Voice of action. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1933-1936, 1934-08-03
Soviet Main Street~Continued


and all is changing, changing.
Bullying sheepskins. darkened
from years of usage, jostle ready
made serge oVercOats; shawled
heads are Outnumbered by tams
and smart hats from the city. In
the sea OF tramping boots and
galOShes, an occasional pair of
baSt shoes, on some newcomer.
BaSt shoes, set on acquiring
leather Scarfs, grey, brown, red
and blue, tucked about the
throat. Many wear fur and wool
len caps pulled close to their
eyes.
Today, the cold is not severe. so
most have left their furred ear
flaps free, which flop as they
walk, like great mule.ears.
They are a busy, hardy folk.
straightforward and sprung from
stock long accustomed to toll.
That pinched, narrowed look
which stares forth from the faces
of Americas and Germany's mass
es, here IS missing. In its stead
one sees strength. vim to living.
What is their source
with our guide, we make a
scouting trip about town. Many
sights are as familiar as home.
and others we miss. In place of
peanut vendors are push-carts,
there are small cooperative
booths, also old women crouched
by the curb, selling apples and
sunflOwcr seeds. But where are
the bread lines? Hungry men
staring into shop windows with
out the price of u meal. The
fashionable ladies and gentle
men? And where the children
labOrCrS hawking their papers
and learning early the ways of
Al CapOne?
Down the street come sounds
Of a brOadcaster: Comrades, the
next number is Beethoven's Tur-
kish March" The music bounds to
meet us. A bearded. ragged crea-
ture pushes our elbow. Bowling
low, cap in hand, he mumbles,
For Gods sake, only a few ko-
pecks!"
Away with your Our COM
paniOn looks him over scornfully.
our factories crying for more
help-and you begging! How
much does the priest get from
your pickings? Go on, not ko-
peek Wen give you. But If it's q
job you are wanting"
Whirling about, his ragged
coat Tapping. the fellow darts
away. Soon he is beseeching an
other, Have pity-a few ko-
pecks! T.
We pass a large club, built on
modern lines. and topped by the
radio now brOadcasting a talk
on hygiene. It's white walls carry
red streamers: IAN Out to the
Factory Elections" Down the
side street is an open air coop
erative market covering half a
square. Shoppers are milling
about its stalls, buying, arguing
over purchases. Across the way,
an open field is damned with
carts, working people, rough ia
bles behind which farmers are
dishing out milk and cuts OF
meat to customers, meanwhile
for potatoes in their
straw-filled baskets.
Another four blocks and we
come to the factory. It's massive
buildings stretch three blocks
and again as deep, mounting like
the Palisades along the Hudson
bare, enduring. Before the gates
there are no lines of unemployed
hanging about, no cops warning,
Get a move On-you." Going to
the entrance, we fall in behind q
woman and two men, ap-
plying for admission. As in the
States, it is the owner who grants
it. Not Singer, Rockefeller or
but workers. Crouehing
before the tiny peep-hole of a
the woman demands,
Give me a pass to the Factory
Committee A telephone inquiry
some notes on a paper, and she
goes in. The men have business
with the workers management.
We say We have an appointment
with Jack Nickamkin, in the
Youth section. Another phone
call. more writing, and we pass
inside.
ITO Be Continued Next Week.