American Progress

by Veda Boyd Jones

  The small bedrooms up under the eaves of the Schmidt house were like ovens. At supper one evening, Mama wondered aloud if they should purchase electric fans and put them in the upstairs windows.

  Thomas shook his head. “No need to do that, Mama,” he said. “They would only blow hot air. We’ll just come down and sleep in the parlor each night.”

  “Or out in the yard,” Curt said, his eyes lighting up. “Like cowboys out on the range.”

  The week after they gave up sleeping in the hot upstairs, the family celebrated Curt’s birthday. He was now eleven. Papa surprised him by announcing that the whole family would go to a cowboy motion picture show. Mama didn’t care much for the flickers, but this was a special occasion.

  Libby made them promise to go to a moving picture show starring Mary Pickford on her birthday. Mama said they would see. Libby now had a magazine picture of Miss Pickford fastened to their bedroom wall with straight pins. Mama said no one should paint their lips so dark as movie actresses did. But with her long blond curls, Mary Pickford looked like a little girl.

  The electric lights of the marquee of the Bijou motion picture theater blinked and sparkled as the six members of the Schmidt family walked down the sidewalk. Since it was Curt’s birthday, the children chose to wear last year’s school clothes. Even after just a few weeks of going barefooted, Maria’s feet rebelled against wearing shoes. Her high-top button shoes squeezed her feet like a pair of vises.

  A display case outside the theater held large show bills of coming attractions. Libby was immediately drawn to the bill that said MARY PICKFORD STARRING IN TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. She stared at the picture with a dreamy look in her eyes. Another bill blared out the words Special Today! It pictured a cowboy in chaps, spurs, and a ten-gallon hat. TOM MIX STARRING IN WINDS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS!

  Papa paid for the tickets, and they went inside. He removed his hat and nudged the boys to remove their caps. They walked through the lobby, and Papa held back the crimson velvet curtains that hung at the entrance to allow them to go in. They found seats, and within a few minutes the lights dimmed and flickering light lit up the screen. Suddenly the title of the motion picture and the names of the people who starred in it flashed before them. Tom Mix’s name was in big letters.

  Maria had never seen so much movement go so fast. Men on horseback raised clouds of dust. Indians rode, waving bows and tomahawks in the air. A train raced along the tracks and went hurtling off a cliff. It was as though she could taste the dust and hear the crash. Between scenes, words appeared on the screen to describe the action or tell what the actors and actresses were saying.

  All the time the flicker was showing, a man played loud music on a piano down front. He played fast lilting music in the action scenes and slower melodies when Tom Mix was talking to the pretty heroine. Every time Tom Mix talked to the pretty lady, she fluttered her eyelashes. The part Maria didn’t like was when the heroine fainted from fright. Maria knew she would certainly never do such a thing.

  When they came outside into the evening air, they were all blinking and struggling to get their eyes adjusted to the light. “One would think motion pictures could ruin the eyes of our children if they watched them for very long,” Mama said.

  Maria was wondering what it would be like to ride a horse fast and free across the prairie, and she knew Curt was thinking the same thing. What fun that would be. Perhaps Curt had a good idea about becoming a cowboy when he grew up.

  Papa stopped at a street vendor’s wagon and bought each of them a flavored ice. Maria chose lemon because that seemed the coolest. The tart taste on the tiny pieces of chipped ice was wonderful.

  Curt was more talkative than usual. He went on about Tom Mix, explaining that the actor had been a real cowboy in Indian Territory, before it became the state of Oklahoma. Curt knew because he read so much.

  Maria soaked in the good feeling of all her family being together and the laughter and good-natured teasing they shared. But as they approached their house, they saw the big bulk of Johann Braun standing on the sidewalk. He was gazing at the Schmidt house.

  “Wonder what Johann wants?” Papa mused.

  “Look,” Libby said, pointing. “The window in our front door has been broken.”

  Mama’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  “Now, now. Probably nothing to worry about.” Papa put his arm about Mama’s shoulders. “Evening, Mr. Braun,” Papa called out. “What’s happened here?”

  “Ya, Franz Schmidt,” the big man answered. “About time for you to be home. Look here. Men drive by in der fancy motorcar and throw something at your front door. I told the missus, ‘It’s the labor union mess, I betcha.’”

  “Now don’t jump to conclusions,” Papa said.

  “Rumors we hear all the time about you being a union officer,” the beefy man went on. Though Mr. Braun was getting a little stooped and gray on the head, he was still a force to contend with. “Better to stay with fellow Germans than to join the union.”

  “There are plenty of Germans in our union,” Papa replied gently.

  Thomas and Curt had hurried inside the house. Now they came out. Thomas held a large rock wrapped in paper. Papa took the rock, untied the string, and opened the crumpled paper. The note said: “Leave the union now and your family will be safe.”

  “Vat did I tell you?” Mr. Braun’s ham-sized hands rested on his hips. “This kind of thing we don’t need here.” He turned on his heel and stomped off.

  After the Schmidts went inside, Mama scurried about gathering rags to stuff in the broken glass. Maria grabbed the broom and swept up broken glass from off the floor.

  “Boys,” Papa said, “go to the hardware store Monday and purchase a new pane. I’ll put it in as soon as I come home from work.”

  Maria could tell Curt was worrying again. “Are you going to resign, Papa?” he asked.

  “Of course he’s not going to resign,” Maria said. “It’s important to stand up for what’s right, Curt. You know that.”

  “I know,” Curt said softly. “But it’s sure scary.”

  “I’ll say,” Libby chimed in.

  Maria put her arm around Curt’s shoulder. “Just pretend they’re the bandits trying to rob the payroll on the train and we’re the good cowboys.”

  Papa chuckled. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  After the entryway was tidy once again, Mama brought out a special cake from the pantry. A light fluffy sugar frosting about an inch thick covered the entire thing. Libby helped Mama put in candles and they sang “Happy Birthday” to Curt. Maria sang loud. She wasn’t about to let any rock-throwing coward ruin this special celebration.

  But that night as she lay in bed with Libby’s steady breathing the only noise in their small room, Maria wondered about the broken window. Was it just an empty threat to scare Papa into quitting? Or did they mean business? What might they do to the family of a union officer? She tried to swallow down the brassy taste of fear in her mouth. Perhaps Curt wasn’t the only worrier in the family.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mrs. Clara Ueland

  Look at this,” Liver Lid said, waving one of his papers. “This oughta sell real good.”

  It was a Monday morning, the last week in June. Even in the early morning hours, the air was sticky and warm.

  The bundles had just been handed out, and Liver Lid had cut the rope on his bundle with his jackknife to pull out a copy. He liked to practice the calls and coach the younger boys before they reached the sidewalks.

  “Let me see.” Curt took the paper from his hand and read aloud,

  “‘Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and wife, Sophie, assassinated in cold blood at Sarajevo.’ “He turned to Thomas. “Who’s this archduke fellow? And where’s Sarajevo?”

  “In the Balkans,” Thomas told him. “They’re always fighting with one another over there. We’ve studied about the Balkan wars in history. There’ve been two wars there in
the past two years.”

  “Two wars in two years?” The thought seemed inconceivable to Curt.

  “Two,” Thomas answered. “Silly, huh?”

  “It’s not silly to us,” Liver Lid said with a wry smile. “Down in the Flats, we have a war almost every night or so. Especially in this heat.”

  “War, heat, or Archie-dukes,” Tony said, “we got a great yell this morning. Let’s stop jawing and get moving.”

  In spite of the heat, Maria basked in the slow summer days. Mama never said another word about Maria hiring out as a mother’s helper. Perhaps it was because Maria worked hard to be a good help to her own mama. She and Libby kept the house scrubbed clean and had supper ready every evening when Mama came through the door. And they still had time to play outdoors.

  Maria now knew every patron on her paper route and didn’t need to tag along with her brothers. She was better at throwing, too. When she tossed a folded paper, it landed right on the porch. Or close by. No longer did her papers land in the shrubs.

  Mama had purchased flour sacking at Woolworth’s Five and Ten Cents Store for making the girls new underthings. Maria set about teaching Libby how to cut out and sew their bloomers and chemises on the treadle machine. Libby could barely reach the treadle and keep the cloth moving through the bouncing needle at the same time, but she kept at it.

  “Our underthings might not be lacy and frilly,” Maria told Libby, “but they’re durable.”

  To which Libby replied, “I’d rather have lacy and frilly.”

  The Fourth of July came on Saturday. That meant Mama and Papa would get the day off for sure. As Maria and the boys threw papers that morning, firecrackers were already sounding through the neighborhood. By the time they arrived back at the house, Mama and Libby had a picnic lunch packed in the wicker basket, covered with one of Mama’s embroidered tea towels.

  Papa carried the basket as they walked downtown for the parade. Curt carried his camera and tripod, and Thomas offered to carry Curt’s satchel that contained other camera equipment. Downtown stores were draped in bright red, white, and blue bunting, and the drum-and-bugle corps and fire brigades were decked out in neatly pressed uniforms.

  As she stood along the sidewalk, Maria remembered marching down that street herself a couple months ago. Now there were no jeers or rotten tomatoes. Flags waved and cheers sounded as the bands marched by. Maria cheered, too, thankful that she was an American living in a free country. A place where, in spite of rotten tomatoes, they were allowed to assemble and march for what they believed.

  Following the parade, the Schmidts rode the trolley to Central Park, where there would be brass bands and fireworks that evening. All Papa’s German relatives would be celebrating at one of the large biergartens, and they expected the Schmidts to be there as well. But Mama had asked Papa if they could forgo the biergarten this time. “After all, we go there nearly every Sunday.”

  To which Papa replied, “Perhaps you’re right, Christine.”

  Even under the largest shade trees, the air was sweltering. “Must be a hundred and ten in the shade,” Thomas said as they spread their lunch out on the grass.

  But not even the heat could stop people from having a fine time. Strains of the popular song “After the Ball Is Over” sounded from the bandstand, and people in the crowd joined in singing the lyrics. Anyone who had a Victrola had a recording of the song. At least, that’s what Uncle Robert said. He was always singing along to his Victrola.

  Curt spent the afternoon taking photographs and could hardly wait to get home to develop them. The most recent ones he’d taken had turned out better. Coleman said he was learning fast.

  As Maria and Libby strolled together through the meandering graveled walks, Maria heard someone call out her name. She turned around to see SueEllen Jones.

  “Maria Schmidt! I’ve not seen you since the suffrage parade.”

  Maria was surprised to be greeted so exuberantly by a high-school graduate. “Hello, SueEllen. Nice to see you.”

  If SueEllen sensed Maria’s discomfort, she didn’t let on. She folded down her parasol and turned her attention to Libby. “And here’s our girl who bravely took a missile in battle and lived to tell about it,” she said with a smile.

  “Mama got all the stain out,” Libby said, which of course was the most important issue to her. Maria wasn’t all that sure that Libby even felt strongly about women voting, but then, she was still young.

  “Mamas are good at things like getting stains out,” SueEllen said. “I’ve needed that help many times myself. But not always from a rotten tomato.”

  “I received your thank-you note after the parade,” Maria said. “That was kind of you.” Maria certainly hadn’t expected to be formally thanked for the recruiting she’d done.

  “I appreciated your wanting to join in, Maria. Next year when I attend college, I’ll be active in a campus group. It’s time to groom younger girls like you to come into the ranks and carry on the work that I must leave behind.”

  “You’re going to college?” The girl had said it in the same tone that Maria would have said, “I’m going to the store for bread.”

  SueEllen nodded. “Mama and I determined years ago that I would get a good education. Tell me,” she said, changing the subject, “are you going to help out at the suffrage tent at the fair?”

  “I am. Aunt Josephine has already asked me.”

  “Wonderful. On which days are you scheduled?”

  “I just told her to put me down for every day all day long.”

  SueEllen laughed. She made Maria feel as though the two of them shared a private joke. “You are committed, aren’t you?”

  “My aunt scheduled me for alternating afternoons and evenings and said I could stay longer if I felt like it.”

  SueEllen nodded, and the veil on her stylish hat waved a little. “As Mrs. Ueland often says about our best workers, ‘We could use a dozen like you.’ “SueEllen smiled again and held out a gloved hand. “I’ll see you at the fair.”

  Maria had shoved her gloves in her pocket because she’d been out of Mama’s sight and because it was so hot. But she stuck out her bare hand and returned the handshake, only a tad mortified. She didn’t think girls should have to mess with frilly hats and hot binding gloves anyway. After all, boys never did.

  As she and Libby continued their walk, Libby said, “SueEllen’s a nice lady. And she talks to you just like you were grown up, too.”

  Later Maria thought about SueEllen. The girl wasn’t particularly pretty. In fact, she was rather plain. But she’d presented such a pleasant appearance in her pastel summer dress and matching hat and gloves. And she was going to go to college. Just like a man would do! As Maria watched the brilliant explosion of fireworks light up the night sky, she puzzled over SueEllen Jones.

  A film of gray dust coated everything and everyone in and around the suffrage tent. Even Maria’s throat was coated. The large yellow-and-white-striped tent with its open sides fended off the glaring sunlight, but nothing could relieve the stifling heat.

  Bright melodies from the merry-go-round calliope floated across the still air, along with the sounds of noisy barkers luring patrons into their various sideshows. Aromas of cotton candy, roasted peanuts, and buttery popcorn added to the festive atmosphere.

  The ice wagon made regular stops at the suffrage tent. The huge, shiny, dripping blocks were lifted from the wagon into galvanized tubs by men with metal ice hooks. The women covered them with burlap bags to keep them from melting quickly. With ice picks, they chipped away and prepared cup after cup of lemonade for the passersby. They also had an ice crusher to make cups of flavored ice. The women enjoyed the job of chipping ice since it was the coolest place to be.

  On the plank-wood tables were pies the ladies were selling for a nickel a slice, everything from custard to raisin cream to lemon topped with inches-high, light-as-air sugary meringue.

  Maria mostly stood outside the tent with an armful of flyers and handed o
ut the literature. Even in her lightweight summer dress, she was soaked in perspiration, but she didn’t care. She was working for something she believed in.

  Some men glanced at the pamphlets, then threw them on the ground. One man spit on his. Maria watched their behavior and marveled that such uncouth people should be able to vote when the decorous ladies under that tent could not. The thought made her all the more determined. Waiting until the men were gone, she’d retrieve the pamphlets from the dust, wipe them off, and hand them out again. All except for the paper that was spit on. She decided that one was best left alone.

  At nightfall, they projected the flicker on a bedsheet strung up in the tent. The charge was two cents per person, but not many people paid to see it. The ladies had to drop down the sides of the tent to show it, or else everyone could just stop by and watch for free. That made it even hotter inside. Who wanted to pay two cents to swelter in a tent when the midway was full of exciting things to do? But nothing fazed the women. Maria heard one say, “We’ll know to do something different next time.”

  Mrs. Ueland swept in and out at various times. Maria watched this woman who was soon to become head of the suffrage association of the entire state—not just the city of Minneapolis. In spite of the heat, she looked cool and calm. Her large hat, trimmed in full rose-colored ostrich plumes, sat at a fashionable tilt on her graying hair, and her dusky rose crepe de chine dress looked like it just came out of Jessica’s Ready-to-Wear Fashions in downtown Minneapolis.

  At one point, SueEllen Jones explained to Maria that Mrs. Ueland’s job during the fair was to coordinate all the efforts. The suffrage leader noted when supplies were low and made sure items were delivered to the tent on time. She also conferred with those who coordinated the workers’ schedules. Maria marveled that one person could manage so many details. Surely the president of Northwest Consolidated couldn’t have done any better.

  Each morning, Maria threw her papers then changed into her summer dress and took the trolley to the fairgrounds. Aunt Josephine was there off and on, and Mama stayed one evening to help. On the third evening, Maria had the job of bending over the ice tub to chip smaller chunks from the ice blocks for the lemonade. She was thankful for her strong paper-throwing arm. Suddenly, she felt a touch on her shoulder. A pleasant voice behind her said, “Tell me, whose daughter are you?”