
away with them and not help them live." These
are the sentiments of a superior officer of organ-
ised charity. " Say, Cram, why don't you resign
your position? You don't like the poor. You
don't believe in charity — resign I " " Neither do
I like pig iron and I don't believe In love," he an-
swered in bad mood.
What does it mean? I had a smoke with him
in his office in the basement. He was very talka-
tive. Spoke about his past and future. He too
hopes to reach the top. A good man for the job.
At two o'clock the doors are again thrown open
so that I have to go to the waiting room. They
must again give up their letters to the janitor. A
scuffle again. One fellow wanted to enter with-
out invitation. The janitor insisted that the man
go down stairs to Cram's office, while the man
wanted to go in. Of course the janitor won out.
All the others, the applicants helped him. It's to
their interest that there should be one less, they
get more quickly through the mill. To-day is
committee day. The big room is prepared. The
office boy reads roll call to see if all those sum-
moned are present. Then he looks up all the
records and places them on the table at the place
reserved for the Manager. The people waiting
for the investigators are told to go home and come
My Last Week in the Waiting Room 241
to-morrow. How they cry! How they cryl
They know what that to-morrow means. It may
mean a week and more. Meanwhile the pension
is suspended, the children are hungry. " To-
morrow at nine A. M. big sale of ladies' under-
wear," Sam announces. The ones with letters for
the committee remain in the room. Not very long,
though. Automobiles stop before the door and
the gentlemen are immediately at work.
One after another the applicants are called in.
Their records and the investigators' are read and
a new cross-examination starts. " What is the
matter with you, Erikson? A young woman like
you to apply for charity. It's a shame."
" But, sir, I have been ill." The Manager
stops her impatiently.
"What about your children, Erikson?" One
of the gentlemen says: " Hadn't you better give
them to a Home and then be free and go to work,
as a servant or something. We could easily get
you a place, you know."
" I would not separate from the children, they
are too small." The mother, a young Scotch
woman, defends her offspring. The gentlemen
look at one another a few seconds, then Mr. R.,
the chairman, gets up and yells at her:
"You would not? Hein, you would not?
We too, would not. How do you like it? What
do you want with your three small kids? Here
242 Crimes of Charity
is a special place for them. The Orphan House.
That settles it."
And he sits down again and looks into another
record. The mother wants to speak, argue, beg.
" That settles it." She is shown the door. I
follow her outside. She remains at the door for
a few minutes thinking hard. Then she braces
up, stamps her feet, and says very loud, " No, I
won't, I won't, I won't give them up." She goes
away.
Another man Is called. He Is a consumptive
and very weak. He is even offered a chair and
asked to sit down. He wants to go to Colorado.
They are not very brutal to him. He gets the
fare and a few dollars extra. '* Good luck."
" Thank you."
A few more are expedited very rapidly. Most
of them are denied any help, but the chairman is
very " soft " to-day. It's very hot and he per-
spires heavily. The boy calls out a name and an
old woman comes in. She has a very dignified
appearance and takes exception when she is not
politely addressed by the chairman. He always
takes delight in insulting those who are of better
appearance.
** Sir," the woman says, " in a moment of dis-
tress I have applied for charity and I am given
insults. I have been called three times here and
My Last Week in the Waiting Room 243
what have you done for me? Nothing. Is that
charity?"
" Nothing I Nothing 1 " screams the chairman,
and wipes jthe perspiration from his brow, " and
what Is that? Here we sit and sweat ourselves
to death for you. Do we get anything for that ? "
" Nelthei did I," the woman retorts. But the
Manager Is on his feet In a second, he tears the
application, opens the door and pushes her out.
" Get out, get out, and quick," and though the
woman Is going out, the janitor helps her descend
the stairs.
The Manager returns to the committee room.
" Yes, that's what we have to put up with ! "
" What Impudence," says one. " That's what
it has come to," says another. " Pretty soon they
will request upholstered chairs."
" I would have had her arrested," pipes out
a stupid old degenerate who never says a word.
They keep on talking that way.
" Shall we continue? " the manager asks.
" Not to-day," the chairman says, " It's too hot.
Not until next week. They say that they don't
get anything from our work, see how they will
get along without it." He again wipes off his
brow and goes out first. The others follow him.
The Manager accompanies them to the stairs.
The automobiles disappear.
TUESDAY
IS there no way to finish it all ? It's noon time
now, and since nine o'clock this morning I
have heard cries and screams and curses. I
have seen tears, tears, tears. The investigators
are worse than tigers to-day. They are all tak-
ing revenge on the poor for yesterday's occur-
rence, and Sam is surpassing himself. He spits
again at one. I wish it happened that his " greet-
ing " fell on me. I would beat him to within
an inch of his life. Why does not one of the
applicants twist that boy's neck I They are fin-
ished. They have no blood. Water flows in
their veins.
No sooner did the doors open than one of the
applicants had a fit. Mrs. H., pretending the
woman faked, began to curse her.
Mrs. H. jumped at one of the women and
called out loudly: "What do you want here?
You will not get a cent. Get out or I will have
you arrested." The woman began to cry and
tear her hair, but Mrs. H. yelled, " Get out, get
out," and called the janitor to do his charitable
work. As though Mrs. H.'s temper was con-
244
Tuesday 245
tagious, all the other investigators were horrible.
Mrs. B. and Mrs. D. and Cram and Sam, and
even that slip of a girl, that cripple with short
arms like a kangaroo, treated the poor as though
they had all committed the worst of crimes. That
girl is only six weeks on the job. She is a brute
now. No wonder! with such good teachers.
The women sat on the benches and moaned and
cried and tore their hair. That woman who had
a fit came back to her senses. She got three dol-
lars and was sent home. Mrs. H. protested.
She still insists that it is all a fake. *' Almost
every applicant could throw a fit," she said; " one,
two, three and they are down on the floor." Sam
said that he has a new business plan: a school
of epilepsy, ten dollars for the complete course.
They could earn money with such a trade. It
was the worst half-day I remember, and it was
very hot.
Really it could be called the " Garden of
Tears." All the eyes are red and cold sweat
covers the face of every applicant. As Mrs. B.
passed by the woman in black who had her face
covered with her shawl she tore it down and
yelled : " We want to see your sweet face,
madame. If you are ashamed to show yourself
there is no need to come here at all."
All the colour was gone from the woman's face.
She looked more like a ghost than a human being.
246 Crimes of Charity
Her face and lips white. Her sunken eyes black,
her mourning clothes accentuated the picture.
She sat motionless for a few minutes then she
covered her face again and went out slowly. I
followed her to the door. She hesitated about
which direction to take. Several times she re-
traced her steps as If she wanted to return to
the waiting room, but she finally decided to go
toward Fourteenth Street. I saw her stop before
a window and dry her eyes with her handkerchief.
She then disappeared down Fourteenth Street.
" What will become of her? " I thought. " She
has two small children, two small girls. If the
mother Is In the street what will become of the
children?" Why did that brute force her to
show her face? That's what she always does.
When I once asked her why she goes around to
the neighbours of an applicant and announces that
" So and so belong to the charities," she answered
me, " Whoever is ashamed should not beg." She
would brand them on the forehead with a hot iron.
I don't see why the Anti-Trust Law could not
be applied to organised charity 1 They have made
a " trust In pity,'* and are now treating the pro-
ducers and consumers as they like.
That woman. Erikson, who said yesterday, " I
won't, I won't give them up," stood at the door
more than an hour. She was not let in. Her
letter was taken away yesterday. Now she will
Tuesday 247
have to make out another application and wait for
an answer. The committee only meets next week.
I went out and asked her whether she had decided
to give the children to an orphan home.
" No, I won't," she answered, " but I wanted
to see these gentlemen and see whether I could
not soften their hearts. We could live on so
little — on so little," she pleaded.
" It's of no use," I told her. " You can't soften
their hearts. They are made of rock."
"Then what can I do?" she asked, crying.
" Anything you want, or you don't want, but
don't come around here. The less you show your-
self here the better for you."
She looked at me in a funny way. What did
she think of me anyhow ? Who knows what sense
she gave to my words! God knows. I don't
know what people will think when they read this.
If they only knew what I know. There is no
place on earth to duplicate this one. Nowhere
can you hear and see what you hear and see here.
The walls and pictures and benches and floors,
everything is soaked in tears.
The Erikson woman got hold of the Manager
on the stairs while he was going to his lunch. She
cried. He listened to her very attentively, then
he answered in that silky voice of his, " You put
the chairman In a very bad temper yesterday, but
I will do my best for you. Call next week." She
248 Crimes of Charity
wanted to say something but he strode away with
such majesty I It's of no use, I foresee. She will
give her children and they will place her some-
where as a servant. There is a great demand for
domestic help. The domestic help problem is
filling the columns of the daily papers. The of-
fice will do Its best to solve the problem.
I had a conversation with the janitor. He told
me that the job disgusts him and if times were
better he would throw it up. I thought for a mo-
ment that he meant the brutality of the investi-
gators, but no. He says that these scoundrels,
paupers, are yelping too much. He can't eat his
dinner in peace. He lives with his wife and chil-
dren In the building. What will become of his
children ? The sights they see every day I They
understand It all. His little girl, a child of seven,
calls the people " delelicts." " Papa, quick, a
delelict threw a fit," she called out yesterday when
coming from school for lunch. The father was
upstairs. There Is an old man coming every
Tuesday for his two dollar pension. Sam an-
nounced him as the " dean." It can't be Sam's
expression. He must have heard it from some
one else of the staff. The cashier, perhaps 1 She
is the daughter of the " terror." A true child,
no mistake possible. She never pays out a cent
without a remark. If It's five dollars she says,
" One hundred times for the movies." If It's ten
Tuesday 249
>
dollars, " Sale at Wanamaker's, latest style
French hats $9.98." *' If it were in my power,"
she once told me, " they would never get cash.
Bread, and meat and vegetables, but not a cent of
cash."
Strange they are always afraid lest the poor
have too much joy ! They would like to see them
always crying, kneeling, begging. Before going
for lunch. Cram had a long chat with the cashier.
They are on very good terms. Mrs. B. even
hinted at a secret engagement between the two.
What a difference in their voices when they speak
to one another and when they speak to applicants !
It seems to me very strange to see them smile or
laugh. I never thought them capable of that. I
would like to see them cry once. Some spiritual
pain, or a brick to hit them, and then to see them
cry. Why not? They have drawn enough from
the fountain of suffering — the eyes of the poor.
After the lunch hour I was given the address
of Mrs. Erikson and told to reinvestigate her case.
She has made an impression on the manager. He
is not quite so brutal as his subordinates. He
knows that charity is not solving the question of
poverty and he doubts all the investigators. But
he can't help it. The current of the old es-
tablished system Is too strong for him. As a mat-
ter of fact they are all working against him. Not
openly, of course. They are continually intrigu-
2^0 Crimes of Charity
ing and plotting one against the other. The
women are Machiavellis in petticoats. Every
move is spied, reported. They even investigate
privately.
I visited Mrs. Erikson. The usual thing.
Have I grown callous ? I don't seem to notice the
difference between one case of poverty and any
other. Even their talk does not interest me as
before. I anticipate everything: two months
back rent; owe eight dollars to grocer; one dollar
and fifty cents to the coalman ; gas bill, etc. They
all owe back rent and the grocer and the coalman,
the gas bill. Their rooms are all alike. Beds,
table and chairs. They even look alike. Their
original features are stamped out by the seal of
charity. Their voices are alike, speaking in a
subdued minor key of the same pitch and the same
pleading inflection.
Her husband had been a longshoreman. He
must have been a beautiful specimen of manhood.
She showed me his picture, a blond giant. He
died of Bright's disease. The two little girls re-
semble their father very much. I remember that
Mrs. H. doubted the morality of an applicant
because the child did not resemble his father.
The woman probably likes to read good books, I
saw Bjoernson Bjornson's novels on the mantel-
piece. She gets her books from the library in
Grand Street; I saw the stamp. I don't know
Tuesday 251
what to write in my report. The woman can't
go out to work. She has to attend to the chil-
dren. She does not want to separate from them.
She even hinted at suicide. I know she will not
do it. There was no bread in the house. I left
her a few cents. The neighbours help her out,
but they are all poor people. I am sure that the
chairman will not allow her any pension. She will
have to give her children to the orphan home. I
even tried to convince her that it is the best she
could do. But she cried so much!
It is terrible. No escape. However, I make
my report ; it will not help her in the way she wants.
She has antagonised the chairman and he is not
a forgiving man. And to think that he repre-
sents Christ on earth! He is Charity 1 I know
that he is one of the worst employers. He
crushes every strike with an iron fist. He has
stopped at nothing yet. He contributes an enor-
mous sum to organised charity. Is that payment
for the pleasure they give him of torturing the
poor?
I cannot eat, nor sleep. The cries of the day
echo in my ears. When I try to close my eyes I
see a woman throwing a fit or how they force one
out. I always fear that Sam is aiming a " greet-
ing " at me. The whole day long the image of
the woman in black directing herself towards
Fourteenth Street pursued me. How pale she
252 Crimes of Charity
was I Where Is she now? Drunk in some back
room of a saloon, a few men around her; and she
laughs and cries. Early in the morning she will
return to the children and buy bread and milk
with the price of a night's degradation. How
that brute tore the shawl from her face I " Show
your sweet face, madame. If you are ashamed
to show yourself there is no need to come here
at all." When a young woman has lost her shame
why should she beg? It's midnight now. I can't
sleep. Where is she now ? Where are they all ?
All those organised charity has driven to the
street. Come out I Show your accusing finger.
And the ones driven to an early grave. Come
and show yourselves. Line up before the build-
ing. When the morning comes and the sun shines
let the people see you in broad daylight. From
your fleshless mouths cry " Murderers " I and let
the whole world echo with your cry.
WEDNESDAY
ON arriving at the office I perceived signs
that this is my last week here. I have
criticised freely the whole system. Some
one has certainly reported me. No work has
been given me for the last few days. When they
sent me anywhere it was only a pretence. As a
matter of fact the re-investigation of Mrs. Erik-
son was also given to the " Terror." I will try
to read her report.
I passed my forenoon near Cram's desk, in the
basement. Cram is in excellent spirits to-day, and
though very gross in his remarks he is not so
brutal as usual. He cheers them up when they
come to his desk.
"Hello, mother, what's the trouble? Come,
come, don't cry — don't cry — it will be all right.
Go home, we will attend to that."
For one extreme case of starvation he even
recommended immediate relief. It's strange how
the whole basement looks more cheerful. Why,
even the sun has put in an appearance — hesitat-
ingly, of course. He doubts whether He is
wanted. Some broken rays play on the desk and
253
254 Crimes of Charity
on the face of some woman. When Cram is well
disposed even the sun rejoices.
Most of the time was taken up by a stranded
German actor and his wife. They were so ele-
gantly dressed that we thought at first they were
visitors, and Cram got up and politely asked
them their wishes. The man speaks a broken
English. He said they were actors and had been
influenced to come from Germany on a bogus con-
tract. They put up at a hotel and are now in
debt there. Their baggage has been seized, they
have no money, etc., etc. Cram offered them
chairs and attended to them immediately. He put
himself into communication with the Manager
and with the Employment Office. Some one was
sent to look for a furnished room, and another
man was sent to the hotel to take out their bag-
gage. Meanwhile the staff all came down to look
at the unusual customers. They all respect and
admire actors. Mrs. H. was exceedingly polite
and nice, and even invited them to lunch. Of
course the change affected the whole office. Every
one spoke about them. Sam asked whether they
were " real " actors. Only the " Terror " was
suspicious. When they departed Cram shook
hands with them and expressed his wish that they
would soon be out of difficulty.
" Do not lose heart," he told the woman.
" Such things might happen to any of us. Brace
Wednesday 255
up, brace up." He was all smiles. I wonder
what these people think of organised charity 1
The greatest blessing on earth, surely. If ever,
in better times, they tell the story, they will empha-
sise everything. They were politely received,
kindly treated, immediately helped, invited to
lunch.
" Organised charity," they will say, " is the
most beneficent thing of the century." All this
because Cram was in good spirits to-day. If they
had come yesterday, or if they were to come to-
morrow, and find Cram in his usual humour.
" An actor? You are an actor? And why don't
you go to the actors? Who told you to put up
at a hotel? Come to-morrow; we must investi-
gate." They would have sat for hours and hours
in the basement and heard how the others are
treated. As it is, they are lucky people. Cram
Is in extremely good spirits to-day.
Meanwhile, all the others had to wait, but
everything went smoothly. Most of the appli-
cations were accepted. Some were marked
" urgent." The sun took courage and shone even
brighter than before. " How sunny it is to-day,"
he said. Had this been so yesterday he would
have turned round and questioned the sunbeams:
" Where do you live ? How old are you? How
many children have you? What is your trade?
You give light and warmth? You are a liar. I
2^6 Crimes of Charity
have never seen you here before. Go to your
usual haunts. Tramp, vagabond, get out, get out
of here." But to-day he is in good humour.
What has happened? He asked my opinion
several times, when dealing with a new case. He
must have a beautiful voice. While studying an
application he sang, mezza voce, the aria from
Pagliacci. Why Pagliacci? I fancy because of
the stranded actors. I told him to cultivate his
God-given gift. He answered :
"Why? Can't I speak to the rabble with an
uncultured voice? "
" But this is not the be all and end all of your
life?"
" I am too poor for anything. Voice culture
costs money."
How ridiculous it all sounded. I am sure from
the way he comports himself with the applicants
they think him a millionaire and that the money
given comes from his pocket. Still, I was glad to
hear him speak about his poverty. I tried to
speak to him about the roughness of the investi-
gators, but he is a closed book as to that.
" Severity is needed."
I was afraid to continue the conversation lest
his good humour evaporate, so I changed the sub-
ject. All he wanted to talk about was women.
Had the sun anything to do with that? The
cashier, his sweetheart, came down to see him on
Wednesday 257
business. A pretence. She teased him about the
actor's wife and he let it go as if there was some-
thing in it.
" I invited her to lunch, you know," he said.
What a liar. Mrs. H. invited them both, the
actor and his wife.
I am going to see the Manager. It's settled.
I am weary and worn. But I won't go until I
have told him all I think of this rotten place.
AT NIGHT
FINISHED. The whole thing has weighed
so heavily on me. All interest in the
work has gone. I have seen every form
of misery the human mind could imagine. The
facts merely repeat themselves. Hunger, degra-
dation, insults, epilepsy. The investigators, the
janitor, the policeman and Sam. From morning
until night the same thing. I got to be callous.
Well, people get trained to tolerate the most
deadly poisons.
Thank God, my soul is not lost there. I can-
not say that I come out unscathed. Oh, no. But
I have retained my soul. Of all the different
forms and institutions of charity which have come
under my notice this is the worst place. Paris,
London and Montreal are nothing to it. Of all
the mills, here they grind the finest. I am leav-
ing. Just going to finish the week. And I gave
Sam a thrashing. I boxed his ears solidly and
felt great pleasure in doing it. But this is not
all. I did it in front of the applicants in the
waiting room and finished it up thoroughly. Let
me tell you how it happened.
258
At Night 259
About three weeks ago I was sent to investigate
a case. Thoroughness was recommended. The
address was in Sixty-sixth Street. Just as I en-
tered the block a woman I had met casually at pub-
lic meetings greeted me and asked whether I would
not come up and have a glass of cold water. It
was very warm and I did not refuse. I knew the
woman but did not know her name and she did
not know my present occupation. Great was my
astonishment when we entered the very same house
to which I was sent. It did not take long before
I knew that she was the applicant.
I told her nothing, but Inquired how she was
getting along since her husband died. She told
me that some relatives sent her money to open a
grocery store and that a society in which her hus-
band was an active member gave her a few hun-
dred dollars. She intended to peddle with laces
and curtains and perfumery. She even showed
me a bill from a firm from whom she had bought
merchandise to the value of one hundred and fifty
dollars to start with. As she spoke her children
came in, a girl of about ten and a boy of eleven.
The children had never seen me before. They
knew some one from the charities was expected.
I divined it from their countenances that they ex-
pected to be questioned and had been schooled by
the mother as to what to answer. I was right.
When I asked the boy if he skated well, he an-
260 Crimes of Charity
swered that he had no skates, though I saw them
under the bed. The mother interrupted him:
" Sure he skates. He is one of the best skaters
in the block. Put them on, Himey." The boy
looked at the mother understandingly, as though
he would ask. Is this not the one ? and the mother
repeated with emphasis : " Put them on, Himey."
Pride, mother pride, was getting hold of her.
" You should see them eat after a run I " I sat
in the house a long time and convinced myself that
she did not need help from charity. Her life
and the life of her children would be wrecked.
She had money. Her children go to school all
day. She is strong and young. In accepting help
from charity she and her children will become pau-
perised. She will not be able to attend to her
business. She will have to do it secretly. All
things taken into consideration, she will be the
loser. I wanted to tell her all that, explain to her
the wrong she is inflicting on herself and her chil-
dren, that she is selling her soul and the lives of
her children to the devil. But I could not open
my mouth. I had come as a visitor.
Then, I did not want her to know my occupa-
tion. Spy of Charity. She does not know why
I do It. All I did was to encourage her, and I
told her in a roundabout way not to allow anybody
to patronise her. " Attend to your business like
a man. Be a business lady. There is money in
At Night 261
lace curtains and perfumery. Take a servant to
attend to the house and the children and you go
out for business." This is what I told her. I
even advised her to put out a sign at the door.
" This I cannot do," she said.
"Why?"
" Because I can't — many reasons why."
So, I thought, you bit the bait. It set me wild.
Another customer, another target for Sam, an-
other prey for the " Terror." And the children
will be taught to lie, to cry and whine and beg.
They will not be allowed to laugh or play. Every
piece of meat they eat will be weighed and con-
trolled. No roller skates, no new clothes.
" Charity kids." No.
I made out a report in which I told the whole
situation. That the woman has money and is
about to start in business and needed no charity.
I also asked them to keep my report strictly confi-
dential, because I got the details as a " friend,"
and not as an investigator. How was I to know
that the lady president of a Sisterhood affiliated to
the office had recommended this case? Natu-
rally, when she saw that her protegee was turned
down she came to the office and demanded an
explanation. The Manager showed her my re-
port. The lady declared that it was a tissue of
lies, and promised to bring the applicant to the
office and have her face me. When I entered the
262 Crimes of Charity
private room of the Manager he began excusing
himself because he was compelled to put me in a
rather unpleasant position. However, he must
prove to the lady that " our investigation is a
thorough one," therefore he must ask me to face
the applicant. I told him I would not do it under
any circumstances. As a matter of fact, I said, I
had betrayed her confidence.
" I have promised and you must do it," he re-
peated.
*' You should not have promised before asking
me," I retorted hotly.
He disregarded my remark and called the presi-
dent of the Sisterhood to the desk. He intro-
duced me and said that I was going to prove the
case.
" No, I will not, sir," I repeated. " I have
told you that my report was strictly confidential."
The gentleman wanted to demonstrate his su-
perior position, and ordered. I refused again,
finished it off with telling them both all I thought
about their work and tendered violently my resig-
nation.
Coming from the office I saw Sam aiming a
" greeting " at an old man who sat in a corner of
the waiting room. I watched him doing it. No
sooner was he through than I got hold of him,
boxed his ears soundly and before any one had
time to interfere I had turned up his head and spat
At Night 263
upon him full in the face. It was a disgusting act,
but a sweet revenge. I did it, then called out,
" Feel how it tastes — you do it to every one."
Needless to say, the whole office was up in a
second. There was a terrible uproar. I won
the enmity of the whole bunch. I had hit Sam —
the pet, the future Manager; Sam, the greatest of
them all; debased him in front of the applicants.
The Assistant Manager came out to investigate
what the noise was about. And no one — no
one, not even the old man who was the direct cause
of it, whose face was still wet from Sam's spittle,
no one wanted to tell on Sam.
" Look, old man, your face is yet full of spittle."
" You are mistaken, sir," he answered, " to
beat a boy. Shame, shame."
Soon all the applicants looked angrily at me and
many said: " Shame, shame." Not one man or
woman would admit that they had seen him do it
at other times. I almost cried with rage.
The assistant manager was very much upset and
wondered that I should do such a thing. " It
puts you in a dangerous position," he told me.
I laughed. " My work is done. I have re-
signed," I answered as I went away. It's the best
thing that could have happened.
I had a fine day. But why did not that old
man tell the truth. If he were younger — But
it's all over now. I am happy. I had a fine day.
THURSDAY
WHAT I vaguely guessed and knew
and feared, has happened. The
Erikson woman did agree to part
with her children. Not only that but she seems
to look upon their acceptance by the institution
as a great favour. The manager saw his chance
and is making difficulties. Now the woman begs
that her children be taken away and she will at-
tend to herself. If it had not been only yesterday
that she seemed so determined not to part with
them I would think that prospective matrimony
is the cause of her change of heart. The Little
God is a mean fellow, and with his dart often poi-
sons a heart; especially a mother's. But after
all I know this is not the reason. The woman is
too hungry to think of love. Nature is on her
guard. She does not want hungry beings to pro-
create. What is more certain is that she can't
stand hunger, can't see her children hungry, and
has probably made up her mind that the children's
health, life, is worth her unhappiness. There is
yet another possibility. Some " Madame " may
have learned her plight and influenced her to go
264
Thursday 265
the easy way. She is not a beauty, but she is an
atractive kind. Blonde, fleshy, round, healthy, a
good reproducing animal. In normal circum-
stances she would be a nice mother of ten children
and yet remain rosy and tempting. Under the
tutelage of a " madame " she will " go it " for a
few years and then finish on the Bowery or in
Cuba in a " speak easy." A good many women
have of late discovered that they have relatives in
Cuba, have given their children to the asylum and
have gone to seek their " rich relations." I know
that some white slaver is after them. It is easy to
get at the objects of charity. They are kept in
one district.
However, she did not say that she was going
to Cuba so there is no use thinking about it. She
told me that she would work as a servant. She
thinks she will be an excellent cook. She will sell
her household goods (a second-hand dealer will
not give her more than ten dollars for them all)
and until she finds a place she will board with some
kind neighbour. She seems certain that in a few
years she will accumulate enough money to bring
her children back home and start in some busi-
ness. This is just why I am suspicious.
As she spoke to the investigator she abjectly
degraded and accused herself for not having ac-
cepted what " that fine big gentleman " proposed
to her.
266 Crimes of Charity
" I have been a fool — with no brain in head,"
she continually repeated.
" No understan' — they want me good and
children eatings every day. Please — please.
No, I no more fool. Take children."
That change of heart in twenty-four hours, in a
mother's heart, is due to something else than hun-
ger. As a matter of fact she is not hungry now,
neither are the children. There was too much
animal life in them. They wanted to play. The
mother did not look at them as she looked yes-
terday. She seemed to want to get rid of them,
as though they were a hindrance. They are in
her way — in her way to where? Servantdom
cannot have had such promise for her as to make
her part with the children. Hungry people look
differently at their children. They feel themselves
guilty when the children have no food, and are
apt to look upon their greatest faults with con-
doning eyes. Mrs. Erikson was severe with them
to-day. The children annoy her. She wants to
get rid of them.
Although the arrangements were made tele-
phonically in a few minutes, the Manager kept
the mother and children waiting the whole day in
the waiting room. I know from former experi-
ence that this is done in order to impress the
woman with the difficulty of placing the children
in an orphan home, and so that she will weigh
Thursday 267
carefully before she takes them out, in case the
children complain.
As a rule it works to the satisfaction of the
office. On Mrs. Erikson it was probably worked
as a punishment also. She was told to come to-
morrow.
The Manager told her that he was working
very hard to get them placed. The mother was
weary and anxious. The little girl wanted to
catch a paper flying about the room. The mother
ran after her and slapped the child. Yesterday
she said she would not separate from them; to-
day she slaps them. She wants to get rid of them.
They are in her way. In her way to what?
It was very funny during lunch time. As a rule
we all sit at one table. I usually sit near Cram.
As I entered the lunchroom to-day the chairs were
so placed that there was no room for me. They
were all so busy eating, seemingly, that they did
not notice me at all. The waitress, not knowing
of my disgrace, brought a chair and tried to place
it near Cram, but that worthy motioned her away.
" It's for the gentleman," she said, pointing at
me, and Cram reluctantly gave in. Not a word
during the meal. All ate very hurriedly. They
even shortened their stay, did not take any coffee.
Several times I tried to start a conversation, but
apparently they did not hear. It angered and
amused me. Bunch of brutes, I wanted to tell
268 Crimes of Charity
them all what I thought of them and their work.
Not to scoff or insult. I wanted to awaken in
them human sentiments. I wanted to preach. I
felt in me a power to move stone. But one look
at their stony faces, and all desire for speech was
gone. A frozen audience, an actor would say.
Brutes, callous, hardened criminals. I sometimes
think it's the revenge of fate. They rob the poor
of self-respect, and are robbed in turn of the noble
sentiment of pity. Even Pan would throw away
his flute if he had to play to them.
In the afternoon the Assistant Manager called
me in and said that he could yet smooth it out for
me If I would apologise to Sam. I laughed at the
suggestion.
" I am not very sure that I would succeed," he
said, " but I think I could manage it. I have a
real affection for you, and it was very hard on
me to see you committing such an act."
I assured him that I would not apologise to
Sam and even said that I would do it over again
were I to catch him doing the same thing. But
the Manager did not want to hear of it. " Sam
has never done anything of the kind * intention-
ally,' " he exclaimed. " You were excited and
took for a deliberate act what was only an acci-
dent. What you should have done was to explain
to the boy that spitting elsewhere than in a spit-
toon is contrary to the rules of the house, contrary
Thursday 269
to health and politeness." What was the use of
arguing with that man ? He did not want to see
the shadow of the Pagoda :
" Look, man, here you stand in the shadow of
the Pagoda."
" This Pagoda throws no shadow. Wc all
know that this Pagoda throws no shadow."
" But you stand on it now ! "
*' I don't see it. You are an infidel."
" I saw Sam doing it."
" No, Sam has never done such a thing."
" But he did it."
I repeated to the assistant what I told the man-
ager yesterday. He listened with bowed head.
Has he a conscience ? I am sure that Mr. G. was
prompted to his solicitude for me by the fact that
they fear I will make this public, also that the
Manager has instructed him to smooth matters.
That oily man wants no friction. He thought I
was sorry to have thrown away the job and gave
me an opportunity to keep it, by degrading myself.
They think that if I really need the position I will
not stop at such a small item as apologising to
Sam. The Assistant even mentioned " duties to
family." They know how to coerce. I told him
that I had had enough of this work and was not
anxious to remain and that as for my *' salary," it
kept me in cigarettes. This cut short the discus-
sion. He understood that I was in no need, con-
270 Crimes of Charity
sequently he could not degrade me. The law of
the scoundrel.
It made me think of that woman in black.
How the " Terror " tore the shawl from her face.
" If you are ashamed to show your face there is
no need to come here at all." She was in need.
She had her choice between the frying pan and the
fire. She jumped straight into the flames. Evi-
dently she felt it was the shortest route to death.
I am not so sure of that.
They rage not to be able to bend me.
Suddenly I felt as though a heavy weight had
been lifted from my shoulders. I walked out into
the street. It seemed broader, lighter. Rapid
steps brought me to the wharf. In time to see
the sunset. To mingle with the crowd. The
smell of rope and tar and of the acrid sweat of
the home-going workers gave me new hope.
They will arise.
THE END
ONE OF OUR BIGGEST INDUSTRIES
ACCORDING to the Census of 191 o the aggregate
number of benevolent institutions in the United
States was 5,408. Of these, 4,420 made reports of
some kind to the Census; in other words 988 institutions
failed to report at all. The number of institutions reporting
receipts was 4,281 ; the amount reported for the year
1910 was $118,379,859; 1,127 institutions failed to report
their receipts. The number of institutions reporting
payments during the year was 4,287; amount reported
$111,498,155; 1,121 institutions failed to report their payments.
The number of benevolent institutions reporting the value of
their property at close of the year 1910 was 3,871; amount
reported, $643,878,141; 1,537 institutions failed to report the
value of their property. If all the institutions had reported
receipts to the Census in 1910 the amount would reach two
hundred million dollars yearly. If all the institutions had
reported the value of their property, and this value should be
brought up to date, the amount would be near to one thousand
million dollars. The information asked by the Census was:
(i) receipts from State, county, municipal appropriations, in-
vested funds, donations, etc.; (2) expenditures for general
running expense; (3) value of property at close of year. I
quote the Census of 1910: " On information furnished from
the returns it became clear that it would be impossible to
obtain the desired information, at least in detail. Some
institutions evidently did not keep the necessary records,
others objected to making public their private finances."
Property of one billion dollars! Annual income of two
hundred million dollars! And they " don't keep the neces-
sary financial records and object to making public their pri-
vate finances."
The number of paupers under the supervision of these
" benevolent " institutions is more than two millions. Two
out of every hundred people in the United States are in the
clutches of organised charity.
It is one of the biggest industries in the United States!
271
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