by S. L. Stoner
Clearly, Rachel’s determination had lasted through the night. When she’d arrived and explained her absence of the day before, the women clustered around her murmuring encouragement, doing their best to sound hopeful. This attention couldn’t erase the dark shadows beneath Rachel’s worried eyes but she calmly went to her station and began her work.
By late morning, the stink and heat of the steam had become nearly unbearable. That new foreman, a fellow who seemed to know nothing about running a laundry and to care even less about it, had briefly showed up and then skedaddled like his tail was afire. Shortly after his departure, two women fainted at the mangles. The washmen carried them outside only to have them stagger back to work once they’d revived. At least that foreman wasn’t around to dock their pay for their lapse into unconsciousness, Mae thought grimly.
As the day’s heat intensified outside, it grew even hotter inside. Finally, Mae began feeling weak, dizzy and sick to her stomach. She set down the iron and stumbled over to the dreadful sink. Cupping her hands, she drank thirstily; glad there was no foreman to hurry her back to work. She decided to stretch the break by pretending to use the toilet though she’d swear her body was dry as burnt toast.
Opening the door to the single toilet, she was startled to find someone already inside. Mumbling her apologies, Mae backed out and hurried to her ironing board. She could have waited but was afraid to. Afraid that the woman inside, that new girl Caroline, would read the suspicion that had to be written across her face. And, Lordy, she sure was getting even more suspicious since she’d seen that girl quickly shove something beneath her apron. It had looked like a notebook though Mae couldn’t be sure because she’d only caught a glimpse. She cast about for an explanation. Just what the heck was that Caroline person, if that was her real name, writing down?
Unions were learning hard lessons about union busting. It was a growing and lucrative business that provided management with spies for every labor dispute. Now it was beginning to look like Caroline was one such spy, in league with management and gathering information harmful to her co-workers.
“We’ll just see about that, missy,” Mae muttered to herself as she slammed the iron down hard on a defenseless piece of lace. She’d be keeping an even closer eye on Miss Caroline. And, first chance she got, she’d jab a stick between that gal’s spokes.
Chapter Ten
“Gentlemen, this is no time to turn faint of heart.” Cobb’ voice was mildly accusatory. He flashed them a satisfied smile and added, “Everything is in place.”
The four men around the table leaned forward, intent on learning more. Strain showed on every face although that hadn’t stopped a one of them from finishing his breakfast.
“Thaddeus, what exactly is the plan you claim to have in place? You’ve been so secretive. It’s like you don’t trust us!” There was a tremble in the accusation, as if speaker were overcoming fear. Still, the man swallowed and continued, “I have to say, one more time, that I’m not sure a work stoppage is good for business. We’re going to lose customers. Why, with my laundry shut down, I’ll probably lose more money than if I just agreed to a nine-hour day. We got them to drop their demand for a wage increase. Why don’t we congratulate ourselves and give way on that one little thing?” He looked around the table. No one nodded in agreement. Rather, their faces were blank masks, as if they were children fearful of how their stern father would react to a sibling’s challenge.
Cobb’s lips thinned momentarily as he wrestled his frustration under control. “Ryland, we’ve been over this before. Sure, maybe you could afford the loss of one hour a day. But how long would that be enough for them? Next month, next year, they’d come right back at us. And, next time, they’ll be even greedier. They’ll remember they won the first round and that will give them even more courage the second time. And what if they decide we can’t hire or fire who we want, when we want? Or, maybe they’ll demand a say in what kind of equipment we can buy. I’ve already had them hollering about the mangles. What happens if it’s the extractor next or the chemicals we add to the wash water? You’ve all heard rumblings like that,” he said to nods all around. “It all comes down to whether you or your workers will control your business. The real issue is control. Every demand they make will cost you money. We have to nip this rebellion in the bud and fast.” Again, there were nods and even a muted “hear, hear”.
Still, Ryland wasn’t finished voicing his concerns. “Cobb, it’s easy for you to talk about sacrificing today for tomorrow’s gains. But that sacrifice is not going to be hitting your pocket. You’re just a manager. I own my laundry. My family works there. If we halt operations, our family’s income stops.”
This time, Cobb’s face flushed and the men around the table stiffened, as if bracing for a blow. It didn’t come. Cobb maintained control. “Lewis, Henry and I might be managers, but our continued employment depends on our success. We wouldn’t be advocating resistance without the agreement of the owners. They are willing to make the sacrifice. Besides,” he added, his jutting chin reinforcing his point, “I have informed the owner that I plan to forego my salary for the duration of the shut down.”
His declaration eased the tension and the others shifted in their chairs. Ryland, however, made one more attempt so feeble that it signaled capitulation, “I don’t have the resources, they do. If we do this thing, I’ll stick with it as long as I can but I can’t promise I’ll stick with it for a long time.”
Cobb nodded his understanding. “We understand Ry. I am confident that the union won’t be able to hold out very long.” Cobb smiled widely without showing his teeth. Rubbing his hands together as he said, “Okay, men, let me fill you in on what will be happening.”
The others were instantly alert. After all, Cobb’s proposition would determine the future course of events.
“First, I’ve got a side deal going with the drivers’ union president. They’ll go back to work just as soon as we hire replacement workers for the washrooms. His cooperation is not even going to cost us all that much.
“Second, in another day or so, I’ll have the names of the most troublesome agitators. One of them is already out of the picture. You men were supposed to be making the same kind of lists. Do you have your lists in hand?”
There were nods all around.
“Okay, then. We have agreed to fire every single person on those lists the night before we lockout. We’ll let them work all day and then give them the boot once the work day is done.”
“I don’t understand,” Ryland interjected. “If we are going to lock them out the next morning, why fire those on the list the day before? They’ll be gone the next day anyway. Everyone’s going to be fired when they come to work the next morning and find the doors locked.”
“To cause dissention, to weaken them. Come on man, think about it. If we fire them the night before it means the big mouths won’t be around in the morning. They’ll be off meeting with the union president about us firing them, planning their strategy. That means, the next morning, the locked out workers won’t have anyone to lead them
Cobb’s face twisted with disgust. “Mostly it’s the damn women who are causing all the trouble. What’s their average weekly wage? Six dollars, right?”
Ryland and the others nodded in agreement and Cobb continued, “So, we lock them out and all that time they’re sitting there they’ll need to pay for food and rent. How long before they run out of whatever piddling savings they have? How long before they start thinking of just themselves or their squalling kids? How long before the idea of coming back to work on our terms starts to look good? And remember, the more we discredit their leaders, take them off the playing field, the easier it will be for their followers to cross the picket line. Simple human nature at work.” Cobb sat back, confident in his analysis.
“Yes, I guess you’re right. Some of my gals work little Sunday jobs but for sure, most of them are living hand to mouth.” Ryland said reluctantly before his forehead wrinkled, as if
he’d just realized something. Cobb saw it and jumped in to distract him.
Cobb looked at each man closely to make sure they caught his next words firmly. “Okay, then. We’ll fire the leaders the night before and the rest of them will come to work the next morning and find the doors locked.”
For the first time Lewis Gillibrand, manager of the inaptly named “Union Laundry” spoke up. “What about that Rachel woman who works for you? She’s their elected representative. Even the women working for me seem to really like her. She’s got the gift of gab and then some. You fire her, she won’t give up. She’ll just have more time to stir up support from other unions and stir up our workers all the more.”
This time, Cobb’s smile was thin-lipped. “We’ve taken care of that little missy. She’ll not be bothering us any longer.” His declaration sent a chill across the other men because their eyes widened and they exchanged uneasy glances. In the ensuing silence, they seemed to conclude that it was best to leave some questions unasked because not one of them opened his mouth to speak.
Finally, Gillibrand cleared his throat to say, “What about the newspapers? The Labor Press will definitely attack us with both barrels. And, Johnston, over at the Journal is pretty cozy with the unions as well.”
Cobb raised a cautionary finger in the air. “Who reads that Labor Press rag? Just union people and we already know they’ll be against us . . . except for our own drivers’ union.” He allowed himself a satisfied smirk.
“Some of my drivers are sympathetic to the women. They might not follow their union president,” said Ryland, his former fire now an ineffective sputtering.
“A few drivers might, but most won’t want to lose their jobs. You know how it is. There are plenty of hungry men more than eager to fill their shoes if given a chance. And, they know it.”
“Anyway,” Cobb said dismissively, “The Gazette’s firmly in our pocket. The day of our lockout, the Gazette will so inform the public by painting us in the most favorable light. It’s all arranged.”
Their plans finalized, the men filed out—all but Cobb and the man who’d been sitting quietly in the corner. That man stood and walked to the table.
“Mr. Cobb, I must apologize deeply,” said Farley.
Cobb looked up at him, his face puzzled, verging on irritation. “What do you mean, man? What’s wrong?” he snapped.
“Sinclair came to see me here at the hotel, just before this meeting. He told me something disturbing.”
This time, Cobb’s irritation was unmistakable. “Damn it. Spit it out. I haven’t got time for this. I need to get to the laundry.”
Farley took a deep breath and said quickly, “Sinclair didn’t grab Rachel. He took her sister instead.”
“What?” The single word cracked like a pistol shot.
“They look alike. She came out of the laundry. He thought he got the right one. When he got to work this morning, there Rachel was, working at her mangle.”
“You’re telling me that we have imprisoned a girl who has absolutely nothing to do with anything?”
“Well, she is the sister. That’s got to slow the Rachel woman down.”
“I expect a refund,” Cobb said. “And, I expect your incompetent dunce to complete his mission. He was supposed to take care of her before the lockout but he can do it after.”
“What about the sister? The one he took?”
“I don’t give a damn what you do with the sister. Just don’t let her loose right now. We need to keep the pressure on. Remember, the name of the game is to weaken them any way we can.”
Farley nodded, put his hat on his head and prepared to leave the Portland Hotel’s private dining room. As he reached the door he turned and said, “In all my years of helping management wage these fights, I’ve never seen a manager give up his salary during a labor dispute. That is a real effective tactic. It shut that Ryland fellow right up.”
“You fool,” Cobb said without heat as he slapped on a fawn colored fedora that perfectly matched his summer cutaway suit. Looking at Farley he said gave his mirthless smile and said, “I lied.”
The cab dropped Sage off in front of the New Era hotel just as the streets began slowing down after the raucous rattle of early morning commerce. All around, the stoop sleepers had stirred awake and vacated their nests to forage for food and work. The North End was home for itinerant workers with its day-job hiring halls and various nooks and crannies for sleeping.
The air on his skin felt cooler this morning, maybe the heat wave was going to break. He hoped so. He’d had enough of sweating and muddle-headedness. The summer of 1903 would definitely go down in the record books as a hot one. That triggered his persistent worry. It was too hot for his mother to spend ten hours a day in that steam laundry. There’s a consolation if there’s a strike or lockout. At least she’d be done with working there.
Inside the hotel lobby, an electric ceiling fan was already whirling at top speed. There was a line of black railroad porters who were patiently waiting to check out. Most sent curious looks in his direction. The busy desk clerk saw him and pointed toward the hotel’s dining room. There he found Solomon sitting at a single table, an open account book before him. When he saw Sage he slapped the book shut and gestured at the chair across from him.
“Why, John. How nice to see you. It’s not often you bless us with your presence so early in the day. Usually your habits are those of the owl’s rather than the meadow lark’s.”
“Hey, I get up early,” Sage protested, before conceding with a grin, “But only when I have to.”
“Ah, from that response I perceive that your visit is more in the nature of business rather than the pleasures of socializing?”
“Afraid so, Angus. And I mean that. I wish I were here just to visit.” Sage said before mouthing a “thank you” to the waiter who had materialized at his side with a cup of hot coffee.
Solomon peered quizzically into his face before asking, “Are you here to learn whether we’ve found the other two union buster operatives? Sorry to say, we haven’t, though Farley did inquire about tomorrow’s train schedule.”
“Well, that could be when they’re arriving,” Sage mused then he straightened, saying, “But now we’ve got another problem.”
“Ah,” Solomon said and then waited for further explanation.
“A young woman has disappeared. Her name is Rebecca Levy. She’s the sister of the union representative for the laundry workers.”
“Do you think her disappearance is connected to the labor dispute?”
Sage shrugged his shoulders saying, “I’m thinking not. If they really wanted to take the wind out of the workers’ sails they would have snatched the union representative herself. Mae says she’s a real firecracker. Still, having her sister missing will slow her down though she says it’s not going to stop her—so long as we’re out hunting for her sister.”
Solomon’s eyelids dropped low over his bright eyes while he considered the situation. “So, you are thinking that perhaps the girl was taken out of town on a train?”
“That’s one thing that could have happened. She could also be here in town, locked up in some room.”
“So, how are we going to find her?” Solomon asked and Sage breathed a mental sigh of relief. Solomon was a busy man. Besides working long days in the Portland Hotel’s exclusive dining room, he also ran his New Era Hotel. The latter gave Solomon access to the railway workers which meant he might be able to find out whether someone had already taken the girl out of the city by train. He knew other local men, living in the area, who might have seen her taken aboard a ship.
Sage said, “Thank you very much, Angus for your offer of help. As always, your assistance is most appreciated. My understanding is that the girl has dark hair and eyes, is about twenty-eight years old and comely, though not pretty or beautiful. When last seen, she was wearing a sale’s clerk’s dark blue skirt and jacket with a white blouse.”
‘So, she’s a sales clerk?”
&nb
sp; “Yes, she works for the Olds and King department store. Last Saturday she left work at noon. She dropped her sister’s lunch at the Sparta Laundry. She said she was going home to the boarding house where the two girls share a room. She never got there and no one has seen her since.”
“The idea is that we ask whether anyone saw a young woman who appeared to be under duress, accompanied by a man who seemed a stranger to her or of whom she appeared afraid?”
“That’s the idea, all right,” Sage said. “Mr. Fong’s people are searching the underground, asking around the docks and at the few Chinese houses of ill repute. So far, no one has seen her. Maybe you can ask your people to look around the docks.”
Sage’s hands scrubbed his face as if to wipe away the tired. “Still, if she’s aboard a ship, how could we possibly find her? We can’t search every ship in the harbor and they sail downriver twice a day. There’s just too many and I can’t think of any excuse we could use to search them. Not to mention we don’t have enough men. Our only hope is that someone saw a woman matching her description on a wharf or hustled aboard a particular ship. Much as I hate to say it, we have to find her before they put her on a ship or she’s lost to us. And, we’re just going to have to trust she’s not already aboard one.”
Solomon shoved back his chair. “Well, then, I had better take my leave from you. Some of the porters are still in the lobby. The sooner I ask them about the girl, the fresher their memory will be and the faster they’ll be on the lookout. I’ll also send word out to neighborhood men to keep a lookout on the streets and down near the docks.” Solomon shook Sage’s hand before quickly crossing the room and entering the lobby.
Sage drained his coffee cup and headed into the kitchen. None of the kitchen workers paid him any mind. They were used to him leaving by the back door.
