American Progress

by Veda Boyd Jones

  Thomas shook his head. “Don’t do anything foolish, Liver Lid,” he told them. “It’s just not worth the grief it’d bring.” He picked up his bundle. “Like he said,” Thomas said in a softer voice, “let’s be thankful we have the jobs at all.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The Riot

  As Maria, Curt, and Libby walked home from school through the snow and bone-chilling cold, Maria couldn’t stop thinking about the pay cut. It made her so furious she could hardly think about school. How dare they be so cruel? And right before Christmas!

  Suddenly a voice called from behind them. “Schmidts! Curt! Maria! Stop a minute!”

  Maria whirled about in her tracks. It was Kicker Joe. He was panting and could hardly catch his breath. “Tony sent me. ‘Get Thomas,’ he says to me. ‘Get Thomas Schmidt.’”

  “What is it?” Maria asked. “Is Tony hurt?”

  Kicker Joe held his side and sucked in his breath. “I ran fast as I could. I gotta get Thomas.”

  “Thomas is not here,” Maria said. “He has an after-school job.”

  Kicker Joe’s face fell and tears welled up in his eyes. “Oh, no. What am I gonna do?”

  “We can get him,” Curt said.

  The boy looked up at Curt with hopeful eyes. “Fast?”

  “What’s the matter, Kicker Joe? Tell us what’s happened,” Maria said.

  Libby stared wide-eyed at this waif dressed in ragged clothing.

  “All the boys down at the Flats,” Kicker Joe said, “ones from the Journal and the Tribune both … gathering together. Gonna attack the Tribune office, they says, and do lots of damage.”

  “No!” Maria cried. “They can’t do that. They’ll never have any jobs then.” Maria turned to Libby. “Libby, you go straight home and stay there. Curt, you go to Wahrmund and Strackbein’s. Get Thomas as fast as you can. Bring him down to the Flats.”

  “Maria.” Curt’s eyes were big. “What’re you gonna do?”

  “They trust me, Curt. I’m going with Kicker Joe and try to talk to them.”

  “No, Maria,” Curt protested. “You don’t know those boys from the Journal. They’re real tough guys. Mama’ll kill me for letting you go.”

  “We’re wasting time, Curt. Go—and hurry. Libby? Straight home, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Maria.” Libby took out for home on a dead run.

  Maria turned to follow Kicker Joe, terrified, but knowing someone had to stop those crazy boys. What insanity this was. They’d only make things a hundred times worse.

  By the time she and Kicker Joe reached the brow of the hill overlooking the Flats, Maria’s side ached and her lungs were on fire from the icy cold. Early winter dusk was settling over the city.

  “Down this way.” Kicker Joe motioned to her.

  A set of rickety wooden steps seemed to go down and down endlessly. Spread out on the lower banks by the river was the infamous Flats. It was nothing but crowded squalor for several miles, and it looked more pitiful than anything she could have imagined. Every type and sort of makeshift shelter was set up on that narrow strip of land. Tiny wisps of gray smoke curled up from many of them. Everything inside her wanted to run back home. What was she thinking of?

  “Come on. Hurry!” Kicker Joe said as he scrambled down the steps.

  Maria clung to the splintery banister because the packed snow on the wooden steps made them treacherously slick. Halfway down, she stopped to catch her breath. But only for a minute, because Kicker Joe hadn’t even looked back to see if she was following.

  As they approached the Flats, Maria could hear a rumbling noise. Then she realized it was the voices of a mob of angry boys. At first she could only hear them, but as they rounded a bend, she saw them. They were armed with clubs. Some had knives out. Several carried torches.

  “Kicker Joe,” she said, “how will I find Tony and Liver Lid?”

  “I’ll show ya.”

  But as he slipped around the noisy crowd, a boy turned and saw Maria. “There’s some of that fancy rich trash,” he called out, pointing to her. “They’re the ones who starve us out.”

  Someone shoved her, knocking her to the ground. She felt the wind rush out of her. She tried to call for Tony, but she had no voice.

  “Whatta you doin’ down in the Flats?” another boy shouted. “Come to laugh? To make sport?”

  One of the boys picked her up then flung her around. Another boy gave her a shove. She stumbled and nearly fell again. “Stop,” she cried, gasping for air. “Don’t go to the Tribune. Please!” she begged.

  “Yeah, sure, a lot you care about what we do.” She was shoved again.

  Just then, Kicker Joe appeared again. Running up to one of the boys, he kicked him hard in the shins. “Leave her be, you dumb Journal-carrying lummox!”

  “Why, you little shrimp. Look who you’re calling a lummox.”

  Maria was pushed to the ground as they tried to grab Kicker Joe. But he was too fast for them. Dancing out of their reach, he yelled for Tony. Suddenly Tony was there.

  “Maria Schmidt!” he called out when he saw her. “You’re crazy to come down here.” Tony started pushing and shoving guys out of the way. “Stand back. This here’s a real lady.”

  Reluctantly, they stepped back. “If she was a real lady, she’d never have come down here,” one boy shouted.

  Tony reached down to help her up. “Where’s Thomas?” he asked.

  “Coming.” She gasped for air. Her knit hat had been flung to who knew where, her hair was streaming in her face, and her gloves were torn. Her dress, too, probably.

  “You can’t do this,” she said, looking around at the thin, pitiful faces of the boys. “Please. There’s a better way.” She stopped again to catch her breath. “Demonstrate. Don’t destroy. If you go up there to that office with your clubs and torches, you’ll be acting just like the urchins they believe you to be. But I know some of you. You’re better than that.”

  “We ain’t better,” cried one of the boys who had pushed her. “And that’s that! They make the rules!”

  Tony turned to him and said, “We can be better if we wanna be.”

  “He’s right,” Maria said, louder now so they could all hear. “My papa’s had his wages cut at the flour mill, but those men wouldn’t destroy the place. Instead, they organize. If you’d stop fighting one another and join forces, you could make a difference.”

  “Don’t nobody listen to a dame,” came a voice from the crowd.

  “You’ve listened to this dame, Freddie,” came a woman’s voice from the stairs. “You listen to me every morning when I dish up your hot oatmeal!”

  It was Elsa! And Thomas and Curt were with her. Maria almost cried with relief and joy.

  The crowd broke apart to let them through. Thomas ran to Maria and held her tight. “Thank God, you’re safe,” he whispered.

  Elsa pointed to Maria and said, “This is a wise woman who’s talking to you. She’s speaking truth. Now let’s find out who wants to fight and destroy and who prefers to demonstrate and remain orderly. Let’s see you take a real stand.”

  Tony stepped forward. “I’ll demonstrate.”

  Liver Lid and Kicker Joe were by his side. “Count us in!”

  “Aw, you sissies,” someone hollered out. But more and more boys stepped forward to stand with the ones who wanted a peaceful solution to the problem. When it was done, there were many more who stepped forward than those who did not. Those who were left quickly dispersed.

  Elsa started to speak again, but Tony said, “Wait a minute, Miss Elsa. Go up on the steps where we can see and hear you.”

  Maria watched as Thomas took Miss Elsa’s arm and helped her ascend the slippery steps. She turned to speak to the boys. “Now that I know you truly want to abide by the law and want to make a difference, I have a team to join forces with your group. How many of you are willing to meet me in front of the Tribune office at the crack of dawn tomorrow and carry signs and picket?”

  Every hand went up.


  “Good,” she said. “Now go home and get some sleep. You’ll meet your team members first thing in the morning. Together, we’ll show the owners of the Tribune that we won’t stand for this treatment of our newsboys.”

  As Elsa drove Maria, Thomas, and Curt to their house, Thomas asked her, “What’s your plan for tomorrow. Who’s your team?”

  Elsa smiled. “All of Mama’s hundreds of club members across the city.”

  Maria felt her heart fall to her stomach. Elsa was counting on those women to help the poor ragged boys from down in Bohemian Flats? That would never work!

  When they got home, Mama was upset and frightened. She was even more shocked to see Maria’s disheveled appearance. But Elsa came inside to explain everything.

  “Your daughter is quite a hero,” she said to Mama. “She kept the boys diverted until we arrived. Otherwise, who knows what they might have done?”

  Mama helped Maria out of her coat and began to tend to her cuts and scratches.

  “Mrs. Schmidt,” Elsa said, “I’d like your permission to pick up your children in the morning and take them with me for this demonstration. They may miss a few hours of school, but I promise to take good care of them. And I’ll deliver them to their schools just as soon as I can.”

  Mama’s face was a mixture of pride and concern. “And I’ve been worried about Franz becoming involved in a strike,” she said. “Instead it’s my children.” But in the end she gave permission.

  The next morning, the sidewalks in front of the Tribune were packed with well-dressed ladies marching up and down, carrying placards that read GUESS WHAT THE NEWSBOYS RECEIVED FOR CHRISTMAS? and DOES SCROOGE LIVE AT THE TRIBUNE?

  It wasn’t light yet, and Maria couldn’t believe that these wealthy women came all the way downtown in the freezing weather to take part in such an event. But there they were. Elsa Ueland and her mother were two incredible organizers! They must have been telephoning the entire night long.

  Tony stood gazing at them with his arms folded across his stocky chest. “So this is our team? I ain’t never seen anything like this in all my born days. That Elsa’s a mighty fine lady.”

  “I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” Thomas said.

  “It may not change anything,” Maria said, feeling tears well up in her eyes, “but we sure know they care.”

  And Curt, even though he had no idea what might happen, came armed with his camera.

  No copies of the Tribune were thrown that morning, nor were any hawked on the street corners. Orphan boys joined with genteel ladies to pace the sidewalk and wait to see what would happen.

  CHAPTER 18

  Negotiations

  After an hour or so of the demonstrators’ marching, the executives of the Tribune began to arrive. Their faces registered first shock, then anger as they got out of their automobiles. “Don’t you women have anything better to do?” one shouted. “Go home, all of you!”

  “If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police,” yelled another. “They’ll drag you out of here and lock up the whole lot of you.”

  Thomas leaned over and whispered to Maria that the man who mentioned the police was the owner of the newspaper, Mr. Dalhart.

  Mrs. Ueland and Elsa stepped up to the door, preventing the men from entering. “I’d like a word with you regarding the pay cuts imposed upon these newsboys,” Mrs. Ueland said.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Mr. Dalhart stated emphatically. “What does a dame know about running a business?”

  Elsa spoke up then. “Not only should you rethink this pay cut, but you should be joining with other businessmen to donate funds to the Children’s Canteen, where these children are fed each morning and given warm clothing.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a place,” Mr. Dalhart said.

  “I can tell you about it.” It was Tony, stepping forward as brave as anything. “First hot breakfast I can remember eating since my mother died five years ago.”

  “I can tell you about it.” Liver Lid was standing by his side. “See these gloves? These were given to me at the canteen. I can’t never remember having warm gloves before.”

  Soon all the boys were shouting and waving their new caps and gloves.

  Mrs. Ueland raised her hand for quiet. Turning to Mr. Dalhart once again, she said, “I’m sure the Journal would be more than happy to interview us to get the full story about the canteen and how poorly you’ve treated these boys right before Christmas.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Mr. Dalhart said. “The Journal pays same as we do.”

  “No, they don’t!” This was Thomas speaking out. “There’ve been no pay cuts at the Journal.“

  Maria wanted to shush him, but it was too late.

  One of the well-dressed women called out, “If you aren’t willing to listen to the plight of these children, my household will cancel our Tribune subscription and begin taking the Journal.“

  “That goes for me,” shouted another.

  “And me.”

  “Count me in.” The chants of agreement were deafening.

  Mr. Dalhart waved his hands and shouted, “Now, now, ladies. Let’s not get carried away. Perhaps we should talk this over.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. Ueland said, “let’s talk.” Turning to Elsa, she said, “Elsa, you come, and Maria Schmidt and her brother.” Then she pointed at Tony. “And you. What’s your name?”

  “Anthony, ma’am. You can call me Tony.”

  “Yes, Tony, you come, and bring your pal there.” She was now pointing at Liver Lid. She herded them all past the stammering Mr. Dalhart, who still didn’t quite know what had hit him.

  Maria said to Libby, “You go over and stand by Curt. We’ll be back in a few minutes.” Libby nodded and did as she was told.

  It was a delicious moment for all of them to sit in the plush, top-floor offices of the Tribune and have their opinions heard. Now more than ever, Maria understood why Papa sacrificed as he did to remain a part of their workers’ union. There was power in unity.

  When they emerged, the pay cuts had been rescinded, and the Tribune planned to donate a sizable amount of money to the canteen.

  Back out on the sidewalk, Maria and Thomas went around to many of the ladies, shaking their gloved hands and thanking them for their help. Several had already been recruited by Elsa to help out in the canteen.

  Later they learned that Mrs. Ueland and Elsa had offered to purchase Curt’s photos. “The newspaper may never print them,” Elsa said, “but we’ll post them on the walls of the canteen and print them in our flyers and pamphlets.”

  Curt was beaming.

  All the Schmidts joined in to help with the Children’s Canteen Christmas party. Papa had been more than a little impressed by the Uelands, and he felt his family should show their appreciation. Elsa asked Papa to be the one to tell the Christmas story to the children. He accepted with pleasure.

  At the Christmas party, Torvald and Curt got to know one another better. As soon as Torvald learned that Curt loved horses, he invited Curt to come out to their place and ride the pony. “When it warms up, that is,” Torvald added. “We’d love to have you come.”

  Curt didn’t say much except to mumble his thanks, but Maria knew that inside, Curt was turning handsprings with excitement.

  No one thought the war in Europe would last into 1915. Surely, people said, civilized Europeans could stop the conflict through discussions. It might be “peace without victory,” but at least it would be peace.

  But it was not to be. After Christmas the war turned ugly. Uglier than anyone could have imagined. The Germans launched airships called zeppelins, which dropped bombs on cities such as London and Paris. Death rained down out of the skies on innocent people.

  Again and again, Maria and her brothers would ask Papa, “How can this be? Why would Berlin allow such terrible killing?”

  But Papa had no answers. He would only shake his head and say, “I do not know, my children. I
do not know.”

  President Wilson made a speech in which he declared to the American people, “This is a war with which we have nothing to do.”

  Maria didn’t mean to be so presumptuous as to contradict the president of the United States, but whether she liked it or not, this war seemed to have a great deal to do with her. Every day she and other German-Americans were taking the brunt of the blame for all that was happening.

  Her eighth-grade year was filled with days of stress and unpleasant incidents. However, following the demonstration at the Tribune, the atmosphere in the classroom altered somewhat. A reporter from the Journal happened upon the scene and took several photos, one of which appeared on their second page the very next day. The photo showed Maria and Thomas standing on the front steps of the Tribune building with Mrs. Ueland, Mr. Dalhart, Tony, and Liver Lid. No matter what other students thought of Maria’s involvement, it was a matter of some importance to have your picture in the city newspaper.

  The other thing that happened at school was that Torvald began talking to Maria. On the playground, Torvald often sought out Curt and talked to him as well. Torvald’s attention to the Schmidts seemed to help cool the animosity of the others.

  When spring arrived, Curt was given permission on two different Saturdays to visit the Uelands. Of course he took his camera. When he arrived home, he was more talkative than he’d been in many months. Torvald and Rolf had let him forgo the pony and graduated him instead to the big horse. If someone had given Curt a million dollars, Maria knew he wouldn’t have been happier than he was to have had a chance to ride that horse.

  At long last the month of May arrived. Maria would graduate in just a few weeks. She felt she’d just come through the longest year of her entire life. Then on May 2, news came that rocked the nation to its very core. The fastest, the largest, the most luxurious ocean liner afloat, a British steamer called the Lusitania, was torpedoed by a German U-boat and sank just off the coast of Ireland.