The labor journal. [volume] (Everett, Wash.) 1909-1976, 1909-08-06

was the matter, she told me all about
her home in Rumania; how she had left
there and come to America so that
could have an education and be some
thing different from a factory girl like
herself. She told me how this dream
had been the one thing that had kept
her up all these long years, living in
a country where no one understood her
language, where she must always feel
a stranger. And then she cried some
more, and called me her good child, her
good little Rachel, and said that | must
not mind her crying, for she was getting
to be an old woman now, and old WON.
en- were apt to be foolish.
When l went to bed that night could
not sleep. Everything my mother had
said seemed to burn in me. | thought
of the nights, when, while a candle
shaded my bed, she had worked over the
washtub; l remembered the girl board
ers; the years and years of trimming
hats. And then it seemed to me that
l heard the old Hebrew prayer that
God would succor His children. Before
| went to sleep had made up my mind
that l would get an education. My
mother should not be disappointed
The next evening on my way home
from work, l slipped at the public libra
ry and asked the young lady in charge
for a book about some one who had com
menced at the bottom and worked up.
She gave me Victor Hugo's Les Miser
ables" l read that book through
three times. I read it early in the
morning, at the noon half hour, in bed
at night. 1t seemed to me the most
wonderful book that was ever written.
Then l got out my old school books
and began to study. Those We're the
Brooklyn days over again. Mother
would sit beside me while l worked,
watching my copybook and sums, hold
ing my book and all the time urging me
on. When l could not study any fur
ther l would pay girl who had been
through the public school to come and
teach me one night a week
That was five years ago Since then
I've been reading and studying by my
self, and of course, l have learned that
mothers dream can never come true. 1t
is too late for me to be a teacher But
a girl who sews, sews, stitches and sews
doesn't have to think stitches. She can
think other things, and only eighteen
months ago the girls in my factory be-
gan to think about a union. There were
only six of us at first melting, and we
had TO meet in secret. But that was
not for long, BY ones and twos the
girls began TO come to our meetings; to
listen to us in the factories, and what
was better still, TO think for themselves.
Sometimes We get discouraged, for it
was slow work, but we kept at it. We
talked and we talked and we talked. We
met every wek and our local began to
grow. Five weeks ago, when the hat.
ters called their big strike, our little
local called for the girls and they an
swered the call. Not a single trimmer
remained at work in an unfair shop.
1t takes courage to go on strike.
Some OF our girls have mothers and
fathers depending upon them, and lots
and lots have families who count on
their help. It's hard TO see others suf-
fer, and it's awful hard TO say no when
the boss offers you double wages ana
says that he will never take you back
unless you come now. We have lit.
tie office down on the East Side where
the girls meet, and where you hear
stories. The picket comes in to tel
about widow who applied for work al
the factory where she was on picket
duty.