The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1927-08-15
By REBECCA GRECHT.

as we sat in Jefferson Market Court
that morning, waiting for our group
of pickets arrested in the fur market
to be called. After the demonstration
in the courtroom, spontaneous, I'M
organized, the indignant reaction of
the hundreds of workers who had just
witnessed the outrageous class Gus
tice" of Judge Ewald, and were i'm
PEELED to cheer our comrades as they
were led away to serve their five and
ten day sentences-the word went
around that the rest of the pickets
would now get ten and fifteen days.
Immediately, on the faces of the
comrades, men and women, waiting
their turn, could be seen a firm, de-
termined expression, spirited CLINT
in the eye. The whisper passed
along, "Not one cent fine to be paid!
All to the workhouse!"
There were sixteen in our group,
six women and ten men. The police
man who had arrested us while we
were picketing on 7th Ave. between
28th and 29th streets made a sorry
figure on the witness stand. He
could only humble few words about
our "congregating" walking three
and four abreast" in a dull monotone
as if he were repeating a lesson by
note. Nine men were sentenced to
Is days in the workhouse, and one
man to seven months-30 days for
picketing and six months for "disor-
derby conduct" in the courtroom. Of
the women, four were given the
choice of 10 days in the workhouse
or $25 fine. One woman was sem
fenced to 80 days for picketing, and
one to six months. She, too, had been
caught "red-handed" participating in
the demonstration in court. The other
groups received similar sentences.
We women wondered why the diff
ference in the sentences meted out to
US and to the men. Had the judge
been overcome by sudden sense of
chivalry? Was he disturbed by the
thought that public opinion might re-
sent too harsh a treatment of the
weaker" sex? Or did he think that
giving US the choice of a fine would
net the court neat sum, and thus re-
ward him for his painstaking labors
in the hot and stuffy courtroom
Whatever the reason, he misjudged
our metal. Indeed, how could this
apostle of law and order, dominated
by reaction, understand the modern,
militant woman worker? No doubt
woman, to him, still belonged in her
natural sphere, the home. He had
not caught up with capitalist develop
ment, which, for decades, had been
steadily drawing millions of women
into the whirlpool of industrial ex-
ploitation. How then could he know
that women, too, in their bitter strug-
giles against economic oppression,
have acquired unbounded courage
and determination, and have learned
how to fight. Especially the women
in the needle trades, whose loyalty
and devotion, whose spirit of self
sacrifice, and idealism, has been
constant source of strength and in
spiratioh to the left wing, and indeed,
are unsurpassed in any section of the
American labor movement. But this
the judge surely was not aware of.
We were taken up to the Jail.
There, in a narrow passage-way less
than three feet wide and 30 or 40 feet
long, outside dark and airless cells,
ahat1+ OK of nc xroro no olrad -, +oo,o+L
er, with barely space to turn around.
We thought of cattle herded into
pens. The matron attempted to force
twelve more in, but we protested, and
another place was found for them.
We remained there more than two
hours. At four o'clock we were taken
to Welfare Island. Like vicious, dan
gerous criminals, we were herded in
to the police wagon. There were two
compartments, like cells. Built of
iron, surely, unventilated, with tiny,
barred opening at the top that let in
no more light than one candle pow
er. In ours, no more than five feet
square, at least twenty comrades
were crowded.
To be sure, every precaution had
to be taken to prevent. our escape
Were we not of that dangerous var
iety known as the radical woman?
Amazons that we were,, with our fin
ger nails or our teeth we might-who
knows-bore a hole thru the iron
door and let ourselves out with the
aid of our shoe strings.
But we were not worried. Scarce
ly able to breathe, jolted from side to
side, growing hungrier all the time
1--WE had not eaten since early morn
ing-some, not at all) we found one
relief. We sang. Working class
songs, revolutionary songsy songs of
suffering, of battle, of freedom What
power lies in theml Every melody,
every word, seemed to give US more
strength, make us more buoyant.
We sang until we reached the is
land. The police wagon stopped at
last before the entrance to the Work
"