Part I- Chapter 1

In this chapter we meet a young Mary as she attends a meeting of socially concerned activists in New York.

Part I

New York, 1931

Chapter 1

It was ten after eight and Mary was late.  She practically ran through the congested streets of the Lower East Side, spritely hopping over piles of abandoned rubbish and sidestepping the abundance of discarded bottles and newspapers that littered the sidewalks while frantically checking her watch.  It was only October, but already a wintery chill had established itself in the air.  She turned up the collar of her coat and bowed her head against the persistent wind that seemed intent on forcing her off her feet.

She nearly was knocked off her feet.  Not by the wind, but by a surprisingly solid wall of men that appeared out of nowhere as she turned the corner.  They stood queued outside the Church of All Nations with their hats pulled down low over their sullen faces and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes down to the butts.  They growled and pushed back as Mary stumbled into their midst, perhaps thinking that she was trying to wriggle her way ahead of them for a free meal of soup and brown bread. 

“Sorry,” she gasped.  She skirted past line of down-and-outs that snaked several yards down the street and hastily continued on to the apartment building that was waiting for her the end of the block.  She could just barely discent through the hazy fog of dusk that old and decrepit structure of five stories looking as always, ready to collapse upon itself.  Most East Side pedestrians passed by it without a second or even first glance, anxious to get to where they were going and often knee-deep in trouble which seemed to be carried on the air like a contagious disease nowadays.  But if a person deigned to glance up he might glimpse in a window up on the fourth floor an inconspicuous cardboard sign.  Even though she came here on a biweekly basis Mary always looked for that marker to reassure herself that she was indeed at the right place.  Today was no exception as she craned her neck back so her eyes could register the words handwritten on an old torn-off box top: East Side United Workers Unemployment Council. 

A concrete brick held open the door to the building for her.  Mary scuttled inside stoically looking away from a vagrant slouched on the hallway floor just inside who was clutching a half-empty bottle to his chest, which was rising and falling steadily as he snored away in obliviousness.  Nor did the burnt out light in the stairwell faze her as she climbed up to the third floor, following the echoing stream of passionate voices that echoed through the dark and deserted hallway. 

She was only ten minutes late, but it was apparent that an intense debate had already gone underway.  The door to the two-room apartment generously lent to the cause by one of its longtime members was open and Mary deftly slid into the room, her lateness unnoticed by the rest who were intent on the discussion at hand.  There was precious little space as the apartment was packed with people.  The lucky ones had found seats on one of pieces of furniture in the room.  Five people had managed to squeeze onto the threadbare sofa and numerous others perched on packing crates posing as chairs and a coffee table.  The majority however had been left to stand along the perimeter, leaning against the walls.  Mary remained hovering by the door and tried to catch on to what the speaker was going on about.

 “Ladies and gentlemen” a man standing in the center of the room was saying, “we are making no progress.  When I look at each of you I see enthusiasm in your faces.  I see a genuine desire to better the lives of those families who, from no fault of their own, are evicted from their homes by a callous government and forced to scrounge the streets for scraps to survive.  But my friends," he was now rotating in a circle with his hands spread out in a persuading manner looking each person in the eye as he turned.  "We are not doing our neighbors any good by operating outside the law.  Indeed, we do them a disservice every time we tear down the tape and move their things back into their homes, for the police will only come the next day and force them to relive their humiliation when they evict them again.

Those who have been forced into desperate situations are likely to turn to desperate measures�" measures outside the law�" to achieve what they want.  Should we encourage this?  Ladies and gentlemen, we must admit to ourselves that if we want things to change for the better, we will have to work with the government.  Instead of standing up to the landlords and the police, who have the law on their side, we need to streamline our efforts to lobby for legislation that will protect the rights of the tenants."

“It's easy for you to stand high on your pedestal and say that, Svenson" someone standing on the perimeter of the room called out.  “You still have a job.  Your family isn’t going hungry.  How long do you think people can wait while we wage a polite letter campaign with the State senate?”

"It wouldn't do no good" another person volunteered.  "Hoover's made it clear that unemployment and all the trappings that come with it ain't the government's responsibility." 

The man, Svenson, was not deterred.  "I am not talking about a comprehensive federal relief program" he continued.  "As fierce and determined as you all are, that is beyond our capacity.  We can however influence change in our own state by lawful mean through cooperation with the authorities, not agitation." 

"Cooperation is out of the question" said a voice at the far end of the room.  "Are you suggesting that we kow-tow to the barbarian police force that just last year viciously beat down countless women and elderly protestors who were peaceably marching the streets for government assistance?"  There was an interested murmur throughout the room.  Mary and many others nodded in emphatic agreement with the speaker, remembering how the New York City police had bludgeoned protestors with blackjacks and hauled them off to jail.  Many people present had witnessed it firsthand as they protested alongside the marchers. 

The man in the center could feel he was losing his audience and his face reddened in annoyance, or perhaps it was embarrassment.  "Yes and we all know why things turned out as they did" he said.  "When the authorities heard that Communist agitators were organizing a workers protest…"

"And there it is.  My friends our colleague here shows his true colors.  He is not concerned about the welfare of the unemployed and disadvantaged but rather his own reputation."  Thomas Savior stepped out from the perimeter and stood nose to nose with his opponent.  "If this organization cannot prove it is all-American stars and stripes you want no part in it, is that right?"

"Once again Savior you've managed to turn this meeting into a platform for your own political agenda" said Svenson

Savior raised an eyebrow and gave him a half smile.  “Look at everything we stand for: fair wages, rights for the working man, guaranteed housing.  I may be the only self-admitted Communist in the room, but the rest of you are at least Socialist-lite."  He was rewarded with approving laughter from the crowded room.

"We’re not gaining the upper hand by parading around like a bunch of damned Communists.  You know most of these people that get evicted believe in God?  And …”

“So what you’re saying” Savior continued calmly, “is that as long as we don’t call it socialism, or communism, as long as we appeal to the politicians without mentioning politics at all…”

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?”

 “In all fairness none of us are suffering as much as those we’re trying to help.  So in the interest of empathy, why don’t we ask an expert” Savior turned toward the door where Mary realized too late that her entrance had not, as she had thought, gone completely unnoticed.  “Mrs. Kovolevsky here works for a private aid agency that sends social workers around the city to work with local families.  She sees the every day Lower East-Sider in his most intimate home setting.  So tell us Mary, what sorts of acts do you think they would want us to do?”

Mary was suddenly uncomfortably cognizant of the attention of the entire room was now focused on her.  She removed her hands from her coat pockets and stood up straight.   “Well,” She took a step forward, which wasn’t easy as most of the available floor space was occupied.  “The first thing I can tell you is that they don’t give a damn about your politics.”

The entire company laughed at this, no doubt desperate to lighten the mood of the room.  Savior smiled encouragingly from the corner at her and Mary was emboldened to continue.

“There are thousands of people living on top of each other in this part of the city.  You’ve got Italians, Russians, Romanians, Greeks, Poles�" practically separate cities in their own rights.  The men, if they’re lucky enough to still have jobs, work twelve hour shifts in dirty, crowded factory floor rooms.  Back home it’s not uncommon to see families of six sharing a single tenement room that’s stifling in the summer and freezing in the winter.  The poor children in these households are woken during the night by cockroaches scuttling across their covers and rats gnawing on their toes.”

Mary was satisfied to see some in the company shudder at her words.  “And these are the lucky ones that still have rooms to sleep in" she continued.  "Do you think they care whose agenda we promote as long as it gives them any sort of reprieve from their current situation?”

“We all admire the work that’s being done by you and all your co-workers” Svenson’s accusatory voice broke in.  “But that begs another question.  If there are people like you who do this and get paid for it, what the hell are we doing?  It’s your job.  You get paid to help these people get their due, so what’s this group’s concern?  It seems to me that we’re evolving into a political association.” 

“Let me tell you a little about my job” Mary marched towards Svenson, the crowd in the room stepping aside to let her pass.  “Let me tell you about myself and the women I work with.  All of us are overworked and underpaid.  Those of us that have families barely get to see them because we don’t get home until late at night, and I still make the time to come here because I believe in this group so much, regardless of the political loyalties of this person or that person.”  She glanced at Savoir, but he nodded at her to continue.  “What is this group doing, you ask?  You think what my agency does is enough?  Just walk outside and look around you.  We’re not helping half the number of people we could be if there were more of us and if we had the appropriate resources.  But how much can a private agency handle by itself?  Everyday I ask why it’s up to the private sector to help these people.”

She fixed Svenson with a steady gaze.  “You’re not alone in your suspicion of the Communist Party.  But honestly, when have we ever been happy with the state of our government?  Is the system working now?  Is democracy representing the people in the Lower East Side?”

*

            “Sorry to put you on the spot like that” Savior had worked his way across the room at to talk to Mary at the end of the meeting.

“Are you kidding?” She said excitedly, “Putting that guy in his place?  It was so, I don’t know, empowering.” 

Savior shrugged on his coat and helped Mary back into hers.  “You ought to come to a Party meeting with me.  Sometimes we get so caught up in the politics of it all that, like you said, we forget what our struggle is really about.  It’s always helpful to have a fresh perspective.”

Mary grinned at her friend.  “Now that would drive my parents to an early grave” she joked.  Although she would never say as much to her friend, Mary was not ready to go to a Party meeting with him. She had watched the progress of the Communist Party from afar with interest.  But even now, as discouraged as she was with the government’s handling of the crash and in spite of her determination that country’s flawed capitalist system had finally collapsed upon itself, she was unwilling to commit to such a cause that seemed to inspire such heated emotions on both sides.

“That wasn’t just rhetoric when I was talking about how overworked we all are” she said carefully.  “I don’t really have the time to be jetting off to many more meetings after work right now.  Maybe when things slow down in a few months.”

If Savior felt slighted it didn’t show on his face.  “I won’t be here in a few months” he said casually as he strode into the hallway.

            Mary hurried out after him.  “What do you mean?  Where’re you going?”

            Savior started down the stairs.  “California” he said without turning around, “Just for a few weeks.  I want reconnect with some friends out there before I leave for Leningrad.”

            “Russia?”

“In two week’s time.”

            Mary stopped and stood paralyzed in the stairwell.  “Russia?” she said.  “You’re going to Russia?”

            Savior looked back over his shoulder at her as he continued down the stairs.  His familiar smirking smile spread across his face.  “The Soviet Union” he confirmed.  “The Party’s sending me there as part of a coalition of representatives from America.”

“What for?” she stammered.

“To learn” he continued down the stairs with Mary close behind.  “They’re obviously doing something right, seeing as they’re the only country in the world that’s not been completely blind sighted by this economic situation.  We see that as a sign that Stalin knows something we don’t.  Something we can bring back here.”  He held the door to the building open for Mary.  “We’re not trying to destroy America you know�"that’s for the anarchists.  We just want to fix it.”

            “But you’re leaving” Mary exclaimed.  “What are we going to do without you?”

            “It’s just for three years” Savior linked arms with her and they walked congenially across the street together.  “What’s that, really?  Three measly years for a chance to help build a new world?  A socialist world.  Can you imagine what that will be like?”

            “This is so wonderful for you Thomas” Mary said admiringly.  “I wish I could come with you.” 

            “You can.”  Savior pulled a small book out of his pocket and gave it to her.  “Read it.  It’ll be like you’re over there with me, seeing it all happen for yourself.”

            New Russia’s Primer, an English Translation.  Mary opened the book and read out loud.  “Socialism is no longer a myth, a fantasy of mind, we ourselves are building it.  And this better life will not come as a miracle: we ourselves must create it.  But to create it we need knowledge: we need strong hands, yes, but we need strong minds too.  Here it is�"your Five-Year Plan.”

            “It’s better to start from the beginning” Savior told her.

            “I know” Mary said.  She had bought her own copy of the primer a year before.

Author's Note

Does the dialogue make sense?