The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1928-09-29

! y
of happy, smiling workers. A great
shout went up from those outside
the hall as the truck drew up.
Strong shoulders were placed under
the pianola, arms lifted it up and
dozen painting, perspiring workers
dragged it upstairs to the hall.
Pipes were connected, bolts fastened.
Somebody put on a roll and began
grinding out a jazz tune. There was
ia cheer. Those who knew the words
sang, while other kept time with
their feet.
An old man pushed his way
through the crowd. His gray hair
struggled from his battered felt hat.
He sat down and began to play.
Solidarity Forever" The room
shook with a hundred voices. Soil
darity Forever!
Elevi Rachappell, an American
born textile worker of French-C Can
adian stock, had been a member of
the American Federation of Textile
Operatives for many years. He was
a loom-fixer and was one of those
who composed the Textile Council,
consisting of the 81 representatives
of the various crafts.
For % weeks of the strike Elevi
Rachappell had stuck with the Tex
tile Council. And as further evil
dence of his loyalty he had brought
his pianola over to Textile Council
headquarters to liven things up.
For % weeks the instrument had
faithfully served Mr.. Batty and Mr..
Binns and their organization of be-
trayal.
But Elevi Rachappell wasn't stu
pid. Nor had association with Batty
and Binns entirely corrupted him.
He watched hundreds of Tex
tile Council strikers gradually de-
serting, going over to the Textile
Mill Committees and their fighting
program. His fellow-workers talked
to him, and after % weeks Elevi
Rachappell finally began to under
stand
And so on this Saturday morning
Elevi Rachappell walked into Tex
tile Council headquarters with an
unusually determined stride. Mr..
Batty was sitting there alone. Ra-
chappell looked him in the eye. 81
want my pianola," he said.
"Who says it's your pianola?"
Rachappell pulled out the papers
he had received when he bought the
instrument. Good enough"
"I'm leaving your outfit" he
said. I'm going to Join a real
union-the T. NJ. c."
Mr.. Batty was visibly downcast.
He had heard that tune before.
He began to plead with Rachap-
pell. He offered him $50 if he
would let the pianola stay. mo"
said Rachappell. Finally he grew
angry. you're nothing but bunch
Of dirty yellow scabe!" he shouted,
flinging his union card to the floor.
He called together his friends of the
T. M. c., who secured a truck, and
the pianola was taken out.
Mr.. Batty looked on in silence.
I talked to Elevi Rachappell. He
felt a little contrite, like a person
who had been consorting with
thieves. But he was glad that he
had at last come over to the T. M.
c. to fight side by side with the
thousands of his fellow-strikers
They're nothing but yellow
scabs!" he repeated.
The wife of Elevi Rachappell is
in the hospital. Once she weighed
215 pounds; now she weighs only
SO. Count that up on the credit
side of the mills. He has two sons,
enc IA and the other IS. The older
one he refused to mention by name.
He's no better than a scab, yell
low scab. And I told it to him, too.
He's a member of the National
Guard, and when there was that big
picket demonstration at the Whit
man Mil, at which 256 of US were
arrested, he came down with the
National Guards. And what do you
think? He put bayonet to my
chest. l slapped him in the face
and told him he was nothing but
dirty scab. He belongs with Batty
and Binns!"
III.
MY last memory of New Bedford
iA q picket demonstration at the