Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-10-05
fcontinued PROM First Page.l

united states naQ peen al AuleAASah
for IS years.
did not find the America I had
come to. looked In vain for the spirit
of Jefferson and Lincoln and the senti-
mental vigor Of Whitman. No one
| talked of them. Some had never heard
their names. I had pictured repub-
lie in which every individual felt him.
self an integral part of 1t and was ami
mated by a passion to extend its vir-
tues over the whole world. But no one
I met seemed to be interested in any
one else but himself; their own imme-
| date welfare even at the expense OF the
rest of the population. When spoke
too passionately about my American
ideals 1 was put down either as fool
Or as dangerous alien.
People Were Disappointing.
And so I, who had come here spe-
officially to become q citizen OF my
dream country, began to hesitate, to
waver, unable to make up my mind and
join the humdrum mass Of the BRAIN
less multitude. A deep chaSm separated
us. They had come here for food and
had found it. 1 had come here for
fulhllment and had not found 1t.
was seized by a passion to con-
tribute something of myself to the de-
! velopment of the country. 1t seemed to
me that that was the only way to be-
gin to understand and be understood.
We went to live on q small farm near
New York. insisted on producing the
vegetables for our table, and taught my
little boys to use a spade as soon as
they were big enough to hold one in
their hands. The first Summer over,
l looked about for some work and was
happy to find employment as rtveter's
helper on the Manhattan Bridge in New
York. Those four months of passionate
work on that steel structure remain as
one Of my most cherished experiences
in life, was in love with that bridge.
l was in love with the flowing river I'M
der my feet. Every rivet helped drive
into the rails gave me the voluptuous
ecstasy of religious rite. was happy.
was building a bridge connecting two
cities. There would be other bridges to
connect two countries; two worlds.
Spiritual bridges. And on them should
also drive In rivetS.
49, Worked Against Strike.
drowned my first disillusionment
about the people. The harder worked
the more I had to endure; because Of
the intense cold (from the poor pay
received I had not been able to buy
adequate clothes), the more I liked it.
AlasI This physical, religious ecstasy
Qlu uOC ldSC long. BoC AhCO AloI wa
ter with my fellow workers, who In
tended to strike for more pay. 1 fully
recognized the justice of their claims;
which also should have been mine. In
my broken English I tried to explain to
them that the construction of the
bridge, the adding Of that bridge to the
country's wealth, the building of some
thing permanent, should stand higher
than the few more cents that they
NH L., l.
Shut up"
"who the hell pays you to say that?"
Stupid greenhorn."
To me it was a bridge. To them it
was work. Hard word. They won the
strike. I was discharged.
when you get another job keep
your mouth shut" the foreman advised
me. This amt Europe. See. This
Is America"
quilted my enthusiasm. They were I'M
worthy to live in the country that had
given birth to Lincoln and Jefferson.
They were bad Americans. They had
come for jobs only. But where were
the good ones? did not meet them,
though looked for them. I only met
people of other countries who had come
here because there was more bread
and meat than in their home lands.
was a IOOl anu Q1u 1lOb uI4QCLoId4A0 WIG
change that had taken place since the
death Of my heroes.
Became Mill LabOrer.
When the years required to acquire
citizenship were up I hesitated again.
I could not accept things as they were,
and almost believed that my America,
the old America, had ceased to exist.
I went to work in worsted mill up
State as a laborer. I wanted to know
whether the people of other cities were
different from the ones in New York.
The mill owner, q Mr.. Doubleday, took
a fancy to me when he discovered that
I spoke French and played the piano,
and he offered me a. better position.
He invited me to his home to make the
acquaintance of his lovely daughter.
They received me warmly in that lux
urious home, but they looked at me with
suspicious curiosity. They could not
understand why should prefer working
in the mill for $40 week when I could
draw twice as much doing easier work
in the Office! / tried to explain this to
| Mr.. Doubleday. I tried to make him
understand my desire to become con-
crete part of the lives of the people OF
the country lived in. I could not do
that in the Office, checking goods or
figuring costs or tipping letters. I re-
member his shaking his head benev-
olently and telling me:
You don't look like fool, but you
act like one"
Fired for His Ideas.
A few days later he expressed himself
more freely. Standing beside me at the
machine, he said: IT have come to
think that you have other ideas than
the ones you express. am afraid you
will prove a dangerous element In this
factory when you will talk about your
ideas to other people. I like you. My
daughter likes you, despite your queer
ideas BUT
That Saturday night there was a lit
tie note in my pay envelope. My Serv-
ices were no longer required. 1t was
February In jamestown. The snow
was knee high. I had $40 in my pocket.
The years that followed did not d.
minish my passionate search for Amer
ica Accidentally discovered one day
in q cafe Horace Traubel, Walt Whit
mans friend and biographer and the
editor Of the Conservator.
I have frequently tried to recapture
in spirit the hours we spent together
| across a table In that little cafe. He
talked about walt" and listened. The
hours stretched themselves frequently
till the following dawn. He used to live
at the Brevoort Hotel when he was here.
| NV home was in the heart Of the sixties.
while the street lamps were being ex-
tinguished would march him down to
| his hotel. After we had shaken hands
| at his door he would suddenly decide to
see me home. He still had something
to tell me. I felt obliged to see him
home again when we arrived at my door.
| We would do that until breakfast time.
Then he would go home to sleep and
would go to work. Dear Horacel The
childish blue eyes. The snow-white