The Connecticut labor press., 1919-11-22

1nIO us QeclS1Ve battle. Hidden away III the trade journals and leaking into the local papers come pieces of information which show that steel is getting scarce. The reserve supplies are becoming ex- hausted. Industries are slowing up on account of it. Shops are closing on ac- count of it. Two weeks more of this and the industries dependent on steel will be sewed up.
 The steel companies are using every means legal and illegal to drive the men back to work. In some places there is a menace of violence i'll the very air, and one realizes after affairs like that at Johnstown that the only reason leaders are not killed is because they don't dare to kill them, not because they don't want to.
 Foster didn't speak in Johnstown Fri day night as he was supposed to do. He didn't speak because the '1aw-abiding'' Americans formed vigilance commit tee. They escorted him to the train with the muzzles of concealed guns pressed to his side. One of the leaders of this manifestation of the spirit of Flaw and order" was a Y. M. C. A. man. ...
 This is the Cambria Mills desperate attempt to open Johnstown has been  only smoke floating over it is the smoke that comes from women's frying pans as they get dinner. In all the wide Cambria mills, nothing moves, nothing Stirs. E T @
 When got out of the car to go to the picket line little before five in the morning, 1t was still dark. One of the strikers was waiting for me. He was a tall quiet man, and as we walked along every now and then he stopped hurry ing workman.
 Boy, wy you working? Where you goin' to work, boy ?" he would ask, with out animosity, kindly even, but as grave ly as conscience. Having satisfied him self, he let the worker proceed. One would have hated to be scab under the insistence of that grave, kind voice.
 The mill where we went was one of the widest open. Normally, 1t employs 7,000 people. Now 1900 scabs are said to sleep. inside the mills; and 1000 more come and go. atE
 The darkness of the night was shat tered by the fiery hallelujah of the blast furnace. The black flares up and rends the night with flame of such incandes- cent violence that 1t gives one the effect of intolerable sound, then it dies down in clouds of saffron smoke against which buildings and bridges are etched sharp, black and violent. All along the street were more men. Wherever, you went, men sprang up out of the gloom. There was nothing about them that warned of any violence. And yet it seemed to me I had never seen more impressive picket line than 8his dark, quiet line of picketing strikers. A few men seeped out of the mill A car stopped. Some men hurried into the mill looking 1eith- CT to the right or the left their heads down, an uncomfortable, shamed pro- cession. Occasionally my guide spoke to a scab with a grave, accusing kindl1- ness.
 came from the mill in greater quantities. The picket line thickened. So they faced each other-the moving line ot hurrying scabs, hands in pockets, heads down, looking ahead of them, and the staring quiet, accusing pickets saying mutely: .,
 Brother, why do you betray me"
 With the hooting of the great whistles the chilled, quiet men began drifting to their homes. The police got into their patrol wagon The great bread wagons, taking food to the imprisoned scabs had all passed by. My guide insisted that l should go back home with him for cof- fee. We met a handsome lad as we entered the gate, the oldest boy on ll1s way to high school As went m the house, my first impression of the empty kitchen was one of many, many palrs of little shoes, brightly polished and ready to go to school.
 7 "Mother!'' my guide called up the stairs. Everybody sleeping 9
 But 1t seemed no one. was sleeping. "dother'' came i'll and greeted me as though were an old friend. She made me part of the family with that grace that is the secret of Slavish people. And then the children came trooping in, six of them, a big girl of 13, down to the baby of two I wish my hostess would give me her secret for bringing up chil- dren. There they sat finishing their dressing. No one quarreled, and no one said Ma, where is this ?" and Ma, where is that?" and Ma, l want. The three little boys found their clean b1ouses for themselves. The oldest sis- ter fed the baby, and presently they were off with shy smiles and greetings. The baby came and put her little face against her fathers knee.
 HShe's just getting acquainted with her papa since he's been on strike. With 12 hours light and IA hours night she never got to know him. the mother ex- plained.
 Now, at this point a few reflections on Americanism occur to me. Does anyone think that bringing up eight splendid children as well as these chil- dren are brought up, is contribution to this country. or mot?
 This was my friends history. Years ago he was miner, and when the oldest girl, now married, was baby, and just before the oldest boy was born, there was strike The father was arrested and served B months in jail for picket ing The young couple had paid for their furniture all but $14. After the father was arrested they took the furni- ture from this young mother. They took her stove, they 4aok her bed from under her, they left the house as bare as clean plate. A kindly tradesman helped her to get credit for her stove and bed. She supported herself and her two babies until her husband came out.
 After life of unremitting, work, these people own little four room cot tage on plot of ground that has a grape arbor. They are infinitely better off than the average steel worker, but under our present system that IS all that fife has given these splendid, able, hard-working citizens of this country. They want more for their children
 This woman has the spirit that ami mates the strikers wives i'll Youngs- town. Feeling runs high among them,