It would be impossible to give adequate presentation of those forces termed social which have hold upon our neighborhood.
People with an ephemeral interest in the social order and some who are only seeking new thrills are prone to look upon the East Side as presenting a picturesque and alluring field for experimentation, and they are, at times, responsible for the confused conception of the neighborhood in the public mind.
The poor and the unemployed, the sick, the helpless, and the bewildered, unable to articulate their woes, are with us in great numbers. These, however, comprise only a part of our diverse, cosmopolitan population. There are many men and women living on the East Side who give keen scrutiny to measures for social amelioration. They are likely to appreciate the sincerity of messages whether these relate to living conditions, to the drama, or to music. Not only the East Side “intellectuals,” but the alert proletariat, may furnish propagandists of important social reforms.
The contrast between the character of the religious influences of the remoter past, or even of twenty or thirty years ago, in our part of the city, with those of the present day, is marked in the church edifices themselves.
Across from the settlement’s main houses on Henry Street stands All Saints’, with its slave gallery, calling up a picture of the rich and fashionable congregation of long ago. For years after their removal to other parts of the city, sentiment for the place, focusing on the stately, young-minded, octogenarian clergyman who remained behind, occasionally brought old members back, but now he too is gone, and the services echo to empty pews. The Floating Church, moored to its dock nearby, was removed but yesterday. Mariners’ Temple and the Church of the Sea and Land still stand, and suggest an invitation to the seafaring man to worship in Henry Street.
“All Saints’,” on Henry Street.
Occasionally a zealot seeks to rekindle in the churches of our neighborhood the fire that once brightened their altars, and social workers hailed one as “comrade” who ventured to bring the infamy of the red-light district to the knowledge of his bishop and the city. That bishop, humane and socially minded, came down for a short time to live among us, and in the evenings when he crossed the crowded street to call or to dine with us he dwelt upon the pleasure he had in learning to know the self-respect and dignity of his East Side parishioners. He spoke with gratification of the fact that during his stay downtown no begging letters had come to him from the neighborhood, nor had anyone belonging to it taken advantage of his presence to ask for personal favors. The neighborhood took his presence quite simply, regretting, with him, the spectacular featuring of his visit by the newspapers. Indeed, the only cynical comment that came to my ears was from a young radical, who, hearing of the bishop’s tribute, said: “That’s nothing new. It’s only new to a bishop.”
In the Roman Catholic churches the change is most marked by the dwindling of the large Irish congregations and the coming of the Italians. Patron saints’ days are celebrated with pomp and elaborate decoration. Arches of light festoon the streets, altars are erected on the sidewalk, and the image of the saint is enshrined on the church facade high above the passer-by. Threading in and out of the throngs are picturesquely shawled women with lovely babes in arms, fakirs and beggars, venders offering for sale rosaries, candles, and holy pictures. Mulberry, Elizabeth and even Goerck Streets’ sordid ugliness is then transformed for the time, and a clew is given to the old-world influence of the Church through drama.
The change from the Russian pale where the rabbi’s control is both civil and spiritual to a new world of complex religious and political authority, or lack of authority, accentuates the difficulties of readjustment for the pious Jew. The Talmudic students, cherished in the old country and held aloof from all questions of economic needs because of their learning and piety, find themselves without anchor in the new environment and precipitated into entirely new valuations of worth and strength.
Freedom and opportunity for the young make costly demands upon the bewildered elders, who cling tenaciously to their ancient religious observances. The synagogues are everywhere—imposing or shabby-looking buildings—and the chevras, sometimes occupying only a small room where the prescribed number meet for daily prayer. Often through the windows of a dilapidated house the swaying figures of the devout may be seen with prayer-shawl and phylactery and eyes turned to the East. At high festivals every pew and bench are occupied and additional halls are rented where services are held for those men, women, and young people who, indifferent at other times, then meet and pray together.
But though the religious life is abundantly in evidence through the synagogues and the Talmud-Torah schools[15] and the Chedorim, where the boys, confined for many hours, study Hebrew and receive religious instruction, and although the Barmitzvah, or confirmation of the son at thirteen, is still an impressive ceremony and the occasion of family rejoicing, there is lament on the part of the pious that the house of worship and the ritualistic ceremonial of the Jewish faith have lost their hold upon the spiritual life of the younger generation.
For them new appeals take the place of the old religious commands. The modern public-spirited rabbi offers his pulpit for the presentation of current social problems. Zionism with its appeal for a spiritual nationalism, socialism with its call to economic salvation, the extension of democracy through the enfranchisement of women, the plea for service to humanity through social work, stir the younger generation and give expression to a religious spirit.
THE SYNAGOGUES ARE EVERYWHERE—IMPOSING OR SHABBY-LOOKING BUILDINGS
Settlements suffer at times from the criticism of those who sincerely believe that, without definite religious propaganda, their full measure of usefulness cannot be attained. It has seemed to us that something fundamental in the structure of the settlement itself would be lost were our policy altered. All creeds have a common basis for fellowship, and their adherents may work together for humanity with mutual respect and esteem for the conviction of each when these are not brought into controversy. Protestants, Catholics, Jews, an occasional Buddhist, and those who can claim no creed have lived and served together in the Henry Street house contented and happy, with no attempt to impose their theological convictions upon one another or upon the members of the clubs and classes who come in confidence to us.
During any election campaign the swarming, gesticulating, serious-looking street crowds of our neighborhood are multiplied and intensified. Orators, not a few small boys among them, appear on nearly every street corner, and an observer might almost measure the forces that influence the people by the number and character of the orators, the appeals upon which they base their hope of approval at the polls, and the reaction of the crowds that surround them.
Pleas supported by reasonable show of argument are likely to find intelligent response, although, as is but natural, the judgment of a temperamental people is at times not clearly defined. During the recent almost riotous support of a Governor who had been impeached (it was generally believed at the behest of an irritated “boss” to whom he had refused obedience) many New Yorkers who had come to count upon the East Side for insight and understanding were perplexed at what seemed hero-worship of a man against whom charges of misappropriation of funds had been sustained. Those who knew the people discerned an emotional desire for justice mingled with some gratitude to the man who, while in Congress, had kept faith with his constituents on matters vital to them. Stopping at a sidewalk stand on Second Avenue, I asked the owner what it was all about. “Oh,” said he, “Sulzer ain’t being punished now for bein’ bad. Murphy’s hittin’ him for the good he done.”
Our first realization of the dominating influence of political control upon the individual and collective life of the neighborhood came, naturally enough, through the gossip of our new acquaintances when we came to live downtown, and we were not long oblivious to the power invested in quite ordinary men whom we met.
Two distinguished English visitors to America, keen students and historians of social movements, expressed a desire to learn of the methods of Tammany Hall from someone in its inner councils. A luncheon with a well-known and continuous officeholder was arranged by a mutual friend. When my interest was first aroused in the political life of the city this man’s position in the party had been cited as an example of the astuteness of the “Boss.” He had revolted against certain conditions and had shown remarkable ability in building up an opposition within the party. Ever after he had enjoyed unchallenged some high-salaried office.
Under the genial influence of our host, and perhaps because he felt secure with the English guests, the “Judge” (he had at one time presided in an inferior court) talked freely of the details about which they were curious,—how the organization tested the loyalty of its members and increased their power and prestige as their record warranted it, giving, incidentally, an interesting glimpse of the human elements in the great political machine. His own success as judge he attributed to the fact that he had used common sense where his highly educated colleagues would have used textbooks, and with keen appreciation of the humor of the situation he told how, when he was sworn in, a distinguished jurist said he had come to his court “to see Judge ⸺ dispense with justice.” He defended the logic, from the “Boss’s” point of view, of efficiently administering such patronage as was available, and made much of the kindness to the poor that was possible because of the district control. Comparing their own with what he supposed to be my attitude to the poor, he added with a smile of comprehension, “It’s the same thing, only we keep books.”
A political organization watchful to capture personal loyalty makes dramatic appeal, the potency of which cannot be ignored. The speedy release of young offenders from jail was, years ago, the most impressive demonstration of beneficent influence, and it was whispered that district leaders were notified by the police of arrests, that they might have an opportunity to get the young men out of trouble. Certain it is that several times when anxious relatives rushed to us for help we found that the leader had been as promptly notified as the families themselves.
So much genuine kindness is entwined with the administration of this district control that one can well comprehend the loyalty that it wins; and it is not the poor, jobless man who, at election times, remembers favors of whom we are critical.
Opposed to the solidarity of the long dominant party are the other party organizations and numerous cliques of radicals, independents, and reformers. These, when the offenses of the party in power become most flagrant, unite, and New York is temporarily freed from “boss” rule, to enjoy a respite of “reform administration.” Into such “moral campaigns” the House on Henry Street has always entered, and sometimes it has helped to initiate them, though steadily refusing to be brought officially into a political party or faction. Indeed, it would be impossible to range residents or club members under one political banner. As is natural in so large a group, nearly every shade of political faith is represented.
A large proportion of the young people who come to the settlements are attracted to the independent political movements, and are likely to respond to appeals to their civic conscience. While serving on a State Commission I heard an upstate colleague repeat the rumor that Governor Hughes, then a candidate for re-election, was to be knifed by his party. We had seen in our section of the city no active campaign on his behalf. Posters, pictures, and flattering references were conspicuously absent. Governor Hughes had made a profound impression upon all but the advocates of rigid party control because of his high-minded integrity and emancipation from “practical” political methods. I telephoned two or three of our young men that the time seemed ripe for some action in our neighborhood. In an incredibly short time a small group of Democrats, Republicans, and Socialists gathered in the sitting-room of the Henry Street house, and within twenty-four hours an Independent League was formed to bring the Governor’s candidacy before the neighborhood. Financial and moral support came from other friends, and before the end of the week he addressed in Clinton Hall an enthusiastic mass-meeting organized by this league without help from the members of his own political organization.
The sporadic attempts of good citizens to organize for reform have, I am sure, given practical politicians food for merriment. One election night, dispirited because of the defeat of an upright and able man, I was about to enter the settlement when one of the district leaders said: “Your friends don’t play the game intelligently. You telephone them to-night to begin to organize if they want to beat us next election. You got to begin early and stick to it.”
However, every sincere reform campaign is valuable because of its immediate and far-reaching educational effect, even when the candidates fail of election. It is gratifying to those who are socially interested to watch the evolution of political platforms. Every party now inserts human welfare planks and pledges devotion to measures that in the days of our initiation were regarded as dreams and ridiculed as beyond the realm of practicality. Settlements have increasing authority because of the persistency of their interest in social welfare measures. They accumulate in their daily routine significant facts obtainable in no other way. Governors and legislators listen, and sooner or later act on the representations of responsible advocates whose facts are current and trustworthy. The experience of the social worker is often utilized by the state. At the twentieth anniversary of our settlement the Mayor drew public attention to the fact that no less than five important city departments were intrusted to men and one woman who were qualified for public duty by administration of or long-continued association with the settlements.
Soon after our removal to Henry Street in 1895 messengers from the “Association,” the important political club of the district, brought lanterns and flags with which we were requested to decorate in honor of a clambake to be given the next day. The event had been glaringly and expensively advertised for some time. The marchers were to pass our house in the morning and on their return in the evening. The young men glowed with the excitement of their recital, and I can still see the blank look of non-comprehension that passed over their faces when I tried to soften refusal by explaining—lamely, I fear—our reasons for avoiding the implications of participation. The courteous district leader of the other great party was equally at sea when, a short time after, he brought flags and decorations for their more humble celebration and met with the same refusal. The immediate conclusion appeared to be that we were enemies or “reformers,” and the charge was held against us.
The gay and spirited clambake parade, with its bands and flying banners, the shooting rockets and loud applause of the friends of the marchers, had passed by when we were drawn to the windows to gaze upon another procession. Straggling, unkempt, dispirited-looking marchers returned our scrutiny and held aloft a banner bearing the legend “Socialist Labor Party,” the portrait of a man, and beneath it the name “Daniel De Leon.”
It was our first intimation of the socialist movement in America, and students of its history will be able to identify this leader and recall the pioneer part he played in its early phases, his alliance with the once-powerful Knights of Labor, and the progress and decline of his society now overshadowed by the present Socialist Party.[16]
Meeting a neighbor on the Bowery one day about two years later, he stopped to explain that he was on his way to an interesting performance, and invited me to accompany him. Together we walked along until we reached the Thalia Theater, famous under its old name of the Bowery in the annals of the American stage. In this theater Charlotte Cushman made her first appearance in New York, and here the elder Booth, Lester Wallack, and other great players delighted the theatergoers of their day.
Venders of suspenders, hot sausages, and plaster statuettes surrounded the building, and placards on the Greek columns advertised the event as “The Spoken Newspaper.” A huge audience was listening to editorials and special articles read by the authors themselves, and the atmosphere was charged with intense purpose. Acquaintances gathered quickly, and eagerly explained to me that members of labor organizations and “intellectuals” of the neighborhood had united for the purpose of publishing a newspaper for socialist propaganda and to help the cause of the working classes. They had little money; in fact, were in debt. The men had contributed from their scanty wages; those who possessed watches had pawned them, and they were using this medium (“The Spoken Newspaper”) to raise money to pay the printer and other clamorous creditors, a charge of ten cents being made for admission to the theater. A charter had been obtained under the name of “The Forward Association,” but I was made to understand that this was not a stock corporation and was not organized for profit.
The genuinely social purpose of the organization held the men together during the lean years that were to follow. Finally, in 1908, the Association became self-supporting, and in 1911 the charter was amended to meet the enormously extended field. The Forward Association now publishes a daily paper in Yiddish, with a regular circulation of 177,000, and a monthly periodical, and holds property estimated to be worth half a million dollars. From its funds it has aided struggling propagandist newspapers and has given help to labor organizations.
The hope of a more equal distribution of wealth bites early into the consciousness of the proletariat. Even the children, who cannot be excluded from any discussion in a tenement home, have opinions on the subject. Happening one day upon a club of youngsters, I interrupted a fiery debate on socialism. Its twelve-year-old defender presented his argument in this fashion: “You see, gentlemen, it’s this way: The millionaires sit round the table eating sponge-cake and the bakers are down in the cellars baking it. But the day will come,”—and here the young orator pointed an accusing finger at the universe—“when the bakers will come up from their cellars and say, ‘Gentlemen, bake your own sponge-cake.’”
Mixed with my admiration for the impressive oratory was the guilty sense that the settlement was probably responsible for the picture of licentious living manifested by the consumption of sponge-cake,—our most popular refreshment, with ice cream added on great occasions.
However one may question the party socialists’ claim that an economic and social millennium is exclusively dependent upon their dominance, few acquainted with those active in the movement will deny the sincerity of purpose, the almost religious exaltation that animate great numbers of the party. The first socialist member from the East, and the second in the United States, has been elected to Congress from our district; a man universally esteemed for his probity, with a record of many years’ unselfish devotion to the workingmen’s cause.
A copious literature and widespread propaganda proclaim the willingness of the American people now to give socialism a hearing. It seems a far cry from that first unimpressive little parade that drew the settlement family to the windows twenty years ago.
Years ago the lads in one of the settlement clubs debating the subject of woman suffrage declared it to be “a well-known fact that when women had the vote they cut off their hair, they donned men’s attire; their voices became harsh.”
I cannot say that even to-day the ardent advocates of woman suffrage come in great numbers from among the male members of the settlement clubs, but, on the whole, the tendency is to accept women in politics as a necessary phase of this transitional period and the readjustment of the old relations. The conviction that the extension of democracy should include women has found free expression in our part of the city, and Miss L. L. Dock, a resident of many years, has mobilized Russians, Italians, Irish, and native-born, all the nationalities of our cosmopolitan community, for the campaign. When the suffrage parade marched down Fifth Avenue in 1913, back of the settlement banner, with its symbol of universal brotherhood, there walked a goodly company carrying flags with the suffrage demand in ten languages. The cosmopolitanism of our district was marked by the Sephardic Jewish girl who bore aloft the Turkish appeal. The Chinese banner was made by a Chinese physician and a Chinese missionary. There are four American-born Chinese voters in our part of the city.
The transition is significant from the position of women among orthodox Jews to the motherly looking woman who stands on a soap-box at the corner of Henry Street and makes her appeal for the franchise to a respectful group of laboring men. The mere fact that this “mother in Israel” is obliged to work in a factory six days of the week is an argument in itself, but intelligently and interestingly she develops her plea, and her appeal to the men’s reason brings sober nods of approval.
The Russian revolution owes much to the valorous women who from the formation of the Tschaikowsky circles in the early ’70s have worked as comrades for the cause, and this is well known to the “intellectuals” of the East Side. I doubt whether a single man or woman could be found among them opposed to granting the franchise to women. If they seem indifferent, it is doubtless because they think it a matter of course and strenuous effort to secure votes for women unnecessary. From the party organization men there is not so much encouragement.
Commissioner of Corrections Katherine Davis testifies that the inmates of the girls’ reformatory disapprove of women voting as “unladylike,” and it may surprise those who do not know the thought of these poor women to learn that they cling to orthodox ideals. I understand that I shocked one girl, who had been sentenced to the “Island” from the Night Court, by advocating the appointment of women police. The probation officer who called upon her asked her opinion of my recommendation, which was then sufficiently novel to attract newspaper attention. “Oh,” said the girl, “it’s not right. Woman’s place is the home.”
